I could have shot out more of their tires—the ones I’d hit were deflating with impressive speed—but there wasn’t much point. Sindari had them on the run. So, being the mature person I was, I took out my phone and recorded their flight as Sindari leaped back and forth, evading the men stupid enough to still be in the truck beds attempting to shoot him. I was fairly certain my stoic, regal tiger was deliberately taunting them—and having fun doing it. By now, most of them had lost their weapons.
Once the wobbling, lopsided vehicles turned onto the road that led to the parking lot, I stopped recording.
“Maybe it’s time to start a YouTube channel,” I said. Nin and Zoltan would call it marketing. Who wouldn’t want to hire me after they saw how delightfully effective Sindari was?
As I turned, trusting he would be back, and strode up the trail toward the Jeep, I sensed the goblins scattering deeper into the brush. Soon, their auras faded from my awareness.
If they felt any gratitude or cared that I’d stepped in, I would probably never know it. That was fine, though there was a wistful part of me that wanted them to know. It would be nice if some members of the magical community believed I was a good person and only hunted the legitimate criminals among them.
As I got closer to the Jeep, I noticed something on the ground next to it. Ugh, had those idiot poachers done something to it? The tires weren’t flat, and I didn’t see any bullet holes… Was that a paint bucket? And… brushes?
When I stepped around to the driver’s side, I found myself staring at stick figures painted in red on the door. My first thought was that it was mindless graffiti, but there was a definite message being conveyed. A stick dragon with a round belly was knocking a stick person—someone with a braid of long hair—into a ravine. At the bottom of the ravine, the stick person was duplicated, this time lying dead among jagged rocks.
Sindari caught up to me as I considered two words written next to the stick figures in an unfamiliar language.
“How’s your Goblin?” I was positive the truckers hadn’t done this.
I understand many languages. That’s your name.
“Val?”
Mythic Murderer.
“Wonderful. And that’s also my fate, I suppose.”
I wouldn’t worry about it. Goblins are known more for being mischievous than prophetic.
“I don’t feel comforted.”
20
Your new colleague is coming, Sindari informed me.
I’d pulled a towel out of the Jeep and was doing my best to wipe off the paint that hadn’t yet dried completely. It wasn’t working well.
He’s not a colleague. I sensed the approaching dragon aura and looked up in time to spot violet eyes sailing into view over the trees.
I thought you were trying to get him to see you as an equal. A dragon would typically think of your relationship as something closer to master-slave.
In that case, I guess he can be my colleague.
I thought you might see it that way.
Zav landed on the road in front of us, radiating power like a sun. Too bad he hadn’t appeared earlier. His fanged maw, muscled body, glowing eyes, and sheer size might have convinced the hunters not only to flee but to never step foot in this forest again.
Even with his wings tucked in, the trees to either side of the road hemmed in his great dragon form. I wondered if the foliage on his world was courteous enough to grow farther apart.
Zav shifted into his human form, opting for his usual silver slippers and black, silver-trimmed robe. The rain, mud, and puddles all around might have suggested hiking boots and a poncho, but maybe shifters could only change their forms, not their clothing. If so, that was too bad. Zav wearing a vibrantly colored Mexican poncho would have amused me vastly.
As he walked toward me, wind blowing damp leaves off the trees and batting at his robe, I debated how to admit my lack of progress without sounding like I’d been slacking off these last two days. Or like I was incompetent. Willard had only given me this assignment this morning, but I’d been researching it longer. I’d hoped to be able to hand him the location of Dob’s lair, but all I’d found were poachers tormenting goblins.
“You’re early,” I told him. “I’m only doing preliminary scouting.”
Zav stopped in front of me. “You assisted magical beings against humans.”
I shrugged, surprised he’d gotten here soon enough to see that. I tried not to feel a twinge of disappointment that he knew about it and the goblins didn’t. It wasn’t that I wanted a reward, but my mother’s words had been in my mind, that maybe if I helped more magical beings, the innocent ones would stop fearing me as much as the guilty ones did. Then maybe there would be fewer break-ins of my apartment and drive-by shootings. But that would only happen if the magical community knew I was helping them.
“From what I’ve learned, this is not usual for you,” he continued. “Typically, you side with the vermin—the humans—infesting this world instead of the magical, even though you are half magical.”
“That’s because I was born here, and humans are my people.”
