As the city woke around us, I begrudgingly admitted that from the exterior, Sweet Iron appeared to have been worth the drive and the wait. The classic Belgian waffle place was situated on the ground floor of a refurbished sandstone-brick building, just in from the corner of Third Avenue and Seneca Street. It was easily within walking distance of the Inn at the Market, where I stayed whenever I attended the Northwest Chocolate Festival. However, with so much yumminess to consume in Seattle, it apparently hadn’t popped up on my radar yet.
Drake returned from circling the block. The fledgling was having trouble staying still, but patrolling under Warner’s watchful gaze seemed to keep him fairly settled. “The sign says the restaurant doesn’t open on Sundays until 8 a.m.”
“What?” I mumbled, really not awake or at all ready for bad news yet.
“Never mind,” Kandy said, shifting eagerly back and forth on the balls of her feet. “I called in a favor. Six was the earliest they’d open, though. Donation or no donation.”
The interior lights flicked on in the diner. A silver-haired man began bustling around the open kitchen behind the glass display counters and cash register.
“You called in a favor and made a donation … for waffles?” I asked.
Warner snorted.
“These aren’t just any waffles, dowser,” the green-haired werewolf said gleefully. “You’ll be thanking me in about ten minutes. Plus it was a tax write-off for a kid’s foundation. That’s doubly worth it.”
“You know best,” I said. We weren’t exactly blazing trails to the instrument of assassination, and if Kandy wanted waffles along the way, I wasn’t going to argue.
“Always.”
A group of club-weary twentysomethings stumbled around the far corner, supporting each other and approaching us on unsteady feet.
“Hey!” a guy in the middle of the group exclaimed. “Are they opening early?”
His friends whooped in delight.
“Keep moving, bub.” Kandy curled her lip in a snarl.
The group of friends completely ignored her, stumbling over to form a neat line beside us on the sidewalk. Kandy muttered nastily underneath her breath, but didn’t make a scene.
And in the few minutes we waited in the predawn, a long line formed around us. No one even batted an eyelash at our outfits. I could only imagine that we all looked as though we were coming off a hard night of clubbing. Though what club Drake and Warner in their dragon leathers might be coming from, I wasn’t sure.
A female employee wedged open the glassed entrance door, releasing the delectable scent of fresh-baked waffles into our eager nostrils. Kandy moaned softly, then began shifting from sneakered foot to sneakered foot. The half-awake employee slowly placed two sets of metal tables and chairs in front of the windows. She had a black semicolon tattooed behind her ear, representing mental health awareness. So I instantly liked her, of course.
Though I seriously hoped there was more seating inside. My aversion to eating in the great outdoors extended to perching on metal chairs in the middle of January.
“She’s not an Adept,” I whispered to Kandy. “I thought you called in a favor?”
The green-haired werewolf grinned at me. “The vampire isn’t the only one with secret ways.”
The employee slipped back inside, allowing the door to close behind her. She turned on the red neon ‘Open’ sign as she crossed back behind the counter that ran the length of the interior of the cafe.
Kandy was inside before the door clicked closed, practically pressing herself against the glass case that shielded piles of hot-off-the-iron waffles from general pawing. We stumbled in after the werewolf.
The menu on the blackboard behind the counter listed a half-dozen sweet and savory options. The diner was simply furnished, with smooth white particleboard tables and white plastic scoop-backed chairs supported on thin metal legs.
“We’ll take three of each,” Kandy said to the guy behind the cash register. “Plus two coffees, four waters, and an orange juice.”
The cashier looked aghast, then cast his gaze at the line forming along the counter behind the green-haired werewolf. “Sorry? Three of which?”
“Three of each option.” Kandy carefully and bitingly enunciated each word. “Chocolate dipped, sweet, and savory. Just bring them as you build them.”
I snagged two of the two-seater tables, tugging them together in the farthest corner away from the door. The other customers scrambled to fill the tables and chairs around me.
