by Cate Lawley
“Yeah, that’s usually how it works, unfortunately. I’m giving it a little extra push of magic, but I don’t know if that will speed up the process.” Setting the beaker aside to cool, I added, “It’s not like I’ve worked with dragon saliva before. I didn’t even know the stuff healed burns. It’s pretty amazing stuff.” Really amazing stuff. Oh, no. I cursed.
“You’re thinking the horde of angry vamps will want her for more than just her blood.”
“Yeah. What if they figure out what she can do? What if she can do more than just heal burns? Sucking her blood might be just the tip of the iceberg. Maybe they’ll use her as some kind of horrible saliva- and blood-producing slave?” I squeezed my eyes shut. Revenge was bad enough, but add a financial motivation to the mix and things just got much more complicated.
“At least they’d have to keep her alive to do that.”
“And in what condition, Ben? You know how backward the Society can be. They might let anyone who got their hands on her lock her up and use her as their own personal magical supply closet.” I shuddered. Like a rat in a lab, but worse because Marge was…Marge.
I quickly filled a small test tube with the potion and handed it to Ben. “Go sprinkle this on the nearest spot and let me know if you see immediate improvement.” I took a breath. “I’m gonna to have a little chat with our fugitive mom.”
“Good luck,” Ben said before hustling out the door.
The remaining potion could marinate without ill effect, so I’d wait to see if the dilute potion I’d made worked before I cooked the rest. I had more pressing concerns: finding out how Marge’s offspring would change the equation.
When I entered the warehouse, I found Marge delicately shredding box material using her teeth and claws. Her previous position curled on the floor had concealed the nest she’d made in the dark corner. Now, as she rummaged for more nesting materials, I could see the tidy little nest that she’d created for her giant egg. Her giant purple egg.
Ben had left that part out.
I approached the nest cautiously. Marge didn’t seem concerned about my interest. She moved on to the stack of collapsed boxes, looking for more nesting material, so I inched closer. “It’s gorgeous.” I kept my hands clasped behind my back. “Such a beautiful color.”
Marge smiled. But for the teeth, she’d look almost maternal.
“How long before he or she hatches?”
She tapped a long claw against the wall three times.
“Three weeks?” Please let it be three weeks. Three months would be a nightmare. No way we’d be able to keep her hidden that long. Even three weeks—
A puff of steam caught my attention. Marge shook her head and dread washed over me. “Three months?” I squeaked, the high pitch a dead giveaway for my panic.
Marge chortled softly and shook her head.
“Wait, you don’t mean three days?” When she nodded, I said, “But didn’t you just…” What did one call it? Did she lay an egg like a chicken? Or did she drop her young, like a calf? “Um, didn’t you just make the egg?”
Her chest puffed with what looked like pride, and she nodded.
Amidst all the mess—Marge’s flight from supposed justice, her landing unexpectedly first on my balcony and then here at the funeral home—Ben and I had missed that she was pregnant. Or maybe it hadn’t been visible, either way, she’d not gotten the response from us that she should have. With a bright smile, I said, “Congratulations, Marge.”
And she beamed. Just like a new mom.
“Is this your first?”
She shook her head.
“No one knew that you were, um, pregnant?” Was that what dragons were before they had an egg?
But Marge knew what I meant, because she shook her head without hesitation.
That cleared up a few questions. Not that I doubted it before, but now I knew with absolute certainty that Marge was innocent. “You would never have hurt someone right before you, um, laid an egg.” She looked at me with sad eyes. The only reason I could imagine she’d put herself at risk when she was in such a delicate state would be to protect her baby—but no one knew about her condition. Dragons were notoriously secretive, so that was easy to believe. Finally, I said, “You didn’t do it, did you?”
She shook her head, but it was a rhetorical question.
An explanation for those scorch marks popped into my head and if I was right, it couldn’t be simpler. A dragon about to lay an egg might be having something similar to the contractions pregnant women experience. If so, I had to wonder if that might lead to some accidental fire exhalations. “I don’t suppose those scorch marks had anything to with you being close to laying your eggs?”
