“I’m coming.” I hung up and shook my head. What had happened to my day off?
3
Hoping we wouldn’t run into Janice Lindberg again, I parked the Jeep near Dimitri’s new business. Nin came with me instead of going back for the lunch rush at her food truck. When I’d relayed the neighbor’s story and Dimitri’s call, she’d been concerned.
“There are so many magical beings here,” Nin whispered as we walked up to the old yellow house that had long ago been converted to a commercial property.
It didn’t have official signage yet—the last I’d heard, Zoltan and Dimitri and Nin were arguing over names—but a piece of paper in the window proclaimed it was the soft opening for Fremont’s newest and best source for YARD ART AND HEALING TINCTURES (that was in all caps and on the top) and coffee (that was scrawled in tiny writing at the bottom).
“It is somewhat alarming.” I’d sensed the numerous magical beings before we’d gotten out of the Jeep, the auras of at least two dozen goblins, shifters, ogres, trolls, and kobolds. It reminded me of walking into the now-closed Rupert’s bar on Capitol Hill. I hoped there wouldn’t be axe-throwing inside here, though that would have explained the crash I heard over Dimitri’s phone.
Nin and I paused at the bottom of the steps leading to the front door. The ogres I’d sensed were visible through the recently cleaned window, their broad shoulders and shaggy yellow-haired heads surrounding the espresso cart. They had better not be harassing the young woman Dimitri had hired to make coffee.
A thump sounded inside, followed by raised voices.
“Put that down!” Dimitri ordered.
“Perhaps we should call for backup,” Nin said. “I did not bring any weapons.”
“Do you have backup?”
“Usually, you. But you know a dragon. Can you call Lord Zavryd?”
“I was working late with Lord Zavryd last night to capture three orcs who had the bright idea of blowing up a country bridge and ambushing cars full of people after they tumbled into a ravine. The orcs claimed they only needed money, but they happened to be killing people with their scheme. Apparently, this wasn’t the first world where they’d done this. Zav insisted that we catch them in the act, so he could be sure they were the orcs on his list, which involved me pretending to stumble into their trap and fall into the ravine myself. Here’s a tip for you. You can’t pretend to fall into a ravine without actually falling into it. Luckily, I landed in a creek full of wet boulders that softened my fall.” I rubbed the lingering bruises on my backside, glad for my body’s faster-than-average healing ability. “After getting back late, I told Zav I was taking today off and didn’t want to deal with bad guys or dragons.”
Nin gazed blandly at me as I relayed this story. “So, you cannot call Lord Zavryd?”
“No. It’s not like he has a cell phone anyway.”
Another crash came from inside, followed by swearing.
“Then we will have to be diplomatic.” Nin lifted her chin. “I will go first.”
“Good idea. You know how I handle diplomacy.” I loosened Fezzik in my thigh holster and followed right behind her in case her tongue wasn’t as smooth as she thought.
We stepped into the front room of the shop and found it much more crowded than expected considering we hadn’t done any advertising yet. All of the visitors were magical, either full-blooded or half-blooded. Dimitri, with his one-quarter dwarven blood, had the least noticeable aura of anyone inside.
There were only four tables, all up front and near the espresso stand, and they were all taken. Elsewhere, ogres, trolls, and shifters sat on display cases or lounged against curio cases full of Dimitri’s up-cycled decor and Zoltan’s alchemical tinctures. Several shelves and pieces of yard art and housewares had been knocked to the floor. Dimitri was running around with a dustpan and a broom that he was using like a halberd to push customers away. They all had coffee mugs or paper cups in hand, so they had to be customers.
“Val!” Dimitri blurted when he spotted me, then raised his voice to address the room. “The Ruin Bringer is here!”
I groaned as more than two dozen sets of eyes swiveled toward me.
“If you fight,” Nin said, “lure them outside so they do not damage the premises.”
“I thought we were going to be diplomatic.”
“I will be diplomatic with the ones who don’t attack you. We will know those are the reasonable customers and worth keeping.”
Why did everyone want to use me as bait?
Nin stepped out of the way as chairs scraped on the battered hardwood floors and magical beings rose to their feet. A nearby shifter lifted his face and sniffed the air in my direction—I was pretty sure I recognized him as a werewolf from Gregor’s Gang and wondered what had brought him all the way from West Seattle.
“It is true,” the werewolf said, lifting his hands toward the rest of the gathering, a gathering that was now poised to spring in my direction. “I’d heard rumors, but I didn’t believe them.”
