Time to focus on business.
Yeah, that was going to be easy.
Theresa was hammering away at the keyboard and Justine was on her nineteenth rendition of her alien (all of them sucked, by the way. It was sort of difficult to concentrate when she kept thinking about Satan plying her mom with whipped cream and champagne) when a heavy knock echoed through the loft.
Justine tensed, and Theresa was on her feet instantly, her horned tail swishing dangerously close to the china cabinet. "Expecting company?"
"No." They didn't have friends. They were antisocial to neighbors. Justine telecommuted to work and used a post office box for correspondence. They owned the entire top floor of their building. And they gave their doorman a very big tip every holiday season to keep people away.
No one ever visited.
Ever.
Except the Council, and even that was only when Justine had screwed up and they decided she needed punishment. The Council. Ugh. She still wasn't over the six months of bamboo shoots under her fingernails and the daily chore of carving the entire Oath (including the fine print) on her thigh. Yes, it had healed up in a few hours, but it still hurt when she was doing it. Which was the point.
Her one mistake had happened over one hundred and eighty years ago, and she was still on Guardian probation. Not that there was anything to worry about. She'd learned her lesson after the Carl incident and hadn't taken a misstep since. She hadn't even endangered Mona that time either. Imagine if she really screwed up?
No, she didn't want to imagine. She'd never be stupid enough to mess up again, so there was no way the Council was on the other side of the door.
But someone was.
The elevator began to beep its irritation at not being allowed to leave.
And their visitor knocked again.
How had anyone gotten past Xavier? He was an extremely intimidating doorman who took his job very seriously. No one had ever made it past him without Justine's pre-approval.
And yet, there was someone knocking on their door right now.
That couldn't be good.
"I'm outta here. You better get it. Could be those hunky firefighters again." Theresa sighed dreamily as she pranced across the room and slipped into her bedroom, pulling the door shut behind her.
Justine waited until she heard Theresa slide the lock into place, then she walked up to the door. "Who is it?"
"Delivery from Vic's Pretzels."
Theresa stuck her head back into the room. "Let him in. I love those pretzels."
"Did you order any pretzels?"
"No, but so what? If the universe delivers Vic's to your door, it's sacrilegious not to take advantage."
Justine rolled her eyes. "Just be ready to incinerate him." She was so stressed after her mom's visit that she really wasn't in the mood for killing anyone. But she also knew that, despite her complaints, she had a job to do, and she took it very seriously. If Mona got into the wrong hands, it could be very, very bad for pretty much all of human kind, plus plants, animals, insects and every other living creature on the planet.
Which meant, she was ready to do whatever she had to do.
"Really? You'd let me have the honors? I love you." Theresa winked and shut the door again, no doubt standing with her ear pressed up against it, listening for the go-ahead to toast their visitor.
Justine frowned as she turned toward the door. She bought Vic's soft pretzels every day when she went out to check mail. One for herself. Twenty-three for Theresa. They were awesome and no carb. No one knew how Vic's had created such an insanely delicious no-carb pretzel, but if you had bought stock in Vic's Pretzels five years ago, you'd be a millionaire today. Probably solely because of Theresa's consumption of them. "I didn't know Vic's delivered," she called out through the door.
"It's a new service," the man said.
"I didn't order pretzels." She flipped the cover on the spy hole on the door, but all she could see was a box with a Vic's Pretzels logo on it.
"Someone did. They're already paid for."
Either they had a secret admirer or it was a set up to get into the apartment. She was betting on the latter.
A normal girl in New York City would never open the door in this circumstance. A normal girl would tell the man to leave them in the elevator and she'd pick them up later. Or call the police. Or both.
Except she wasn't a normal girl. If this man was a threat, she needed to know it and eliminate it.
She really hoped he wasn't nice. It always felt like such a waste to have to kill guys that seemed nice. Not that she'd done it that much, but once had been more than enough.
She sighed, flicked the lock and opened the door.
