Heart of a Dragon by David Niall Wilson Page A

and followed.   The old man stepped out into the dying sunlight and walked around the side of his home. There was a bench there, pressed up against the wall.   Martinez climbed nimbly up onto this, and Salvatore stood below, watching.
    He balanced on the bench and stared up toward the eaves intently.   There was nothing there to see, and Salvatore frowned, screening the last of the day's light with his hand so he would miss nothing.   There were deeper shadows just under at the edge where the roof met the wall, and thought he couldn't see into them, he knew that Martinez could.
    Something small and quick darted across the white stucco of the wall.   Martinez struck like a snake.   A small lizard with brilliant blue and black stripes was pinioned to the wall by the striking blade.   Salvatore cried out, but Martinez let out a grunt of satisfaction, spun, and pressed the squirming creature deeper onto the blade.
    He didn't glance at Salvatore as he passed; he hurried inside.   Then, as Salvatore's stomach grew queasy, the old man leaned in from the side, careful not to break the beam of light from the crystal, and held the gecko over the red bowl.   A single drop of blood dropped into the mixture, and Martinez pulled back.   He strode to the door and flipped his wrist, sending the dying lizard flying into the street.
    Salvatore still stood, staring into the bowl where the drop of blood had spread, slowly, and then– as if the paint hungered– was swallowed and disappeared.   He stretched out a hand toward the bowl, and then pulled it back as if afraid he'd be burned at the touch.
    Martinez returned, placed the knife in his sink, and stepped up beside Salvatore, watching as the light moved slowly toward the far edge of the bowls.
    "There is no red closer to prime," the old man said.   "We have no dragons here, but it is close enough, I think.   When you blend these colors, you will find every hue of your dragons in their joining.   The more powerful your prime colors, the more complete the spectrum of your work.
    Salvatore thought about this for a moment.   He closed his eyes, and saw the subtle blends that created his purple, his green, and his orange.   He thought of the dragon he'd drawn with the chalk on the sidewalk and how difficult it had been to get the colors right.   He'd had to force them, trying again and again.   This would be different.   A very small amount of the paint could be blended, and then more added to change the hue.    When he opened his eyes, he smiled.
    "You understand," Martinez said.    "It is good.   You must be very careful with these paints.   I will not be able to make more in time.   I do not believe Jake's will be the last dragon you are called on to paint, and we must be ready.   I will show you how to store and preserve the paint.   You must listen carefully and do exactly as I say.   A great deal depends on it."
    "I will be careful," Salvatore said softly.
    Martinez nodded, but he was already moving again.   He pulled three sheets of white plastic from a drawer.   He grabbed the blue paint bowl and very slowly, very carefully poured the paint onto the plastic.   It was thick, and it didn't run toward the edges as Salvatore feared it might.   Martinez deftly rolled the plastic, tying it off at one end with a bit of cord.   He pressed the plastic, worked the paint down toward that tied end, and then rolled the plastic so it came to a cone-shaped tip at the far end, which he also tied off.
    "You'll be able to loosen this," Martinez said.   You can squeeze some of the paint out the tip, and then seal it again.   We must keep it moist, and cool.   I will help you to find the proper place– perhaps we will dig a small pit in one corner of your floor."
    Salvatore nodded.   He was already thinking of the perfect place, the twisting, helpless body of the lizard impaled on