Night Warrior Dragon and Fox

Night Warrior Dragon and Fox

by Melissa Lyle

Ghost Lamp Publishing

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2017 by Melissa Lyle

Cover design, layout, and artwork Copyright 2017 by Melissa Lyle

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite e-book retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. The characters and events described herein are imaginary and are not intended to refer to specific places or to actual persons living or dead.

Contents

Dedications

Note from the Author

1. Friend or Foe?

2. The Lonely Guardian

3. A New Hero

4. Liberating the Fox

5. The New Partner

6. The Dragon and the Fox

7. Catching Aliens

8. Putting Pieces Together

9. It’s Just Like Dancing

10. A Lead at Last

11. A Dead End?

12. New Allies

13. Aliens and Sparkly Things

14. The Final Showdown

15. Our Odd Little Family

Acknowledgements

About the Author

List of Known HAE Types

Dedications

God, for blessing me with the talent and undying passion for writing and storytelling.

My parents, for putting up with my writing mind, being there for me, being understanding, and being my biggest support. I’ll confess that it’s been a long road with a lot of ups and downs.

Special Dedication to Our Real Life Heroes

This book series is dedicated to all of our men and women in law enforcement, and to the families who have lost loved ones in the line of duty. Thank you for your continued dedication, courage, and service.

Note from the Author

Fox Weatherworth and Roman Candle are a couple of messes, but they’re my messes. And I’m okay with that.

1

Friend or Foe?

Location: FBI headquarters, unnamed city just outside San Francisco, California

Time: 8:35 PM

Assistant Director Robert Featherweight sat at his desk and pored over the enormous amount of paperwork that lay in front of him.

It had been a busy and stressful week at the FBI. Busy and stressful were commonplace in his line of work, true, but this week had been the mother of it all. From the moment it started, a long string of events happened to keep him away from his normal routine. Now he was staying late to get caught up on three days’ worth of paperwork.

The new agents under him didn’t help matters. Fresh out of the academy, and they still acted like they didn’t have a clue what was going on. He almost lost it when one of them asked if he could unclog a toilet in the men’s restroom. What did he look like, a plumber? They’re adults. They should know better.

Could the week get any worse?

Featherweight grumbled in frustration and rummaged through his papers, trying to find one he needed. His desk was a sloppy, disorganized mess as usual. In his search, he knocked over a pencil holder and spilled the contents across his work area. Angrily, he picked up pencils and paperclips and moved the holder to the other end of the desk.

It was late, he was tired, and he wanted to go home. He wished more than ever that the paperwork could wait until morning. But the thought of having more piled on top of the current urged him to keep at it. Most of the time he enjoyed being part of the FBI, but there were times when he was tempted to hand over his badge. He regretted to admit tonight—more specifically this whole week—was one of those times.

He called his wife an hour ago to tell her he won’t be home at the usual time, and for her not to wait up for him. A little part of him died inside when she mentioned taking a dish of hot fried chicken out of the oven. His stomach screamed at him in protest. At the time, he couldn’t help looking at the improvised dinner on his desk. His wife’s fried chicken sounded much better than a bag of sea salt and vinegar potato chips, a bag of peanuts, and a diet soda from the lunch room vending machines.

This was not the way he had envisioned spending the night when he woke up this morning.

Featherweight let out a sigh and ran a hand through his salt and pepper hair, mussing it up. He tapped his pencil on the paper as he struggled to focus his mind on his work. Instead, his eyes ended up wandering around the cozy office to find something else to stare at besides the words on the papers.

He scanned the bookshelf, the filing cabinets, American flag, and the small table and coffee maker near the door, eventually stopping at the framed photos and diplomas on the wall on his left. He found himself staring at a picture of him at a luncheon, where he was given a special award for outstanding service to the bureau.

That was ten years ago, yet it seemed like yesterday. He was amazed at how fast time flew by.

His thoughts came back to the fried chicken he could have had for dinner. He smiled at the picture of his wife setting in front of him. She made the best homemade fried chicken of anyone he’d met—even better than what you could buy in restaurants.

Giving another sigh, he turned back to his paperwork, noting how quiet the place was. His secretary went home hours ago, leaving him the only one there, except for the night janitor. Everything was unnervingly calm, unlike it usually is during the daytime hours.

A flash of lightning lit up the window behind him, and a rumble of thunder followed. It had been storming for about a half hour—one of those rare California storms—but Featherweight hadn’t noticed. Up until now, he had been too absorbed in his work.

He turned his chair around to watch the rain pour down in torrents. The streetlights in the parking lot made the huge waterfalls on the window look like rivers of liquid crystal. After the drought the city had suffered through for most of the year, it was a welcomed sight.