And got a gun in her face.
Chapter Six
Given that her visitor had a gun wedged against her nose, Justine was pretty sure that the "I hate it when I have to kill a nice guy" problem was probably off the table. That was good, right? Kill without guilt and all that?
But dammit. She still wasn't in the mood to kill anyone.
Too bad for her, right?
There was nothing like having the tip of a gun pressed against your left nostril to make you really wish you had a different job.
With a resigned sigh, Justine eyed the man on the other end of the weapon. He actually looked pretty harmless, except for the gun. He was sporting surfer-boy bleached blond hair that was spiked just enough to make him look like a wannabe rebel who never actually broke any rules. His cut-off jeans showed off tanned legs that were fitting for a surfer, and his flip-flops and hot-pink muscle shirt weren't exactly scary.
So not the type you'd expect to whip out a gun in the middle of a sunny New York afternoon while carrying a box of Vic's pretzels.
Maybe he was only there to get money to wax his surfboard. Maybe he wasn't actually in pursuit of the most powerful magical object currently on the planet. Maybe all she needed to do was call the cops and have him shipped off to a night behind bars to see the error of his ways.
But somehow, she doubted it. Something about the gun and the pretzels gave her a bad vibe. Was this the Qualifying Incident her mom had been talking about? If so, this was totally unfair. It was bad enough to have to kill nice guys, but guys that actually appeared to be completely harmless, and kind of adorable in a sunshiny kind of way? That was way worse.
But what choice did she have?
* * *
Option 1: Don't kill him.
Result: She proves she has a good side and Mom goes to heaven, but Justine violates her Oath to keep Mona safe and gets sent to the Chamber of Unspeakable Horrors for all eternity.
* * *
Option 2: Kill him.
Result: She fulfills her Oath and avoids the Chamber, but Mom goes to hell because Justine took a life.
* * *
Damned if you do, damned if you don't. Literally.
Argh! The stupid Qualifying Incident was making her lose her mind, and her faith in her instincts. She was totally over-thinking and doubting herself, which was not helping!
Then again, maybe she was being hypervigilant. Maybe this gun-toting visitor was actually just a guy who'd gotten her confused with someone else. Maybe she didn't have to off him. Maybe he'd gotten the wrong condo and was actually in search of some wealthy scumbag who'd used this guy's money to ruin life for everyone else, in which case, maybe she'd even help him. It was a long shot, but worth a try. "May I help you?"
"Hand over the wineglass."
"What wineglass?" she asked with feigned innocence. As if there was a chance he was after any of the plastic wineglasses in her house, but hey, it never hurt to ask, right?
"The magic one."
Huh. So he was after Mona? How was that possible? She and Theresa had worked very hard not to be findable. Not even Satan had been able to track them down, and everyone knew he'd coveted Mona since she was originally created. The only people who could find her and Theresa were her mom and the Council. So, how in the world had this surf
er dude found them? No one had tracked them down since that horrible nightmare with Carl. What trail had they left? What mistake had they made? This was not good. Really, not good.
But, on the positive side, at least it made her day interesting, right? After an eternity of no action (well, except for the incident in the Amazon after Carl died), at least she had something to do today, right? If every day had this kind of threat to Mona's safety, maybe she wouldn't be so bored all the time.
Except a break from boredom usually meant having to kill someone, which she usually wasn't a fan of, so, yeah…it was kind of a no-win situation.
She eyed surfer dude carefully. She needed to find out how he'd found her, and then clean up the mess, without offing him, if at all possible. "Please, do come on in."
She stepped back and he followed, keeping the gun pressed against her face.
He kicked the door shut behind him. "Where is it?"
"Are you going to kill me after I give it to you?"
"Yeah."
"So why would I give it to you, then?" She peered more closely at his face. His eyes had a weird blurry look. Sort of glazed. Drugs? But why would a druggie spend time chasing down Mona? "How did you find me? How did you learn about the crystal goblet?" She wasn't about to tell him Mona was now an espresso machine. It wasn't up to her to point out he was working with dated information.
