A/N: Okay, so here's chapter 1. Set approximately 1902 (give or take a few years). I hope you all enjoy it, and would love feedback (good or bad, just please no spamming or acid dumped on my head. I have a feeling that that would hurt).
Oh, and a chocolate chip cookie goes to LittlestLilyPotter, who helped me edit and organize and get everything to flow better. It wouldn't be the same without her ;)
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Chapter 1
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Helen Magnus rode through the streets of San Francisco, her eyes fixed on the masts that were barely visible through the openings in the streets. Her horse's hooves clattered against the cobblestone streets, expertly avoiding the masses of people that crowded the narrow spaces, weaving in and out of the carriages that shuffled down the road slowly.
With a twitch of her reins, Magnus turned her mount to the side, urging the mare down a side street. She kicked the buckskin into a trot, hoping to make up for time lost in the crushing business of the main thoroughfare.
The street opened, the two emerging onto the docks. The tall, proud ships rose and fell with the gentle swells of the ocean, pulling at their moorings. Sailors rushed to and fro, carrying rope and crates, filling the wharf with bustling activity.
Magnus dismounted, tying her mare to a hitching rail before losing herself in the crowd of people. As she neared the center of the docks, the crowd became more and more dense; fewer sailors busying themselves with tasks, and more citizens of the city here to greet the newly arrived ship.
Helen quickly found her way to the front of the crowd, standing slightly off to the side as she watched the passengers disembark from the long passenger ship, the twin masts throwing shadows over the seething masses of people waiting to welcome loved ones or to collect belongings.
The gang plank cleared, and Helen sprang into action immediately. On quick, light feet, she strode up the wooden ramp that had been attached to the ship, slipping through the narrow opening at the top. She found herself on the deck, a few stragglers still rushing around, finding and collecting belongings and hurrying to disembark.
Magnus reached into the satchel that had been slung over her shoulder, pulling out the telegram that she had stored there. She glanced at it yet again, and her feet subconsciously began to carry her toward the aft of the deck, toward the Captain's cabin.
A shadow fell across her, and she looked up, meeting the eyes of a large, burly sailor.
"What do you think you're doing, miss?" he asked, his voice low and rough. "You're gonna have to get off the ship now." His tone turned threatening as he took a step closer. "The Cap'n doesn't abide with stowaways."
"I am not a stowaway," Helen retorted crisply. "In fact, it was your Captain that invited me onto the ship."
"And why would he do a thing like that?" the sailor asked, his voice still low and threatening, although Magnus could hear a hint of confusion and curiosity in his tone.
"That is for me to know, not you," Magnus told him. "Now, if you would be so kind?" she asked politely yet pointedly.
The sailor's eyes narrowed, and he said, "Then I suppose you won't mind if I escort you to the Captain's cabin?"
"Of course not," Helen answered amiably, smiling at the large man slightly. "Thank you."
A look of slight startlement crossed the man's face, as if he was genuinely taken aback by the slightly odd woman's response. But he corrected himself, turning and leading her farther back into the ship.
The two stopped in front of a rather small, plain, wooden door. The sailor raised one large hand and knocked twice.
"Enter," came a voice from inside. Once again, the sailor seemed slightly surprised, this time more likely from the fact that the Captain was even in his cabin, and opened the door.
"Sir? A woman here says she's come to see you."
"Good, let her in Clarks."
The sailor stepped aside, examining the woman as she passed him. She was rather tall for a woman, with dark brown locks falling to her shoulder blades. Her hair was slightly curled, and her eyes were a piercing blue. He didn't know much of this woman, but he had the feeling that you wouldn't want to get on the bad side of her.
The door closed behind her, and Clarks turned to return to his duties.
"Dr. Helen Magnus, it's a pleasure to meet you. My name is Robert Montague," said a small, yet sturdily built man, turning from where he had been standing at his desk. He dropped the pen he had been clutching, holding out his hand to shake Helen's. He pretended not to notice the small flicker of emotion behind her carefully veiled eyes, smiling warmly at her.
She took the offered hand, returning the smile. "I received your message," she told him. "It was rather vague," she added.
Robert nodded. "Sorry about that," he replied, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants. "It had to be."
