by Cate Lawley
About Tickle the Dragon’s Tail
Death by dragon fire.
* * *
A powerful vampire’s been fried, and where do the fingers point when a corpse turns up crispy? The only dragon in town. Except that dragon is Marge, and she’s a giant puppy of a reptile. When Star finds out that the vampire horde is out for Marge’s blood, she has to act fast to prove her scaly friend’s innocence.
* * *
Join Star and Ben as they hunt down the true murderer in this humorous tale with a flirtatious dragon, a cranky feline, and a horde of fiendish vampires.
Tickle the Dragon’s Tail
Night Shift Witch Mystery #3
Cate Lawley
Copyright © 2018 Catherine G. Cobb
All rights reserved.
Contents
Bonus Content
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Also by Cate Lawley
About the Author
Bonus Content
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1
Austin, Texas. December 1999
Getting my own apartment meant that I no longer had to live with my mother. Good thing, since she still didn’t have a clue that magic was real or that her daughter practiced witchcraft. Mom’s ignorance had proven awkward and inconvenient on more than a few occasions.
Moving into my new digs meant that my back was aching from shifting my thrift-store finds up two flights of stairs to my freshly painted—but decidedly chintzy—place. A girl on a budget had to settle for some chintz if she wanted her own place. And thrift-store shopping. No new furniture for me in the foreseeable future.
Witches might make the big bucks, but I was technically still a witch in training…and a grad student who hadn’t finished her thesis, a part-time employee at my mentor’s crystal shop, and a part-time makeup artist and girl Friday at my boyfriend’s funeral home. A little hustle was helping to pay the bills while I finished my studies, both magical and academic.
Hustle also helped when it came to practicing witchcraft in an apartment complex filled with people. Bunches of people, none of whom had any inkling that magic existed. Hiding my witchy talents from nosy neighbors had just become that much harder.
I might be able to talk my way out of some flashy magic exposure, but it was best to keep the bangs, flares, and sparkles to a minimum and save myself the trouble.
“Star,” Ben called out from the small balcony. He’d offered to set up my plants, and since they were heavy as heck, I’d agreed. Men were good for that sort of thing.
“Just a second. I’m almost done unpacking this box.” The box containing my meager kitchen supplies, which would allow us to cook up some of the food we both were in desperate need of after hauling furniture all day.
“Yeah, hon, you’re gonna want to see this. Now.”
Uh-oh. Ben wasn’t that guy. You know the one: bossy, rude, demanding. His tone meant trouble was afoot.
As I jogged the few steps from my miniscule kitchen to my balcony, I knew in my bones it was magic melodrama. I’d been working on giving Ben a view into my world—literally, using a combination of spells and charms—so now he could see some magic that other mundanes couldn’t.
Also, if there was going to be a kink on moving day, it would be magical. Magic was fickle like that, picking the worst moments to go askew. At least, that was how it felt to me. My mentor Camille assured me it was all in my head.
I stumbled to a halt in front of the sliding glass doors.
All I saw was Ben pressed back against the glass. My red-headed hunk’s tush might have temporarily distracted me, otherwise I might have noticed the absolute stillness of his body more quickly. But once I did, it didn’t take long for me to get a better read on the situation. I looked past him to find a visitor on my balcony.
The balcony door was cracked just wide enough for me to slip through. I darted outside and practically squealed, “Marge!”
Maybe I sounded like a twelve-year-old getting her first pony. Not shocking. It wasn’t every day that a dragon came to visit.
She lifted her chin from my balcony, gave me what I could only guess was intended to be a grin, then fluttered her long lashes at Ben.
“Uh…” Ben inched closer to me and whispered, “Do you see that? The scales and the teeth.” He cleared his throat. “And what’s with the eyelashes? Is she flirting with me?”
Marge tilted her head coyly, which I took to mean, “Yes, I’m flirting with you, you hot hunk of man.”
I wrapped an arm around Ben’s waist. “Yes, I see her. Her name is Marge, and she’s definitely flirting with you. Aren’t you, Marge?”
Her lashes fluttered madly.
“She…” Ben quickly turned his attention from me to Marge. “Sorry. You understand us.” Then he shook his head. “Of course you do. Marge, please tell me the neighbors can’t see you. Star just moved in today, and it would be great if we could keep her here. Her previous living situation wasn’t the best.”
My mom wasn’t that bad. But then I tried to imagine what Mom would do if she found a dragon on her doorstep. Her reaction would be wildly different from Ben’s calm acceptance.
My guy was the best.
Something niggled, something about Marge and my mom… A long forgotten memory surfaced: my mom almost had found a dragon on her doorstep. I met Marge when I was sixteen. She’d turned up on the curb in front of my mom’s house. She’d given me an anxiety attack, because I’d been sure I was about to be outed to my mother, but Marge had acted so much like a sad, overgrown Labrador that I’d been completely enchanted by her.