I’d been about to dart outside, as Nin requested, but I paused on the threshold and raised my eyebrows.
“She is marked,” the werewolf said. “She has been claimed by the dragon that has been flying around Seattle.”
I groaned as more sets of nostrils lifted into the air, sniffing. Others simply nodded.
“You can sense his aura on her.”
“Everyone, sit down,” the werewolf said. “It would be suicidal to attack the mate of a dragon.”
Just as I was thinking that I’d be able to walk in without a fight, an ogre with a coffee mug in one big hand and a half-eaten king-size Hershey bar in the other plunked down his snacks and stepped toward me. “Trogg is not afraid of a dragon. Trogg would have much status among his people if he slew the Mythic Murderer.”
His head almost brushed the ceiling, and his sleeveless hide vest revealed bulging shoulders like boulders as he looked me up and down. He pulled a spiked club out of a sling on his back and hefted it like a cartoon character from the Flintstones.
“Trogg might be made chief.”
“Trogg might find out if ogre corpses fit in the city morgue,” a goblin seated at a table with his kin said with a snicker. There were three other goblins with him and no fewer than twelve espresso cups between them. Gondo had mentioned that his people enjoyed coffee.
The ogre curled a lip to sneer at the goblins, but he took another step toward me. Though tempted to draw Fezzik, I didn’t want to shoot up the business I was a partial owner in.
“Did he pay for his coffee?” I asked Dimitri, wondering if this guy was an actual customer or a thief who had been wrecking his art and bullying the help into giving him food.
Dimitri glanced at the wide-eyed barista. She nodded.
Hell, I didn’t want to eviscerate paying customers.
Trogg lumbered toward me with his club raised and scraping the ceiling tiles. A few of them crashed down behind him, and Dimitri groaned.
I jumped out of the doorway and down the stairs, landing in a crouch on the walkway, with Chopper in hand. Movement to my left caught my eye. Janice was walking up the sidewalk and gaping at me. Oh, fabulous.
Trogg rushed down the stairs, swinging his club, and I had to focus on defending myself.
More than a dozen of the other patrons ran out to watch—and make bets. Money changed hands faster than tickers updating on the stock exchange.
The ogre feinted at me a few times with his club before committing to a massive downward swing at my head. I sprang to the side before he could nail me into the pavement, then swept Chopper back toward my opponent. The magical blade flared blue and sliced through the club with only the slightest sensation of impact.
I darted past the startled ogre and kicked him in the back of the knee. His leg bent, and he stumbled forward, not quite face-planting. The second kick went to his butt and caused him to topple.
A familiar aura came within range of my senses—I almost missed it due to the auras of so many magical beings nearby, but this was a very powerful and very distinct aura. Zav.
Trogg staggered to his feet.
I pointed my sword at him. “Dimitri’s is a peaceful gathering place.” We needed to come up with a better name for the shop. “If you can’t keep your weapons holstered, you can stay out of here.”
Trogg growled, clenched the remains of his club, and crouched like he would spring. A shadow fell over the sidewalk, a great winged shadow. Several of the magical beings who’d been watching scattered, leaving their beverages behind to flee. Others gaped up at the huge black dragon soaring into view, their eyes mesmerized.
Inside the doorway, Nin gave Dimitri a high-five. Nin appeared ecstatic at this development. Dimitri watched Zav’s landing dubiously.
As he dropped down beside me, Zav shifted into his human form, his black robe, trimmed beard and mustache, and short dark hair impeccable, as always. He slipped an arm around my waist and gazed at Trogg, who’d frozen in his crouch as he gaped at us.
“I am Lord Zavryd’nokquetal, and this is my female.” Zav’s voice rang out as if he had an amplifier. His power crackled over me, and as always, I had to resist the urge to stare at him, as mesmerized as the onlookers. “You dare lift a weapon in her presence?”
“I’m handling it,” I whispered to Zav. “Why don’t you go inside and get a coffee?”
But Zav was focused on the ogre, his eyes flaring with violet light, indignation on his handsome but oh-so-haughty face. His muscled arm was tight and possessive around me. As much as I appreciated having him as an ally, this was entirely unnecessary. I’d been handling the situation.
Trogg looked at his stump of a club and tossed it aside. Zav used magic to knock him off his feet.
The ogre pitched forward to his hands and knees and stammered, “Trogg sorry, Lord Dragon. Trogg didn’t know.”
“You’re sorry, Lord Zavryd’nokquetal.”
I swatted Zav on the chest. “I told you. Nobody can pronounce that.”