“Chris!” came the female shout from across the newsroom among all the rest of the bustling noise of yet another day at the Washington Post.  Chris looked up a bit more annoyed than normal at hearing his name shouted from Bethany McClelland, and stood up from his desk in the newsroom to see what she needed.<br/><br/>“Boss wants to see you on the fifth floor!” she continued after getting his attention.  Chris frowned at this news.  The Chief Editor’s office was on the third floor.  Few writers ever went to see the President of the Washington Post.  His scowl deepened as he reached down to lock his computer before grabbing his messenger bag containing all his writing notes and his MacBook Pro.  Slinging it over his shoulder, he nodded to Bethany that he was on his way up, and headed over to the elevator.  It was usually crowded around 1PM with people going off to lunch, but he had beaten the lunch crowd and had the elevator to himself.<br/><br/>On his way up, Chris began thinking back once more to the night some twenty-five years ago on his 5th birthday.  It was the very reason he had become a reporter at all.  It had been the night when he had witnessed something so fantastic it should have only appeared in fantasy stories.  The night he had witnessed a dragon…a real, honest to goodness, fire-breathing, positively gorgeous, complete with wings, scales, and tail…dragon.  It had been the night he had wandered out of the house…as he had begun to do just a couple of weeks prior.  That same night, a man had stepped out of the shadows and had stalked towards him.  Death…death had come for him, and Chris had known it…even at that very young age.  He couldn’t run…couldn’t scream…nothing…frozen in his terror as the man approached, but…the man never reached him.  He blinked…finding himself flat on the ground face first, and rolled over wondering if the man had hit him.  Instead, he found the man torched on the spot from a winged creature so beautiful and terrifying hovering just a few feet away.  The man screamed only once before turning to cinder on the spot…nothing but ash remaining…his scream seeming like something straight from hell.  That which had saved him flew upward after slaying whatever it had been approaching him, and circled only to land before him…a towering form sleek and powerful beyond his young mind to comprehend.  A moment later…a mere blink…and there stood a woman such as he had never seen before in his life.  She defied description, but then…he had been so young…such details did not come to him easily at that point in his life.  She had helped him up, and simply smiled tenderly at him before putting a single finger to her lips:  “Shhh…”<br/><br/>Chris had never told anyone about this event…not a single soul.  No one:  parents, teachers, friends…no one knew of the dragon that had saved his life.  She had implied secrecy, and he had kept it now for almost 25 years.  Yet, Christopher never ever forgot that night.  He had been seeking her since that day, and as he grew…his writing talent came out, and his resources grew.  Twenty-five years later, and he still had not found her.  Some part of his mind whispered it was all just some dream, but the better part of him shut the doubt down.  She was real…the dragon was real, and he vowed silently before stepping off the elevator…he would find her one day.<br/><br/>The event had not only led him to becoming a reporter, but it had also led him to watch for other things.  It occurred to him that the man she had saved him from had very likely been a vampire.  It was, at least in his mind, as much of a possibility considering he had been saved by a dragon…a beast so legendary and mythical that her existence should not be.  He was wary of things that went bump in the night now, but since that night…he had yet to discover a single vampire as well.  Perhaps the man had simply been a kidnapper, murder, or some other foul person.  Either way, Christopher had learned to defend himself since then.  In addition, Chris had never had a girlfriend in his life…not one.  It was a foolish thing, he admitted to himself a times as he walked in to the office of the President’s secretary:  Valarie Bell, but since that night…he could not be rid of the visions of the dragon.  In her human form…if that was what it was indeed…she had been divine, and no woman he had met since then compared to her.  He was rather handsome:  emerald green eyes, Celtic fair skin, tall with a head full of the Gaelic red inherited from his mother.  He moved with a dancer’s grace thanks to both his instruction in formal ballroom dancing and martial arts.  Several women were attracted to him…at least at first, but something about him always made them stop flirting with him…for the most part.  He knew what that was.  It was in his eyes, he supposed, but it was the look of someone who had no interest in the women about him, because he was already smitten with another.<br/><br/>“Mr. Windsor?” the secretary, Valarie Bell inquired politely.<br/><br/>“Yes, Ma’am,” Chris replied with a slight nod of his head.