She gave me a sheepish grin and nodded.
Scorch marks explained—sort of.
The big, beautiful egg drew my gaze again. It was mottled, like an emu’s egg, but instead of teal, it was a gorgeous dark purple. “Marge, your egg is the size of a Great Dane.”
She fluttered her lashes and once again beamed with pride.
Maybe large egg size was a good thing in the dragon world, but given my earlier conversation with Ben about giving birth, I couldn’t help wincing. “You’re feeling okay?”
Her long, sinuous neck stretched closer to her egg and a dreamy look crossed her reptilian face. She nodded without taking her eyes off the egg. She was completely entranced by her little eggling.
I was bowled over by the faith she was placing in me. She was trusting me with both her and her egg’s safety, and she was in a pretty darn precarious situation right now.
Huge responsibility.
Massive.
And that was one reason the loud, thudding knock scared the bejesus out of both of us.
9
Before my brain could work out the fact that bad guys didn’t usually announce their presence with a knock, Alex stuck his head through the gap and hollered, “Incoming. Don’t fry me.”
Steam wafted slowly from Marge’s nostrils and her eyes narrowed to slits. She was all sorts of scary when she wasn’t flirting or glowing with maternal pride.
I stepped between her and the open door. “That’s Alex. Give him a second.” When her head dipped in acknowledgement of my request, I turned to the handsomely rumpled man walking through the door. “Really, Alex? ‘Incoming’? You’re lucky she didn’t wipe out you and half of that wall.”
He lifted his hands. “I come in peace. Mostly.”
I could feel the heat of a pissy new momma dragon at my back. “Watch what you’re saying, Alex. You don’t have all the facts. And who the heck came with you?”
Please let it be someone who wouldn’t rat us out. Someone who would be sympathetic to a sweet, innocent, non-vampire-frying dragon.
“Francis.”
I practically crumpled in relief. “Thank goodness.” Francis was good people. He’d at least listen to reason…for a few seconds.
“He’s in the car with the body. The car I left parked in front of the funeral home when I saw that someone had been playing magic paint-by-numbers in your neighboring field. Thankfully, Ben caught me exiting the car, or I’d have zapped first and asked questions later when I stumbled on the giant purple and green fugitive in your warehouse.” He rested a hip against the doorframe.
Not for a second did I mistake his casual stance for relaxation. That tall, lean body of his packed more magic than anyone else I’d met in the enhanced community. Alex was a powerful wizard, frighteningly skilled with the sword he always wore concealed on his body, and as close to a cop as the Society had.
In a word, Alex was a problem…if I couldn’t convince him of Marge’s innocence.
“She didn’t do it.”
“Uh-huh. You know this because you’ve autopsied the body you haven’t even received? Or because you’ve conducted a thorough investigation in less than twenty-four hours?” His words were sharp, but he didn’t shift from his position against the door. And he kept his eyes on me, not Marge.
&n
bsp; “I have a suspect list.” Which was pretty weak, so I could kinda see his point. “But I know she didn’t do it, because she wouldn’t have. Not now.” I pointed at him. “Swear you’ll keep this between us unless you have incontrovertible proof that Marge is responsible for frying Alistair.”
The heat at my back ratcheted up a notch, and sweat trickled down my neck. Marge might not be happy, but we needed Alex on our side.
Alex rubbed his neck. “You know, someday, you’re going to get me in serious trouble.”
I smiled at him. “But you know I’m on the side of the angels, don’t you?”
“Yeah, whatever. You’ve got my promise to keep whatever is happening here under my hat for twenty-four hours unless I stumble on proof beyond Alistair’s charred corpse that Marge is responsible for his death.”
No way was he agreeing to “incontrovertible” evidence, so I focused on the more important part of this deal. “Three days. I want three days.”
