The Scarlet Dragon Saga Read online

  The Scarlet Dragon Saga

  Books 1-3

  J.P. Rice

  Copyright 2018-2019 by Jason Paul Rice

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. All names are made up and used fictionally. Any resemblance to real people is completely coincidental. Any resemblance to real events is only part of the author’s imagination.

  Cover Art by Ljiljana Romanovic

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Ginger Storm | The Scarlet Dragon Saga | Book 1

  Copyright 2018 by Jason Paul Rice | All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior permission of the author. | This is a work of fiction. All names are made up and used fictionally. Any resemblance to real people is completely coincidental. Any resemblance to real events is only part of the author’s imagination. | Cover Art by Ljiljana Romanovic

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2 | “Misunderstanding is the spoon that stirs the cauldron of life.”

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Black Birds | The Scarlet Dragon Saga | Book 2 | J.P. Rice

  Copyright 2018 by Jason Paul Rice | All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior permission of the author. | This is a work of fiction. All names are made up and used fictionally. Any resemblance to real people is completely coincidental. Any resemblance to real events is only part of the author’s imagination. | Cover Art by Ljiljana Romanovic

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Sapphire Scales | The Scarlet Dragon Saga | Book 3 | J.P. Rice

  Copyright 2019 by Jason Paul Rice | All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior permission of the author. | This is a work of fiction. All names are made up and used fictionally. Any resemblance to real people is completely coincidental. Any resemblance to real events is only part of the author’s imagination. | Cover Art by Ljiljana Romanovic

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35 | Mike Merlino | “Misunderstanding is the spoon that stirs the cauldron of life.”

  Chapter 36

  Ginger Storm

  The Scarlet Dragon Saga

  Book 1

  J.P. Rice

  Copyright 2018 by Jason Paul Rice

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. All names are made up and used fictionally. Any resemblance to real people is completely coincidental. Any resemblance to real events is only part of the author’s imagination.

  Cover Art by Ljiljana Romanovic

  Chapter 1

  The dark blood inside me urged me to kill this guy and take his gold, instead of going through with the shady deal for Merlin’s staff. I resisted my destructive instincts caused by the stolen black magic running through my body. I was trying to be a better person.

  I wiggled my nostrils, took a quick sniff and didn’t detect any magic coming from the client. I’d thought he was hiding it behind the heavy layers of cologne, aftershave and deodorant, but he was clean. Confident the man wasn’t setting me up, I opened the door wider.

  “Get in here. Hurry.” I grabbed the tanned man by his right shoulder and pulled him into my balcony cabin. With a look of concern on my face, I peeked out into the hallway of the ship, popped back in and closed the door. “Were you followed? Lock that door.”

  “Nobody followed me.” The man turned around and swung the latch over to lock it.

  I performed a cursory scan and detected no weapons. Knowing I could kick the shit out of him or kill him if it came to that, I remained calm. He whirled back to face me and extended his arm for an introductory handshake.

  I put my hands up. “No names. It’s better that way.”

  The client shrugged. Dressed in a light beige suit with a loud purple T-shirt underneath, Miami Vice style, he looked like the typical mid-forties South Beach business asshole. He chewed his gum forcefully and bobbed his head around. I assumed he was trying to come across as a hard-ass, replicating the actions of his favorite movie gangsters.

  Ray-Ban-style shades sat atop the frosted peaks of his heavily gelled hair. He scratched the fine dark stubble on his left cheek and shifted his weight uncomfortably from leg to leg.

  My plan to put him on edge seemed a success, but I couldn’t get cocky. I needed the money from this deal so I could remain in Hilton Head and avoid returning to Pittsburgh. Too many beings wanted me dead up north.

  I could see his tough guy routine was an act. His fear was palpable, hiding behind the thin veneer of machismo, trembling uncontrollably and praying that no one would notice.

  Being a veteran of these tense negotiations, I remained silent and enjoyed the gentle ocean sway of the ship as I watched him squirm. I had the balcony shades drawn, closing off the view of the crashing waves, but I could still hear the cascading melody of the sea. I could have offered him a seat on the couch, or at the table,
but I’d rather he stood on the shimmering carpet that resembled sapphire scales.

  The long black and white art deco clock on the wall caught my attention. The hands were stuck at 10:37. It spurred a gentle reminder of how my life had stopped ten years ago when I’d walked away from the murderous business I’d involved myself in.

