The next day at the courthouse proved him right in the worst way.
The night before everything was a rush. Bram heard afterwards from Cynthia and Tephra, who'd accompanied her, how the Secret Service finally got Ember into the best suite at the Historic Hotel Bethlehem. It was a bit far from the clinic and the Allentown courthouse, but they were the best accommodations in the area. Cynthia told Bram later how Blaze and Jade growled at everyone, terrorizing the staff, and Ember sniffed at the excessive by dragon standards luxury of the place, but they finally got everyone settled in. Only then did Cynthia and Tephra return to his house to get some sleep themselves before they went along with Ember and Volcano to the courthouse tomorrow.
Next morning they got a phone call from one of Ember's minders before dawn, telling them to get up and dressed and to the court. Between a quick breakfast and the dragons scrubbing themselves down with the hottest water they had and everyone getting dressed in their best they left the house at 7 AM, roughly an hour before the court opened.
Tephra's attire didn't reassure them at all. Bram stared in shock as Cynthia gasped. “Tephra, you can't be serious!”
“What?” He stood before them in a suit of barbaric-looking iron armor. Sturdy vambraces on his forearms, something like a combed morion on his head, greaves on his legs and a dull-shining breast-and-back plate covering his torso. It looked rough and sturdy. “I was told to dress formally.”
“That's what you call formal?” Bram shook his head. “It looks like something to wear to a LARP or if you acted in a fantasy movie.”
“To a what?” Tephra shook his head. He thumped his fist against the breastplate. It gave a hollow thud. “This IS formal for dragons. I forged the steel with my own flames, shaped it to my body with my own claws, fought against other dragons to make sure I'd done it right. Dragon Lord Ember will be wearing her armor when she speaks. I'd insult her and my elder brother if I showed up in anything less than my best.” He ended with his arms folded across his chest and head held high, the very image of affronted dignity.
For her part Cynthia wore a loose sort of backless dress to give room for her wings. To Bram's mind it looked a trifle slinky but maybe everyone would be too focused on Tephra and Ember to think much of it. As they walked out to his new van something else occurred to him.
“Is Mister Horowitz going to call any of the other New Whelps in to defend Volcano? I mean, there's Tama and Afu, if they're still in the country.”
Cynthia shook her head. “They didn't go back to their island, but they're pretty wrapped up dealing with their boys. I think Afu's having trouble with his still-human wives.” At Tephra's confused look she said, “They were, are, Samoan. Afu's a chief and he has something like five or six wives with him in the US. He and Tama came here for medical help. Nothing could be done so when the clinics opened?” She stretched one scaly arm, letting the dawn's light play along her black and golden scales.
Bram scowled and thought.
“There's Napalm.”
Cynthia shook herself. “I doubt anyone at this court would be impressed if a Vietnam Vet calling himself Napalm spoke up for Volcano. Especially not Mister Branson,” she snarled. “He was big with the anti-war crowd until they weren't a popular enough cause any more. We'd better stick with who we have.” After that no more words as they drove down one highway and up this road past first fields and trees and then stores and finally office buildings with stone columns out front and finally stopped at one of brick and white stone that looked to be almost two hundred years old. Secret Service vans and limos waited outside, their drivers alert and all dressed in Agent Kingman's style of business casual. Past them in a small green field set beside the courthouse normally used for court personnel on lunch breaks a canvas tarp was set. Beneath it stood Volcano and Ember's two bodyguards. Much like Tephra, they wore solid-looking iron-plate armor. Only a few people were around at this early hour, nearly all of them either police or in business clothes. Down the street either way a pair of vendors had food carts. They steered far wide of the three huge dragons.
“Let's greet your brother, Tephra.” Cynthia and Tephra got out and headed for the three large dragons. Tephra moved with a slow dignity Bram never saw him use before. He also noticed how the food vendors watched all three of them. He wondered if they were Secret Service people in plainclothes. He hoped they wouldn't be needed.
“Tephra. Cynthia. Bram,” Volcano rumbled as they walked up to him on the still-wet with dew grass. He lowered his muzzle to touch noses with Tephra and Cynthia. Bram nodded his politest. “I am glad to see you. None of this is going well.”
“If you were wise enough to bite the Branson-whelp's head off when he near blinded you,” Jade said, an angry hissing undertone in her voice, “none of this would be happening.” Volcano lifted his head high and glared as Jade added, “You could have paid whatever weregild his pack demanded and no more trouble about it. If the Dragon Lord is humiliated, it is on your head.”
Bram wondered what dragon words lay in back of 'weregild', both as word and concept. As he did Cynthia spoke up.
“Miss Jade,” Cynthia looked up at the big dragoness. Jade ignored her. Cynthia lashed her tail in annoyance but stayed polite. “We're here to speak in Volcano's defense. We know he's a decent and honorable dragon.” She set her hand on his near leg by the knee. “We'll make everyone else realize that as well.”
Jade looked at her and sniffed. Her gaze swept to the side and focused on Bram. He felt a chill as her gaze hardened on him.
“You! You are the human who was there the night this happened, are you not?” Feeling uneasy, he nodded. Jade really did frown then, ugly and angry and full of sharp fangs.
“He means yes,” Volcano said quickly. He set one claw down by Bram, keeping it in Jade's line of sight. “When the humans move their head like that, it means they agree. He was not disrespecting you by refusing to answer.”
Jade didn't look at him. Behind her Blaze moved a few steps closer. Bram wondered if he was supporting his fellow bodyguard or just eager to see what happened. Jade kept her eyes on him, a cold fire burning in them.
“You. Volcano told us of what happened in his scroll to the Dragon Lord.” She rose on all fours, heavy muscles working smoothly under her scales. “You stood there when the Branson-whelp made his joke.” She spat the last word, lowered her muzzle to look him in the face. Bram caught sight of his reflection in her bright green eyes. He looked very small in them. “You did nothing to stop this.” He saw both Tephra and Cynthia opening their mouths, in protest he hoped. Volcano waved them both to silence. “The Dragon Lord, instructor Volcano, all dragons, may be disgraced because of what you have done.” Jade's voice was tight with self-control. “Scaleless, fireless, honorless thing who failed a dragon foolish enough to trust you, what do you have to say for yourself?”
Bram look up at her, took a deep breath, and said, “First of all, sit back. I don't need you breathing in my face.”
Jade's eyes widened, and she pulled back. Just a little. Not so much that a snap of those jaws wouldn't chop him in half, though.