“We’ll lose our place,” I said, hissing at Drake and Warner, who were still gazing up at the menu.
They appeared seriously confused at the mayhem happening over the seating. Apparently, dragons didn’t get the concept of fighting for feeding rights.
“Warner, Kandy is ordering for us.” I waved him toward the chair I’d squeezed into the corner by the window. I figured it was the only seat that allowed enough space for his shoulders.
Kandy slapped three hundred-dollar bills onto the counter.
“We just opened. I don’t have change for that,” the cashier stuttered.
“Just keep them coming and let me know if that runs out.” Then she grabbed the bottles of water and the orange juice that the female employee had already placed beside the cash register, turning away from the counter to smile at me.
The older man, whistling merrily away, was systematically filling, then closing, six waffle irons in the kitchen. I knew from experience that his white apron was doomed to be splattered in batter while he dealt with the morning crush.
I missed my bakery. No matter how much work it was every day, I loved opening to a line at the door on a Saturday or Sunday morning.
Kandy’s phone pinged as she pressed through the half dozen or so bodies between our table and the cashier. She dumped the waters and the juice in Drake’s arms to check her messages.
In an epic juggling feat, the fledgling guardian managed to catch all five bottles before they could strike the white-tiled floor.
I laughed. All those years of dragon training put to perfect use.
“BRB,” Kandy said. She shouldered her way back through the crowd blocking the door. Once outside, she stepped off the sidewalk and took a picture of the front of the waffle place. Then she jogged up to the corner to snap a shot of the street signs.
“BRB?” Warner asked. He reached across the table to relieve the female employee — Rachel, now that her name tag was close enough to read — of three of the four plates she was carrying.
Drake snagged the fourth plate, consuming one of the chocolate-covered waffles before he’d lowered himself into the chair across from me.
“It’s short for ‘be right back,’ ” I said, wondering what the werewolf was doing. “Oooo, they brought the sweet portion of the menu first.”
Two years of serious dragon training, and I was still easily distracted.
After appreciating the pretty piles of waffles covered in chocolate, powdered sugar, strawberries, and whipped cream, I braved the crowd to collect forks and napkins from the self-serve kiosk.
Kandy appeared at my elbow, reaching past me as she grabbed cream and sugar for her coffee.
“Pictures?” I asked, turning back to the table.
Kandy dug into a waffle covered in berry compote before she settled into the seat beside Drake. “Sorcerer needed them,” she said around bites. “Is there syrup?”
She elbowed Drake. He levered himself out of his chair and negotiated the crowd in search of golden nectar.
I handed a fork and napkin to Warner, then dropped the rest of the pile at the edge of the table nearest the window. They were less likely to be knocked off there by the feeding frenzy.
Two of the four plates were already empty.
“They’re on their way, then?” Warner asked.
Kandy nodded, reaching for a waffle covered in bruleed bananas, caramel, and whipped cream.
Drake returned with the syrup.
I started laughing.<
br />
Everyone ignored me.
Kandy, Warner, and Drake continued eating. The customers continued ordering. And food continued to be delivered.
And I laughed.
Shailaja had kidnapped Chi Wen with a sword whose magic was a product of my own alchemy. We were tracking the final instrument of assassination to lure her out. We were waiting on a vampire and sorcerer to return with some clue to some temple, which was most likely filled with magical devices primed to kill anyone who attempted to enter it without the secret password.
But first, we were eating waffles.
I wiped tears from my cheeks, my laughter abating to a pained chuckle. Warner squeezed my knee underneath the table.
“Good waffles,” Drake said. Every ounce of his attention was focused on scooping up as much of the syrup pooling on his plate as he could before shoveling a final bite into his mouth.
“Yep,” Kandy said agreeably.
I quashed a second round of inappropriate laughter. “I’m okay,” I muttered, more to myself than anyone else.
“You’re the only one who doubts it, dowser,” Kandy said.
