Medicine and Magic

Chapter Three

The next morning, Mckain woke up feeling stiff from a night on the hard floor. He became aware of a blaring sound in his ears, somehow recognized it to be the T.V, and quickly used his achy tail to turn it off—having no idea where the remote could possibly be hidden among the mess that covered his living room.

Gradually, he propped himself up against the couch and began to rub his head in slow circles. He took his time moving onto the couch. His back ached in protest, and he hoisted himself up with his arms before finally picking up the phone and dialing his boss’s number.

“Jack Weldon, Dean of Medicine speaking.”

“Jack, hi.” Mckain tried to sound congested, not hung-over.

“Mckain? You awake already?”

“Didn’t sleep well. I think I’m coming down with the flu,” Mckain said without hesitation. He stole a glance at the nearest clock: 7:19 a.m. Damn it was early!

“And you want the day off?” Weldon asked, not providing a tone for Mckain to assess.

“It’s more of a need,” Mckain corrected; it came out as a grumble.

Weldon chuckled, and Mckain knew he won. “Ok, Mckain. Two days.”

“Thanks.” Mckain hung up without saying goodbye, all forced politeness forgotten. He knew he should be grateful for the time off, but the trial—two days away— was the only thing on his mind. Although no excuse could relieve him of his appointment with the council, he was almost wishing that Weldon wouldn’t have given him time off even though he needed it.

Without work, all Mckain could do was sit and wait. He’d rather spent his last days (alive) goofing off with Calaway—even diagnosing patients—not being locking up in the house with only the television for company. He was tempted to drink until he returned to unconsciousness; but it took a lot of liquor to affect him, and he didn’t even have enough left to get buzzed.

A trip to the store would solve that…as soon as he wasn’t feeling nauseous.

When Mckain woke again it was eleven o’clock. His headache was fading. All desire for another round of drinking was gone, but he decided to go out anyway. A fresh cup of coffee sounded too good to resist. He spent half an hour in the shower—shifting his limbs in turn so that he could wash the soot from his scales. Because he let it settle for an entire day, some of it didn’t come off—leaving his scales stained with a black glaze. He made a mental note to pick up some stronger soap as he got dressed: an old pair of jeans and a graying t-shirt instead of an uncomfortable lab coat.

On his way out of the house, he almost started humming because he didn’t have to drive. It only took him about ten minutes to get to the Café Express, and his happiness was quickly replaced with annoyance when he found a long waiting line. It took another ten minutes for him to get a cup of coffee and a doughnut. He took a seat in a corner table and began taking small gulps of coffee. Yes, this was definitely a better idea than drinking. He glanced around the small shop, taking note of all the idiots reading the newspaper or talking on their cell phones. Eavesdropping on people was almost as fun as watching television all day long.

“Can you believe him?” he suddenly heard a young woman shout into her cell phone.

Mckain winced at the volume and glanced around. No one reacted to the obnoxious woman. His wyvern-hearing had picked it up…but why? He suddenly became aware of the overpowering smell of perfume, coffee, baked goods, cologne, flowers, and dozens of other smells he couldn’t identify. His senses were going crazy.

Then he felt a cold wave rush over him, and he looked up as a dark-skinned man stepped into the café. Their eyes met, and Mckain felt a growl rise in this throat. Only practice kept it from escaping. Even as the man turned away, Mckain felt adrenaline flow through his veins. It made him uneasy, and not even the prospect of a second cup of coffee could keep him where he was. He had to run. He wasn’t sure why, but his instincts had served him well in the past. Why question them now?

Mckain saw the man watch him as he left the café, and alarmingly the man followed. As soon as he was outside, he broke into a run. He could feel his wings itching to carry him to safety. Luckily he was able to restrain them until he made it into the nearest alley. Once there he shifted and let his wings to their job. The feeling faded as he came to the roof of the alley’s buildings, and he smiled in triumph. What happened next took only seconds: he saw a group of men standing on the roof of the nearest building, heard shots being fired, and then felt darkness claim him.

“Wake up, Wyvern!”

A splash of cold water was only enough to rouse him. His head was pounding for the second time that day, and for a brief moment he wondered if he had been drinking again. The unfamiliar surroundings and faces told him no. Not used to waking up in wyvern-shape, Mckain tried to use his arms to get up but only succeeded in straining his wings. He settled for sitting up to face his captors. His vision swam, and he had to close his eyes to block out the queasiness.

“I think you gave him too much,” he heard one of them say.

“I gave him a dragon-dose. He should be fine.”

Wyverns, dragons. It occurred to Mckain that his captors knew of Therians. Were they hunters about to make a name of themselves by slaying him?

“Astrios, get the boss. Tell ‘im the wyvern’s awake.”

