“No reason.” I might not have the most handsome date, but damned if I wouldn’t try my best to have a good time.
Gathering the hem of my dress so I wouldn’t trip over it climbing the stairs, I allowed the butler to usher me into Lord Relobu’s dinner party.
*
Despite Carol’s fear that I’d be eaten and ruin her chance to wear my gold sandals, we were fifteen minutes into the party, and the only danger we’d faced was boredom. Emory and I were led down a gleaming hallway filled with sculptures and tapestries galore. Cognizant of Amy’s abrupt removal when Relobu’s instructions weren’t followed to the letter, I stifled my urge to stop and explore.
Instead, I had to content myself with sneaking glances at Grecian forms and medieval armor rather than spending hours examining each one as I preferred. Whether truly hereditary or the dragons’ version of a practical joke, most dragons did indeed suffer an instinct to hoard. While humans were still concentrating on killing each other during the war, dragons were quietly amassing large fortunes in art and antiques. And jewelry. Lots of jewelry.
Humans did what humans always do. They locked up their valuables in vaults at the local bank. Unfortunately, safe deposit boxes, no matter how thick the concrete securing them, were no match for hordes of dragons with a penchant for sparklies and an intellect to know where to find them.
By the time the bombs stopped falling, the dragons were the new Vanderbilts.
I followed Emory and the butler into a room defined by an enormous table. It didn’t take a genius to figure out we’d reached the dining hall. The table stretched the entire length of the room, and if I had to guess, there were at least one hundred human-style chairs tucked under its surface. The glossy red wood gleamed in the electric light given off by the twinkling chandeliers overhead.
There were three of these chandeliers spaced evenly through the middle of the ceiling across the room. Each one was elaborately curved into complicated designs that were unique but somehow evoked a similar elegance as the tiny crystals caught the light. The design made the dark painted ceiling look as if it were filled with indoor stars. By the windows, round wooden beams, about a foot in diameter and six feet in length, lined the room, providing a perch for any dragons also in attendance.
Our footsteps echoed on the bare marble floor as we were led across the room. My dreams of a dazzling night of dancing and rubbing elbows with the rich and famous had been crushed. Emory and I were the only persons present, dragon or human. I couldn’t help but smile when I noticed the four place settings arranged neatly near the end of the enormous table. “Insufficient seating” my ass. I wondered whether Emory would mention the size of the table to his wife.
I was slightly disappointed that the dinner would have only two other participants. I had to admit my curiosity about what actual parties looked like here in the dining hall. Based on the size of the space, it appeared Lord Relobu’s dinner engagements usually involved a huge number of people. That meant he’d likely entertained at least a few non-dragonspeakers in the past. There weren’t this many employees in all of DRACIM. I wondered how the general public felt about being surrounded by dragons, and whether they, like Carol, thought the entire species was dangerous.
It wasn’t unheard of for non-dragonspeakers to mingle with dragons—it was almost impossible to avoid, actually. Because the dragons controlled quite a bit of the world’s money, most businesses were more than happy to open their doors to the creatures. But it wasn’t often that dragons and humans got together just to socialize. Humans were leery of a dragon’s unpredictable habits, and dragons were mostly confused when presented with a human social function. We were just too different, I guess.
I smiled. Maybe Lord Relobu hosted a lot of business dinners. I’d have to ask whether he made regular requests to DRACIM for social translators. My department handled only his business ventures. And the dragon did a lot of business. I’d seen that firsthand. Although Richard rarely, if ever, made the call himself, Emory’s department was regularly tapped for dragonspeakers when Mr. Green’s staff was stretched a little too thin. And, of course, DRACIM happily provided the service. My organization was careful to stay in the good graces of our main source of revenue.
There were no dragons to be seen, and Lord Relobu had yet to make an appearance. The butler had politely hustled us into the room and left with a promise that dinner would be served within minutes. I covered my hand over a yawn and did my best to look interested in Emory’s rant. He was still ruffled about the injustice done to his wife. I made some vague conciliatory noises to Emory while I scanned the room for a clock. My banged-up wristwatch just hadn’t gone with the dress.