"So what exactly is going on?" she asked him.
Robert didn't answer, instead striding through his small cabin and bending to unlock a chest. The lock fell to the ground with a small thud, and the captain grimaced. He knelt, lifting the lid to the chest, the hinges protesting slightly. He reached inside, both his hands disappearing for a moment, before reemerging with his hands cupped around something small and circular.
"This," he finally replied, returning to stand in front of Helen. He nodded to her, indicating for her to take what he was holding.
She stretched out her hand, watching the man carefully all the while.
"It won't bite," he assured her. "It's fast asleep."
He carefully placed the small object in Helen's hands, taking a step back so he could watch the woman's face.
She looked down, examining the small ball that the ship's captain had given her.
Except, it wasn't a ball, she realized. She gasped as her mind finally comprehended what it was she was holding.
The small dragon was curled into a tiny ball, its body coiled around on itself, compacting the tiny shape into a circle. Its head rested on the top of the coils, tiny puffs of smoke issuing from its nostrils at each exhale. Its scales gleamed dull orange red, the edges flickering with an inner heat.
Helen looked up at Montague, her eyes narrowed. "Where did you find this?" she asked.
The man shrugged. "A man gave it to me, along with a letter, telling me to send you the telegraph," he answered.
Helen shifted the small dragon, cradling it against her stomach as she supported it with one arm. Then, with her other hand, she stroked the tiny creature's head. A small, prickling tingle raced through her fingers, a familiar sort of buzz echoing through her mind, confirming her suspicions; it had vampire blood.
"May I see the letter, please?" she asked, stretching out her hand. The captain nodded, opening his desk and taking out a thin envelope with no address and sealed shut. He handed the letter to Magnus, who promptly opened it one handed.
She shook out the folds of the paper, holding it up to the light so she could read it better.
Dear Helen,
I truly hope this letter finds you well. However, as I'm sure you have inferred, there are much more pressing matters at hand than asking about your welfare.
While investigating a trail left by a rare abnormal, the name eludes me for the moment, I stumbled across an ancient vampire outpost in the Antarctic. It was a simple chamber with small containment hatches along the walls. Inside of them, frozen in a clear, crystalline cryogenic material, were rare species of abnormals, which I am assuming were experiments.
In the center was a large, throne-like chair. Upon further examination, it appeared that it was the control center for the entire outpost. As I was attempting to determine how it worked, I accidentally triggered a release. One of the chambers opened, releasing what appeared to be an infant dragon.
It was only awake for a few moments before it, once again, went into hibernation. I can only assume that this was to preserve its life, since it appears that it has had no nourishment for thousands of years, and it awoke to a landscape of ice, snow, and freezing water.
On my return to Europe, I decided that it would be best to send this infant to the United States. For, as I am sure you remember, we found references to ancient Dragon colonies in North America in the old Vampire texts.
However, I suggest that you bring the dragonlet to his Roost soon, for fear that he will wake, sensing food and water nearby.
With love,
James Watson
Magnus folded the letter up again, stowing it in her satchel alongside the telegram.
"Thank you," she said, nodding to Robert.
He nodded in return, then suddenly said, "Hold on a minute. I have something else you might find handy." He returned to the trunk, bending over and retrieving a small bag. "The man that gave me the letter and the beast also gave me this. Said it was filled with 'phoenix down', whatever that's supposed to mean. He also said you'd understand what it was for."
Helen nodded, smiling and accepting the fire proof bag from the captain. "Yes, and thank you again," she said. She slid the small, snoozing dragon into the bag, closing it and stowing in in the main compartment of her knapsack.
"And now, I must depart," Magnus said. "Thank you," she finished. Robert nodded, opening the door for her.
When Helen returned to the deck, there were no longer any passengers milling around. The only movement on the deck were the sailors finishing their landing tasks and preparing to depart the ship for their own free time. She saw Clarks watching her with interested eyes, but she decided to ignore it, assuming that it was merely the circumstances of their meeting.
Magnus made her way to the gangplank, descending and returning back to solid ground. Her left hand momentarily rested on the bag hanging by her waist, and she quickly began to cross the wharves toward where she had secured her mare.
