Sleeping Dragons

by Phoebe Ravencraft

  One

  C heck it, y’all: Dragons are real. I know, because one is about to fry me with his stink-ass fire-breath. Seriously, what the hell did this asshole eat before deciding to barbecue me? Is that combustible swamp gas he’s lighting up? I thought my boss’s coffee-breath was bad. This dude’s fumes smell like baby-shit strained through an exhaust port.

  Anyway, dragons are real, and they are bad mother-you-know-what’s. Everything you’ve ever read about them is true – they’re enormous, look like giant, winged lizards, breathe fire, and are greedy as all shit. And if, like me, you’re stupid enough to invade their lairs, you’re asking to be blackened to a crisp before becoming a tasty, hot-off-the-grill morsel. Dragons, apparently, like their steak well done.

  How’d I get here? Good question. I was living my life, going along minding my own business. The closest I ever got to a dragon was the one we were trying to slay in my weekly D&D campaign.

  Next thing I know, a secret society of assassins is trying to kill me, a half-breed sex-demon is turning me on, and the half-brother I never knew is pissed off because The Order wants me to kill a dragon instead of him.

  I know. Doesn’t make much sense does it?

  All right, let me back up. This whole thing started at The Dragon’s Lair. No, not the giant wyrm trying to incinerate my dumb ass. The Dragon’s Lair is the game store where I work. I was ringing up Dave the Creeper, and I was almost off. Who’s Dave the Creeper? Look, enough questions. Just sit back and let me tell this, all right?

  Hi. I’m Sassy – Sassy Kincaide. Actually, my name is Cecily. My mama liked the sound of that.

  But my big brother Ben was only two when I was born, and he couldn’t say, “Cecily.” All he could come up with was “Sassy.” Mama thought that was pretty cute, and it kinda stuck.

  Since then, I’ve sort of grown into the name. I mean, if they’re gonna call you, “Sassy,” you gotta live up to that, right?

  I’m a geek girl. I like fantasy lit, D&D, comic books, Star Wars, and Marvel movies. Fangirling led to the better-paying of my two jobs, retail sales associate at The Dragon’s Lair game store in “beautiful” Cincinnati, Ohio. Not exactly the best city on the planet, but it was home.

  The Dragon’s Lair carries a full line of tabletop games – card games like Magic: The Gathering, roleplaying games like my beloved D&D, and every hobby-channel board game you can think of from Catan to Gloomhaven.

  Like a lot of games stores, we’re kind of hole-in-the-wall. We’ve only got about fifteen hundred, maybe two thousand, square feet of space, and the shop has this weird, L-shaped configuration that isn’t exactly conducive to retail best practices. But Ron, the owner, does a clever job of racking and displaying product. As a result, our selection is pretty good despite the lack of space.

  Of course, our customer clientele is largely comprised of geeks, and not all geeks are as socially well-adjusted as myself. It’s not a very high bar to get over, but damn if it doesn’t trip up a lot of our customers. For the most part, I don’t care. I mean, to each his own, right? But being a pretty girl who works at the geek store? Yeah, that can cause certain kinds of . . . issues.

  “Hiya, Sassy,” Dave the Creeper said as he brought his purchases to the register.

  I cringed. Dave is one of our regulars. He’s been gaming since the late Seventies, started with D&D and Traveller when no one knew what a roleplaying game was. He also likes historical board games – you know the kind: refight the great battles of World War II. Dave enjoys playing the Germans, trying to correct Hitler’s mistakes. He doesn’t understand why anyone would find that disgusting. He’s fat, and he has greasy, grey hair, and he doesn’t bathe often enough.

  And he thinks I’m the hottest woman alive.

  “Dave,” I said, giving him the most noncommittal greeting possible.

  I pulled a copy of the old Avalon Hill Battle of the Bulge game towards me, along with a couple gross-looking, Death Guard monster models for Warhammer 40K and a shit-ton of paints. Trying not to notice how Dave was leering at me, I started ringing up his purchases.

  “How’ve you been?” he asked.

  “Fine,” I replied, still not looking at him.