Where was our freaking dinner? Food was the only thing likely to stop Emory from yammering. My dreams of a star-studded Hollywood party were falling faster than an aging actress’s bustline. I sat down in one of the chairs, thinking maybe my actions would prompt someone into starting the show.
I guess it did. As soon as my rear hit the chair, the enormous doors at the end of the hall opened, and in walked a dragon.
I wasn’t sure of the protocol when meeting a dragon lord, and I’d never learned how to curtsy, so when Lord Relobu himself stepped through the door, I scrambled to my feet and bent into a slight bow with my eyes on the floor. Emory stop his tirade mid-sentence—finally—and did the same.
Lord Relobu approached the table, his long beard brushing along the floor at his feet. One of the first dragons “born” on that fateful night a century ago when Dr. Smith’s genetic cast-offs decided to thrive inside the kiln that was supposed to kill them, Lord Relobu painted a mighty picture even in rest.
His dark green body was huge but graceful, and his wings stretched the entire length of his back. The dragon lord’s eyes were the color of an Oklahoma wheat field at harvest, and they framed the power and fierce intelligence expected of someone of his rank. Despite Lord Relobu being somewhere near one hundred years old, his appearance was closer to a dragon in his thirties. The ultimate mix of good genes. This was an ancient, and I couldn’t help the hair that rose on the back of my neck.
Lord Relobu had a presence.
“Mr. Glask,” the dragon lord rumbled in Emory’s direction, “I’m so glad you could join me.” I waited a beat to see how much Emory understood. He didn’t like to admit his lack of dragonspeaking skills until he was forced to do so. His timing was a bit off, but Emory nodded and made appropriately grateful noises. Luckily, the dragon didn’t notice. He’d already turned to me. “And Ms. Banks, is it? Welcome to my home.”
“Lord Relobu,” I executed another slight bow. “Thank you very much for inviting us. Emory was delighted to see your invitation.”
Lord Relobu nodded and gestured back to the table. “Please, return to your seats. I fear I won’t be joining you for dinner. I simply wanted to greet you personally before the food arrived.” He turned to my boss. “Mr. Glask, how was the ride over? I trust the car arrived on schedule?”
Emory blinked at the dragon stupidly. I leaned near his ear. “He wants to know how you liked the limo.”
“Oh, yes, yes. The limousine was wonderful. Very…spacious. Thank you.”
There was an awkward pause before Relobu turned his head from Emory back to me. “He doesn’t understand me?”
“Well, uh,” I really hated when this question was invariably asked, because it put me in the position of admitting DRACIM had a non-dragonspeaker running one of the largest departments in Tulsa. Usually, if it were a lower-ranking dragon, I could tell them that Emory preferred they speak directly to me, as I would be the one making the final arrangements in whatever situation we were embroiled in. Dragon society was built around strict, almost medieval notions of class status, and most of them accepted this explanation easily. But this was freaking Lord Relobu. There was no way I could tell him he didn’t rank high enough to garner a manager’s attention.
So I used a different excuse. “Emory has a bit of a hearing difficulty. Low
frequency tones are hard for him to pick up. He asked that I facilitate the conversation.”
I bit my lip and tried to look more confident. That was a thing, wasn’t it? That people could hear high notes, but not low ones? Lord, I hoped so.
Lord Relobu looked once again at Emory before nodding. “Well, Ms. Banks, it was a pleasure. Please convey my regards to your colleague.”
And with that, North America’s dragon lord lumbered from the hall.
Only then did I notice Richard and Trian standing near the two place settings at the table. I smiled absently at Richard, but my eyes were drawn to Trian. Dressed in a dark shirt and matching pants, he was every inch a professional.
And it was painfully obvious that he was one of the other dinner guests.
Chapter Three
“So, let’s get started, shall we?” Richard gestured for us to choose a seat. I deliberately waited until Trian pulled out a chair before choosing one on the opposite side of the table. Childish? Probably. But I really, really didn’t care at this point. I could kill Emory for this.
I must have made a face, because Trian smiled slightly before settling into his seat. Emory, still breathing heavily from his earlier rant and brief encounter with a dragon lord, collapsed into the chair beside me, leaving Richard to occupy the seat near Trian.