Whatever they “dosed” him with was really working. Either that or they used a lot of it. Drugs usually didn’t have this affect on him: his senses were dulled beyond comfort and his perception of time was off. He closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing. When he opened them, a face was leaning toward him. He collapsed backwards, trying to put space between himself and the stranger.

The men started talking amongst themselves, and Mckain was only able to pick out a few words that weren’t very insightful. He opened his eyes and was grateful when his vision didn’t waver. Through heat flashes and sweat, he could feel the drug wearing off. Slowly the details of the room came into focus including the many faces of his captors. The man closest to his cage gazed at him with deep amber eyes-studying Mckain as if he could read this thoughts.

“Feeling better?”

It took a few moments for the words to register in Mckain’s mind; he decided it was safer not to reply.

“We’re not hunters,” the man abruptly informed him. “My name is Keanu Black, leader of the Boston Night Riders. If you would return a more…conversable form, we won’t have to resort to snarls or hand signs.”

Even though Mckain knew the limited expressions of his wyvern-form couldn’t properly convey the annoyed look he was trying to give Keanu Black, he still took time to try. This all seemed like a bad science-fiction show, and he eventually shifted forms just to be able to voice that opinion. The second he opened his mouth, however, Keanu cut him off with a question.

“Did you start that fire two nights ago?”

Mckain gave him a look of disbelief as he got to his feet. He almost laughed, but Keanu’s intense eyes told Mckain that he was serious. “No,” he finally answered. “Why would I?”

“It’s not uncommon for rouge Therians to escape persecution by fleeing to the human world,” Keanu said.

“Well, I didn’t start the damn fire. Can I go?” Mckain said very irritably. Who the hell did these morons think they were, kidnapping him in broad daylight while he was trying to get his daily cup of caffeine?

Keanu stared at him, and Mckain met his eyes with a hard-look on his face. Their staring contest went on until Keanu turned to a pair of Arabic men to his right.

“Faysal?”

The taller of the two spoke. “He is not lying.” His accent was heavy, and Mckain had difficulty understanding him. Keanu did not; he looked to a man whom Mckain recognized to be his pursuer from the café. As the man approached his cage, Mckain backed up—feeling his scales threaten to overcome him. Something about this man made his adrenaline pump and buried his good judgment.

The man opened the cage and stepped back. Mckain’s instincts told him to attack the stranger, but he managed to contain that impulse. Instead he focused on using the cage’s bars to support himself as he stepped out of it. He paused and glanced around the room. No one showed any sign of aggression so Mckain took a few steps away from the enclosure.

Suddenly, a piece of the puzzle connected.

“Are you—” Mckain paused, having difficulty finding the right words “—like me?”

Unsurprisingly it was Keanu who replied. “In a way.” He held his head high and smirked. “We’re Therians, but we are not of your race.”

Mckain’s eyes turned to the dark-skinned man. “Gryphon.” The man nodded in confirmation. That made sense. Gryphons and dragons had been at war for a hundred years and even though peace now lay between them, the instinct to hate remained. It was a response developed for survival during the war, yet it remained afterwards—reminding the two races that their fragile tranquility was only a step away from shattering.

“Most of us are lycan,” Keanu said.

That made sense. Of all Therians, lycan were the most numerous. “Is this the part of the movie where you ask me to join you?” The whole ordeal was much too cliché.

Keanu laughed. “Not exactly. Although you’re welcome to.” Mckain rolled his eyes. “Our job is only to question loners, make sure they behave.”

“Wow. Boston’s very own secret police. I suppose your job is also to warn me that if I do break one of your fun rules, you’ll be there lurking in the shadows, ready to ‘take me down?’” Mckain drawled with mocking fear.

“If I had to do that, it’d be the least of your worries,” Keanu said with a hint of warning in his voice.

“So…aren’t you worried that I’ll, I don’t know, give away the location of your secret base?”

Keanu raised his eyebrows. “You’re awfully talkative.”

“I’m sorry,” Mckain said offhandedly. “I find stupid people very interesting. I mean, was all this really necessary?”

A chuckle escaped Keanu’s lips, but Mckain could feel the man’s irritation ascend. “Getting you here was easy. Incredibly so.” Mckain narrowed his eyes at the insult. “The way I see it is if you were guilty, you wouldn’t be walking out of here. And if you were innocent, we wouldn’t have to worry.” He turned to the gryphon. “Show him out.”

Mckain was all too happy to be led outside and be locked him out of the building. Until he figured out that he had no idea where he was. The sights, smells, and sounds of the city could not be detected by his senses. He groaned as a second realization came to mind: he still needed to buy some damn soap!

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A/N: Reviews?