Heart of a Dragon Read Online Free Page A

spun, he stepped into a dark room lined with candle-lit tables.   A polished wooden bar ran along one wall.   There were no bright lights.   There were no mirrors.   It was a quiet place where sound didn't carry.   Donovan closed his eyes for a moment, and then opened them to acclimate his sight.
    A lone figure sat at the bar.   He was tall and thin with long gray hair that spread out around his head like a nimbus of   dirty string.   He didn't look up from the tumbler of whiskey in front of him, but Donovan recognized Cord immediately.   He crossed the room and took the stool beside him.
    "Whiskey," he said to the bartender, "on ice with a little water."
    Cord remained silent until Donovan had his drink and the bartender retreated.   It didn't take long.   They called this bar "The Crossroads," lying as it did somewhere near the heart of Club Chaos, but they might as well have named it "Discretion."
    "So," Donovan said at last, glancing at Cord out of the corner of his eye.   "You said that you had information?"
    "You brought money?" Cord asked.
    Donovan frowned.
    "I never pay before I know what I'm getting.   You've dealt with me before."
    Cord slid his gaze sideways.   The man's face was angles and slits.   His eyes barely seemed to be open, and his mouth was set in a grim line.   The informant's skin seemed to be stretched taut over a pointed chin and high cheekbones.   There was no way to read his emotions, assuming they existed.   He stared at Donovan for a moment in silence, and then turned back to his drink.   He spun the tumbler slowly on the damp napkin it rested on and started to talk.
    "There are things happening in the Barrio."
    "Martinez?" Donovan asked quickly.
    "Not Martinez.   Anya Cabrera."
    Donovan frowned.
    "Anya has always been active in the Barrio.   That's hardly a great secret."
    "She has expanded her operations," Cord said.   He turned to meet Donovan's gaze.   "She has taken up with Los Escorpiones .   They now participate in her rituals, and they are spreading their influence, challenging for territory."
    "Voodoo is a very old practice," Donovan said slowly.   "While I don't claim to understand those who find comfort in it, it's not inherently dangerous, unless there's something more?"
    "Oh, there's more," Cord said.
    The man fell silent.   Donovan waited a moment for the rest of the information, and then realized they'd reached the turning point.   Nothing more would be forthcoming without payment, and the only question remaining was – how much, and would the information be worth the price? He considered what he knew about Anya Cabrera.   As long as he could remember she'd held court in one or another of the dark corners of the city.   She had a shop that was open by day, selling candles and amulets, hexes and wards.   Most of it was pointless and powerless, but she was a shrewd woman.   Enough power trickled through her door to keep clients coming and going in a steady stream.
    Cord wouldn't have called him if things hadn't changed.   Donovan slid his hand into his jacket and drew a fifty from an inner pocket.   His jacket was probably his single greatest asset.   He'd designed it, adding pockets and hidden slits in the lining over the years.   It was armed with small scrolls, scraps of parchment, pendants and charms.   He also kept it well stocked with a variety of money in various denominations.   Some of it was very old, some of it was from places far away.   Most of it was green and folding and worked just fine in Club Chaos.   He laid the bill on the bar, but closer to his own drink than to Cord's.   He didn't turn to watch the man, nor did he worry that the money would be snatched.   He waited, and after a moment Cord began to speak.
    "The Loa walk a fine line between this world and their own," he said.   "They enter when the wards are set and the moment is right.