Confrontational Greetings

***Dru's POV***

Marisol stood on the porch, arms crossed, two tamales wrapped in foil clutched in her hand. Her stare pinned me like a butterfly to corkboard. *Shit.* I suddenly felt twelve again, caught trying to run away from Louise. She descended the steps slowly, her sandals crunching gravel, until she stood between us, her gaze flicking from Dragon’s smirk to my flushed face.

“¡Basta, cabritos!” She thrust the tamales at me, still warm. “If you’re done taming Dragons, eat.” Her voice softened as she turned to him, finger jabbing the air. “And you—bring her back entera. No more heridas. (whole. No more wounds.)”

Dragon dipped his head, uncharacteristically solemn. “Sí, jefita.”

I hugged the tamales to my chest, the foil crinkling. “Thank you,” I said, the words too small for the ache in my throat. “You’ve done more for me in a few hours than anyone ever has my whole life.”

Marisol’s stern mask cracked. She pulled me into a hug, her arms smelling of cumin and oregano. “Familia isn’t always blood, hija,” she murmured. “And my son…” She glanced at Dragon, who suddenly found the horizon fascinating. “…he brought you home. Don’t forget this is your home too, cuando quieras.”

Marisol cupped my face, her palms rough but tender. She kissed both my cheeks, then pressed something into my palm—a bracelet, gold etched into red beads spelling *SOY FUEGO* (I am fire). The moment it touched my skin, the beads pulsed, a faint hum vibrating up my arm like a struck guitar string.

“For protection,” she whispered, her lips grazing my ear. The letters glimmered briefly, as if lit from within. “And reminders.” Her voice dropped, threaded with a gravity that made my spine stiffen. “This fuego (fire) is not just yours. It is my mother’s, and her mother’s, all the way back to the women who walked through fire to cross the Rio Grande. Cuidado, mija (Be careful, my daughter). The flame listens. It hungers.”

A shadow passed overhead. I glanced up. A crow perched in the skeletal branches of a live oak, its head cocked unnaturally to one side. One eye glinted gold, the other milky white—a veve (voodoo symbol) carved into the bark beneath its talons. Dragon shifted behind us, boots scuffing gravel. When I looked over, his smirk had vanished. He stared at the bracelet, eyes narrowed, as though it were something to be feared.

Marisol’s grip tightened. “Tell no one. Not even him.” Her eyes flicked to Dragon, who leaned against his bike, suddenly engrossed in relacing his boots. But I saw it—the way his jaw clenched, the vein throbbing in his temple. He stared at the beads like they were a grenade with no pin. He knew. Whatever power coiled in those beads, it unnerved him.

“But what does it—”

A coyote’s howl split the air, long and mournful, rolling across the bayou like a curse. The bracelet’s heat flared, searing my palm. Marisol’s gaze snapped to the tree line, where mist curled like spectral fingers over the blackwater. “Ya viene (It’s coming),” she muttered.

“Go,” she said, swatting my hip. The beads cooled instantly, inert once more. “Before he starts smoldering again.”

Dragon snorted, but it lacked its usual edge. He revved the engine, the Harley’s growl drowning out Marisol’s fading laughter. As we peeled onto the road, I clutched the bracelet in my pocket. The beads pulsed again, softer this time, in rhythm with the motorcycle’s vibrations.

*Soy fuego* (I am fire).

The words echoed in my skull, not mine, not Marisol’s—a chorus of voices, generations deep. Behind us, the crow let out a rasping cry, wings snapping as it took flight. Dragon’s grip tightened on the handlebars. “No mires atrás, princesa (Don’t look back, princess),” he warned, but I did.

Marisol stood in the driveway, her figure small and fierce, one hand raised in farewell. At her feet, a coyote emerged from the mist—gaunt, starved, its eyes twin pools of obsidian. It stared at me, lips peeling back in a snarl that showed too-human teeth.

The bracelet burned hotter, the beads glowing like embers.

Dragon’s voice cut through the wind, smug as ever. “Admítelo, princesa (Admit it, princess). You’re already planning the next round.”

I didn’t answer. But as the highway blurred ahead, the bracelet’s heat flared once, sharp and insistent, as if answering for me.