Actually, she was acting in a very similar fashion now.
Marge gave Ben and me a sad puppy-dog look.
But that sweetly mournful look didn’t answer Ben’s question.
“No one can see you, can they?” I cringed at the hopeful note in my voice. I didn’t have much experience with the kinds of spells that hid large moving objects, so I hadn’t a clue if one was attached to her right now.
Marge’s eyes rolled up and to the left, and she looked about as sheepish as a dragon could look.
“I really hope that’s uncertainty and not guilt,” Ben whispered. “Because if she’s visible and anyone can see her—”
“Yep. Big problem.” I pointed at Marge. “Stay.” Then I backed into the apartment, dragging Ben with me.
“Is she really three stories tall?” Ben asked as I pulled him into the kitchen.
“Uh, what? No. Maybe. I don’t know. She has a really long neck. But, Ben, what the heck? There’s a dragon on my balcony!”
“Isn’t that my line?” He reached behind me for something on the counter. “Boyfriend freaks out and melts down when confronted by scaly monster with giant fangs. It sounds like a part I’m well qualified to play. One that’s more appropriate for the person in the room without magic.” He kissed my cheek and pressed my cordless phone into my hand.
Blinking at it, I shook my head.
“Camille?” he said gently. “Your mentor?”
“Oh! Right. Of course.” I dialed her number from memory. I’d have come to that conclusion on my own…eventually. I was allowed a moment to collect myself when a mythical creature showed up on my doorstep. That was an official Big Life
Event, not lessened one iota by the fact that the mythical creature was named Marge.
Camille’s familiar voice filled my ear. “Camille’s Crystals. How can I best brighten your day?”
“It’s me.” I licked my lips. “Marge is back.”
A noise that sounded a lot like “eeep” chirped in my ear. My mentor was capable, powerful, and prepared for all eventualities. She also wasn’t the squeaking type.
“Camille? What’s wrong?”
“Uh, Marge is in a lot of trouble right now. Star, she can’t be there.”
Marge was tied up with some important memories. The passage of time might have buried them, but once jogged loose, I couldn’t help but remember how important that day had been to me. Not only did my not-quite-adult self meet a dragon—a real-life, eyelash-fluttering, steam-breathing, purply-blue and green dragon—but Marge had also been the catalyst that had pushed me to accept the concrete reality of magic.
Heck, if a dragon showing up on your doorstep doesn’t convince you that magic is real, I’m not sure what would.
I quickly considered my options. “Let’s say she’s not here. Let’s say it was a drunk tequila moment. I’m completely plastered. You know, moving is really stressful and it makes a lady want to drink.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Right.” I bit my lip and my gaze slipped to meet Ben’s. “So, having not seen Marge, maybe you could tell me what kind of trouble she’s in?”
In an emotionless tone, she said, “She’s been accused of frying Alistair.”
My heart thumped erratically in my chest. “Riiiight. Gotta run. Bye, Camille.” As soon as I ended the call, I made a beeline for the box with the booze.
“Tequila? Is now really the time?” Ben asked. Poor, innocent, uninformed Ben.
“Yep. No question about it, and you’ll want one, too.”
Because there was a Marge manhunt underway and probably a horde of vampires hot on her trail. The trail that led to our balcony.
After I downed one shot, I poured another and clinked with Ben’s. “Marge has been accused of toasting a very influential vamp in the area.”
“Toasted?”
“Toasted. Fried. Like a squishy marshmallow.”
Ben knew me. He knew I wouldn’t let the masses, vampiric or otherwise, get their murdering hands on my dragon friend.
“Right.” That was all he said. No complaining, no “what if she did it,” no hasty retreat out of my apartment or my life. “That’s all right. We’ll sort it out.”
We. Which meant him and me, together.
Best. Guy. Ever.
But he did toss back that tequila shot and another one for good luck.
2
After being fortified with false, agave-flavored courage, Ben and I braved the balcony.
Small problem. And no, the neighbors hadn’t spotted the giant purple, blue, and green dragon parked outside my apartment.
No, the problem was the absence of that gorgeous, lash-fluttering freak of nature. In the time it had taken me to call Camille and for Ben and me to down a few quick shots—maybe three or four minutes?—she’d disappeared.
Maybe we should have skipped the tequila.
“We could take this as a sign that she has it under control and doesn’t need our help,” Ben said.
I scanned the surrounding parking lot and the empty field across the way. “Or the bloodthirsty horde got to her first. For all we know, dragon blood is extra tasty.”
Ben didn’t even flinch at talk of blood drinking. Total keeper, this guy.
“Hey, don’t think that way.” He wrapped an arm around my waist. “They’d have nabbed us, too, if that was the case.”
Which made me laugh, because he wasn’t wrong and it was both the most ridiculous and most effective way to comfort me.
“We have to find her, don’t we?” he asked.
