“What crime? Your message said you need the address of a gun dealer.”
“A magical-gun dealer—two of them. The Pardus brothers have been picking on Nin. And by picking on, I mean threatening to destroy her business if she doesn’t shut it down.” I didn’t think Willard had ever met Nin, but I’d mentioned her before and shown her Fezzik. Willard had politely oohed and aahed over the gun. “They’re also selling what they claim are dragon-slaying weapons.”
“Do you want to beat them up or buy one?”
“Both if they actually have them. But Nin doesn’t think anyone on Earth can make such things. Any chance you have their address? There’s a phone number listed, but when I tried calling it, I got a menu as convoluted as a bank’s and eventually a prompt to put in a code. I do not have a code.”
“Hold on. I have info on all the dealers in the area.”
A pair of geese left the grass to waddle up to my open door. They eyed the second half of my burrito. One poked at the gravel, as if I would have littered crumbs all over.
“You’re not getting my food, you winged mooch.”
The geese were very well fed. On the trail, a biker had to brake to avoid ducks crossing from the brush to the river. They were also well fed.
“I assume that comment is not for me,” Willard said. “Has your dragon returned?”
“To steal my breakfast burrito? No.”
“You should eat higher-quality food. It might help with your health issues.”
“I don’t have health issues. Just an obnoxious case of intermittent lung inflammation that pops up at inopportune times, such as when evil alchemists hurl noxious potions at me and when dragons try to light me on fire.”
“What do you think a health issue is?”
“Something serious that people die from. Like dysentery.”
“I see you played Oregon Trail as a kid.”
“I didn’t need to play it. Mom and I lived it in our school-bus house on wheels. Do you have the address? I’m about to get mauled by geese.”
One kept trying to pluck at my wrapper. I stuck it on the dash, then, worried the goose would jump onto my lap to get it, shut the door. They squawked in disappointed protest. Feeling guilty, I tore off some of the burrito and threw the pieces out the window.
“Yes, I’ll text it. It’s in Bothell.”
“I know that. I’m already here. I’m popping in to deliver threats on my way to purchase vampire-made lotions at the farmers market.”
“Zoltan has a stand? How does that work? Doesn’t his skin turn to ash if he sees sunlight?”
“Dimitri has a stand and is selling Zoltan’s products for him.”
“Tell him to watch his veins.”
“He’ll be fine. He has a cervical collar and decorative metal cactuses that launch darts.”
“Silver-tipped darts?”
“You’re thinking of werewolves. The cactus would have to hurl wooden stakes to hurt Zoltan.”
Willard paused before saying, “When you were going through Basic Training, did you have any idea your life would end up this weird?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Colonel. You have Smurf coffee mugs. This is nothing.”
“Ha ha.”
The address popped up, and I thanked Willard and hung up. It was only a few blocks away in a neighborhood right on the river. That was surprising. Maybe their magical-weapons business did a lot better than Nin’s. If so, it was doubly obnoxious of them to harass her.
After looking up the directions and how much traffic was clogging the streets this sunny Saturday morning, I decided to walk. The river trail would take me most of the way there.
The geese had multiplied by the time I got out of the Jeep, fastening Fezzik in my thigh holster, and making sure Chopper was secure in my back scabbard. A hint of magic made it so normal humans—mundanes—wouldn’t notice the weapons, though I got a few odd looks from bicyclers and walkers as I strode down the trail in combat boots, my brown leather duster, and a utility belt out of a military supply store. Regular belts weren’t sufficient for carrying ammo pouches. I’d experimented before.
Unfortunately for my antisocial tendencies, the trail was as busy as the streets. As a skater zipped past closer than I preferred, I thought about bringing out Sindari. His presence usually created questions I wasn’t interested in answering, but I knew nobody would dare brush me on their way by. Further, people might entertain me by skating off the trail and into the slow-moving shallow river.
I chose maturity over whimsy, turned off the trail before it crossed the river, and trekked down a couple of streets. The noise of the nearby freeway grew audible, and I laughed as the posh riverfront neighborhood I’d imagined came into view. It was a mobile-home park.
As I wandered in, following the map on my phone toward a manufactured house near the river, I wondered how this place had avoided being razed and sold to a builder of overpriced luxury homes. The traffic noise was noticeable, but waterfront property was waterfront property.