Dragon took his time getting us back to campus. The motorcycle ate up the miles, the hum of the engine mirroring the static in my head. Spanish moss dripped from cypress trees like skeletal fingers, and the air thickened with the swamp’s rot—decaying fish, wet earth, and the sweet-sour tang of magnolia blooms. Dragon’s grip on my thigh tightened as we passed a roadside shrine: candles, rum bottles, and a goat skull draped in Mardi Gras beads. A veve for Baron Samedi, maybe. Louise always crossed herself when we drove past these. I spat in its direction.

*Where was Louise? Surely she noticed me missing for 24hrs!*

The more his one free hand caressed my leg, the less I cared if we ever made it back. Unfortunately, the school parking lot came into view way too soon. We both descended from the motorcycle and rested our helmets on the seat. The first school bell rang. I glanced at the circular driveway by the front door to the school. No Louise in sight!

Glancing back at Dragon with a devilish look in my eyes and evil thoughts running through my mind, I pushed him back onto the seat of his bike. Knocking off both helmets and not caring as I straddle him. If Louise ever bothers to show up, I'm going to be in Hell anyway. I might as well earn the flames.

"Ding, ding. Round 2!", I breathed out as I grabbed at the waistband of his jeans to steady myself. Taking my time, my hands moving slowly up his abs, tracing each defined muscle of his six-pack with my fingernails. By the time I reached his pects, the look of pure shock mixed with pleasure brought a smirk to my lips. As I gripped the collar of his shirt, I assaulted his mouth with mine. I just wanted one last taste before this dream ended and reality caught back up with me.

For a heartbeat, Dragon’s hands hesitated on my waist—rough mechanics’ fingers trembling against my hips like he’d never touched something he feared breaking. Then the dam cracked. His kiss wasn’t just hunger; it was a confession. *I’m here. I’m real. Don’t run.* But I’d made a career of running.

As his shock receded, he wrapped his arms around my waist finally giving in. I can feel him stiffen under his jeans and I position myself over it perfectly. With every little movement of my hips, he moans into my mouth. Moisture pools between my legs and I grind on him a little bit harder.

I hear the sound of someone clearing their throat but ignore it.

Roaming my hands over his muscular chest, I wrap my arms around his neck and deepen our kiss as if we are the only two people left on Earth.

The throat clearing gets louder and Dragon freezes.

I lift up my head and try to look into his eyes. Seeing as how his eyes were staring right past my head, I glanced around to find my Civics 101 teacher staring at my back disappointedly. Realizing it was me, her expression turned to a mix of confusion and horror. I just stared back at her wide-eyed and speechless.

"Ms. Drakes, you were the last student I would have ever thought I needed to give a reminder to. You know there are absolutely NO public displays of affection allowed between students on school grounds!", Ms. Chestang exclaimed in her nasally voice. She was a short, plump little black woman who always dressed like it was still the 1950s, hairdo included. But she was one of the nicer teachers at this school and I was one of her best students. That's what made this situation especially awkward!

"I'm sorry Ms. Chestang. I promise it won't happen again!", I tried to look embarrassed as I backed off Dragon's lap. I wasn't sorry at all! I was damn proud of myself to know I could make him moan like that.

"See that you don't! I won't report it this time but you'll leave me no choice next time," she said before she huffed off.

"Yes ma'am," I replied to her retreating back. She looked more mortified than embarrassed as she walked away. I bit my lip hard, the pain stamping down the laugh threatening to betray me before she was out of ear range.

Remembering what time it was, I glanced around nervously, but still no Louise! That's strange! Louise was never late. Had something—or someone—stopped her? She's always here 5 minutes after the first bell. Her PTA duties helped her spy on me all day, like a vulture circling prey. Figured I'd endure her wrath up front instead of cowering in fear.

"We give her another 5 minutes before I'm taking you home myself," Dragon sounded mad as he walked up behind me and placed his jacket over my shoulders again. He was glancing around as well, searching for any signs of Louise himself.

And so we waited.....