“Secondly,” Bram held up a finger, “Secondly, madam, I did what seemed best at the time when I thought my friends' lives were in danger. Which I will gladly say when and if I am called to the stand to testify. I had no way of knowing that Branson and his idiots were pulling a prank. Third,” he took a deep breath, “in the future, if you don't want people to be impolite with you, then keep your insults to yourself. Or is this how honorable dragons speak to each other?” He looked at Volcano where he sat, looking perfectly calm. “Master Volcano taught his students differently.”
For several moments Jade looked him in the eyes. Hot dragon breath blasted over him, reeking of sulphur. Bram put his hands in his pockets in feigned unconcern. No one, human or dragon, said anything.
“Hah!” Jade sat back on her haunches and laughed. It echoed and re-echoed from the office buildings along the street. “You know how to speak, at least. Maybe Volcano's cause isn't hopeless after all.” She snorted and snapped, “But still better if you'd broken that fool whelp's neck for him.” Blaze, Volcano, even Tephra, all nodded if a trifle reluctantly.
Bram exchanged a look with Cynthia. She shook her head but he fancied she looked a trifle less disgusted than she might have a few months ago when she was still human. I like Volcano and Tephra, they're decent and honorable people in their way. But they're still dragons.
“Better you all go inside now,” Volcano shifted to stand by an open window set high in the courthouse wall. He looked in, saying, “They are opening the courtroom now. I have to stand here when I speak for the clinic and myself.”
“That is insulting,” Jade said, squatting back on her haunches and forelegs folded across her scaly chest. “The humans need to build bigger courtrooms. They are as ill-mannered in making buildings as the ponies.”
“I'll tell them to remember that for the next courthouse, ma'am,” Bram turned and strolled away to the courthouse doors. “Judging from this they may need to build dragon-size courts.” Volcano rumbled something like a laugh and Jade growled behind him as he and the others walked to the courtroom.
Outside a small crowd already stood. Ember was recognizable, blue scales, gold and crimson scepter, and shining golden-plated armor. Mister Horowitz stood beside her along with a pink-coated and green-maned unicorn he'd never seen, her cutie mark a set of the scales of justice. Probably the Equestrian legal liaison. Not for the first time Bram wondered how it was that the Equestrian species shared so many symbols and ideas in common with humanity. The Secret Service agents were trying to keep the area around Ember clear. Reporters with mikes and cameras and curious onlookers pressed close enough to make that difficult. Ember was speaking to one of the reporters, a dark-haired woman he'd seen on the evening news once or twice. Her downward-curving horns wagged as she spoke.
“Why shouldn't I come here to defend one of my dragons if they're unfairly attacked?” Ember held one claw out. With the other she held the Bloodstone Scepter close. “What good is a Dragon Lord who won't stand by her flight?”
Before she could say more someone standing nearby spoke up. Bram had never seen them before, but to judge by the styled gray hair and a suit that looked to cost more than most people he knew made in six months, he guessed this to be Mister Branson. Standing beside him was Branson the younger, blonde hair and dark eyes full of nasty joy and looking much more sure of himself than the last time Bram saw him, pinned under a dragon's claw and about to be hauled away by the cops. Standing close by were several husky fellows in suits who had the same sort of ex-military look as Agent Kingman.
“I am certain that this – woman, thinks she is in the right,” Mister Branson said in the sort of orator's voice most politicians wished they possessed. Ember folded her arms and glared. His tone smooth and elegant and all but screaming 'trust and obey me, you peasant', he added, “But as Americans, we cannot let barely-civilized foreign governments treat us like we were some of their downtrodden subjects...”
“WHAT?”
He smoothly stepped behind his bodyguards as Ember wheeled on him. They put hands under their outer coats to their armpits. The Secret Service glared, but not until Branson gave a little shake of his head did they back off. Ember ignored them to snarl, “Did you call us 'barely-civilized'?” Ember slapped the Bloodstone Scepter against one scaly palm. “Dragonkind have been ruled by the Dragon Lords for over ten thousand years! Our history, our culture, goes back even further! Show me one of your 'great nations' that can boast as much!” She set her muzzle back, looking proud, only to ruin it a moment later as cameras flared in her face. She shot flame out over their heads. The cameramen backed off. “Stop flashing those things in my eyes!”
“So,” Branson said, with a look in his eyes like a fencer about to score a point, “are you saying that age is the only thing that makes a civilization great? Tell me again, how many cities does your 'nation' have? How many centers of art and culture and learning?” Ember shifted uneasily as he added, making sure the cameras caught the scornful look on his face, “How many social programs for the less fortunate?”
“Huh?” Ember blinked and looked like a child caught off guard in class by the teacher. Cynthia hissed a warning as Ember said, “Well... None, yet. Dragons stand on their own. Celestia and Cadance suggested them, but the other dragons don't want...”
“You don't even help your own kind when they're in trouble.” Branson turned to the reporters. His face was filled with what might be called a noble pity ruined only slightly by the smug undertone to his voice. “You come here dressed in gold while your people wear nothing. These are the, I suppose I must say people, we are allowing to decide the future of humanity. And she won't even tell the truth about The List and The Cure.”
“Are you crazy? Those are lies!” Ember looked shocked. “I, the other rulers from Equestria and we, we'd never allow human governments to tell us who we can and can't, what is that word,” she closed her eyes tight, brow furrowed in concentration. before snapping her claws, “Ha! Upgrade into new members of our races. We tell them what to do. And there is no 'Cure'!” Ember might have pleaded if not for the anger in her voice and eyes. “The Veil comes! It cannot be stopped! It cannot be fought, by dragonfire or magic or words! You must convert or die, it's that simple!”
Bram choked and heard Cynthia's “Oh, no,” beside him. Tephra looked at them in confusion.
“What?” His voice carried through the hallway. Bram groaned as reporters began hurrying closer at the sight of the dragons, mikes extended and cameras at the ready. Tephra lifted his head high to look at Ember over them. Beside her both the unicorn and Mister Horowitz looked ready to choke as she nodded while he said, “It's the truth. Like my brother Volcano says, humans either join dragons or some other species or they die when the Veil comes. It's that simple.”
“Join us or die,” Mister Branson made his voice cold. “You usually hear that phrase in bad movies. Not real life. And definitely not from people who say they're civilized. Or friends.”
“Yeah, an' that's one of those scaly monsters that said he wanted ta kill me!” Branson junior pointed at Tephra, who promptly growled back at him. He stepped further back among the bodyguards. “After I defended myself against that big monster by spraying some mace in his eyes to, like, nonviolently protect myself. He's a monster!”
“MONSTER?!?” Cynthia grabbed Tephra as he lunged forward. She held him back as Tephra snarled at the frat boy, “You threw a bomb into our party and almost blinded my brother!”