Featherweight took off his glasses and rubbed a hand over his tired eyes. He returned his glasses to their proper place, stood up, and stretched. He didn’t care if the paperwork was due the next day. He was ready to call it a night and go home. The words on his papers were starting to conform together in one huge mass, the common sign that one has been awake for far too long.

He gathered the papers in a bundle and walked to the filing cabinet to put them away in the top drawer. Walking back to his desk, he began the task of tidying it up, throwing away his empty chip bag and soda can.

Another burst of thunder rolled over the building like a bowling ball. The rain poured harder than before and hit the window like large pebbles. Featherweight, on the other hand, was too tired to care. All he thought about was the soft bed that awaited him at home—and some cold leftover chicken.

He picked up his discarded tie and suit coat and reached to turn out the desk lamp. But, he stopped, his fingers barely touching the dangling chain cord.

He thought he heard something outside his office door.

He listened again, expecting to hear the janitor’s vacuum.

All was silent.

Then he heard it again: a heavy thump followed by a swishing noise.

Lightning lit up the room, casting the shape of the window on the forward wall. It was immediately followed up by a loud burst of thunder that sounded even louder than the previous one. Featherweight jumped, then immediately felt silly over his reaction. It was probably the janitor. He was bringing in his equipment. Yeah, that had to be it.

Another heavy thump sounded outside the door. It didn’t sound like the janitor. This time he could swear it sounded like booted footsteps.

Wh-who’s there? Featherweight called.

No answer.

Acting on instinct, he reached and pulled his pistol from its holster. He cocked it and stood ready to face whoever was outside.

He watched as the doorknob began to turn.

The big wooden door pushed open. It swung back on its hinges until it hit the table behind it with a bang, scattering the disposable coffee cups.

Featherweight tightened his grip on the handle of his gun. He wasn’t sure what he expected to see. Much to his surprise, there was nobody there—just the darkness of the empty secretary’s office and the light in the hallway beyond.

It must be the janitor. It had to be the janitor. There was no one else in the building but himself and the janitor.

I’m warning you right now that I’m armed, Featherweight called out a little louder, his voice beginning to waver. If you’re the janitor, say so immediately. Otherwise, I will be forced to defend myself.

In reply to his warning, a dark figure darted into the room, followed by the sound of running feet. It took only a split second, looking like a shadowy streak of lightning. Featherweight caught sight of it and shifted his gun toward the left-hand corner.

The door slammed shut.

Featherweight swung his gun toward the door, then back at the corner, momentarily thrown off guard.

Did the thing leave, or was it still there? Was there more than one?

He took a step back. His eyes darted from the door to the corner and back, trying to figure out what he was up against.

The thing was still there. In the soft glow of the desk lamp, he could make out a black figure standing upright and filling the corner. Whatever it was was tall and oddly proportioned—but definitely human…maybe. Although its movements were almost animal as it wriggled and positioned itself like some sort of a giant bat. It seemed to be avoiding the light, huddling in the shadow of one of the office chairs.

Featherweight swallowed. His heart thumped noisily in his chest as he squinted to get a better view. Perhaps it was a trick of the light, he wasn’t sure, but the figure resembled a phantom or a smoky mist. It gave the startling appearance of becoming one with the shadow. Featherweight wondered if the Ghost of Christmas Past came to visit him. If it wasn’t for the sight and behavior of the thing leaving him rattled, he would have laughed at that thought.

You can put the gun down, assistant director, a voice said. I can assure you, I am not here to harm you.

The thing spoke! Featherweight stared dumbfounded like it surprised him to hear a human voice coming from the apparition. Why did this being unnerve him so much? It wasn’t like him to be this nervous.

The voice was feminine, but it had a slight hint of baritone underneath. Despite the reassurance the person gave, Featherweight kept his gun extended. The fact that it was human didn’t help to calm his nerves.

Step into the light, and I’ll think about it, Featherweight countered.

Up until this moment, the intruder must have had its eyes closed. For the second after Featherweight gave the command, car headlights came on in the corner. Two bright white lights, like LEDs, were positioned where its eyes should have been. Within seconds they dimmed to a low setting, revealing the ghostly shapes of human eyes.

Featherweight was vaguely aware of his mouth dropping open as he stared wide-eyed at the spectacle before him. Judging from the positioning of the eyes, the thing had to be ever bit six and a half feet tall, or taller—maybe even close to seven feet. Its head was inches from touching the ceiling.