He lost some of his devil-may-care attitude and straightened to his full height. “You’ve lost your mind. Three days on a case like this is an eternity. You’ll have the vamps crawling all over this case—and you—long before that. They know you’re doing the autopsy. Clarice is pissed that her work is being questioned and is already moaning to anyone who will listen.”
Clarice, Cornelius’s resident witch resource for magical autopsies, could stuff it. I didn’t know her well, but she wasn’t the brightest if she was vocal in her complaints. Discretion was almost as valued as skill or power in the enhanced world. I’d deal with her later if it became a problem.
“I guess the vamp horde and Clarice are my problem, but I want those three days.”
Alex shook his head. “You’re sure she’s worth it?”
Steam drifted around me, but I ignored it and waited for him to decide if he’d trust me.
Finally, he let his gaze drift over my shoulder to Marge. “I’ll agree to the three days, but only if you’ll call when you get over your head with this mess.”
“Done,” I said quickly, before he could change his mind. “And the reason I know Marge wouldn’t do this?” I looked over my shoulder to find Marge standing protectively in front of her nest. I couldn’t even see that it was a nest, so well had she blocked the view. Turning back to Alex, I said, “Marge, is gonna be a momma.”
Alex whistled. For the first time, he looked like he might believe me. “Congratulations, Marge.” He directed the comment over my shoulder and even accompanied it with what passed for a smile. A quirk around the edges of his lips and a little crinkle at the corner of his eyes. That was legit, warm emotion. Who knew Alex was a softy for babies?
He motioned for me to follow him outside the warehouse. Once he’d closed the door behind us, he said, “You have got to make sure that no one gets their hands on that egg. With some magical persuasion, that baby might imprint on someone not its momma.”
“And that would be bad?”
“Very bad. Flying magical weapon bad.” Alex sighed. “How in the world did your boyfriend’s funeral home end up the nesting place of one the last dragons in the U.S.?” He closed his eyes and shook his head. When he opened them, he looked both baffled and annoyed. “How did she even manage to get the egg fertilized?”
I shrugged. “Any way that someone would know she’s here?”
“I don’t think so. Clean up the massive magical residue that’s covering your field, on the off chance anyone makes their way out here and starts asking questions about it. And bury Alistair’s body as quickly as you can. I’ll make sure Francis keeps his mouth shut.”
“Right.” I’d have to trust that Alex could do that. I liked Francis, but he was still an emergency responder and ultimately under Cornelius’s leadership.
“It’s fine, Star. I kept him in the car for a reason. He knows something’s going on, but he doesn’t know it’s related to Marge. And he owes me.”
I raised my eyebrows.
“He owes me big. He’ll keep quiet. You need to start on that body and get it gone.” He waved in the general direction of the funeral home, as if ushering me would make me move faster.
First I checked in with Marge and saw she’d settled down into her nest, then I headed to the funeral home back door. “How exactly do you expect me to hide a bunch of magic?”
Ben must have used that first potion batch I’d cooked up and treated all of the scorch marks. No clue how he’d made that single beaker stretch far enough, unless Marge’s magic and my own were particularly simpatico. That happened sometimes, where the combined whole was significantly more powerful than its constituent parts.
“If you don’t have the ability to hide it, then you need to give anyone who sees it a reason for its presence.”
“Right.” I stopped just shy of the door and turned to look at the field. Using a touch of magical sight, I examined the field—and found it glowing with an abundance of magic. Too much magic. Way too much. “Holy seashells. How did that happen?”
“You’re saying it’s not yours?”
“Well, mine and Marge’s. But…” I glanced back at the field. “Wow.”
Simpatico was an understatement. More like our magic got together and made a love child. Oops.
Alex shook his head. “You’re a mess. Sort your magic. Sort your dragon. Sort it all before you have a bunch of pissed-off vamps banging at your door and with no one around to make sure they don’t drain you dry.”
“Nice, Alex. Like I need you to save me.” Because we both knew when he said “no one” would be there to help me that he meant he wouldn’t be.
As I watched him return to the car carting around Alistair’s charred remains, I really hoped I didn’t need his help.