“Bomb? It was just a bunch a' fireworks!” Branson Junior extended his middle finger in Tephra's direction. Bram wondered if the dragon even knew what that gesture meant. It was answered as Tephra redoubled his roars and tried to get past Cynthia. Cameramen maneuvered for the best shots as the idiot kid added, “You lizards need a sense of humor! This is, like, America, we make fun of everybody!” Having aired his opinion he dropped behind his father and the bodyguards, peering over their shoulders.
Ember flew up into the air, over the crowd, and began roaring abuse at both Bransons.
“You miserable ungrateful beasts! Diamond Dogs have more sense than you!”
Cynthia got between Tephra and the reporters, opening her wings and spreading them to cover his face. She grabbed his muzzle to try keeping it shut. As he yelped Bram hurried past them to the Dragon Lord. One of the Secret Service men tried to stop him, but subsided at a glance from Agent Kingman. Apparently they saw him as the dragon expert. Bram stopped right under the low-hovering Ember. He reached up, snatched her tail and yanked. Normally it would have done nothing but she was caught off guard. Shocked, she dropped to the floor, landing on her feet.
“Lady Ember!” Bram grabbed her by one of her horns. She blinked in shock as he said, “You want to make everyone understand that dragons aren't murderous savages and the clinics can be trusted!” He waved a hand from her to Cynthia and Tephra and covered the eager media in between, ignoring how the rage in her crimson eyes was now entirely focused on him. “This is not helping!”
“YOU...” Her claw shot around his throat. He grabbed it with both his hands and pried at it. It was like wrestling an iron statue. Two of the Secret Service agents joined in, grabbing Ember's wrist and accomplishing as little as he did. Bram gasped for oxygen and got nothing. Something like thunder started to sound in his head. He felt someone grabbing him from behind and try to pull him away.
“And that savage says her monsters are nonviolent.” Somehow Branson's voice cut through all the mayhem in the court, people yelling and Ember snarling and the Secret Service commanding her to let go of him, Ma'am, this is poor behavior for visiting heads of state. “She, it, says we have a choice and tells us to change or die. It says it offers us a better way and brags how her monsters allow their own to die without help. And this is what our government expects us to trust! I say we shut those clinics down now while there's a human race left to save!”
Those words got Ember's attention if nothing else did. She let go of Bram's throat. As he sagged back, dragged by Agent Kingman, she shot into the air and gave a roar that echoed and re-echoed from the halls. Everyone fell silent as she spat her words out.
“I wish my dragons Volcano and Tephra had killed your whelp, human! I hope you do close the Clinics, I'd love to be here to laugh when the Veil kills all you ungrateful fireless vermin!” Dragon Lord Ember glared around at them all, her eyes coals in her face and fangs bared. “I have submitted myself to human nonsense for long enough. Volcano!” Her voice boomed. Bram looked to the window and saw Volcano's face there. Whatever he felt, his yellow eyes showed nothing as Ember said, “Jade! Blaze! Tephra, New Whelp Cynthia,” she looked to Bram's friends as she waved the Bloodstone Scepter in command. The gemstone glowed incandescent, a light akin to the one he saw leap up in Tephra and Cynthia's eyes as Ember said, “We are leaving this place of insults. Now!”
Before anyone could say anything, all of the dragons, big and small, took to wing. With a crash Ember shattered the main windows of the courthouse foyer leading out to the street. People scattered as glass rained down.
Her dragons following, the furious Dragon Lord raced into the late morning sky and vanished into it.
Bram slumped, gasping, as Agent Kingman let go of him. The agent got on his phone and began talking into it rapidly. As he did, Bram looked at Horowitz nearby. The lawyer mopped his brow.
“You know something?” He said as calmly as though nothing had happened while everyone seemed to be talking or yelling at once all around them. “This ain't making winning this case any easier.”
# # #
The excitement at the courthouse slowly calmed after Ember and her dragons left. The Secret Service hurried out after her, with Agent Kingman commenting into his earpiece again that Dragon Lady was flying off somewhere with her entourage so keep your eyes open, for pete's sake, because they're not cooperating at all. Half the journalists left, maybe hoping Ember would kill someone outside and spike the nights ratings, while the rest hurried into the courtroom after Branson Senior. No one besides a hurriedly called human EMT paid any attention to him, and she told him he was mostly fine. An Earth pony was with her, with a red cross cutie mark on her honey-brown flank. The Earth pony did the initial exam, checking him carefully while using their hooves.
Inside the courtroom proper Bram could hear the case going forward. Or at least everyone was talking. Mister Horowitz was trying nobly to argue that his witnesses had been distraught, your honor, and really could you blame them given the severe provocation? Mister Branson's team of attorneys countered that being upset didn't excuse public vandalism, refusing to appear for court, or attempted murder.
He twisted and turned so much to hear more as he was examined that finally the Earth pony stomped one hoof.
“Sit still! Or do you want to be restrained?” They went back to gently feeling his throat. Bram felt something like a warm pulse from the pony's frog, the soft fleshy part of the hoof almost vibrating as they checked him. The pony noticed his attention. “Earth ponies are connected to life, or so they told me before I changed,” she shrugged and tossed her head and buzzcut mane. “I'm learning how to feel internal injuries. Er, all you have are some bruises.” The mare looked at the windows and shuddered. "Count your blessings. What was that 'List' and 'Cure' that got the scaly so upset?"
"The List's supposed to be a set of names and groups of people that Earth's governments asked Equestria to not change," Bram gasped out. "The Cure is supposed to be some really expensive treatment that lest you live through the Veiil's coming while staying human. They're both lies, but they're all over the Internet and media. How did you miss them?" The mare shrugged. Bram looked at the human EMT. "Am I really okay? No permanent damage?"
“You might have taken some brain damage from the loss of oxygen,” the senior EMT finished checking his throat. He winced at her touch. He still felt tender and to judge from the darkening claw-shaped bruises she showed him courtesy of a mirror, he'd feel that way for a while. “Given the way you behaved you have few enough brain cells to lose. I'd advise against grabbing a dragon's tail again. From what we saw on the way over we'll be having enough problems this week without your repeat business on top of it.”
“What?” Bram felt a new wave of worry. “What problems?”
“You'll be going back to that Clinic, won't you?” The human frowned when she said it. She and her pony partner began packing up. “You'll see when you get there.”