He frowned, his eyebrows crunching together in thought. "I don't know..." The gun started to drop, then he lifted it back up. "Hand over the wineglass."
"You already said that." She waved a hand in front of his face, but he didn't even blink. Interesting. There was definitely something strange going on with him. "Let's make a deal. You leave without killing me or taking any of my kitchen supplies, and we'll call it even. As long as you tell me how you tracked us down."
"Hand over the wineglass."
Hmm... Not a lot of creative thinking going on in his mind.
His finger suddenly twitched on the trigger, and she instantly kicked his knee out from under him. As he lost his balance, the gun went off, and a bullet singed her left ear. "Ow!" She nailed him with another well-placed kick, and then he was on the ground, the gun was in her hand, and her knee was in his chest. "Damn you," she grumbled. "All I want is some answers. Don't make me kill you."
"Hand over the wineglass," he said, apparently oblivious to the fact that she had her knee in his chest, and his gun pointed at his face.
She narrowed her eyes. "What are you, a robot or something?"
He shifted underneath her, and she ducked to the side just as he whipped a knife from behind his back and clipped her neck. "That hurt!" She smacked him in the temple with the gun, and he dropped to the floor, unconscious.
A few centuries of training did wonders for hand-to-hand combat, especially since men tended to underestimate her. A five-foot-four woman? What could little ol' her possibly do to a big, strong man? "Kick your ass," she said to the lump on her floor. "That's what I could do to you." But he had gotten in a good whack with the knife. She was getting careless.
The door slid open, and Theresa poked her head in. "Did he bring pretzels?"
Justine leaned back against the wall and held her hand to her neck. The blood was trickling a little too freely, indicating that the cut was decently deep. Her quick healing capabilities didn't stop it from hurting like hell. "I need bandages before you eat."
Theresa tossed her the first aid kit then pranced over to the unconscious guy. She blew a puff of ash over him, and watched it settle. "That's weird."
Justine winced as she taped two oversized gauze pads on her neck. Crap. That totally hurt. Maybe she shouldn't have been so eager to wish away boredom. She'd forgotten how much it hurt to be stabbed. "What are you talking about?"
Theresa nudged their visitor with her right claw, which was sporting a fresh manicure of frosted silver nail polish. She snorted a load of soot over him. "See how the ash slows down right before it hits his skin? It's being stopped by something."
"Really?" Justine walked over to the guy and looked more carefully. She leaned closer, and caught a whiff of something delicious. It was the scent of man. Of skin. Of aftershave. She inhaled deeply. It had been too long since she'd been near a man—
"Getting off on our unconscious visitor? Because that's almost a little creepy." Theresa raised her brows, grinning at her.
"Shut up." Justine ordered her nasal passages to shut down. "Blow the ash again. I want to watch."
She managed to pay attention this time, and she saw the ash pause just above surfer boy's tanned flesh, though it dropped freely onto her own skin. She frowned and peered closer. That's when she noticed the golden hue emanating from his skin. The ash was resting on top of the layer of gold. "Is that his aura?" She'd never seen an aura before. She wouldn't have thought it would be gold either. Maybe blue or yellow or red. Not gold. Unless he was rich. But he looked like an eighteen-year-old beach bum, and most of those weren't rich. Of course, most of them weren't in New York City, either.
"Is what his aura?" Theresa asked.
"That golden hue over him. You see it?"
Theresa crouched beside her and inspected the man. "He looks normal to me. Except the ash hovering two millimeters off his skin, of course."
"The soot is resting on something gold. It's like a glowing light. You don't see it?"
"Nope."
"Weird. You ever seen soot float like that?"
Theresa shook her head. "Nope."
"Well, why would that happen?"
"No idea."
Justine sat back on her heels. "You've been a dragon for two hundred and thirty-two years. How can you not know how ash works? It's your thing."