  “You still playing that monk?” he inquired, referencing my D&D character.

  I should never have even mentioned it. Now, he brings it up every time he’s in. But I was weak one day, and I was trying to shut him up, so I told him what a badass my character is and how she’s just like me. I hoped that would send a message. But a creepy grognard like him was never going to take the hint. I should have known better.

  “Yes,” I said through gritted teeth.

  I flicked my eyes around the store. Ron had “mysteriously” vanished. He knows I hate Dave, and he knows Dave wants me. Somehow, it doesn’t occur to him that maybe he should be the one to cash out this asshole.

  Felicia was sitting at the work table, sorting Magic cards. She threw a do-you-need-help look at me from her soft, brown eyes, and I nodded once.

  “What level are you now?” Dave asked.

  “She’s ninth,” Felicia said, breezing over like a guardian angel.

  “One-ninety-two-sixteen with tax,” I said.

  Felicia grabbed a bag and started sacking Dave’s purchases as he got his credit card out of his wallet. I started writing them down in our sales notebook. The Dragon’s Lair has a cash register from the mid-Twentieth Century. Modern POS systems are expensive, and Ron hasn’t yielded yet to our continual pleas to get one.

  “Still ninth?” Dave said. “Man, if you were one of my players, I’d make sure you leveled up much faster. I wouldn’t make you wait.”

  I made the mistake of his meeting his gaze. The innuendo was written clearly on his face. Hunger burned in his eyes. I found myself wishing I could projectile vomit in his face.

  “We’ve been having trouble getting together regularly,” Felicia said. “People’s work schedules haven’t synched up well lately. My wizard is stuck at eighth level.”

  Dave didn’t go for the distraction. He kept his lecherous gaze locked on me, not even bothering to acknowledge Felicia.

  “That’s crazy,” Dave said. “I’d make time for you anytime.”

  The credit card machine beeped.

  “It’s ready for you to pull out, Dave,” I said.

  He apparently liked the comment, thinking it was a clever sexual pun instead of the insult I intended. Creeper.

  The receipt printed, and I tore it off and handed it to him to sign. The lecherous bastard made sure to graze my fingers with his as he took it. I imagined breaking his nose with a well-placed punch.

  “There you go, Sassy,” he said, handing the signed receipt back. “Any time you want to switch campaigns let me know. If you play in mine, I guarantee you’ll have a much better time.”

  “There is zero chance of either of those things happening,” I said.

  “Bye, Dave,” Felicia said, pushing the bag across the counter towards him. “See you next time.”

  “Looking forward to it,” he said to me.

  With a final lascivious glance in my direction, Dave the Creeper grabbed his bag of games and lumbered out of the store. I breathed an audible sigh of relief. My skin was still crawling, but at least he was gone.

  “God, that guy is disgusting,” Felicia said. “He’s like thirty years older than you. What does he think is going to happen?”

  “He could have been born the exact same day I was, and there’s no way he’d get up on this,” I said. “I like men who bathe.”

  “What about women?” Felicia said, with a wicked smile.

  Fucking A. What was this? Hit on Sassy Day?

  Okay, so I’m bi. And I did the ultimate stupid thing of sleeping
with a co-worker. Felicia and I were hanging out after work one night at her apartment. There may have been wine involved. Or vodka. Definitely vodka on my part. Anyway, we were bitching about work, and my neck was sore, so she gave me a massage.

  She started on my neck, moved to my shoulders, went down my arms, and the next thing I knew her hands were on my breasts. I was vaguely horny, and it felt good.

  And it didn’t help that Felicia is exactly the type of woman I find attractive – soft skin, a little extra padding, deep brown eyes, and long hair.

  We were naked before I could even think to say, “Maybe this isn’t a good idea.” And at that point I didn’t want to anymore. The sex was mind-blowing, and we passed out in each other’s arms.

  But the next morning, I was thinking it was just a one-night stand. Felicia thought otherwise. I pretended like things hadn’t just gotten really awkward.