Bram did when he arrived. The small crowd of protesters was back with reinforcements. There were twenty of them now. They looked to be a mixed bag, some dressed in what looked like clothes from thrift stores and some in better attire, white and black and brown and other shades, men and women. He did notice that most of them looked to be young, college age. The one thing they all shared in common were looks of deep outrage aimed at the clinic. They were on the sidewalk for now, and the usually-open door of the clinic was shut. Three Allentown police officers stood in front of it, together with Agents Fitzgerald and Linden. To his deeper worry the police wore protective vests and hard helmets. Not quite riot gear, but close.
The signs waved were even less reassuring. SEND THE MONSTERS HOME was the mildest. Others read END SECRECY ADMIT THE LIST and DRAGONSLAYER. The latter had a photo of Ember with her eyes crudely crossed out and a cross-hairs over her face.
“I assume they're not fans,” Bram muttered as he parked a few blocks away on a still quiet residential street. The last thing he wanted was to be recognized or have his van within easy reach of this gang. He headed for the clinic, sticking to back streets. Along the way he saw a few locals scurrying along. Bram kept going, ignoring the way they flinched away from him. He hoped their fears would prove as overblown as his.
Even if he hadn't seen the mob on the way in he could hear their chanting as he got closer to the building. “TRUTH NOW! TRUTH NOW! TRUTH NOW!” Many voices working as one, as their owners gave up their individuality to the mob mind. It's not going to take much to set these people off, he thought as he carefully tried one of the back doors. It was thick and solid, made of heavy sheet steel, and utterly refused to budge. There was only one other door.
He slowly walked down the alley to the front of the building. The bee-like buzzing of voices started to become more distinct as he got closer. He could make out individuals as he got closer. A young woman with multi-colored hair yelling accusations at the closed clinic door. A black man, beard bristling and anger in his eyes as he waved a banner with ASK ABOUT THE LIST on it. A white guy, gray hair tied back in a long ponytail and looking like a college professor in a threadbare suit. Still more, young and old, all the races of humanity, men and women alike, angry and scared. Bram carefully worked his way around the edges of the crowd. They all seemed focused on the clinic and the cops standing there. No one did more than glance at him. It wouldn't take much to turn this gang into a mob and he didn't want to be the one standing there when – “TRAITOR!”
Oh God. Bram looked around frantically. Every single picture he'd ever seen of mob violence surged to the forefront of his mind, the broken and trampled bodies with smiling men and women standing over their victims. Nowhere to run, nothing to use in defense, dear God they'd stamp the life out of him – Gray Ponytail and the rest surged past him without a glance.
“Traitors! Turning on humanity!” The young couple at the door stepped back, trying to put the police between them and the mob. Bram caught sight of a pegasus pony he vaguely remembered seeing around the clinic together with her still-human husband. He recalled that the guy was a dentist, his parents from India. His eyes were wide with fear as he tried to keep himself between the protesters and the white coated with pale-blue mane pegasus mare with him. The mob surged forward, but not very hard. They still feared the cops there. “Traitors!”
“You've embraced your own oppression!” Gray Ponytail called again. Definitely a college prof. No normal human being would talk like that. He waved his sign like a war club. “You're ashamed of your own kind! For shame!”
“Someone should go in there and stop all this!” Another protester yelled, who looked very unwilling to do the job himself.
“Yes, someone!” The others yelled. Bram wondered how much longer before someone became us.
And inspiration struck.
“I'll do it!” He yelled, snatching up a sign someone had dropped. Maybe they called the protest off early to go watch a movie or the like. Everyone turned to look at him. He gulped and, waving the sign overhead like a barbarian's axe, headed for the door. “Aside, everyone!” As he yelled the pegasus and her husband hurried down the street to a van, got in and left. “I'm ready to take my chances with those aliens! I'm not afraid of them!” Cries rose as he stormed forward through the mob.
“Who's that man?”
“A hero for humanity!” Gray Ponytail yelled. Bram noticed he was staying well back from the police and agents as he yelled, “Go get them, son! Humanity needs martyrs!”
Bram felt a chill as someone began saying, “Wait, isn't that the guy from the Internet blog who lives with the scalies?”
“Up humanity!” Bram yelled. He dredged his memory for more slogans. "Tippecanoe and Tyler too! Forty-four forty or fight!" The crowd cheered but showed no desire to share in his moment of glory as he made his way to the police line. Before him stood a sour-faced officer.
“Don't even try it,” the officer sounded bored. He put his hand on what looked like a canister of pepper spray and tapped it lightly in emphasis. Bram guessed this wasn't the first protest he'd seen.
“I wasn't even thinking of it.” He dropped the sign and stepped over to Agent Linden. That sunglassed face looked implacable. Bram said, “You remember me, right? My house, earlier today? My dragon roomie had some blonde in his, I mean my bedroom, and you found them together --”
“He's safe,” Agent Linden said quickly. He set a finger to his earbud. “He's here. Yeah, the one that got choked. I'll send him in.” As the crowd began realizing they'd been tricked, they started cursing and booing.
“LIAR!” The cries rose behind. “TRAITOR! You'll get yours!”
“Morons,” Bram retorted as the door opened. Agent Kingman stood there. Bram stopped right in front of it to turn and raise his middle finger in the direction of the crowd. He smirked at them as their yells redoubled.
Childish, maybe, but it felt satisfying.
A moment later he ducked as garbage sailed at him. Empty bottles and assorted junk hit the front windows of the clinic, shaking them ominously. Before he could antagonize anyone else Agent Kingman dragged him inside.
“In the future,” he snapped as soon as the door shut, dimming the racket from outside, “I hope you can restrain your impulse to personal expression. Otherwise I'll leave you out there.”
“Good to see you too, sir,” Bram felt himself start shivering. He forced it down and looked around the office. It seemed oddly empty. Usually there would be at least one or two people in there examining the literature or waiting for someone to finish their conversion inside, maybe a local reporter if there hadn't been enough scandals or accidents this week that a human, or formerly-human, interest story might fill some time. Today the carpeted office stood silent, the pictures on the walls, an array of Equestrian and Pennsylvania landscapes looking down on nothing. Photos of Celestia and the other Equestrian rulers on the wall behind the main desk smiled benevolently down on emptiness.
“Mister Bram?” Nightshade came around the desk. Her ears were pinned and her lip seemed to be quivering over her fangs. She scraped the floor nervously with one forehoof as she stopped in front of him. Finely groomed and braided tail lashing against her sides, she rose up on her hind legs to look into his face. “Thank Luna you're here in one piece! When the Dragon Lord and Mister Volcano and the rest of the dragons didn't come back after that mess at the courthouse, ve vondered what happened to you...”
“Huh? You know about the courthouse?” Bram looked from her to Agent Kingman. He looked as stoic as ever. “And where are Ember and the dragons?”
