Stealing the Dragon

Sally nodded, then held his eyes for a long second.

“I’m leaving.”

“I know,” replied Xan, adding, “I’m sorry about Jun.”

Sally blinked but didn’t respond.

“Where will you go?” asked Xan.

Sally shook her head. “You might hear from me,” she said. “But don’t try to follow me.”

“I won’t,” replied Xan. “You have my word.”

“But others might?”

“Not while I’m here,” said Xan.

“What will you tell them?”

“The truth.” Xan smiled. “If they follow you, they will not return.”

Sally nodded once, then stood and bowed, keeping her eyes locked on his.

“Goodbye, Master Xan.”

Xan stood and returned the bow, his face a mixture of warmth and sorrow.

“Goodbye, little dragon.”

Chapter Forty-four

San Francisco, present day

Xan hated being lost, especially in a city as small as San Francisco.

Chinatown had sold its soul, lifting its skirt for anyone with a dollar in his pocket. Plastic dragons, pagoda keychains, mild Szechuan cooking. What started as an ethnic neighborhood had become a cesspool of tourism.

But he was making progress, and there were some who still remembered where they came from. Some believed his story-a worried uncle looking for his niece-others saw him more clearly. They might not know Xan, but they had known men like him.

Fear was an excellent motivator.

Chapter Forty-five

Cape realized he was grinning like an idiot.

Staring at Sally, he said, “You’re not dead,” realizing how stupid that sounded. Then he said it again.

Sally smiled. “You said that already.”

“Just wanted to make sure.”

The two friends looked at each other, neither one moving. In all the years they’d known each other, they had never embraced, but their bond was palpable in the confines of the small chamber. Cape knew he wouldn’t be standing there if not for Sally, who had saved his life more than once, often putting her own at risk. When Sally looked at Cape, she saw the second man she had completely trusted, the first a half-remembered father from a childhood stolen long ago.

“What’s so funny?” asked Cape, seeing her expression.

“You remind me of my father.”

“I must have aged while you were gone.”

“Maybe that’s it,” replied Sally, adding, “thanks for coming.”

One-eyed Dong interrupted. “I already told him he was late.”

Cape shrugged. “I’ve been busy.”

“I know,” said Sally in a conspiratorial whisper, sitting on the edge of the desk.

Cape looked from Sally to Dong and back again.

He asked, “Someone mind telling me what’s going on?”

Dong turned to Sally and said something under his breath. Sally shook her head and responded with a torrent of Cantonese, gesturing toward Cape as she talked. He always marveled at how seamlessly she moved from one language to another. Unlike Dong, Sally spoke American-English with no discernible accent, able to curse like a sailor or play Scrabble with the best of them. Cape suspected the same was true for her other languages.

Sally gave Dong one more dose of Cantonese before turning back to Cape. “Where do you want to start?”

Cape caught himself before a hundred questions jumped out at once. He’d been so focused on finding Sally and making something-anything-happen, he hadn’t stopped to think.

“Might be easier if you asked questions,” suggested Sally. “I don’t know what you already know.”

Cape nodded, trying to organize his thoughts. Might as well start at the beginning.

“Were you onboard that ship?”

“No.”

Cape let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“But someone…” He tried to find the right words. “Someone like you was there.”

“Her name is Lin,” said Sally, sounding very tired. “She went to the same school, was trained the same way. Her older sister was my-” Sally’s eyes clouded over for an instant. “She was…my roommate.”

Cape wanted to ask something else but left it alone. “She was injured, wasn’t she?” He described the blood outside Sally’s place.

“Badly.” Sally’s expression was grave.

“You brought her here?”

Sally nodded. “Dong sent word to me-a card with a red triangle. He somehow knew Lin was coming.”

“I may be exiled,” said Dong, “but I still have friends.”

“My place wasn’t safe,” added Sally. “I patched Lin up, then she passed out. She’s been unconscious until last night.”

“Why is she here?”

“She stole something,” replied Sally, “and smuggled it out of Hong Kong.”

“What?”

Sally turned to Dong, who was stirring sugar into his tea. With a theatrical sigh, he shook his head and ducked under the desk, only to reappear a moment later. He held something roughly the size of an orange wrapped in burlap, which he placed on the desk with a resounding thunk.

He unwrapped it slowly, revealing the blood-red stone, the finely carved scales, the curves that made it look, at first, like a human heart. Cape addressed his next question to Dong:

“What is it?”

Dong smiled, arching the eyebrow over his good eye. “Isn’t that obvious?” he asked playfully. “It’s the stuff dreams are made of.”

Cape studied the stone heart that looked like a dragon when the light caught it in a certain way. The stuff that dreams are made of. He looked at One-eyed Dong. “Is that your best Humphrey Bogart impersonation?”

“I was doing Shakespeare,” said Dong defensively. “The Tempest.”

Sally interrupted by lifting the dragon off the table and handing it to Cape. He hefted it in his right hand, surprised at its weight. It felt warm, and as he turned it in the light, the dragon’s eyes seemed to glow.

“So what is it?” he repeated, looking at Sally.

“It’s a talisman,” she said. “A charm.”

Dong cut in. “If it’s in your possession, your victory is assured.”