movie. Man, he ran up a wall of smoke. That thing that stabbed him — that creature — that was no Escorpione. They're fast, and they're bad news, but they're just men. You and me, we've been fighting them all our lives. The old man is right — and we should have been able to do more — but having the rest of you there wouldn't have stopped those things. They poured out of that smoke like demons.'
Snake turned away. Martinez started to follow, but Jake shook his head. The old man nodded and turned back to Enrique instead. Manuel had returned with water. The wound was uglier even than Martinez had imagined. He cleaned it as well as he could, applied salve, and then, with a long, curved needle and coarse thread, he stitched the torn flesh carefully. When he was done, he packed a strip of cloth soaked in water and a small pinch of herbs from his bag over the wound. He bandaged the cloth in place, then laid his hand on top and closed his eyes.
He spoke very softly, and though there were several Dragons close enough to hear him, they could make out no words. Those watching carefully saw that where his hand met the bandage, flickers of bluish light rippled across the fallen man's skin. Martinez stayed like that for some time, and then suddenly, stood and staggered back.
He dropped to his knees, reached out to try and put his hand back on the wound, but he nearly fell. Jake leaned down and caught him, holding him up off the floor. After a moment, Martinez brushed his hands away gently, and stood. He was shaky, and his eyes were dark.
'There is nothing more I can do,' he said.
Manuel dropped down beside his brother. The steady rise and fall of Enrique's chest had ceased. His face was still, but peaceful. All trace of the blue light was gone. Martinez stepped close again and brushed a fingertip across Enrique's throat. There was no pulse. He waited a long moment, and then stepped back, shaking his head.
'It was too deep,' he said. 'He should have died immediately. He was strong — very strong.'
Tears rolled from Manuel's eyes and ran freely down his cheeks. He made no move to brush them away. He leaned in and laid his forehead on his brother's chest, as if trying to hear something being whispered to him, or to draw the man's soul up and into himself. To call him back. His shoulder's shook, but he did not release the cry of anguish building in his throat, or give in to the sobs that threatened to shake him apart.
He stood very slowly and left the room. The others stood in ranks and watched him leave in silence. Moments later the back door of the clubhouse slammed. Snake stepped in from the next room and walked to stand beside Martinez.
'This has to end,' he said. 'We can't live like this — I can't lose more of them. First Vasquez — now this. I understand the road. I understand the engine on my bike, and the wind in my hair. I understand that I have to fight, and that I might die. This…I don't understand any of it.'
'We will stop her,' Martinez said softly. 'You have to trust me. I am doing what I can — and there are others.'
'The two who helped us?' Jake asked.
Martinez nodded.
'They are powerful, and it is good that they fight at our side. What we are up against is more than any one of us could withstand. They will fight, and we have to help in any way we can. We have to take the war to Anya Cabrera and her demons, or we will be lost before we even know that the battle has begun.'
Before Snake could reply, Manuel burst back into the room. He went straight to his brother's side, and he knelt again. He kissed Enrique lightly on the brow; his hands clenched so tightly the nails bit into the palms of his hands. Then, working slowly and very, very gently, he began to work the leather jacket off of his brother's arm. He pulled it free of one arm, and turned to Jake.
'Help me,' he said. His voice cracked.
Jake hurried to do as Manuel asked. They gently rolled Enrique to the side, slid the blood-soaked jacket out from under him, and pulled it free. Manuel dropped it on the floor at his feet, then turned back to his brother. He carefully arranged Enrique's arms, crossed on his chest. He leaned closer and closed his brother's eyelids. Then, crossing himself, he leaned down and picked the jacket up, holding it in his hands and staring at the dragon painted on the back.
It was still beautifully worked, but something had changed. It didn't have the luster it had possessed when Salvatore first painted it. The ice-blue seemed more like a dull gray. It might have been the light, but the jacket mirrored the death pallor of its owner.
Without a word, Manuel turned and headed for the door.
'Where you going, bro?' Jake called out.
'Don't follow me,' Manuel said. 'Don't. Fucking. Follow. I'm going for a ride.'
'You should leave the jacket,' Martinez said.
Manuel spun and locked his gaze on the old man. He held the jacket very tightly in his hands, and his arms shook from the tension of that grip.
'He was my brother, old man. This was his, and now it's mine. I will wear it in his honor, and when the time comes to take revenge — I will wrap it around the throat of the Escorpione bastard who killed him.'
Before anyone could say another word, Manuel swung the jacket over his shoulders and slipped it on. He ignored the blood. Without a word he spun and left the room. Jake went to the door after him, but before he could even get onto the sidewalk the powerful growl of Manuel's bike ripped through the night.
With a squeal of rubber on pavement and a spray of gravel, the big chopper shot off down the street.
'Let him go,' Snake said, stepping out beside Jake. 'His brother is dead. Our brother is dead. Let him mourn. He'll be back. Let's do the right thing and take care of Enrique.'
Jake nodded, and the two stepped back inside together. Martinez slipped past them to stand in the cool evening air. He stared off down the street after Manuel. His expression was troubled.
'Be safe,' he said.
Then he turned and followed the others inside, closing the door on the night.
~* ~
Manuel gunned the old Harley and skidded around the corner of Forty-Second Street, barely catching traction before he slammed into the curb on the far side of the street. There was no traffic, and he shot off toward the entrance to the freeway. He didn't know where he was going, but he knew he had to get out of town, get to somewhere he could cut loose without fear of being pulled over. The wind whipped through his hair, and he wanted it harder and faster. He wanted it to blow the world away behind him and erase the events of the night.
He turned onto the ramp without running into a cop and shot up the coast highway. He took the exit that led to the two-lane toward Lavender, and the mountains beyond. There were roads up there where he could be alone, where he and the bike and the road could mourn with one voice. He thought, maybe, if he reached the topmost peak of the mountain, up near the border of the sky, that he might catch a glimpse of his brother — of his spirit — his dragon.
The jacket felt heavy and wrong. It fit poorly, and he frowned. He and Enrique had always worn one another's clothing. They were nearly the same size, built the same, hard to tell apart after Manuel had shaved his beard. They had been inseparable, but now that word made no sense. It had no truth behind it. They were separated, and despite the fact that he somehow felt the outline of the dragon through the leather on his back — a dragon he could have sworn shared his brother's soul, he had never felt so alone. There was an ache in his chest — not where his heart was broken, but where the blade had sliced the jacket. He gritted his teeth and ignored it.
He flew down the highway and turned off on the mountain road, sliding up through shadows a little more slowly and then gunning the engine again. He raced upward, taking turns at crazy speeds and skidding into embankments.
At some point, a shadow rose to cover the moon. He could still see the pavement — the headlight of his bike sliced easily through the darkness. He glanced up, and nearly slid off the side of the road. Something soared overhead, something long and sleek, serpentine and powerful. He saw a flicker of blue light along its length, and heard the rustle of huge, leathery wings.
He roared around another corner. The road was narrow. The side of the mountain was steep, almost a cliff. He could not take his eyes off of the dragon. It was a dragon — it had to be a dragon. He drove straight at it, lifted his hand and reached out to it. He heard the impossibly loud scream as it called to him, and without hesitation, he launched the bike off into empty, open space.
'Enrique!' he screamed. 'Brother!'
And then it was gone. Silvery clouds swam across the face of the moon, and he was falling, screaming, into tall trees and rocks. The bike struck first, bounced once, and flipped. Manuel's head slammed into the trunk of a