“Most likely, they are at her hotel suite,” Kingman said as he ushered Bram past Nightshade and towards the back rooms. Another agent stood in the room, business suit but no dark glasses or earbud, probably another local FBI man. “Agent de Vaca, you stay out here to keep an eye on that door and on Miss Nightshade,” She smiled and fluttered her eyelashes at agent de Vaca. He looked nervous. As they passed him Agent Kingman said, “You'll be fine. She won't eat you.”
“Don't be too sure of that,” Nightshade purred out as they went into the actual exam rooms and offices. Bram caught sight of a few frightened faces looking out of various offices. The clinic's usual security detail or at least the ones left after purging Iron Wing's supporters among them openly had weapons at their waists. Tasers and pistols on the humans, heavy bladed sabatons for the ponies among them, and all of them looking tense.
“It's that bad?” Bram asked uneasily as they walked into the director's office.
“For some of you it's even worse,” Agent Kingman nodded at Agent Garcia. She stood beside Director Apple as the mare spoke on a headset phone. She sounded tired and to judge by her frazzled mane felt worse.
“Well, when will she be back? Will she at least turn that scepter off and let Mister Volcano go? It's off but she commanded them to stay with her. Ember thinks dragons have been insulted terribly and demands an apology. And she refuses to let any of her subjects be abused more.” She took a deep steadying breath. “Is the Dragon Lord aware that she won't be getting an apology from these people? And that Miss Stoltz isn't one of her subjects. Oh. Cynthia's telling you all that. In detail. I thought I heard her voice in the background.”
“Cynthia told me she didn't like that magical mind control stuff Equestria seems infested with,” Bram said. Agent Kingman didn't respond, so he added, “Are any of your people there with them? I'm worried about Cynthia,” he added, apologetic.
“That is my concern, sir, not yours,” Agent Kingman checked his cell phone. “However, if it will reassure you, then yes, the hotel team is in place. And to judge by their comments, witnessing an argument. Miss Stoltz has been calling Dragon Lord Ember some very inventive and for my money perfectly honest names at the moment. Dragon Lord Ember has been ordering her to be silent but isn't using that magic wand of hers --”
“Bloodstone Scepter.” Bram felt his face color as Agent Kingman turned a calmly disapproving gaze on him. “Er, that's what the dragons call it. It can control them, apparently.”
“I see.” Agent Kingman was perfectly deadpan. He turned back to his cell. “Volcano hasn't been happy either, or his brother. Ember's two bodyguards Jade and Blaze are growling at them. The agents are asking me what to do in case a fight breaks out between them.” He held the phone close to his mouth and said two words, “What do you do? Your jobs.”
Swift Aid set her phone down with a sigh, only for it to ring again almost instantly. She groaned and put it back on. “Hello, who – Mister Branson?!? I'm not sure we should be speaking right now – oh?” A look of wary hope went over her face. “Really? Why, yes, yes! I'm sure the Dragon Lord will do that! For the good of interdimensional and interspecies relations. Yes, it'll happen!” She hung it up and looked around at everyone with a big smile. “Good news, the lawsuit is finished!”
“Really?” Bram blinked in confusion. The agents seemed to relax. “That is -- unexpected.”
“Just one condition,” Swift Aid said. “Ember has to apologize to him, formally, for her words at the courthouse and for Volcano's actions at the New Whelp party. He wants it in public, and in front of the clinic. And tomorrow.” Bram remembered what Ember said about her need to save face before the other dragons, how uneasy the crown of Dragon Lord sat on her head. As he felt relief that he wouldn't be the one asking her to humble herself like this Swift Aid looked at him, gave a nervous smile, and said, “Er, Bram, you know Princess Ember far better than I do. I was thinking, maybe you could ask her to do that?” She sighed, looking down. “It's this or he doubles the amount asked for in the lawsuit.”
Bram stared in shocked disbelief. He heard one of the agents mutter, “Guess it all flows downhill in Magic Ponyland too.” Before he could say something Swift Aid innocently looked at the wall of her office. Bram's eyes followed hers. His gaze fell on a poster showing a large clock over the planet Earth with the Veil behind it under the words, You Have Less Time Than You Think.
“I'll do it,” he said, wondering if he'd get to learn how hot Ember's fire was when she breathed it into his face. "I'm nuts, but I'll do it." He muttered to himself, “At least this can't get any worse.”
Bram's phone went off. Everyone there, human and pony alike, scowled at him.
“My apologies,” he said as he slipped out into the hall. He went into the bathroom and answered. “Yes?”
“You're that guy from the lizard trial,” the answer came. Bram frowned. This person sounded vaguely familiar. “The one with the lizard girlfriend. The backstabber who wants humanity to die.”
“What?” Bram frowned at the phone. “Listen, whoever you are...”
“No, traitor, you listen.” Whoever was speaking sounded excited, nervous. They rushed through their words. “I'm the man who's going to do what needs doing. I'm the guy who's going to blow those monsters sky high. I'm gonna show the rest of them – that sun horse, the cat-bird monsters, the dog people – that they can't mess with humanity. I'm going to be a hero.”
Great, Bram thought, a paranoid wackjob who got my phone number. That or a prankster. “Okay, hero, how did you find out my number?”
“We know everything about you,” he said in a tone of psychotic cheeriness. Bram's blood ran cold as the voice went on, listing one after another, “Your phone number. Your home address. That beat-up van you ferry those monsters around in when you're not at the genocide clinic. Some real friends of humanity posted all that at Tommy Branson's blog for everyone to see.” The speaker giggled, shrill and high-pitched. “We're gonna fix you and the other traitors.”
“Listen to me,” Bram hurried the words out. He hoped this was a prank. “I've got a Secret Service agent in the next room. Agent Kingman knows how to handle people like you if you try anything –”
“Agent Kingman!” They sounded truly cheery now, even happy. “I know Agent Kingman! He's my friend, he always listens to me! Hey, put him on, I wanna tell him how I'm doing!”
Wondering what sort of lunacy he'd stepped into, Bram walked back into the office. As he did Director Apple set the phone down. The mare's mane hung limp and her ears were pinned back.
“More bad news. Cynthia got some calls from people saying that they got her number and yours off the Internet. She phoned me, said she wanted to fly back to your home to make sure no one was wrecking the place. But she's worried what will happen with Ember and the rest if she leaves. We called the police, but they're apparently very busy with calls right now...”
“There's more.” Bram held his phone out to Agent Kingman. “I've got some guy here says he knows you and that he wants to kill Ember. I think he's full of it,” tinny squawking came from Bram's phone, “but maybe you better hear it for yourself.”