What did he want from me? His gaze was impossible to read when it latched onto me—and more than a little disconcerting. He was close enough that I could feel that now-familiar tingle of power emanating from him, like high-voltage electricity crawling over my skin. Except less unpleasant. I didn’t have the urge to hurry away from it, like I would from power lines. No, I had the urge to step closer, to intensify that sensation, and that disturbed me. It was too much like the pull of a moth to a flame—or a bug zapper.
“That is no reason not to embrace the superior half of your heritage,” Zav said. “Your father could teach you much.”
“I’m sure he could, but it’s not like I can look him up on LinkedIn.”
A gust of wind swept down the road, blowing more soggy leaves off the trees and threatening to give me a glimpse of Zav’s legs under his robe. I wondered if he was wearing socks with his slippers and smirked at the thought.
He frowned, no doubt thinking my twitching lips indicated some disrespect or another. “He has left this world?”
“All elves did. And dwarves. Forty-odd years ago. Nobody knows why, but there are lots of theories. Nobody left behind knew how to make portals, so it’s not like I could get a ticket and go looking for him, even if I wanted to see him. And I don’t.”
“Why not?”
“He left my mother before I was even born.” I pulled my collar up against another chilly gust. It was almost summer, but I was wet, and the rain was threatening to turn into a more serious storm. “She forgives him, or so she says, because he had to choose between leaving with his people and staying here with her and only her. He chose his people.”
Why was I speaking about this to a dragon? What did he care?
“Look, never mind any of this. I’ve been searching this area using the points on the map that Greemaw gave me, but I haven’t found anything yet. That’s why I didn’t call you. Also, I don’t have your number.”
“My what?”
“I don’t know how to get in touch with you.”
Zav touched his temple. “I do not have my mental shields up against telepathic intrusion, not in this world. There is little need. You can reach me telepathically.”
“Uh, sure. If I could do that, I would.” Actually, I wouldn’t. The idea of trying to touch my mind to his seemed disturbingly intimate. Either that, or he’d give me a headache with the power of his responses. Thus far, that had been my experience with telepathic communication with dragons.
Zav lowered his hand. “You cannot?”
“Nope.”
“What magical powers do you have? Besides your charms and your weapons. It would be useful for me to know before we confront Dobsaurin.”
“I don’t have any magical powers besides healing quicker than normal for a human.”
“That cannot be possible.”
“Oh, it is.”
“You are half-elf.”
“Yeah, and I tried to do magical things when I found out. Nothing ever happened. I don’t have any powers.” I remembered the magical bonds I’d broken in the dark-elf laboratory—and how I wasn’t positive the lock-picking charm had been responsible for that. Or at least wholly responsible.
“You were trained by a practitioner and failed to show abilities?”
“No. I tried to teach myself. That’s how it goes for most mixed-bloods here. There’s nobody left to teach. You muddle through and figure things out on your own. Lots of people manage it.”
“Magic must be taught. Muddling is unacceptable.”
“That’s how it works here. Let’s drop it, okay? My charms and my weapons and my ambassador are plenty.” I waved toward Sindari. He’d moved farther up the trail to sniff at something in the woods. The sky was growing darker, and his fur glowed a soft silver.
The wind gusted again, tugging at my braid and leaving a soggy leaf on Zav’s broad shoulder. I snorted and stepped forward, reaching for it. He caught my wrist, his movement too swift for me to jerk away in time.
“What are you doing?” He squinted at me, eyes flaring with violet light. Had he thought I was reaching for his neck? If so, there was something amusing about him being as wary about me getting close as I was about him getting close. Though he was probably more worried about me kissing his ass than strangling him.
“Keeping you from a fashion faux pas.” I looked pointedly at the leaf.
He eyed it, then eyed me, then released me. I brushed off the leaf and stepped back. He was still eyeing me. I couldn’t imagine what was going on in his mind.
“I’m not going to make a pass at you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“A what?”
“A pass. Romantic moves. You’re not my type.”
That was a lie. He was exactly my type, at least going on looks and that hard chest I remembered feeling, but I couldn’t forget that he was an obnoxious, haughty dragon who thought nothing of mentally compelling people to do his bidding. Besides, he’d made it clear I wasn’t his type from the day we met. Maybe he thought I would be so overcome by his virile masculinity that I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands to myself.