“Blessed rounds,” he growled as Joe tried to twist his head far enough to see his attacker. “Stay still.”
The changeling froze, his muscles spasming as they finished throwing off the effect of the Taser. From this point on, it was the threat of a true death and the belief that his captor would pull the trigger that held him. A full-blood just up from the UnderRealm wouldn’t believe the threat—it would take a certain kind of scary crazy to go up against the Courts—but Joe had been living Human long enough he probably had no idea he was protected.
“We talk, then you can go.” Using his free hand to pull the back of the sweater down, he pressed the pendant against the damp, pale skin just under the hairline and watched goose bumps rise at the touch of the cool metal. “What do you know about what’s happening in the city?”
As the silence extended, he thought maybe he’d been a bit too obscure. He hadn’t wanted to give away any answers, but perhaps what’s happening hadn’t been specific enough. Then the changeling shivered as though he’d worked his way through to the actual question, snorted, and said, “I know what’s come through, don’t I? I’m not blind, and they don’t give a fuck who sees them.”
“Have you told anyone?”
“No! I’m not fucking stupid either! Best way to deal with them is to keep your head down.”
The pendant forced the truth. Anger added the flourishes—the Fey hated being bested by Humans. Anger usually added the flourishes. In this case, it sounded a lot more like fear.
“Have you had word from the UnderRealm?” If he had, he’d know why as well as what.
“No. They don’t give a fuck about me, and I wouldn’t listen to the fuckers if they did!”
It seemed the changeling hadn’t learned not to let sentiment stand in the way of survival. Good. And Alysha Gale hadn’t been given even the minimal information he had about their visitors. Better.
Still that did raise the question of what he’d been doing in the store for so long.
“I’m after working there, aren’t I.”
“Working?” There were any number of jobs a leprechaun’s strength and speed could be useful for. “What are you doing?”
“Selling shit.”
“Selling shit?”
“And going for coffees.”
“You’re working retail?” That was… unexpected. “Why?” He repeated the question with a little more physical emphasis when the silence extended.
“I think…” Pureblood or not, the changeling’s voice had nothing of the UnderRealm in it, sounding more young and terrified than immortal and devious. “I think she felt sorry for me.”
Pity made sense. He was starting to feel a bit uncomfortably like a bully and had to remind himself Joe O’Hallan was not Human.
He wanted to ask specifically about Alysha Gale, to see if the details of her story changed with her audience, but rumor had it that the family had an uncanny way of knowing when they were the topic of conversation, and he didn’t want to risk tipping her off.
Pressing the gun just a little harder against Joe’s head, he slid his knife blade through the ties, and freed Joe’s hands. “If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead.” Muscles tensed under his weight, a clear indication he’d been believed. “Talk about this, and I’ll want you dead.”
“I’m not going to be saying anything! I swear!”
The pendant felt warm as he dropped it into his pocket. “Count to fifty before you get up.”
Allie told herself that the time difference had hauled her ass out of bed at dawn, but standing at the window, hands cupped around a mug of coffee, she knew that was a lie. Mostly a lie. After the cake came out of the oven, she’d stayed up until midnight cataloging the contents of the spare room and finding nothing, so the two-hour time shift had certainly helped her haul her ass out of bed.
If the shadow returned, then yesterday’s pass over the store hadn’t been random.
And?
And then yesterday’s pass over the store hadn’t been random.
There really wasn’t a lot more information a shadow passing at that speed could impart.
Well, except for the obvious.
When the pigeons crowded back under the newspaper box, she braced herself.
There.
And gone.
And not alone.
“Great.” Allie finished her coffee in one long swallow. “We’ve got dragons.”
“If Catherine allowed herself to be eaten by a dragon, I have no sympathy for her at all. Unless you’re a virgin sacrifice, which she most certainly is not, they’re easy enough to avoid.”
“They know where the store is, Auntie Jane.”
“Of course they do, they can sense the power. If you follow them, you’ll probably find them acknowledging every power signature in Edmonton.”
“Calgary.”
“What?”
“I’m in Calgary.”
“Are you asking me to join you there?”
“No!”
“Then don’t start complaining to me about geography. Dragons are not this family’s business.”
“Unless one ate Gran.”
After a long pause, Auntie Jane sighed. “Yes, unless one ate your grandmother.”
“How do I…?”
“Oh, for pity’s sake, Alysha, just consider it for a moment. You’ll need to examine the scat for the nasty indigestible bits.”
She was almost afraid Auntie Jane hadn’t been kidding.
When she paused in front of the mirror and murmured, “Dragons?” her reflection lifted a familiar tabloid. The headline read “Not all THUNDER LIZARDS Come out of the Ground at Drumheller.” And under it, in slightly less strident type, “Thousand-Year-Old Lizard Baby.” She was worried for a moment that the tabloid had already been reporting on the dragons when she saw that the date on the paper was closer to the end of the month.
“Trust me, I wasn’t going to tell Graham about this.” Giving the frame a quick pat, she moved on into the store figuring she could use the ninety minutes until opening to begin cataloging.
Joe sat tucked up into the small offset of the door, head against the glass, arms wrapped around his knees.
Allie dropped her laptop on the counter and hurried across the store. When she turned the lock, his head jerked back and he stared up at her with wide, terrified eyes. Then he blinked and only looked tired as he pulled himself to his feet, one palm against the door.
“Joe? What are you doing here?”
“You want me here. You do want me here?”
“Of course I do. I only meant that it’s early.”
“I don’t…”
… have anywhere else to go.
The subtext was so loud, he might as well have said it.
She stepped aside and watched how his shoulders relaxed when he crossed the threshold. Whatever had happened to him, he believed it couldn’t follow him into the store. She hated to disillusion him, but down here in the store, Gran hadn’t set things up to keep anyone out. She’d just wanted to know what was coming.
When the lock snapped into place, he raised a hand and brushed his hair back out of his eyes. He probably figured that Allie’d ignore the way his fingers were trembling.
Not likely.
“Have you eaten?”
“What?”
“Breakfast? Have you eaten? No, of course you haven’t. Come on, then, upstairs. I’ll make pancakes.”
He stared at her in disbelief. “You’ll what?”
“Make pancakes. Unless they call them flapjacks out here in the west, then I’ll make flapjacks.”
“Upstairs?”
“It’s where the kitchen is.” Hand in the small of his back, not terribly happy about the way she could feel the knobs of his spine through his sweater, she moved him across the store toward the other door.
“I can’t…” His need for sanctuary rolled off him like smoke. He wasn’t fighting her, he hadn’t even stopped walking, but he needed reassurance.
“Why can’t you?”