Agent Kingman took the phone. “This is Agent Kingman. Who am I speaking – oh. Mister Dishnot. Yes, I was supposed to be checking up on you but I'm afraid I got a little busy.” Bram heard more of the excited chatter from the phone. Agent Kingman stood little straighter and a commanding snap entered his voice. “Mister Dishnot, don't you do any such a thing. I assure you whatever minor fame you get won't be worth it. Look, talk with me and maybe – hello? Mister Dishnot?” He checked the phone and swore mildly. “Damn. He's hung up.”
“Well?” Bram took his phone back. “Is he someone we have to worry about?”
“Right now? Yes.” Agent Kingman handed the phone back. Bram felt dread creep along his spine as he said, “Like I said earlier, I've been keeping an eye on Mister Dishnot for a few years. He's a paranoid with a martyr complex – wants to die doing something important so everyone who knew him will be sorry they didn't treat the Great Hero better. And he has the skills to do something nasty; started out doing demolitions and did EOD in the Army before getting booted for chronic insubordination.” He sighed and folded his hands behind his back. “So, the Dragon Lady is having a temper tantrum and refusing to cooperate, a mad bomber is off the radar and looking to put his name in the Big Book of Famous Political Assassins, and you,” he pointed at Bram, “and your girlfriend have been doxxed, most likely by the people bringing a lawsuit against this clinic, and that seems about to result in a riot.” Bram gulped. He looked from the dismayed Ms. Apple to SAC Garcia to Agent Kingman. He just nodded. “Well, you finally figured out how much trouble you're in. Congratulations. If I were you I'd invest in a bulletproof vest and figure out how to get out of here without being seen by the mob outside that you successfully pissed off.” He walked away. “You better ask one of those police officers for an escort to your van. And stay away from your house until this is over.” He began talking to SAC Garcia and the director on how to get word to Cynthia and, more importantly, Ember.
Bram sank in a nearby chair, wondering how he'd even get out the door. He remembered the offer to become a dragon from Volcano a few weeks ago on the night this all started. Why didn't I accept it then? Dragons don't have to be afraid of angry jerks with signs, heck even most normal explosives or guns wouldn't bother them...
Wait. Why NOT be a dragon, at least for a few days? Long enough for all this to blow over?
“Director Apple, I think I have a way to get word to the Dragon Lord and to get myself out of here without getting mobbed.” He stood up as both humans and the Earth pony turned to look at him, her confused and them annoyed and maybe hopeful.
“Do you still have any of those dragon scrolls around?”
# # #
Laws about flight changed rapidly as the formerly-human population of New Foals and Griflets and Whelps kept increasing. Staying below a certain altitude and away from airports to avoid getting sucked into a jet engine was very strongly enforced after the first few tragedies. Wearing visible transponders to warn and be warned about low-flying planes and copters quickly became a requirement. One as frequently ignored as the speed limit, and as much of a boon to newly winged police who needed to write some tickets.
Bram just hoped he didn't run into any overly zealous pegasi or griffons as he made his way at slightly above street level down and across the network of Allentown streets. The occasional catcalls and jeers from onlookers didn't help.
“Smooth sailing, lizard!” A griffon jeered as he flew past a busy intersection, rising just enough to get over the red light. He colored under his pink and purple scales and snapped at them, tossing his long floppy head crest to one side.
“Bite me, jerk!”
The griffon who'd catcalled laughed.
“I thought dragons could fly better than that!!”
Bram ground his fangs, fought down an impulse to breathe fire and create a roast griffon, and kept going. The pack on his back with his clothes and the two remaining scrolls shifted around. He took a moment to make sure it was still firmly fastened and went on, closing in on the hotel.
Hoping he wouldn't find any trouble there like the increasingly large mob of protesters outside the clinic when he left, he thought back on the transformation. He'd gone into an empty room, stripped, and read through the scroll, the elegant cursive unicorn mouth and horn writing joined to the rougher and more angular dragon script, both seeming to flow on the page and become familiar English. “Magic of Harmony, for a brief time I ask of you, set skin to scales and fill my heart with fire. Grant me wings and claws, fangs and fury...”
He'd expected the change to hurt. Hopefully not to be something as grisly as the transformations seen in a Carpenter movie, but he'd expected some blood and pain as his flesh and bone melted and flowed into dragon scales and claws and wings. True, Cynthia said that her transformation was quick and only hurt a little, caused by her regrowing cartilage in her joints and old bones becoming stronger than ever. Oh, and sprouting a muzzle full of fangs. And the sudden surge of heat inside as new dragon organs grew within her like the bladder joined to her windpipe that produced her fire.
To his slight dismay Bram just felt a little crunched for a moment, like someone was putting him into a set of tight clothes. Then it cleared and –
“WHY AM I PINK? AND PURPLE?”
“Mister Siegfried, no need to use your dragon voice!” Director Apple tossed her mane and pinned her ears back in annoyance. She sighed and said in a speech she'd rather obviously memorized, “The forms granted by the scrolls were those set into them when they were written down by the unicorn who created them. Most of us prefer less-savage looking dragons. Believe me, you're hardly the first would-be dragon who used a scroll and found themselves, well,” she waved a hoof, “cute. When you read another scroll, you'll probably look completely different.”
Bram still shuddered to think of it. His current coloration reminded him of that pony Princess Cadance. His form wasn't much better. He'd privately hoped for something macho and impressive like Tephra or the male New Whelps he'd seen, blocky muzzle, broad chest, fine curling horns. Instead he was lean with a stubby “hatchling” muzzle and short horns that reminded him of Cynthia's.
He just hoped that when he changed permanently he didn't end up looking like this forever. The other dragons would laugh themselves sick.
Speaking of other dragons, the Hotel Bethlehem grew before him; hopefully Ember and company were still there. He started to fly up, circling for height and making sure to avoid the buildings. At least he didn't need to concentrate on things like wind speed and direction and air pressure and how even with the insanely strong semi-hollow bones of a dragon he shouldn't be able to get off the ground at all. The scroll's transformation effect provided all that knowledge. If he thought about it he could feel it deep down in his mind, but when he did that – “Whups!”
He flapped frantically for several seconds before he remembered to let his magically-granted instincts take over. That was why the scroll granted them, after all. He evened out and, flying in lazy circles around the building, made his way to the top of the hotel. He caught a few human faces looking out their windows at him. A small child waved, the little girl looking delighted as she mouthed at the taller woman beside her. “Look, mommy! A dragon, a real dragon!”