The parking lot asphalt shimmered like a mirage. Five minutes. Ten. Dragon’s jacket clung to me, steeped in motor oil and the sharp-sweet tang of juniper—his scent, a rebellion distilled. I traced the patch on the sleeve: La Familia. With him, it was always a puzzle missing half the pieces.

A crow landed on Louise’s usual parking spot, tilting its head. One gold eye, one milky. Same as the bird at Marisol’s. Coincidence? My bracelet pulsed as the bird took flight.

We waited another 30 minutes but still no sign of Louise.

Finally, Dragon put my helmet back on and zipped up his jacket that I was still wearing. Placing me on the back of the seat before settling himself between my legs, he roared the engine to life. He navigated the streets like he’d memorized them—had he been watching me longer than I thought?

Turning down my street, we noticed 3 motorcycles parked along the curb and 2 men dressed in leather talking in my front yard. One seemed like your normal burley, biker type while the other was an odd contrast. Wearing glasses, not a hair out of place, with more muscles than any one man should ever have— he looked like a nerdy version of Arnorld Schwarzenegger.

The ‘nerdy Schwarzenegger’ adjusted his glasses, the left lens cracked. His cut-off sleeves revealed tattoos that didn’t match—a Celtic cross on one bicep, a veve for Erzulie on the other. The burly one spat tobacco, his beard streaked with gray.

"Familia to you, mami?," he asked, slowing the motorcycle down to a crawl.

"I don't think so," I replied cautiously.

"Stay close behind me until we know who's who, ok?," he stated. I gripped tighter to the back of his shirt in response. I had never seen these men in my life and none of Louise's family even owned a Harley.

As he pulled to a stop in front of the other bikes, he reached out his hand to help me down and then quickly positioned me behind his back. The other two men looked at him slightly startled but I noticed them keeping one hand behind each of their backs. They kept eyes on Dragon, watching his every move as he kept his hands by his front pockets. I poked my head from around Dragon's side to get a better look at them.

"Ti Fi Danjere?", the more grizzled of the two asked, noticing me hiding behind Dragon. He had a jagged scar over one eye that almost reached down to his chin and a scraggly goatee that was jet black with specks of grey. The patches on his leather jacket read "Lou Nwa 1%" (Black Wolves 1%). There was something very familiar about his green eyes and ruddy complexion but I couldn't place where I had seen him before. His face tugged at something buried—a voice, a laugh, from before Louise’s fists rewrote my childhood.

The scarred man and his nerdy looking friend took a step in my direction.

Dragon pulled both hands up from his waist, aiming two Kimber .45, with custom gold grips inlaid with silver dragons on each side, towards them. Both men freeze in their tracks. I glare up at Dragon with a raised eyebrow. Where the hell was he hiding those when I was grinding on his lap an hour ago? We are going to have a serious conversation later about what else he is hiding in those jeans!

The scarred man with hands raised, urgency in his voice,"Easy, frè (brother)! My name is Gwo Pistoleer and this is my associate Ti Blan. I am that ti fi’s (little girl's)," he points a finger at me," Uncle Keith. We ain’t your enemy. Big Danni sent us. We been watchin’ dis house for months. Big Danni’s had eyes here since winter—knew Louise was poison, knew she was lyin’ to you. He knew Louise was… fè mal (hurting) you. We’re here to sauve ou (save you) and bring you back to your blood family!”

Uncle Keith? A scent punched through me—pine needles, cigars, and the vanilla-sweetness of Mama’s perfume. A memory I didn’t know I’d kept.

Another memory flickered: *a man laughing, lifting me onto his shoulders as I squealed, “Higher, Tonton!”*

Fireworks bursting over Lake Pontchartrain.

Then Louise’s shriek: *“Put her down, Keith! Danni will kill you!”*

The scent shifted to whiskey, the fireworks to broken glass.

Dragon, with guns still raised, looks down at me with a questioning look. I shrug my shoulders, looking confused, "Louise told me my biological father's family died. I haven't seen any of them since I was three years old. She'd beat me if I ever brought any of them up."

Suddenly, Louise’s screaming pierces the air from inside: *“Danni, ou fou! Li se mwen!”* (Danni, you’re crazy! She’s mine!)

A gunshot rings through the air…..

******