With quick, efficient tugs, Magnus untied the reins and mounted her horse, turning her head and kicking her into a fast walk, then into a trot.
Magnus took a deep breath drawing on her memories of the time she and James had found the two ancient vampire logs, which had been filled with their own observations and experiments of the unnatural creatures of the world. Two places had been marked on a map in the ancient vampire texts, denoting where ancient Dragon Roosts were located in the continent that would be come to be called North America. She didn't know if any other dragons had survived this long, but even if they did not, what better place for a dragonlet to grow. It would also be the place it would most likely survive.
A single dragon had been inked curling around a lone mountain onto the ancient paper, smoke curling from its nostrils. This had been in the northern portion of the map, and beside it had been the symbols that translated to 'Now Extinct'.
Below that figure, and to the south and east, was another dragon, this one bigger and sitting on a nest with three dragon eggs nestled inside. Its neck had been intertwined throughout a mountain range, fire licking its jaws.
This would be the place Helen would strike for. It was located in the northwestern state of Wyoming, and, if she was correct, it was in the same place as the newly created Yellowstone National Park. That could complicate things, but she would find a way around it all. She had to.
She drew rein, her mare coming to a prancing stop outside of a long row of houses that were connected together, single flights of stairs leading up to the individual doors. Brass knockers gleamed in the waning sunlight, the whitewashed walls making the street look brighter than in was.
Helen dismounted, tying her mare to the railing, before hurrying up the steps, opening the door. The knapsack was slung over one shoulder, the heavy bundle resting against her left hip. She could feel the small dragon's deep, slumbering breathing; she just hoped that he stayed like that long enough for her to get him to the Dragon Roost.
"Helen?" a young, blonde woman asked, walking out of the kitchen accompanied by the sounds of rustling skirts. "What's going on?"
"I'm sorry Mary," Helen replied, "But I have to leave. I'm not going to be able to carry all of my belongings with me, but you're welcome to move what I leave behind in the attic or into storage."
"How long are you going to be gone for?" the young, petite woman asked, following her mentor up a staircase and into the room she had given Magnus temporary use of.
"I'm not sure," Helen answered, grabbing saddlebags and beginning to fill them. "It will likely be a while before I am able to return, however." She finished filling the bags with her necessities, and returned to kitchen with due haste.
"Magnus, what's going on?" Mary asked plaintively as she moved to help Helen pack food and water.
Helen stopped and turned to look at her young student. She sighed, then said, "James Watson, a very old friend of mine, discovered a rare breed of abnormal. He sent it to me, and I have to return it to its natural habitat. If I don't, none of us will be able to contain it. And, I hate to sound cliché, but it could cause the destruction of this entire continent if it isn't settled in the proper location."
And with that, Helen disappeared into her room for the last time, this time to change into travel clothing. When she emerged, she was wearing pants well suited for riding, a dark brown jacket over a beige shirt, and boots. Her hair was tied up into a knot at the base of her neck, the hood of her jacket hanging down her back.
"Magnus!" Mary called out as Helen reached for the door handle, her saddle bags slung over one arm. "Just be careful," she begged, looking up at her mentor, her helper, her surrogate mother, with pleading in her eyes.
"As always," Helen said, giving the young woman a swift, yet loving hug. "Tell Thomas I plan on returning, at the latest, by next spring, once the passes clear?" Mary nodded, fingering the wedding ring on her finger.
"Of course. We will be awaiting your return. Hopefully you can tell us more of what's going on."
"Perhaps," Magnus responded, laying a hand on the younger woman's shoulder. "Take care."
And with that, Helen pulled open the door, exiting the darkened hallway and back into the sunlight filled world.
She untethered her mare, mounting, and nudging her into a trot. By the time they were out of the city and entering the unfenced and open countryside, Magnus had urged her steed into a fast canter, her hooves flying over the grassy earth.
The sky was a bright, clean blue, the grass around her whispering slightly in the rustling breeze, the birds chirping and singing. Her senses were hyper aware, noting everything going on around her.
But the thing she didn't notice was the large, shadowed man following her discreetly.
In the pouch still resting against her thigh, Helen could feel the dragon stir, sensing the clean, fresh air around it and the plentiful prey.
Her time was running out before she had even started the clock.