Judging by the tenants wandering past, older ladies walking small barky dogs, it was a mobile-home park for seniors. The Pardus brothers were either older than I’d expected or had a granny tied up in a back room, who they pulled out whenever they needed to prove their eligibility to live here.
My senses picked up magic as I neared a drab gray-and-green house with the siding falling off and moss growing on the roof. It looked to be one of the original homes placed in the neighborhood, though nothing here screamed new and modern.
Tall evergreens and shrubs partially hid the house from the street, and there weren’t any signs to suggest it was a business. A couple of beat-up trucks occupied a driveway with wide cracks spurting clumps of grass and weeds.
As I approached the front door, I was able to refine my overall sense of magic to pick out numerous artifacts—weapons, likely—and two magical beings inside. No, three. Two were on the ground level and one felt like he or she was on a lower level. But a manufactured house couldn’t have a basement, could it? Maybe the lot sloped down behind the house and there was a shop back there.
The doorbell was broken with wires dangling out. I opened the rusty screen door and knocked. As one of the magical beings on the ground floor came to the door, I studied his aura with my senses. The brothers were shifters, Nin had said, but she hadn’t specified what kind. There was a feline aspect to this one. Maybe a lion or tiger shifter?
I’d encountered numerous types of shifters over the years, all hailing from, according to Willard and her intelligence gatherers, a single world in the Cosmic Realms. They were always predators, and some shifters even said that many of our big predators here on Earth were descended from early visitors from their world. There was, as far as I knew, no science to back that up.
The strong-jawed, olive-skinned man who opened the door didn’t look old enough to live in this park. His lips curved into a smile. If he was surprised to see me, he didn’t show it, but a full-blooded magical being would have sensed my aura before I sensed his. He’d probably felt me coming as soon as I turned into the neighborhood.
“Well, well,” he said, looking me up and down, his smile turning lewd as his yellow-brown eyes fixated on my chest. “What brings the Mythic Murderer to our humble abode?”
“A coupon. I hear you’re selling dragon-slaying weapons.”
“We might be, but I assure you, there aren’t any coupons out there. We sell premium products and only to those who can afford them.” His gaze dropped to my combat boots and utility belt. “I wouldn’t think your assassination services came cheap, but to be frank, you’re a bit shabby. Our last customer came in wearing a Versace dress and driving a Range Rover.”
“Only in Seattle would those things go together.” I plucked at a peeling piece of paint on the siding. “Are you sure she wasn’t lost?”
“Not at all.”
“Let’s assume I can afford premium weapons. Why don’t you show me what you’ve got?”
“Why don’t you show me what you’ve got?” He eyed my chest again.
I drew Fezzik from its holster, pulled out the retractable buttstock and folding front grip that transitioned from a pistol to a rifle. “I’ve got a custom monster hunter here—it’s taken a few shifters down in its day—and then there’s Chopper.” I pointed the barrel downward as I indicated my sword.
Since the shifter was magical, he would have no trouble seeing my weapons.
His gaze shifted from my breasts to the gun, and his smirk disappeared, his face growing hard and unfriendly. “That’s one of that Thai girl’s dinky little guns. I’m surprised you would carry something so inferior.” He squinted into my eyes. “Maybe you’re not as dangerous as I’d heard.”
There was a challenge in his gaze, and it reminded me of the werewolves that had attacked me outside of Bend, just because they’d wanted to be able to brag to others that they’d taken me down.
I slid the stock back in and held Fezzik up with one hand. If he attacked me, I would be within my rights to defend myself. And if he died in the process, that would be unfortunate, but these things happened in this line of work.
“You’re welcome to find out,” I said.
His lewd smile returned. “I could kill you, but I could think of more fun things to do with you than fighting. I do love blondes, you know. And so does my brother. Why don’t you come into our lair and meet him?”
“I’m more interested in meeting your dragon-slayer weapons, ah, what did you say your name is?”
“Kurt. My brother is Otto. And if you like guns, we have ’em. It sounds like you’ve got a fetish. We don’t mind that. We don’t judge.” Kurt looked back as he headed inside, flashing white teeth that were more pointed than normal for a human. “Otto,” he called. “We have a visitor.”
“A visitor or a customer?” a gruff male voice said from a back room.