“Enjoy your vacation, honey.” Bram called and flew on. He soon reached the roof and hovered, working his wings instinctively to catch the thermals created by the building.
He looked down on the rooftop suite. Main set of rooms in the larger building, that'd probably be where Ember was, a smaller building set apart and to one side that would have been servants in the old days but were probably where the annoyed Secret Service agents were waiting for the Dragon Lord to calm enough to let them back in, a small pool with no one beside it. Not even thinking he flicked out his long forked tongue and inhaled. Scents exploded in his head. The greasy and oddly attractive smell of burning gasoline from the cars far below, the concentrated sourness of so many humans put together, here and there a sweeter almost mouth-watering odor from pony or griffon, a harshness he recognized as 'dragon' that both welcomed and warned at once. He focused on that. It divided into several distinct and recognizable scents.
The strong fieriness of Volcano, the slightly spicier one of Tephra, Cynthia's scent making something grow warm inside him, Ember hot with anger and frustration, all over the place but most intense in the main building. Wait, where were Blaze and Jade?
The clouds overhead cleared enough to show his shadow against the roof.
Along with two massive shadows growing ever larger as they plummeted down at him.
Bram yelped, forgot entirely about his spell-granted instincts, and tried to dive.
Which was all that saved him from being hammered into the rooftop by Ember's furious bodyguards as they plunged at the complete stranger approaching the Dragon Lord without warning.
“DRAGON!” Jade's roar tore at his ears. “WHO ARE YOU, AND HOW DARE YOU COME HERE UNANNOUNCED?”
“Miss Jade!” Bram tried to yell as he plummeted. “I didn't think to call ahead! It's me, Bram! I need to tell Ember – AWK!”
It was late winter. The water in the rooftop pool was heated, but it still felt shockingly cold. Bram gasped as the chill bit at his scales, working its way inwards. He struck out for the edge of the pool and learned something else: dragons were denser than water. And they did not like getting water up their nose. His draconic instincts howled in terror as he fought to gain the poolside. His wings dragged at him, but he sank his claws into the concrete side of the pool, literally, and pulled himself up and out.
He panted for air. With a pair of thuds Jade and Blaze set down on either side of him. Their snarling faces glared down at him, fangs gleaming as brightly as their armor.
“Blaze,” he gasped. “Jade. Hi. You don't know me, but you do. I mean, you think you do. We've met but not like this...”
“He sounds crazed. Or drunk,” Blaze growled. Jade just nodded. Blaze said, “Maybe we should shred his wings to keep him here until the Dragon Lord tells us how she wants to handle him.” He held one large paw out, palm up, and flexed slightly. Claws like black iron splayed from the tips of his fingers.
Past them Bram saw Ember and Tephra and the rest outside the main rooms but watching from a distance. The Secret Service ran up, submachine guns in their hands. Making sure to stay clear of the dragon bodyguards they took up position, guns aimed at Bram. They were H&K MP5s. Bram felt impressed that he could recognize them right at that moment. He'd never noticed just how very large gun barrels looked when they were pointed right at you, or how they smelled like grease with a hint of old cordite.
“No!” Bram jumped up and waved his claws. “No need for that! I swear, I come in peace.” He saw Cynthia, and thought of words she would recognize. He raised his claws and smiled.
“Take me to your leader.”
Blaze and Jade looked at him in confusion. The Secret Service men had their sunglasses on, so no way to tell what they thought.
“Wait, what?” Cynthia blinked. She walked to Bram and looked into his eyes.
“Hi, Cyn.” He smiled at her, hoping. “I know I look, well, a little different, but no more'n you did when you got your scales.” She looked wary. He huffed. “Come on, Dian the Beautiful. Do I have to be tossed into the arena and fight some Barsoomian White Apes to prove who I am?”
“It's Bram,” Cynthia sighed and relaxed. She waved to the others, human and dragon alike. “He's safe.”
“We need more than your word for that,” one of the agents and Jade both said at once. They gave each other an annoyed glance. The agent nodded slightly and Jade turned her gaze back to Bram and Cynthia. Jade tapped him lightly on the chest with one heavy claw. It felt like being prodded with a battering ram. “How can he or you prove his words?”
“Now what's going on?”
Jade and Blaze immediately shifted to put themselves between Bram and Ember. She strode up, Bloodstone Scepter in one claw but out of her armor from that morning. The sun turned her scales to sapphires, but the frown on her face darkened the day all by itself. “Ugh! Who's this, another fan-hatchling New Whelp who just had to see the Dragon Lord? Well, you saw me.” She waved one claw dismissively. “Now you can leave. We're busy here.”
“I know how busy you are, Ember,” Bram dared to get to his feet. Jade and Blaze watched closely as he stepped towards her. “I was there when you fought with Mister Branson and his idiot son at the courthouse, where he manipulated you into losing it in front of the news cameras,” Ember hissed a warning, echoed with a thunderous rumble by Blaze and Jade.
“Just who are you?” Tephra growled, showing fang.
“I'm Bram,” he said, still panting. “Used one of the polymorph scrolls at the Clinic to get here safely.” When human and dragons alike gave him suspicious looks, he slapped his forehead and said, “Look, Ember, yesterday you came to my house and found Tephra with Molly. Remember?” He pointed at Tephra. The young dragon flushed right through his scales, lowering his head and looking embarrassed. When Cynthia bared her fangs at him he almost cringed.
“What! You had that floozy in the house?”
“She, she's not that bad!” Tephra's tail coiled protectively about him. “She likes dragons more than most humans...”
“Likes grabbing their jewels, you mean, and not just the ones in their hoards.” Cynthia growled. Bram thought he caught some quickly-hidden smirks on the faces of the Secret Service agents. He knew he caught a low rumbling laugh from Blaze.
“This is all very entertaining,” Bram walked out between Cynthia and Tephra, hands held up to keep them apart. He stood close by Ember. She frowned at him. He ignored it to say, “But we have more important concerns here than Tephra's love life. Ember,” he turned to her, “listen. Branson called the clinic. He's willing to drop the lawsuit.” She looked relieved. For a moment. “Provided you stand in front of it, with the cameras on, and formally apologize to him before everyone.”
That brought the explosion.