  My mind drifted and a hazy vision took form in front of my face. It was my father, my husband and a young boy with red hair. The boy had his back to me, and as he started to turn around, the illusion dissolved into nothing.

  The client finally broke the silence as a burst of words sprang from his mouth. “You got it, or what?”

  “Oh, I got it all right.” I tipped my forehead toward the bed. “But first. You wearing a wire?” I knew recording devices could be the size of a pinhead these days. This tactic was aimed at keeping him off guard and letting him know I was in control of this deal. Besides, now he could feel like a real gangster.

  He pursed his lips and rolled his eyes as he shook his head. “What? Are you serious, lady?”

  “Totally serious. Now, let’s go, Don Johnson. Show me them chesticles.” I did miss screwing with these kinds of guys. That part of the job had been fun.

  “Is this for real?” he asked, craning his neck to peer around the room.

  “Stop wasting time,” I said and gestured with my hands for him to untuck his shirt. “Lift up that pretty T-shirt and prove that you aren’t wearing a wire.”

  Exasperated, he huffed, and a fiery red glow began to build under his stubble, quickly spreading to his nose and wrinkling forehead. “I could ask you the same, you know? Guess you never heard the phrase, never trust a soulless ginger.”

  “No offense, but I don’t exactly look like a cop.” I tugged on my red Iron Man T-shirt. “You do. Plus, as the seller, I’m taking a much bigger risk than you in this equation.”

  He shook his head, mumbled ‘stupid bitch’ under his breath, and reluctantly lifted his shirt. “Happy?” he grumbled with the pomposity of a spoiled brat who’d finally finished all his vegetables at dinner and wanted an achievement award.

  As he tucked his shirt back into his beltline, I instructed, “Now drop your pants.” This was my second strategy to keep the client off guard.

  “What? What kind of operation are you...” He stopped short when he noticed the smirk on my face.

  A few months ago, I’d overheard this guy’s friends in a bar. They were talking about acquiring the Spear of Destiny and I had seen it as a way to make some easy money. I’d told them about an artifact I could find for them and they’d hooked me up with this guy.

  Now that I had his mind racing, it was time to get down to brass tacks. “You got the money?”

  He tapped his hip pocket, and I heard the sweet clank of gold coins colliding with each other. The solid thunk of the precious metal awakened the dragon blood inside me. The sound made me envision a giant pounding on my inner dragon’s front door, inflaming my fire-breathing spirit at the prospect of collecting and hoarding twenty beautiful one-ounce gold coins. Paper money just didn’t do it for me.

  His eyes lit up when he noticed me grinning. “All right. Let me see it,” he demanded, chewing his gum with even more intensity than before.

  I went over to the bed, lifted the maroon comforter and grabbed the black leather bag. The gold zipper slipped from my fingers, so I grabbed it again, yanked it open and walked up to the client. He gravitated closer as I opened the bag and released a plume of sparkling azure enchantment. The tiny blue bits danced around his face before fading into dust. I warned him, “Pick it up, but be careful. It has to feel comfortable with the holder.”

  With his eyes about to bulge out of their orbits, his arm moved robotically, extracting the broken piece of Cherrywood from the black leather bag. “It better be from Merlin’s staff. I have people waiting on our first island stop in the Keys. They’re experts and can tell me if it’s fake.”

  His so-called experts had no way to verify the fragment. Balor had eaten Merlin’s original staff in the epic battle at Machu Picchu in 1865. Only a few humans knew the story and I doubted his experts were in that circle. “Look at it. Does it look real? How does it make your hands feel? Are they tingling with anticipation, yet?”

  He stared at the nine-inch piece of wood that I had imbued with sparkling sapphire enchantment and dusted in itching powder. The enchantment held no magic, but it gave the appearance of wizardry. I’d found the Cherrywood walking stick at an antique cane shop in Hilton Head. I’d broken it, put some wear and tear on it and aged it by soaking it in seawater.

  I felt bad selling a fake, but this guy wouldn’t miss twenty-five grand, and if I went back to my former city to get my buried reserves of money, bodies would start dropping. This deal would save lives.

  The client put the staff back into the leather bag and scratched the back of his thumb. “I do kind of feel something. Like it has its own power.” He caught himself grinning, deepened his voice and warned sternly, “But my men will know. And if you try to run, we’ll catch you. We basically own that island.”

  Threatening a woman. What a tough guy. I hated to break his dear heart, but I’d been threatened by beings and creatures who could cause his body to spontaneously combust by pointing a finger at him.