"For the first part of my life, I was doing my best to deny my dragon heritage in every way possible by staying human and dating every hot, completely human guy I could find. And in the two centuries since I was permanently dragonized, I've been laser-focused on trying to find a way to get back to my human form. I haven't exactly had time to be researching the properties of ash." Theresa's tail flicked sharply, a sure indicator that she was getting annoyed.
Theresa's bad moods usually meant a visit from the fire department, so Justine grabbed one of the many fire extinguishers stashed around the condo. She tossed it at Theresa. "Suck on this for a while, okay?"
Their captive groaned, and Theresa dropped a spark on the carpet next to his head, all complaints forgotten. "May I? It's been so long since I've gotten to kill anyone, I'm actually twitchy from the withdrawal. I swear I won't so much as singe the floor. Pretty please? It would be so fun. You have no idea what it's like to be constantly suppressing my instincts. I feel like my chest is going to explode all the time. Please?"
"Can't you forget about killing people for one minute and focus on the issue?"
"No, I can't. I'm a dragon, and it's in my blood to incinerate and destroy. It's also a dragon thing to collect bling, but Amazon Prime is my best friend, so I'm all set there. Death and destruction are a part of me, Justine. I need to do it."
Justine grimaced. The last thing she needed was a rampaging dragon, but she knew that if Theresa went too long suppressing her inner dragon, things did tend to erupt, and it didn't always end well. "Okay, how about if you just threaten to toast him when he wakes up. Toss a few sparks around, and stuff like that, to scare him. We need to find out why he's here."
"Then can I incinerate him? Fry his trespassing ass into oblivion?" Theresa warmed up her fire, a symphony of growls and hisses as she worked the air around in whatever body part was responsible for generating flames.
"Maybe. We really need to try to avoid killing him." But they were going to have to find a decent outlet for Theresa soon.
Theresa shot her a skeptical look. "You really think refraining from lethal defense of Mona will save your mom?"
"I'm hoping." Justine tensed as the man opened his eyes and gazed at her. Such blue eyes. Too beautiful to be owned by a murderer who wanted to ruin the worl
d by stealing Mona. "Who are you?"
He propped himself up on his elbow, his forehead furrowed. "I'm not sure." He peered at her. "Who are you?"
Justine frowned. His eyes had lost that glazed look. Now he just appeared confused. "I'm the one with the wineglass." She braced herself for his attack. "I need to know how you found us."
He shook his head like he was trying to clear it. "What wineglass?"
"The one you wanted to steal."
He snorted. "I'm a beer guy. Why would I want a wineglass?" He struggled to a seated position. "What happened?"
He hadn't noticed Theresa, who was pacing restlessly behind him. The dragon widened her eyes and jerked her chin toward surfer dude, flicking her tongue in frantic circles.
What was she trying to say? Even after all this time, Justine had difficulty reading dragon body language. Um...
The dragon finally blew a little puff of ash, and Justine noticed that it dropped freely over the man's skin, with no impediment. That's when she realized the golden hue was gone from his skin. He was just a normal guy now. He didn't even seem to notice the grey dusting as he staggered to his feet. "I gotta get home. I feel like shit."
He didn't look over his shoulder, or around the room, or at Justine, as he limped to the door. He yanked it open and nearly fell into the elevator, which hadn't left yet. But he wasn't holding his head where Justine had clobbered him. He had his arms wrapped around his midsection, like his stomach was hurting. Or he was freezing cold. Or both.
Completely freaking weird. He hadn't even remembered his gun.
The elevator shut behind him, and she let it go. There would be no answers coming from that guy.
Justine locked the door behind him, then leaned her back against it. "What in the world just happened?"
Chapter Seven
"I didn't get to fry him. That's what happened. I'm going to have to go set fire to something else now that I'm all worked up. Are there any chairs you don't like?" Theresa scooped the box of pretzels off the floor. "At least he left these. It's always best to destroy things on a full stomach."
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