Heart of a Dragon Read Free Page A

that moment than it had in any of the other thousands he's spent pondering it, but he persisted.
    The main room of his home was a combination library, den, living room and office.   The walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves so tall that there were rolling ladders attached to each to make the uppermost shelves accessible.   Along the base of the shelves were crates filled with more books, manuscripts, scrolls and documents.   The contents of those crates overflowed onto the floor and flowed out to cover every horizontal space in the room with the exceptions of the chair he was sitting in, his desk, and the altar in the corner.
    On the table beside him a tumbler of whiskey waited beside the slip of paper that had sparked his mood.   It was a delivery notice – three more crates to arrive within the next couple of days.   He knew he could find room for them along one of the walls, or behind his couch, but that wasn't the problem.   Soon, something would have to give, and he wasn't ready to abandon his bedroom, or the few hideaways remaining to him.
    When the phone rang he stared at it, at first unable to draw his thoughts back into the moment.   He seldom got unexpected calls.   For a moment he considered letting the answering machine handle it.   He glanced at the crates and stacks of books and sighed heavily.
    "Soon," he said, lifting Cleopatra carefully off his lap and standing.   "Soon we will figure this out, Cleo, or you will find yourself sleeping four feet in the air on papyrus scrolls."
    Cleo yawned, stretched and rubbed against his leg as he stepped to his desk and reached for the phone.   Even the phone was old.   It was black with an elegantly curved handset, and it looked out of place beside the wide, flat-screen computer monitor and the CPU.
    "Yes?" Donovan said.
    "It's Cord.   I have information I think you'll be interested in."
    Donovan frowned.   He glanced at the fire, and at his chair, then back down at the phone.   He considered chancing it and trusting his security, then sighed heavily.
    "Not on the phone," he said.   "Club Chaos.   Ten o'clock."
    "You're buying," Cord said.
    The line went dead, and Donovan hung up.   Cord was one of a string of informants and less-than-reputable denizens of the San Valencez underground who reported to Donovan regularly.   The darker half of the city rested in a delicate balance, powers vying for control on all sides, new players dropping into the game unannounced, and Donovan couldn't afford not to remain current.   He dealt in information and knowledge.   His life often depended on knowing just a little bit more about things than anyone else involved in them, and so, instead of sitting and sipping whiskey as he tried once more to solve the conundrum of too many books and too few shelves, he turned toward the city.
    "You'll have to watch the place for me, Cleo," he said.   "I'm not expecting company, but we never know, do we?"
    The cat stared up at him and licked its lips.   The connection between the two was a deep one.   If Donovan closed his eyes, he could watch himself through Cleo's eyes.   He often wondered what the cat saw in those moments, but, once again, it was a subject for another time and place.
    Donovan stepped to one of the few shelves in the room that was not completely overflowing with books and studied a small rack.   Charms and pendants dangled from metal hooks.   There were vials filled with powder, rags and pouches, and an array of stones lined up in careful symmetry.   He never went to Club Chaos without proper preparation, particularly when Cord was involved.   The man was much smarter than he let on, and Donovan wasn't naïve enough to think he was the only beneficiary of that intelligence.
    He studied the pendants carefully.   He settled on an equal-armed cross in deep amethyst.   It was set in an intricate pattern of silver with tiny