As if the eyes weren’t startling enough, Featherweight became aware of something else in the room. There was a faint brushing noise as if a large python was slithering side to side on the rug. It bumped and moved the table beside the door. As if sensing his curiosity, it drew back and coiled around the being’s body. It was then that the assistant director understood what it was: a tail—a slim, elongated tail.

The fear building in the assistant director reached its peak. He stumbled backward against the window, not taking his eyes off the specter.

What sort of creature was this? Surely it was no ordinary human. His hand shaking, Featherweight fought to keep his gun pointed at the corner.

N-now listen, I-I don’t want any trouble.

I don’t want any trouble, either, the being replied. It took a step forward. I already told you, I won’t harm you.

Featherweight wasn’t convinced, however.

S-s-stay right where you are; don’t come any closer, he said. The being didn’t listen as it took a few more steps toward the desk.

Featherweight fired his gun.

BANG!

He heard it fire. He felt the gun’s kickback. His ears even rang from the noise.

But, the being still slowly advanced on him, completely unharmed by the bullet. Featherweight fired two more times, and each time he could hear the bullets ricochet off the intruder with a metallic ping, ping, landing somewhere in the walls or the ceiling.

By now, Featherweight was close to panic. He could feel his poor heart about to come out of his chest. After years of being with the FBI, there was not much he was afraid of anymore…until now. Even though he knew the gun was useless, he still gripped it tightly as if his life depended on it. He knew he was gone, but he was still determined to fight his way out no matter the cost. If he was going to die tonight, he was going to go down fighting.

I know my appearance is startling, the being said calmly, but I ask you to please get a hold of yourself. Put the gun down before you hurt somebody.

The closer the creature came to the desk, the more its features were revealed in the light. After taking two final steps forward, it stopped directly in front of the desk and stood there. Its tail hit against the legs of the chairs on either side.

Featherweight’s mind struggled to process what he was seeing. He still wasn’t entirely sure what this ominous monster towering over him was. It looked human enough, but he still had his doubts. And despite the voice, he had a hard time figuring out if it was female or male. After a minute of staring awkwardly at the chest, he came to the conclusion it was a woman. She had a flat chest, but there were still obvious signs that set her apart from the male gender.

It took him a while before he gathered up the nerve to look straight at the face. Once he did, he was straightaway aware of how short of a man he actually was. He felt like a midget next to this giantess. Basketball coaches would be scrambling like mad to get her on their teams if they knew she existed.

She was young—in her thirties, maybe.

A black mask hid the top part of her face and tapered up into two tall, slender points on each side. Long dark brown hair ringed the mask’s sides and cascaded down her back and around her shoulders. Some of this hair stuck up in a stiff, tall, bent arch and dangled over the mask and in front of her eyes.

Below the mask was a pale chin, and sticking out from her upper lip were two fangs on either side, like a vampire’s.

Her body was clothed from the neck down in a matching black flexible skin-tight body suit. From the way bullets bounced off it, Featherweight guessed it was something tougher than Kevlar. Yet it was almost like a second skin. It brought out the shape of her body, right down to her muscular biceps and torso.

When the woman slipped inside his office, Featherweight noticed her movements seemed animal-like. Now that he was able to get a closer look at her, he understood why. She was tall and slender, that much was certain, but, upon closer inspection, her anatomy was awkward and disproportioned. It was as if she was somehow part human and part animal underneath her suit. Her arms were longer and her hands larger than an average human’s.

The whole get-up reminded the assistant director of some fantastic comic book character. So much so, he hoped he wasn’t dealing with a madwoman. He had heard stories of people who tried being real life superheroes. They created silly names for themselves and went out on the streets to fight crime.

Something about this person felt different, though—almost genuine, even. Her outfit looked professional, and that’s what scared Featherweight the most.

"Wh-who are you? What are you?" he breathed out.

Sensing his apprehension, the woman’s glowing eyes fell to the desk lamp. Featherweight followed her gaze. The breath caught in his throat as he watched the tip of her tail slither up the front of the desk. It coiled around like an octopus tentacle and made its way across the surface. The tip of it wrapped around the lamp’s chain cord and gave a quick tug, turning out the light.

The assistant director’s eyes widened in horror, and he turned his gaze back to the woman. Her eyes brightened and shifted to meet his.

I’m sorry I frightened you.

Frightened is an understatement. You almost gave me a heart attack, Featherweight complained.

My apologies, she said again. To answer your questions: Who I am and what I am isn’t a concern at this point. I’m here about a position. I’d like to become one of your special agents.

What? Featherweight said, not believing what he was hearing.

You heard me. I would like for you to take me on as one of your agents.

