The Temptation of Dragons (Penny White Book 1) Read online

  Penny White

  and

  The Temptation of Dragons

  By Chrys Cymri

  Copyright 2016 Chrys Cymri

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  Cover Design: Cover Couture (www.bookcovercouture.com)

  Photo: LarsZ / Shutterstock

  Photo: Asmus Koefoed / Shutterstock

  Photo: Zacarias Pereira da Mata / Shutterstock

  For Xander

  15 March 2000 - 24 December 2015

  My beloved parrot, dear companion and friend

  ‘Your wings were ready, but my heart was not.’

  You live on in Morey and Clyde

  This is a work of fiction.

  All names, characters, businesses,

  places, events and incidents are either the

  products of the author’s imagination

  or used in a fictitious manner and any resemblance

  to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events

  is purely coincidental.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  About Chrys Cymri

  Other books by Chrys Cymri

  Connect with Chrys Cymri

  First Chapter of The Dragon Throne

  First Chapter of Dragons Can Only Rust

  First Chapter of The Judas Disciple

  Chapter One

  ‘Vicar arrested for drunk driving’ is not the sort of headline my bishop wants to read about his priests. So I slowed down my Ford as I saw the flashing lights of the police car ahead. An accident. I hunched low over the steering wheel, hoping to hide the tell tale sign of the dog collar around my neck. My wine-sweetened breath wafted back into my face, reminding me of the reason I must not stop to offer any assistance. I was pretty certain that I was not over the drink drive limit, but possibly very close.

  I risked a guilty glance as I passed the accident site. The black Mercedes had come to rest on the hard shoulder, right up against the traffic barrier. The front was caved in, although I couldn’t see what had caused the damage. No other car was nearby, and as far as I could see none of the trees had wandered across the dual carriageway. Two people stood near the police. Neither looked injured. I let out a sigh of relief.

  I pulled back into the slow lane. A moment’s inattention made me drift onto the hard shoulder. The car’s front wheels and rear wheels bumped over an obstruction which shuddered and crunched. My throat closed and my heart pounded fast and quick in my chest. I slammed to stop, pulled up the hand brake and ripped my keys from the ignition. The car lurched against the clutch. I stumbled out and hurried back, terrified that I’d run over some animal or, please God Almighty no, a human.

  My foot tripped against something solid. I staggered, and my hand slapped against scaly hide. Hide? The shape solidified under and around me. A tail. I was touching the base of a tail. I looked back at the webbed red tip, the scales, the thin spines. Then I lifted my eyes to see a thick body, two legs splayed back towards me, long leathery wings flung away from the road and over the traffic barrier. I forced myself to walk towards the front legs. My mind kept trying to reject the word forcing itself into my consciousness. Dragon. I was looking at a dragon.

  For some reason a sense of disappointment crawled over me. The dragon was smaller than any I’d ever held in my imagination, about twice the size of a large horse. From the amount of blood that was pooling around the heaving chest, it was dying. The blood was only a shade darker than the bright red scales.

  I stopped beside the narrow head. One large eye opened and looked up at me. Even in the dying light of a summer’s evening I could see that it was reptilian, the narrow pupil black against a wide iris of shimmering green. For a moment I saw myself mirrored on the clear surface, dark hair askew around my frowning face. The jaws cracked open, and a blue tongue slithered from the rows of small sharp teeth. ‘Father?’

  I swallowed against my automatic correction. This was not the time to discuss the best way to address a female priest. ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘I’m dying.’

  ‘I could call an ambulance…’ I stopped. Had someone slipped something into my wine? Was I really thinking of arranging medical care for a dragon?

  ‘No time.’ His voice was fading. ‘Father, will you hear my confession? And give me the last rites?’

  ‘I’ll get my bag,’ I said. My legs felt rubbery as I stumbled back to the car. What if, I wondered, I were hallucinating a dragon, and it really was a human lying on the ground? The briefcase I use for hospital visiting sat on the back seat. I carried it back to the dragon, then knelt beside the fluttering nostrils. Best to do this properly. I placed the purple stole around my neck, then lifted out the order of service. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Dominic is my religious name in the Order of Saint Thomas. But my hatch name was Endre.’

  ‘Brother Dominic, our friend Endre,’ I said, forcing my voice to remain steady, ‘the Bible reminds us that “Whether we live or whether we die, we are the Lord’s” and “In my Father’s house there are many dwelling places.” Let’s share together the prayer our Lord taught us. Our Father, who art in heaven…’

  The dragon joined in, quietly but firmly, a Welsh lilt to his voice. When they had finished, he added, ‘Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner. I’ve not been a very good monk, and you know I’ve found celibacy difficult. I particularly repent about Miranda. But for all that I’ve done, and all that I’ve left undone, have mercy on me, a sinner.’

  I lowered my free hand onto the dragon’s snout. The scales were warm, and smooth, utterly unlike the skin of a snake. ‘God, the Father of mercies, has reconciled the world to himself through the death and resurrection of his Son, Jesus Christ, not counting our trespasses against us, but sending his Holy Spirit to shed abroad his love among us. By the ministry of reconciliation entrusted by Christ to his Church, receive his pardon and peace to stand before him in his strength alone, this day and evermore. Amen.’