Once seated, I smoothed my hands along my dress. Why was I so nervous? Sure, I’d just met a dragon lord in person, but otherwise, this had been a pretty uneventful night. No angry, destructive dragons, no unavoidable discussions with unhappy humans, and not even a bit of vomit. Take away the fancy dress, the mansion and the famous artwork, and it was just another business function.
But I couldn’t stop the gooseflesh from rising along my arm. This felt like something more than a social function.
The doors opened for two waiters, dressed in unrelieved black, one carrying an enormous bowl full of salad, and the other a step behind with a bottle of wine.
At the sight of food, even if it was just salad, Emory perked up considerably. He made a comment about the ripeness of the tomatoes and soon he and Richard were involved in a discussion about family recipes.
I murmured my thanks to the waiter as he poured me a glass of wine, and avoided looking at Trian. He hated salads, and used to tell me the only good carrot was a carrot on someone else’s plate. I’d laughed at his outright refusal to eat anything even resembling a fruit or vegetable unless it had been cooked until the flavor was completely gone, and I’d teased him mercilessly about it any time we’d gone out to a restaurant to eat. But teasing was no longer appropriate, and it left me with nothing whatsoever to say.
Luckily, as waiters finished their tasks and left the room, Richard wrapped up his vegetable lecture and included Trian and me in the conversation.
“First of all, on behalf of Relobu Holdings, we appreciate DRACIM’s support over the past year. Your help with the Tulsa charity auction, the Dragon’s Center for Substance Abuse, and most recently, the handling of Isiwyth Armatoth’s minor indiscretion last week has been top notch.”
My heart swelled in satisfaction. I’d been lead on all of the projects mentioned, and it was rare that someone actually took the time to notice my hard work. Emory wasn’t much of the noticing type, and everyone else at DRACIM was too busy to look up from his or her own duties.
I was just about to thank Richard for the kind words when Emory practically put his chest in my plate to lean toward Relobu’s chief employee.
“It was a pleasure, Mr. Green. An absolute pleasure. I spent considerable time choosing the right people for the job. Only the best for Relobu Holdings.”
I tried not to roll my eyes. Emory’s idea of taking “considerable time” was to toss a folder on my desk as he walked to the cafeteria. It had been me who’d poured over the job descriptions and employee profiles before choosing the staff we’d assigned to Relobu’s various requests.
Trian, his plate of lettuce still untouched, put down his fork and addressed Emory. “The Mr. Berner you sent over for help with the design of the rehabilitation center was invaluable. He mentioned that he’d worked in substance abuse services for a few years before joining DRACIM. Do you happen to know with what facility the rehab center was affiliated?”
Emory frowned. “Mr. Berner, you say? Well, I’m not sure I can tell you off the cuff. I’d have to consult my files—”
I cleared my throat. “Hillcrest. Hillcrest Medical Center. He worked as a nurse for three years in their substance abuse program before pursuing a dragonspeaker career.” Matt Berner worked down the hall from me at DRACIM, and we’d had lunch a couple of times, which was how I’d known of his medical background. When Relobu Holdings had requested a translator to help with Tulsa’s new substance abuse center that catered exclusively to dragons, I’d asked him if he’d be interested.
Trian gave me a small smile. “He was a perfect fit for the job, thanks.”
I nodded, not trusting myself to say anything. I liked it better when Trian was being obnoxious. He was easier to ignore.
“So, Myrna.” Richard motioned for our salad plates to be replaced with the main course, “Emory assigned you to Isiwyth’s case. What’s your background?”
“Well, before I joined DRACIM—”
“Oh, Myrna fancies herself a negotiator.” This time, I managed to nudge the chicken breast out of the way before Emory’s shirt soaked up all of the rosemary-flavored gravy on my plate.
Emory didn’t even notice. Instead, he chuckled, as if the idea of me actually being good at anything was hilarious. “She was just filling in for me. I had a prior appointment that morning, and she kept Mrs. Armatoth busy until I arrived. I was the one who arranged the plaque for the farmer.”