  The next night, after D&D, it happened again. This time, I was a lot more uncomfortable. I could tell Felicia thought this was the start of something, and I absolutely did not want that. I mean, don’t get me wrong. I love Felicia. She’s my best friend. She makes me feel safe.

  But I was not looking for a long-term relationship with anyone. I just wanted to fool around a bit, blow off some steam.

  And Felicia is an amazing lover. No one’s ever given me sex that good. That’s probably why I let her take me to bed a second time. When you have that many orgasms in one night, you want it happen again, you know?

  But afterward, I felt terrible. I felt like I was using her, because she clearly wanted something I didn’t.

  We talked the next morning, and it was as painful and shitty as you might imagine. But because we worked together, we couldn’t just not see each other anymore.

  Somehow, we managed to pretend everything was fine when we shared shifts and during D&D. Though we were both tempted, neither of us quit the campaign.

  I gotta give Felicia credit. She’s a bigger person than me. I’d have probably been a mega-bitch to her if the tables were turned.

  That should have been the end of it, but last New Year’s Eve, we were at a party together and got majorly blitzed on cheap champagne. We ended up fucking until dawn and passing out at her apartment. I woke up first and left without leaving a note. We haven’t spoken about it at all. But we both know what it means: I was a bitch again; I led her on. I’m surprised she hasn’t quit the store and the campaign just to get away from me.

  Instead, she just stays my friend. Whenever I really need someone, she’s there. I don’t deserve her.

  Every now and again, though, she’ll make a little comment. She’ll throw me a tease just to see if she can get me to change my mind, to let me know she’d have me in a heartbeat.

  Sometimes, I think I should take her up on it. Felicia would be good to me. She’s the kindest person I’ve ever met. And she’s so damned sexy and really great in bed. She’s pretty much the whole package. But I don’t know. It just sounds too much like real commitment, real complication, to me.

  Anyway, she made doe eyes at me and batted her long lashes. My mood was souring quickly.

  “Oh, did Dave leave?” Ron said, emerging at last from the office, and providing us with a fresh blast of his coffee-breath. Why did he not understand the basic necessity of breath mints?

  His timing was immaculate – both in avoiding the uncomfortable situation with Dave and to interrupt Felicia flirting with me.

  “Did Dave leave?” I said mocking him. “You know damned well that creeper left. You just didn’t want to be out here while he was sexually harassing me.”

  “I didn’t hear any sexual harassment,” Ron said.

  Felicia rolled her eyes. I threw Ron my best death-glare. He tried not to wilt under it, but he wasn’t strong enough.

  “You know damned well Dave the Creeper hits on me every second he’s in the store,” I said. “Ain’t no way you can be that blind.”

  “You really ought to ban him,” Felicia added. “He’s the worst. He drools over every woman who works here, especially Sassy.”

  Ron put his hands on his hips and tried to look innocent. He failed badly.

  “You two are the only women who work here,” he said. “Hell, I’ve only got five employees total, including me.

  “And Dave is one of our best customers. He spends close to a thousand dollars a month here. I can’t ban him.”

  “Uh-huh,” Felicia said. “If he were hitting on you, it would be a different story.”

  “Right?” I said. “And how is it Dave always manages to come in during one of my shifts? I work different hours every week, but Dave always manages to make it here when I’m on the clock.”

  “Now, Sassy, you’re just being paranoid,” Ron protested.

  “And you’re just letting his creeper-ass know when I’m here,” I said. “It needs to stop, Ron. Or I’ll find somewhere else to work.”

  “Sure you will,” he replied. “Because another business is going to get you twenty-five hours a week at two dollars an hour over minimum and work around your teaching schedule at the donjon.”

  I shot him another death-glare. He deflected that one more easily. He was right, and he knew it. Besides, selling games was a lot better than working at Walmart or sitting in a cubicle at a telemarketer.

  “It’s time for me to be off anyway,” I said.

  Ron smirked. I went back into the office and grabbed my backpack and katana, slinging both over my shoulders.

  “Jesus, Sassy,” Ron said, as I re-emerged. “Do you take that damned samurai sword everywhere?”

  “You know, I do,” I said.