Rachel loomed over Drake’s left shoulder with more waffles. The savory plates were topped with bacon, brie, and basil; prosciutto, creme fraiche, and green onions; and herbed goat cheese, hazelnuts, and honey. She eyed the fifteen-year-old appreciatively while she swapped out our empty plates. He didn’t notice. But then, most people found bacon distracting.
“Hey!” I said to Drake. “It’s your birthday soon.”
“Tomorrow.” The fledgling grinned at me from across the table.
I nodded, finally smiling for a nonhysterical reason. “We’ll head back to the bakery as soon as we can.”
“And you’ll bake me whatever I want?”
“Within reason.”
“Whose reason? Yours or mine?”
Kandy barked out a laugh.
Then the vampire and the sorcerer walked into the diner.
They got stared at.
We were crammed into the corner like club rejects, but it was Kett’s pale, arresting looks — swathed in pricy jeans and tan cashmere — alongside Blackwell’s naturally jet-black hair and custom-fitted charcoal suit that muted the conversation around us.
At first glance, the two appeared to be complete opposites … but then … not. Blackwell would have made a good vampire … depending on what ‘good’ meant in that context. And Kett had wielded magic before he’d been turned. I had always assumed he’d been a witch, but he might well have been a sorcerer.
Their magic was completely different. Kett’s dark-tinged peppermint was embedded in every pore of his skin, even as Blackwell’s earthy Cabernet hung back, waiting to be pooled into orbs of navy-blue magic — a blue so dark it was almost black. But they were twins in demeanor and cool charisma. Though obviously, Kett had centuries of practice over the sorcerer. Plus the whole immortality thing.
Blackwell glanced around the waffle place. I would have expected him to be disdainful, but he was carefully neutral.
Kett snagged two more chairs, practically stealing one as its occupant vacated it. She whirled around in surprise. He winked at her and she giggled.
Giggled.
At a vampire.
At an uber-powerful vampire … who she had no idea was a deadly predator.
No wonder my head was always screwed up. I kept trying to live an Adept life in a human world, and that was just … skewed.
Kandy shifted her chair closer to the window, then elbowed Drake to snug up against her. Kett placed the two extra chairs between the fledgling and me, but six people really didn’t fit well around two tiny tables.
“Coffee?” Blackwell touched Rachel’s elbow lightly as she flew toward us with more food. She blushed, nodded at the sorcerer, and deposited another four plates in front of us. In addition to chocolate-dipped waffles, this sweet batch featured Nutella and ice cream, which itself was covered in caramel, chocolate sauce, and peanuts like a waffle sundae.
I sighed. Apparently, only I saw terrifying monsters wherever I looked. Which probably said more about my outlook than anyone else’s.
I was losing count of how much Warner, Drake, and Kandy had eaten. But I hadn’t had a chocolate-dipped waffle yet, so I snagged one.
Sure, we were pretty much convening a war council, but I was good about keeping my priorities straight. You never knew when you might be consuming the last waffles of your life.
Kett sat down beside me. His knee pressed tightly against mine so that he didn’t have to touch Blackwell on the other side.
No one spoke.
As I ate my waffle, I realized suddenly that I was the one everyone was waiting on. When did I get put in charge? That was seriously wack.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“China,” Blackwell said, pulling a leather-bound brown book filled with rough-edged pages out of his suit pocket.
Drake focused on the sorcerer over a plate of waffles topped by roasted turkey breast, Havarti, and raspberry jam. China was Chi Wen’s territory. “The final instrument lies in China?” he asked quietly.
Rachel appeared over the sorcerer’s shoulder. Blackwell shifted the thick journal out of the way so she could place his coffee down on the only available wedge of table.
“Thank you,” he murmured. She followed through with cream and sugar, then reluctantly retreated to tend her other customers.
“China is an exceedingly large country,” Warner said.
Blackwell nodded as he made a slow show of adding cream and sugar to his coffee, carefully stirring between additions.