“WHAT!” Ember stormed forward, claws flexing. Bram held his ground as she snarled into his face, “You expect me to apologize to that, that mud-worm, after what he said to me and to all dragonkind? I'm the insulted party! URRAGH!” She threw her head back, roared and breathed a blast of fire into the sky. One of the new instincts in Bram told him to be submissive right now unless he wanted a fight. He told it to be silent. Past her he could see a heavy tarp draped across the front of the suite. Volcano stuck his head out on his long neck, eyes wide with worry. Bram nodded at him. Ember looked back at him. “I am the Dragon Lord Ember, daughter of Torch, winner of the Gauntlet of Fire, bearer of the Bloodstone Scepter,” she shook it furiously, “heir to a line unbroken since Mother Tiamat one hundred thousand years gone! I will NOT disgrace myself and my subjects by begging for pardon from some crawling snake!” She turned on her heel to stalk off. “And if that's why you came here, human-in-a-dragon-skin, you can turn around and leave, now!”
Bram didn't think. He just snatched Ember by the shoulder, and spun her around to look him in the face. The look on her face went from shocked to furious as he snapped, “Will you listen, you silly brat? This is about the clinics and the people they're trying to save, not your ego –”
“BRAM!”
Before he could ask Cynthia what the problem was, something slammed him into the rooftop hard enough to leave a small crater. Even through dragon scales and dragon toughness, Bram gasped in pain. Jade snarled down into his face. One of her claws was holding him down. Her open jaws showed fangs like curving sabers; emerald-green dragonfire glowed deep in her throat.
“Speak with respect to the Dragon Lord,” she hissed, “if you want to leave here alive.” Bram caught sight of Ember nearby. She looked confused and angry all at once.
“Ember,” Bram choked out. Jade growled warning. He ignored her. “Lady Ember, this involves your people. Do you want them to suffer because you were insulted by some fool?” She looked uneasy but held her ground.
“Ember.” Cynthia came to stand beside him. When Ember looked at her, Cynthia said, “You told us you won the Gauntlet of Fire. But you didn't, did you? Another dragon did, a pony-raised dragon, and he handed you the Bloodstone Scepter. You never earned it, not then,” Bram squirmed to see the fire leaping up in Ember's eyes, and at the growls coming from Blaze and Jade. Cynthia coolly ignored them. “You said earlier that the other dragons use that against you. They say you're not a real Dragon Lord. That you're just some hatchling who got lucky, happened to be in the right place at the right time.”
The growls of Ember and Jade and Blaze were deepening. Smoke trickled from their nostrils. Ember half-crouched, like she wanted to leap at Cynthia. Bram coughed softly, stretched his neck and nudged Cynthia's ankle with his snout. Be careful. Cynthia paid him no more heed than them.
“Do you want to show everyone that you're the Dragon Lord, Ember?” Cynthia stepped closer to Ember and pointed at the Bloodstone Scepter. “Then stop using that to silence dragons when they disagree with you or criticize you. Do what's best for them. Apologize to that ass Branson, and get him off the backs of the clinics.”
“Dragons are creatures of pride,” Ember said. Was she weakening? “Me as much as any of them. Am I supposed to be less than my people, and then expect them to respect me?”
“No,” Cynthia walked closer, until she stood directly in front of Ember. “You'd be doing this because it needs to be done, and you're the only one who can do it. That's why.”
The rooftop fell silent. Bram and the others, human and dragon alike, watched as Ember wrestled with her pride on one claw and her sense of duty on the other. Bram remembered what he'd been told about her constant fight for the respect and loyalty of most of her people, of how she had to always be hard and proud and fierce to win even a little of their regard.
He didn't want to think how much weight lay on Ember's scaly shoulders and of how little she wanted any of it. Right now they needed to think about the clinics and the threat to them and what would be happening to humanity, here and across the planet, if they shut down.
After several long moments she looked up and nodded at Jade. The bigger dragoness scowled and lifted her claw from Bram. He got up and started breathing again.
“So. The Branson-human wants an apology.” Bram looked up into Ember's eyes as she spoke. “In front of the clinic. With a crowd watching.”
“Yes,” Bram felt his neck and winced. Jade's claw was heavy. “He promised he'd stop the lawsuit if he got a public apology.”
“Would he keep his word?” Ember took a few steps back towards the tarp. She turned back around and faced them. She frowned, downward-curving horns making her look even more intimidating. “I don't trust him.”
“Neither do I, but his kind always has one weakness: they have to 'appear respectable'. He has to make himself appear as an Angel of Light, play the Righteous Hero. 'Not from any Heavenly virtue, but from Hellish respectability.' This will be in public with most of that world being able to see it. If he breaks his word he'll make a liar out of himself in front of all those people.” At Ember's frown he shrugged. “Besides, we've got little choice,” Bram looked over the rooftops in the direction he'd flown from. “The clinic had a mob in front of it when I left, and –”
The phone of one of the Secret Service agents went off. He reddened slightly as the dragons all glared at him and took it out, walking away to speak into it.
“Why did humans even make those things,” Ember muttered. “They're such a pain. Every five minutes they seem to be going off, and it's usually with a message you didn't even want to hear.”
“Some of us wonder that ourselves,” Cynthia said. The agent returned, a worried look on his face.
“Dragon Lord Ember, Mister Siegfried, Miss Stoltz,” he tapped his phone. “You were talking about that mob at the clinic?”
“Yes,” Bram said, feeling worry slowly worm its way through him. “Did something happen?”
“Yes,” he said bluntly. As he spoke Bram saw the other agents behind him hurrying to check the elevator to the roof, or scanning the nearby rooftops with small binoculars. “Two of the staff came back from a dinner date. A griffon and one of those cat-people...”
“Granch and Mewsette.” Bram took a step forward. He felt a chill as Cynthia set her claw on his shoulder, gripping tightly. “What happened?”
“They were attacked by the mob.” The agent frowned as he spoke. “They're in the ER at St. Luke's in Bethlehem.” Bram started, dreading what might have happened. Mewsette and especially Granch packed natural weaponry of their own, claws and fangs for her and beak, talons, and claws for him, besides the greater strength and toughness most Equestrian races had. But that wouldn't mean much against guns or even one or two dozen berserk humans who cared nothing for anything but stamping and slashing and crushing the invaders underfoot. He imagined it, howls and screams and cries of rage on all sides as that gang he'd seen trampled over two bodies underfoot like shapeless bloody rags –
“Are they alright?” His voice shook. He forced a calmness he didn't feel into it. “Are they expected to live, or, or not?”
“Why were they attacked?” Ember snapped. She flexed her hands, claws splaying like she wanted to be grabbing someone by the throat with them. “Did anyone say that?”
“The mob attacked them.” The Secret Service agent repeated as he looked at her, expressionless behind his sunglasses. “They were screaming they were going to kill the monsters.”
“That they were going to kill anyone and everyone from Equestria,” Ember's face darkened as he spoke, “unless Dragon Lord Ember admitted the truth about the List and the Cure to Branson in public. Right now.”