  ‘Amen,’ the dragon echoed.

  Breath was beginning to rattle in his throat. I flipped through my book to the appropriate page. I reached into the briefcase, and opened the small container of oil, and smeared some just below his horns. Then I read out, ‘“Into your hands, O merciful Saviour, we commend your servant Dominic. Acknowledge, we pray, a sheep of your own fold, a lamb of your own flock, a sinner of your own redeeming. Enfold him in the arms of your mercy, in the blessed rest of everlasting peace and in the glorious company of the saints in light. Amen.”’

  ‘Amen.’

  ‘Now, Lord, you let your servant go in peace--’

  The dragon’s voice cut across mine. With a sudden last burst of strength he sent ringing tones into the air. ‘Nunc dimittis servum tuum, Domine, secundum verbum tuum in pace...’

  I felt tears come to my eyes. The
plainchant rose and fell around me, reminding me of Evensong in my college chapel. Except I’d not known anyone with such a beautiful tenor voice. I put the book down and lowered a wooden cross on the soft skin just above his nostrils. He sang the last few words in a low whisper. Then he sighed, the large eye closed, and his spirit left his body.

  ‘Remember, O Lord, this your servant, our brother Dominic,’ I said quietly, drawing words together from half-remembered phrases. ‘According to your promises, grant to him, and all who rest in Christ, the light and joy of your eternal refreshment. May the souls of the faithful departed rest in peace, and rise in glory.’

  I lifted my hands from the dead dragon. A scrape of boots against asphalt made me look up, and into the eyes of a police officer, his high visibility jacket glowing even in the dimming light. I suddenly wondered what the man thought, finding a thirty-six year old woman knelt at the side of the road. ‘Can I help you, miss?’ Then he spotted the white plastic of my dog collar, and the name tag still clinging to my shirt. ‘I mean, Reverend White.’

  His shoes were only inches from the splayed claws of the dragon’s forefoot. ‘I'm fine,’ I said, rising to my feet. He still towered over me, but I’m used to looking up at people. I missed that day at school when they handed out height. ‘Just praying.’

  The policeman grinned. ‘No need, Reverend. The driver and passengers are fine. No one’s died tonight, thank God. Are you the vicar here?’

  ‘No, just visiting some friends who live down the road. Don’t see them as often as I’d like.’ I spoke so convincingly that I nearly believed the lie myself. Never mind that I’d stayed behind after the training conference had finished, having one too many glasses of red wine at the bar rather than go home to an empty house.

  I placed the book and stole into the briefcase and snapped it shut. ‘What caused the accident?’

  ‘No idea. The driver says he doesn’t know what he hit, only it was large and spun his car off the road. He’s stone cold sober, so who knows.’

  The policeman’s comments reminded me that I shouldn’t let him get close enough to smell the wine on my own breath. I slowly backed away. ‘Well, if there’s nothing I can do, I’ll get going.’

  ‘Drive carefully,’ he told me cheerfully. Then he walked back down the hard shoulder, still oblivious to the large body just a foot away.

  Home, I told myself firmly. Black coffee, lots of water, ibuprofen, early to bed. As I turned to my car, I thought I saw someone shift behind a tree. My heart thudded again. Then a bat flew up into the night air, and I released my breath. Jumpy, too jumpy. Definitely time to go home.

  The next day, when I finally pulled myself out of bed, there was no mention of a dragon on any news website. The traffic accident achieved only one mention, buried deep in a list of overnight police reports. A bad bottle of wine, I decided muzzily. That’s it, I’m sticking to the better stuff from now on.

  <><><><><><>

  I made one last nervous sweep of the countertops, then stepped back to study the kitchen. Beer cans and wine bottles taken out to recycling, check. Dirty dishes hidden in sink, check. Cafetiere rinsed and ready, check. Doctor Who Magazine replaced by a Bible at the end of the dining table, check. I rummaged in a drawer, found a near-white strip of plastic, and threaded it into my shirt. Priest ready to meet her bishop, check.

  Five minutes to go. Bishop Nigel was always on time, never a minute early nor a minute late. I put the kettle on, and studied the Dalek cookie jar lurking near the cooker. Should I put out some biscuits? Chocolate? Single malt whisky? The last would have been for me, obviously.

  ‘Get a grip,’ I muttered to myself. I’d heard from various people that my bishop thought I was a good priest. Why should I be worried that he wanted to see me? The vicarage was in good shape, the back garden was still visible despite the overgrown grass, and my congregation was holding steady even if not really growing.

  The doorbell rang. I found myself singing a quick snatch of ‘Onward Christian Soldiers’ under my breath. I straightened, swallowed, and then strode from kitchen to front door.

  Bishop Nigel gave me a smile. In my twelve years as a priest I’ve learned to tell real smiles from false ones, and this one looked real. Maybe he wasn’t here because neighbours had noticed how many bottles clinked in my weekly recycling. ‘Penny, good to see you,’ he said. ‘How are you?’