Annoyed, I looked at Kett. “What’s to stop us from forcibly taking the journal from him?”
“It’s warded,” Blackwell replied smoothly. “Keyed along ancestral lines.”
I snorted. “Not a problem.”
Kett, whose gaze was fixed out the window, cracked a grin. “It’s written in a runed language.”
“How long would it take us to decipher?”
“Too long.”
Damn it.
“Kettil and I have already had this discussion.”
“Old toothy doesn’t speak for all of us,” Kandy snapped.
Blackwell ignored her. “I will be accompanying you.”
Warner pushed his empty plate away, leaning back in his chair with his gaze fixed to the sorcerer.
Blackwell swallowed, reaching for his coffee to cover his wariness.
“It’s difficult to play cat and mouse with dragons,” I said, pitching my voice low but cheerful.
“Indeed,” Blackwell replied. “But I’m not playing. I don’t have an exact location. My ancestors were armed with charts of the night sky, not GPS.”
“Unhelpful in the wrong season,” Warner said.
“Obviously, China as a country was distinct even then. That much is clear.”
“The Himalayas are difficult to mislabel,” Kett said wryly.
Blackwell winced almost imperceptibly. All that attempt at buildup, and the vampire had stolen his finish. “Indeed. A solid landmark by which to guide our journey.”
“What is it with the freaking mountain ranges?” I muttered with a glance at Warner.
“All the better to hide massive magical makings,” he said, offering me a wry grin.
“Other clues in the text should get us farther along, but we need an entry point,” Kett said.
I slipped my hand in my satchel to finger the dragonskin map. I didn’t want to pull it out in front of Blackwell or draw the shadow demons to us, though the nonmagicals in the diner would be immune to their leechlike tendencies. But I was hopeful that I would be able to get it working once we were in China. Figuring out the country was key in my previous experiences of hunting the instruments. Then narrowing it down to the nearest portal, and triggering the map. Question was, should I try to ditch the sorcerer before then?
“Transportation?” I finally said.
As I’d expected, everyone eyed
the sorcerer. Blackwell sipped his coffee sedately.
“Grid point portal?” I said with a sigh.
The evil sorcerer presumably knew all about dragons and guardians and portals anyway. We couldn’t all just sit around in a waffle place silently plotting against him while not moving forward.
“No,” Kett said.
“I doubt the sorcerer would survive the trip,” Warner said, delivering the threat amicably.
“Airplane?”
“Amulet?” Blackwell countered with a sly grin.
“All have drawbacks,” Warner said.
Kandy swiped her finger through a mixture of powdered sugar and maple syrup on her plate, then licked her finger clean. She leaned back and held up four fingers in Rachel’s direction. “We’ll take four dozen of the chocolate-dipped to go.”
“Right,” I said. “By jet, then.”
Blackwell stiffened in protest. “I won’t travel by any mundane mode of transport with …” He trailed off, making his point without outing the dragons sitting around the table with us.
“Then you can teleport ahead and wait for us, sorcerer,” I said blithely. “We’ll happily plot behind your back for the … what? Twelve or so hours it takes to fly there?”
I glanced at Kett. He nodded.
“Heigh-ho, heigh-ho,” I sang under my breath as I got up from the table. “It’s off to work we go.”
Kandy laughed, shoving past the sorcerer when he didn’t move quickly enough. Slipping her arm through mine, she threw her head back and — terribly off key — belted the remainder of the Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs song at the top of her lungs.
By the time we settled the bill, grabbed the to-go containers, and made a beeline for the door, Kandy had the entire diner singing.
Apparently, tasty waffles made everyone happy.
Good to know.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
We hustled back to the underground parking lot where we’d left the green SUV. As we approached it with the vampire, the sorcerer, and a whole bunch of take-out waffle boxes in tow, Kett triggered the locks on a white SUV currently parked beside our vehicle.
Artifacts, Dragons, and Other Lethal Magic Page 20