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The Saint of Dragons
Quiet filled the tree as Simon tried to sense what his father described. The city was just a city. Finally he had to admit, “All I see are a bunch of ticked-off New Yorkers. I thought that was supposed to be pretty normal here.”
His father frowned. “These are the signs of a dragon presence. Be alert to them. Now then, over there, on the eighteenth floor of that building, is the home of a woman named Alaythia Moore,” said Aldric, with a touch of sadness Simon didn’t quite understand. “She lives there alone and rarely has visitors. She works for a modern art gallery. She is an art curator and an artist in her own right, I understand, though I’ve never seen any of her work. She’s too shy and private to show off her own paintings.”
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