  Unbeknownst to him, I had no plan of being on this boat when we hit the first stop. I had another destination in mind. So his threats had no effect on me. In fact, they were quite humorous. “I’d love to meet your friends and answer any questions they may have.”

  He kept scratching his hands that had broken out in a rash and softened his tone. “Good. Glad to hear that.”

  I zipped the bag back up. “How ‘bout that pocket change?”

  The client pulled the suede pouch out of his pocket and dangled it by the drawstring. The tiniest pinprick of an opening allowed me to see the golden glow inside. I snatched the bag and shook it next to my ear, a golden virtuoso symphony speaking directly to my soul.

  He snatched the leather bag from me, and he asked, “You gonna take a closer look at it?”

  “No. It’s real.” I laughed evilly. Fake base metal coins gilded in gold had more of a ringing ching than the heavy thunk of pure gold. “Besides, I know you wouldn’t be stupid enough to rip me off. It would be very foolish to do to a witch who knows Merlin.”

  Beads of sweat formed over his brow, and as he leaned forward and dipped his head, the droplets fell to the carpet. “Nice doing business with you, lady. Enjoy the cruise.”

  “Oh, the pleasure was all mine,” I commented, eliciting a double-take from the client.

  He tucked the black bag under his arm, unlocked the door and nodded. He slid his sunglasses down over his eyes and exited, looking both directions in the hallway before hooking a right. I immediately locked the door as a devilish smile developed on my face.

  I handled the pouch delicately, trying not to touch the drawstring and the itching powder that he could have left on it. I transferred the gold to a different pouch and went to shove it in my hip pocket, but my tight leather pants refused to accommodate it. After several attempts, I stuffed the gold in, leaving an unnatural lump on the front of my hip.

  Now that I had my gold and didn’t have to return to Pittsburgh, it was time to go up on deck and enjoy retirement.

  Chapter 2

  “Misunderstanding is the spoon that stirs the cauldron of life.”

  In the realm of supernatural beings, the difference between good and evil depended entirely on interpretation. If one deemed he or she had been treated unfairly, the perpetrator of that behavior was then viewed as evil. Even if that view was wrong. The interpretation, or more often than not, misinterpretation, always lay in the eyes of the beholder.

  Sometimes, the beholder was a vengeful God or Goddess, which naturally resulted in murderous chaos. That was why it felt good to retire from the mythical relic hunting game. I gazed dreamily around the torch-lit deck of the ship, checking out the small groups of gue
sts, huddled with cocktails glued to their hands. I’d closed myself off from my friends and associates and had been alone for the past decade, so I tried not to get jealous of the camaraderie.

  Servers in white suits and black bow ties circulated with silver trays of hors d’oeuvres perched atop their fingertips. Two young lovers posed for pictures as a violin player serenaded them. The cruise ship bobbed along the calm waters. Glowing moonlight glistened off the crests of the waves.

  I could get used to this life. The carefree thought barely had time to take shape in my head when a giant man chewing a mouthful of food emerged from a swarm of passengers.

  How had he found me here? I turned to the side and buried my face in my glass of white wine, pretending to drink it. Peeking out of my peripheral vision, I noticed him approaching and lowered my glass. I had been living among humans for the past decade, avoiding anyone involved with the supernatural, especially the wretched Gods.

  It was no use hiding anymore.

  As I turned to smile at Zeus, a sharp pain shot down my neck and into my shoulder. I never used to feel pain before the incident.

  The Greek God of Thunder—a mountain of a man—was in his natural appearance, which was unusual for the devious shifter. Dressed to impress in a black suit and bowtie, I wasn’t the least bit impressed. Zeus had long, dark, scraggly hair pulled back into a ponytail and a well-trimmed beard with gray spotting.

  He oozed muscle definition, evidenced by the stressed buttons on his tight suit jacket and the material bunching up around his massive shoulders. His tight jaw, lively green eyes and olive complexion made for an appealing man, let alone a God, but most of the tales were true. He was the ultimate sleaze.

  “How did you find me here?” I asked, unenthused.

  “It’s nice to see you too. I should like to think a man of my stature deserves a better greeting,” he said, holding his arms out at his sides.

  “What would you like? A bow? A curtsy? I’ll start treating you with respect when you do the same for me. Do you even remember our last encounter?” Dressed in a pair of leather pants, short heels and a red Iron Man T-shirt, I’d already started thinking about an evacuation plan.