  ‘You know what I always say.’ I allowed him to enter, and shut the door behind him. ‘I’m all right, it’s the rest of them.’

  His chuckle sounded genuine as well. ‘I often feel the same way myself. Where shall we go?’

  ‘The kitchen.’ I led the way. As he made himself comfortable in a chair, I poured boiling water into the cafetiere. The smell of coffee spread through the large room. ‘How do you like it?’

  ‘White, no sugar. I’m on a diet.’

  Just as well I hadn’t put out any biscuits. I filled two mugs, and joined him at the table. ‘You don’t need to worry about your weight.’

  The Bishop grimaced. ‘You’re very kind. My wife would say otherwise.’

  ‘Hmm.’ To me he looked fine, just a bit of a paunch under his purple shirt. A grey jacket hung from his shoulders, a shade lighter than his hair. I found that his brown eyes were studying me as he blew across his coffee. I said, awkwardly, ‘It’s always nice to see you, Bishop Nigel.’

  He smiled again. ‘Even if you can’t work out why. I’ll let you know. I'm here because you asked me a question three months ago, and I didn't give you an answer. Now I can.’

  ‘A question?’ I tried to remember. ‘Something intelligent and searching about the Trinity?’

  ‘No. About holy water.’ He put the mug down and leaned back in his chair. ‘You asked me about holy water and vampires. Whether water blessed by a woman priest would be harmful to a vampire who doesn’t accept the ordination of women.’

  I felt my face flush. ‘Oh, that.’

  ‘We were in a public place, so all I said was, “Only you would ask something like that.”’

  ‘I watched a lot of Buffy when it was on.’

  ‘But now I can give you the real answer.’ The Bishop leaned forward. ‘Holy water doesn’t harm vampires. Which is just as well, as it would make it impossible to baptise them.’

  I blinked. This coming from the man who preferred Star Trek to Doctor Who, who read serious science fiction and debated in the House of Lords about the ethics of genetic manipulation. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘No, I have to beg yours.’ He sighed. ‘Being Bishop of Nenehampton doesn’t release me from any of the Canons of the Church, particularly the Hidden Canons.’

  ‘Whisky,’ I found myself muttering longingly.

  The Bishop straightened. ‘Yes, please.’

  I started babbling. ‘But it’s only early afternoon, and didn’t you drive?’

  ‘I took the train,’ he replied firmly. ‘I usually I find that the conversation we’re about to have goes better with alcohol.’

  Spirits resided in a cabinet in the kitchen. I reached for my favourite, Talisker, and brought it to the table with two glasses and a small pitcher of water. I poured a small portion into each glass. Bishop Nigel took the bottle, and doubled the amounts. He took a good swallow, then nodded appreciatively. I took a smaller sip myself.

  ‘We aren’t the only intelligent beings in this universe,’ the Bishop said quietly. ‘And I’m not talking about dolphins or whales. There is another world, in touching distance of ours, and their citizens sometimes cross over and walk among us. Most humans can’t see them.’

  Some whisky went down the wrong way, and I coughed. The pain made my voice sharp. ‘But you said that fantasy novels were a waste of time!’

  ‘I prefer real science, real plots, not fantastical worlds with knights riding dragons.’ The Bishop took another swallow of whisky, and refilled his glass. ‘How much do you know about me, Penny? Really?’

  I stared down at my glass. ‘I remember you were the vicar
who wouldn’t let couples have “I Vow to Thee my Country” at their wedding.’

  ‘And more than that. I know you do your research. I’ve read your Master’s thesis. All fifty-five thousand words of it.’

  That made me wince. Fifty-five thousand words on the theology of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I nearly apologised, but caught myself just in time. ‘You’re a conservative evangelical. You accept the Big Bang and evolutionary theory but maintain a belief in the Virgin Birth and the bodily resurrection.’ Then I looked up at him. ‘You were originally against the ordination of women, but you voted in favour of women bishops.’

  ‘My counterpart required it.’

  ‘Your counterpart?’

  Another slosh of whisky into his glass. I tried not to look at how steadily the bottle was being depleted. ‘The equivalent of England in their world is called Lloegyr. Each diocese in the Church of England is linked to a diocese in Eglwys Loegyr, the national church of Lloegyr. So Nenehamption is linked to Esgobaeth Llanbedr. We have roughly the same parish boundaries. My counterpart is Bishop Aeron. At our first meeting, five years ago, she told me the Eglwys Loegyr had long ago accepted the ordination of females to all three clerical orders, and if we were to work together I would have to do the same.’

  ‘She?’ I repeated. ‘So this Eglwys Loegyr has had women bishops longer than the Church of England?’

  ‘Oh, she’s not a woman.’ The Bishop sighed. ‘She’s a dragon.’

  Now it was my turn to take a deep swallow of whisky. ‘And her assistant bishop is a unicorn?’

  ‘No, he’s another dragon. But one of her archdeacons is a unicorn. The other archdeacon is a vampire. With a soul.’ He gave me a weak smile. ‘That’s why I found reading your thesis so helpful. I needed a crash course in vampires. Not that all of Buffy was accurate. But it helped me to understand why Archdeacon Rhis always asked for evening meetings.’