  “Don’t you think that’s a little threatening?”

  “Ron, I am a short, petite, Black woman,” I said. “I am exactly the sort of girl creepers think they can hit on. Witness our ‘friend’ Dave. I need something that makes it abundantly clear I am not the girl they want to fuck with.”

  “Why don’t you just carry pepper spray like other girls?” he asked.

  “Because pepper spray doesn’t say, ‘Mess with me, and I’ll cut your dick off,’” I replied.

  Felicia laughed. God, I loved that. She has the most joyful laugh. It always makes me happy, especially when my twisted sense of humor elicits it.

  “Assholes see a chick with a badass sword, they figure maybe they should look elsewhere for fun,” I continued. “The best way to avoid trouble is to head it off before it starts.”

  Ron shook his head. Felicia smiled knowingly at me.

  “Yeah, well, don’t use it on Dave if he’s waiting for you out in the parking lot,” Ron said.

  “If he gets too close to me, he won’t have to worry about no girl wanting him anymore,” I said. “I’ll make sure he couldn’t do anything even if God decided to throw him a pity-fuck.”

  Felicia guffawed loudly. I smiled at her, despite knowing it was probably a bad idea. It would only encourage her. I couldn’t help it, though. Felicia had a way of making me feel good. No, actually she had a lot of ways.

  I headed for the door and shoved those thoughts out of my head.

  “You’re gonna be at D&D tonight, right?” Felicia called after me.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I’m gonna go all Jet Li on that dragon tonight. I’m hitting tenth level if it kills me.”

  “Not if I fireball him first,” she countered.

  “It’s a red dragon, Felicia,” I said. “They’re immune to fire. And I don’t think Magic Missile is gonna be a real substitute.”

  “We’ll see!” she chided as I left.

  Damn. She had me smiling again. Complications like this I did not need.

  I took the bus home. I wish we had a train system like in New York or Chicago. It’s so much cheaper and more convenient. But middle-class people don’t like paying taxes so that poor folks can get to work. They’d much rather bitch about how lazy we are and cut welfare programs while they’re at it.

  Anyway, the bus is okay. It’s clean, and they’ve got pl
enty of routes. My apartment building is close to a stop that runs directly to the store, and it only requires one change to get to the donjon where I teach in my other job.

  Unless it’s rush hour or Friday night, it’s usually not too crowded. I sit back and read my Kindle. I’m currently fangirling on K.F. Breene. Good urban fantasy stuff about a magical bounty hunter and a dead-sexy vampire. What’s not to like?

  But tonight, there were more people than usual, and I couldn’t get a decent seat. When a couple of old ladies got on two stops after I did, I got up so they could sit down.

  Unable to bury my nose in a book, I noticed a guy staring at me. He wore a grey hoodie and black jeans with combat boots. White dude, with a goatee that extended two inches from his chin and enough piercings to make to make him look like a cyborg. He was looking me up and down and getting all my particulars wired into his head.

  When you’re a woman, your hackles go up immediately when you notice this sort of thing. You think, “Is this guy waiting for me to get off, so he can follow me home?” “Does anyone know where I am?” “If I don’t show up for work, will someone miss me?” All that shit. Guys have no idea. They don’t get how they make women feel when they stare like that.

  But I’m not just a woman. I’m also light-skinned Black. Not that most people can tell. My skin is so light I look more like someone with a soft tan. I’ve got kinky hair, but even though it’s black, people can mistake for a White woman with curly hair. I’ve got freckles. I’ve got green eyes. My mama was light-skinned and my daddy – whoever he was – was White. I did get the Black-girl bubble butt, making it damned hard to find jeans that fit right. Thanks, Mama. At a glance, though, people can mistake me for White.

  But I’m still Black, and that means I live with all the fears Black folks have about racism. And when an aggressive-looking White guy is staring at you on the bus, every one of those little terrors starts whispering in your ear.

  When I’d given up my seat, I left my backpack on the floor at my feet. But I had my sword in hand. I shifted my stance so that Mr. Punk Rock had a good view of it. Then I smiled unpleasantly.