This time I couldn’t hide my disgust. There had been no prior appointment. In addition to dragons, Emory didn’t like mornings. He avoided both as much as possible. And I certainly didn’t need to be reminded about the misguided plaque. Ever since Emory promised it to him, Percy Sompston had called me at least once a day to change the wording.
Trian caught the look on my face. His eyes sharpened, and he gave Emory what I’d labeled as his “dangerous” smile, the one that looked all sweet and innocent, but held a potentially lethal bite of wit. “Well, it was good that Myrna was available to hold down the fort until you arrived.” Trian looked down to scoot a cucumber from one side of his plate to the other. Then, almost as an afterthought, he spoke.
“What was your prior appointment?”
Emory’s smile froze on his face. “Well, I, uh…” He wasn’t used to people questioning his excuses, and obviously hadn’t bothered coming up with one. “Um, there was a dental problem that I needed to take care of.”
“Before eight in the morning? I didn’t know dentists had office hours that early.” Trian’s smile and tone remained pleasant, but he’d leaned slightly toward Emory, and I caught a glimmer of purpose in his eyes, like a predator circling prey.
Richard shifted slightly in his chair, his gaze also focused on my boss.
Emory must have noticed the change in the air, because he chuckled once more. Only this time, his laugh was shaky and flustered, and he ran a napkin nervously across his mouth before responding. “Yes, well, it was an emergency appointment. He had to fit me in.
“I’m not sure how that’s any of your business anyway. What I do when I’m not in the office is personal and private. If you invited me to this meeting to talk about my teeth, then we’re finished here.” When Emory was backed into a corner, he tended to bluster about until he’d intimidated the person making him uncomfortable. Unfortunately, in this case, he didn’t have anything intimidating to say. And he knew it.
Emory pushed back from the table and moved to stand. He was sweating again, and the hand I put on his shoulder caused his thin cotton shirt to cling to his skin. He’d already dragged me all the way here; no way would I let him leave now.
“Emory, I’m sure they were simply curious about what type of t
asks fill the day of a high—level member of DRACIM management. The questions weren’t meant as an attack.”
Emory muttered something under his breath, but he settled back into his chair. I deliberately avoided looking at Trian, knowing that he had, in fact, been baiting my boss.
I wondered why. We were halfway through dinner, and they still hadn’t told us the reason we were here.
“Mr. Green. I’m assuming there’s a new project Relobu Holdings wants to discuss with DRACIM? Perhaps if you gave us some of the details, we could help you determine whether our offices would be a good fit for the job.” I took a bite of my chicken and waited.
Before Richard could answer, a woman opened the door and practically ran to the table. Handing a small piece of paper to Trian, she whispered into his ear. The skin around his eyes tightened as he read, and he nodded to her sharply before crumpling the note and turning back to the table.
“I’m sorry—you’ll have to excuse me for a moment.” Taking the napkin from his lap and dropping it beside his plate, Trian rose and quickly followed the woman out of the room.
The dragon-sized door swung closed with a large bang, and I looked to Richard for a clue as to what was going on. He raised an eyebrow and shrugged. “Trian’s always running off for some reason or another.”
“Don’t I know it,” I muttered under my breath.
Emory looked at me curiously, but I pretended not to notice. And if Richard heard me, he didn’t let on. “Actually, Miss Banks, we do have a project in mind. Do you have anyone on staff with experience in dragon-to-dragon mediation? More specifically with dragons from China?”
Now this was interesting. I forgot all about Trian. Most of DRACIM’s work centered on translating dragonspeak for human entities, whether for business purposes or personal. I’d never heard of dragons using humans to facilitate communication only between members of their own race. And dragons themselves took care of any translation needs between clans.
There were seven different dragon clans, each led by a member of the original “batch” of creatures hatched from the same research lab kiln. Sure, over the past hundred years or so, each clan, after choosing and settling in their new homes, developed their own dragonspeak dialect. It was an expected by-product of absorbing pieces of the human languages surrounding their territory. But the for the most part it was easy to find a dragon who’d spent time with more than one clan who could clear up any region-specific idioms.
Never Deal with Dragons Page 5