If I did need him and he wasn’t there to save the day, it wouldn’t be just me who suffered. Ben, Marge, and her little eggling would, as well.
10
“He’s certainly crunchy.” Ben wasn’t nearly as bothered by Alistair’s hunched and blackened form as I was.
“You see a lot of these?” In the months I’d been at the funeral home, I’d yet to see anything quite like this. When Ben and Francis brought the body in, they’d warned us to be careful handling it. A small bit of something had already fallen off due to the brittle condition of the body. I made Ben pick that up.
“No, of course not. Why do you ask?” He didn’t even look up from his examination.
“Because your stomach seems to be handling this really well. The smell doesn’t bother you?”
He pulled a small tub of menthol rub out of his cargo shorts pocket and offered it to me.
“No thanks. I already tried that. Now I’m getting mixtures of crispy critter and liniment. Not really a good combo.” When Ben’s eyes widened, I realized how inappropriate my comment had been. “Uh, sorry.”
“People deal with stressful situations in different ways. I, of all people, know that. But maybe go ahead and get rolling. The sooner you’re done, the sooner he’s gone.” Ben frowned. “This is like the other vamp clients, right? No preservation, plain box, burial in a Society plot?”
Ben had handled a few newbie vamp burials. In the vamp world, the younger you were, the more likely you were to die. Age conveyed greater power, more knowledge, and better connections.
“Yeah. No one said differently. And Cornelius said he was done with the body insofar as any investigation.” I peered at the corpse, then looked with my magical sight. Flames. I could still see flames. And that made me think of burning. More accurately, burning bodies, and—
“Star!” Ben pulled me away. “Hey. Watch it. You turned pale all of a sudden.” Standing between me and the body, he asked, “What did you see?”
“Fire.”
Ben groaned. “Like the flames you saw when you had a look at Marge’s scorch marks?”
“Oh, no.” I wasn’t sure why I didn’t make that connection immediately. Maybe it was the smell or maybe the pressure. Marge and the eggling were counting on me. Tha
t could do it. I leaned to the side and got another look with my sight wide open. Flames, like before but not exactly. “No, definitely not the same. There are definitely flames, but they’re a different color. These are brilliant red, not orange.”
“Doesn’t flame color reflect the heat or the fuel? I doubt those scorch marks outside were made by as hot a flame as what Alistair encountered, whatever the source or sources of the fire.”
“Different fuel might burn at different temperatures and produce different colors.” I grinned at him. “But that’s not how magic works, sweetie.”
My grin must have been catching, because he flashed one back at me. “Marge didn’t fry this guy, did she?”
I kissed him, and for just a second, there was nothing in the room but us. Only Ben could make me forget everything. After a few seconds, I stepped away and said, “I don’t know how you do it, but you can be romantic and make me feel romantic in just about any setting.” I very determinedly did not look at the other occupant of the room. “And yes, we now have proof that Marge’s flame didn’t do this.”
“As simple as that? That witch Clarice really is terrible.”
“Eh, not really. Well, maybe she is, but this wasn’t her fault. Without evidence of Marge’s magic—in our case, the scorched field—there’s no baseline for comparison. There is clear evidence that magic caused the burns, just not Marge’s magic. I’ll have to poke around to see what or who else has magical fire, but I’m guessing it’s not a common talent, otherwise Marge wouldn’t be in the fix she’s in.”
“I meant to ask before, couldn’t someone whip up a fire potion?” Ben asked. “That would make the pool of suspects a lot bigger.” After spending a little time with Camille, he was convinced any magical mountain could be conquered with the right spell or potion.
Camille was the best potions witch in Austin by far, so his opinion was well founded. Heck, she’d baked up a realistic dead body replica.
“I can’t, though I’m sure Camille can.” I shot him a smile. “But don’t worry. This wasn’t potion magic. That much even Clarice would have seen. I’m thinking we’re looking at a creature—maybe another dragon?—because I don’t know of any person with that kind of talent locally.”