Y-you can’t just walk in here and demand to be an agent. You have to meet certain qualifications—you have to be properly trained. What makes you think you can come in here and scare me into giving you a job?

He wasn’t sure why he was talking this way to a person who looked like a renegade from a comic-con. He just got through bouncing bullets off her hide, for goodness’ sake!

Let’s just say you were recommended to me, the woman said.

Recommended?—by whom? Featherweight was even more confused. Who would recommend me to you?

That isn’t important at this time, the woman replied. I just need to know you’re going to hire me as one of your agents.

I can’t do that, he said again, shaking his head. I said you have to meet qualifications. You have to have college degrees, training, go through the academy...

The woman remained unmoved and unimpressed. Featherweight wasn’t sure, but he thought he detected a hint of annoyance in her facial features—what he could see of them in the light of the streetlight outside.

"You will hire me, she said. An edge crept into her voice, along with a low inhuman growl. You must hire me. You have no choice. You don’t realize the severity of the situation. I’m the only one who can help you."

Help me with what?

"What’s about to happen to this city—what is happening, she answered. I held them off for as long as I could, but they finally penetrated into this state, and this city."

Featherweight’s brow furrowed. Who has? he demanded. Help me understand what you’re talking about. You act as if I should already know.

The woman remained quiet a few seconds. If you don’t know, then you will in time. That’s why you need me. I’m the only one who will be able to confront them whenever they show themselves.

Featherweight’s mouth silently moved. He lowered his eyes to study his desk, and then fixed them back on the woman. Wh-why the FBI? Why don’t you go join the police? Surely they will be able to stop whoever or whatever it is you’re talking about.

The woman shook her head. No, not the police, she said. I can’t explain why, but I have my reasons. I ask you to please accept me into the FBI. Give me a position as one of your special agents. I just need to become part of you.

I can’t—

"Yes, you can, and you will." The woman’s voice rose. Much to Featherweight’s surprise, it was laced with a snarl. With it, the glow of her eyes surged brighter before dimming.

The assistant director leaned away from her, mesmerized by how intimidating she was. There was no doubt in his mind this woman could take care of herself. She was more than qualified for the job, he silently admitted. Wherever she came from, it was obvious she wasn’t new at what she did. She looked like a seasoned fighter who could take down a S.W.A.T. team. He definitely did not want to get on her bad side.

I do not plan to work within your city as a vigilante, she continued. That isn’t my M.O. It’s too risky. I need legal credentials. Otherwise, I’ll have the police breathing down my neck, and the military hunting me down.

Featherweight finally took down his defenses and lowered his gun. He stepped forward and slowly sat down in his chair. As a precaution, he laid his gun down on top of the desk.

And how do I know I can trust you?

You don’t.

Featherweight went silent.

The woman continued, Trust has to be earned. It will take some time for the both of us.

The assistant director searched the glowing eyes staring back at him. He slowly leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers.

Before I take you on as an agent, assuming I will, you are going to have to give me a good reason. So far, I’m still left in the dark on what any of this is about. For all I know, you could be some insane person who escaped from a mental institution.

The woman fixed her eyes on him, the glow in them brightening.

And what if I am?

Featherweight pursed his lips as he digested that answer.

Why I’m here is hard to explain, the woman said. Even if I did try to explain, I doubt you would even believe me.

Try me.

She took a deep breath and looked straight at the assistant director. Do you believe in aliens?

Featherweight paused at hearing the question. His brow drew down in annoyance.

Is that what all this is about?—aliens?

I said you wouldn’t believe me.

Featherweight rolled his eyes and lifted a hand to rub at his forehead.

I know it sounds far-fetched, and I expected some resistance and skepticism. But, believe me when I say there are things in the world you don’t know about. There are things that you could never hope to understand. I’ve seen things that are beyond ordinary human comprehension—things not of this world. I’ve seen things you’d only see in your worst nightmares, and those things are the reason I’m here.

The assistant director leaned forward. He lifted an eyebrow skeptically. Are you telling me you’ve seen…aliens? He really was dealing with a madwoman. Didn’t they make a TV show about this one time?

The woman laughed. Science fiction pales in comparison to what I’ve seen, Mr. Featherweight. You only wish it was fictional.

You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?

Of course I am. Do you honestly think I would come here if I was joking?

He sighed. Taking you on as an agent so you can…fight aliens…is not the reason I had in mind. You’re beginning to sound like one of those nutcases who claim they were abducted by aliens.

Oh, aliens do abduct, the woman assured. "But there’s a good chance you won’t survive it. If you do, you won’t be telling anyone about