<br/><br/>“Go on in.  Mr. Price is expecting you,” she said with a disarming smile.<br/><br/>If she was smiling, it couldn’t have been bad news, and that made Chris not only smile in return, but relax somewhat.  Still, he smoothed a lock of his red hair back into place before heading into the lion’s den.<br/><br/>“Ahhh!  Mr. Windsor, come in!” invited the older man behind the exquisite redwood desk.  Chris did so the rest of the way, and shook hand firmly with the President of the newspaper.  “Have a seat, Chris, because we are going to have a nice mysterious chat,” the man of 73 years old said with a bit of a wink.<br/><br/>Chris sat down clearly intrigued by the President’s words with his left eyebrow arched up.<br/><br/>“What we are going to talk about is absolutely not to leave this room…ever.  You see, I have a story for you to work on…one that will likely never be published in the paper, but one I want you to work on all the same.  You will be paid very handsomely for your work, and you will be removed from all other assignments until further notice…which is likely to be a very long time,” President Andrew Vincent Price began after sitting back down in his exceptionally comfortable black leather office chair.<br/><br/>The old man hadn’t been kidding about it being a mysterious chat.  “You see,” he continued, “I happen to know of your efforts to unveil the shadows around us.  I know of your search for…shall we say…the mysterious phenomenon of our world.  Now, I have a job for you that will allow you to explore this mystery without diverting your attention to other projects.  You may, in fact, take as much time as you wish to investigate this.  What, you are no doubt wondering, is he talking about, but a part of you already knows the answer to that…don’t you, Chris.  You see, I finally traced down an old article about a boy named Christopher Windsor saved by a mysterious fire from being killed.  The article suggested that the man had been burnt to a crisp…to ashes, actually, but it was a mystery on how a 5 year old boy managed to do so.  Ah, but you and I both know you didn’t kill him.  You and I both know the thing that slew him was none other than a dragon.”<br/><br/>The old man’s words about made Christopher’s heart leap from his chest.  His eyes bulged with the way the President seemed to know, but it also made him narrow them again in suspicion.<br/><br/>The President merely smiled.  “Yes, I know about the dragon, Son,” the old man continued when it was clear Chris would say nothing.  “You see, I may not have seen the dragon, but I have long believed in their existence…hiding among us in mortal form.  Of course, I have never been able to really take the time and investigate such a thing, and to hand it to just any reporter would have led to some unfortunate discussions about my sanity.  You, however, have seen the dragon, and you know they exist…at least one does.  So, I am giving you your dream shot, Son.  You will seek out this dragon, write your articles in journal form, and give them only to me…not a single other person…not one…just me.  If anyone wants to know about your work; well that is just too bad.  You no longer work just for the paper, Chris, you work directly for me…and no one else.  Now, would you be interested in doing such a job?”<br/><br/>Chris couldn’t believe what he was hearing.  To find her…to seek her out using more resources at his command than he ever had…with no pause, no interruptions…to find her once and for all…it seemed too incredible to believe!  Yet, he wasn’t about to turn down this chance.<br/><br/>“I….I don’t know what to say, Sir, other than…yes…yes I will,” Chris stammered for the first time in years it seemed.<br/><br/>“I thought you might.  You start immediately.  Don’t worry about your other assignments.  I’ve already had them transferred to other reporters.  There is a beginning you have at the Franklin Art Gallery in Chicago.  Art, you may find, has clues where regular photography work does not.  Besides, there is a woman there that collects rare art from all over the world.  It is said, among the art community that she even collects rare original pieces…not just excellent copies.  Yet, no one can seem to get very close to her…strange, I confess, but not necessarily mysterious.  Still, it might lead you to other clues.  Her name, by the way, is rather…unknown.  I only know…from a very reliable source…she will be there.  Your flight is already booked, and Mrs. Bell has your travel information and such.”<br/><br/>Andrew Price stood up and shook the young reporter’s hand firmly after Chris stood as well.  “Thank you, Sir.  I…I wont’ let you down,” he said in a quite daze still stunned by the discussion and chance given him.<br/><br/>“Mrs. Bell also will have a card for you. It has your financial ability on it, and will be automatically reloaded.  As I said, you are being paid handsomely for this.  Good luck, Son,” Mr. Price said, and escorted Chris to the door.  Soon, Chris was on a flight to Chicago…on an adventure that had begun 25 years ago.