Did we? After some consideration, I landed on a different conclusion. “No. I don’t think so. But we do have to find Alistair’s killer.”
“Hm. What if it was Marge? How well do you know her?” He leaned back without letting go of me, giving me an intent look. “Maybe she did it. For all you know, this Alistair character deserved the marshmallow roasting he got and Marge was performing a community service.”
If anyone deserved being roasted by dragon fire, it was Alastair. Pompous, entitled, arrogant, womanizing, all spot on. There really weren’t any positive adjectives for him. He used his position as one of the oldest, most connected vampires in the community to do whatever he liked. He was despicable.
Maybe I was being a little melodramatic, but I was allowed. Evil vampires might be after me.
Recalling the few times I’d met Alistair made my skin crawl. Even from beyond the grave, he gave me the willies. Vampires in general didn’t produce the warmest of feelings, but Alastair was in a class all his own.
“No doubt he deserved whatever bad things happened to him, but I don’t think Marge would have come here if she was responsible.” I was pretty sure. Not that I spoke dragon, but Marge was a good egg. Camille had told me all those years ago when Marge first appeared at my house that she was a gentle giant. She only roasted what she ate, and she didn’t have a taste for humans…or persons who were formerly human. “I just can’t believe that she would have led an angry horde of bloodthirsty, psychopathic vamps to my doorstep.”
“Sociopaths.” Ben opened the balcony door for me. “You told me vamps are sociopaths.”
“Sociopaths who drink human blood on the regular. I think that qualifies as psycho.”
“Fair enough. Speaking of, you want some dinner?”
I choked on a laugh. “You did not just use vampire dietary habits as a segue to dinner.”
“Ah…” He gave me a sheepish grin. “I’m hungry. Besides, I’m pretty sure you have a plan. You might as well tell me about it while we make some food.”
He knew me so well.
“I do have a plan.” I flashed him a bright smile. “We’re visiting the deceased’s remaining family.”
He sighed and picked up the bottle of Patrón. “Another tequila shot? I have a feeling I might need it before I hear this plan.”
Once again, he wasn’t wrong.
3
Visiting a dead person’s family to interrogate them about the gruesome murder of their loved one posed a number of problems.
There’s the grief. Are they even receiving strangers in their home? And if they are, are they capable of entertaining questions?
Then there’s the question of delicate sensibilities. How do you talk about the deceased without triggering painful memories and endless tears?
But that was assuming the deceased was loved. Alistair was a vamp and his “family” were vampires.
First, vampires are sociopaths. When they’re turned, their brains get fried. Something about the magic or the virus that turns them melts away their empathy. One theory is that it’s an adaptation to hunting humans. Just like the huge fangs help to pierce a vein, the ability to disassociate themselves from their two-legged dinner allows them to attack and feed.
Sure, there’s the occasional exception. Alex’s friend Wembley, a wannabe surfer and all-around decent guy, came to mind. But generally, vamps are sociopaths. So the tears and the emotional landmines I’d normally expect when calling on a recently bereaved person wouldn’t be a problem in this case.
Second, vamps don’t really have family. Not in the blood-tie sense. They can, but they usually don’t because they live so long. I suppose someone could turn an entire family, but they’d all have to be susceptible to the virus that causes the transformation. Since most of the human population is immune, that’s not a very likely scenario. But either way, when it comes to vamps, “family” is typically defined through political ties and influence, not blood.
Who did Alistair leave behind that felt some allegiance to him? Well, these were vamps, so quite possibly no one. But who was politically allied with him and would feel that
the attack on him was an attack on them? That could be a lot of vamps. Alistair was well connected.
Ben shoved his plate away and looked at the list I’d drawn up. “You’re kidding, right? All of these people are going to be pissed that Alistair was killed? There are a dozen names here. I thought no one liked vampires, including other vampires.”
I cleared the remains of our quickly constructed dinner as I replied, “I didn’t say these people liked him, just that they’d be pissed. Could be they were closely allied with him, and they view his death as a personal attack. Could also be they had a particularly egregious complaint against Alistair, and now can’t get satisfaction.”
“Wait, you need to move those last ones to the suspect list. Wouldn’t his enemies be more likely to kill him?”
“Um, that entire list is the suspect list. These are the people closest to Alistair. All of them are potential sources, suspects, and the vamps most likely to crucify Marge if they get their hands on her.”
Would they find her? Maybe she’d done a runner and had left town entirely. She could fly. It wasn’t like it would be too terribly difficult to make her escape, especially if she still had some kind of glamor hiding her presence. None of my neighbors had piped up with reported sightings of a dinosaur or monster-sized lizard, so I had to assume Marge had some sort of glamor when she’d visited us.
“Hey.” Ben touched my shoulder. “Let me do the dishes.”
I turned around and realized he’d probably been talking to me while the water was running. I’d been so caught up in my worries for Marge that I’d zoned out. “Yeah, that’s a good idea. What were you saying?”