Dragon My Heart Around (Providence Paranormal College Book 4)

by D. R. Perry

  “Jeannie?” I held out a hand to help her up. “Jeannie La Montagne?” The bear shifter was also a Resident Assistant at the PPC dorms.

  “Ugh. It figures I’d run into someone I know on the worst night of my adult life.” She brushed her hair off her face. Tears streaked mascara in trails down her cheeks.

  “Are you okay?” Kimiko got down on the sidewalk, collecting items and stuffing them back in the suitcase. I watched her. No sleight-of-hand. “What happened?”

  “Well, I kind of got stranded here unexpectedly.” She sighed, looking like the last thing she wanted to do was talk about it. But then, a man stepped out on the porch.

  “Jeannie, come on. Come back inside, and we’ll talk about this.”

  “No way, Dale. Stay here alone or with your side piece for all I care.” Jeannie snatched a can of hairspray out of Kimiko’s hand and flung it at Dale. He ducked, and it hit the wall.

  “She meant nothing to me.”

  “It would be better if she did.” Jeannie’s throat rumbled with a low growl.

  “Woah.” Dale paled. I would too if I was a regular guy with a jilted bear-shifter girlfriend.

  Jeannie’s pert nose darkened as she began shifting. She turned her head, looking away from Dale and out somewhere toward the street. Messenger on my phone beeped, then I heard a moped in the distance. A black sedan turned from the intersection we’d just crossed, the heavily tinted window opened a crack. I smelled oil and gunpowder. Kimiko stared at Jeannie, completely oblivious.

  My skin scaled over and the seams at the back of my jacket popped. I took one step back and over to put myself between the car and Kimiko. My partially shifted wings opened, circling around her. The engine revved, and then the bullets hit.

  Scales are slightly better than kevlar for stopping mundane bullets, but the semi-automatic rounds felt like that one time I’d flown in a hailstorm. The rain of pain stayed mainly on the Blaine. None of them touched Kimiko or Jeannie. Dale jumped, then ducked back inside. Slugs hit the steps, chewing holes through the wood like giant metallic carpenter ants on speed. Chips flew up from the sidewalk, bouncing off my wingtips. I stared at Kimiko as though I could will her to stay still. She trembled, covering her ears.

  A roar and the screech of claws on metal made me lower the clear protective lid on my eyes to turn my head. A massive golden bear tore the rear bumper off the car. Jeannie. She bellowed again, and I heard the car’s engine whine. The driver floored it harder, tires squealing in their bid for traction against damp pavement. It fishtailed, and part of me hoped it’d flip. It didn’t. Instead, the sedan scurried down the street, its back end wiggling like a cucaracha escaping a descending shoe.

  A few deep breaths and some concentration had my wings folded against my back and scales fading from red to beige. I shifted back to almost human but left my skin armored except for my palms and fingertips. I pulled my phone from my pocket, thankful to have left it in a front pocket instead of the back. There was a message from Tony.

  Goombas

  The moped I’d heard before the attack chugged by, a familiar trench coat flapping behind the driver. That damn cat. He’d been following the shooters, referred to them as Goombas in our messages that afternoon. That could only mean one thing.

  “How did you manage to piss off the Gatto Gang?” Jeannie spoke to Kimiko, who’d just given the bear shifter her coat.

  “No idea.” She shivered again. Or maybe she hadn’t stopped. “They hate my dad, though. You know those offers they say you can’t refuse?”

  “Yeah?” Police sirens dragged out behind her question.

  “Well, my dad did refuse them. More than once.”

  “Ugh.” Jeannie pulled mismatched clothes from her bullet-riddled suitcase and pulled them on. “Well, those particular guys won’t be messing with you again tonight.”

  Red and blue lights swirled and strobed, making the primary color trifecta on this corner of Memorial Drive. We waited, letting the staff members at the Bed and Breakfast give official statements to the uniformed officers on the scene.

  “What’s up, dude?” A detective in a puffy orange vest and acid-wash jeans flashed his badge and a set of fangs. His partner rolled her eyes, then focused a blue steel glare right at Jeannie.

  “Um, not much. Do you want me to fill out a form or something, Detective…”

  “Klein. Naw, dude.” The detective shook his head, then turned to glance at his partner. His mullet would have put MacGyver’s to shame. “I want you to answer my partner’s questions.” He waved a hand in her direction. “Detective Weaver.”

  “Okay.” I turned to face the much scarier looking of the two. Her hair was highly polished, held up in a clip at the back of her head. It shone with some kind of immobilizing styling product, looking almost bullet-proof. One thick streak of white stood out in the otherwise conservative dark brown hair. A faint scar marked the expanse of forehead under the streak. My nose twitched, and I blinked my still active inner lid. The scary detective was some kind of shifter, but not one of the magical type. She also had a hint of Psychic power around her. A device? Her clothes? I glanced at Klein again. Not a trace of any Psychic energy on him. I smiled at scary streak lady.

  “Can you identify the shooter?” Her face was deader-pan than Ben Stein’s voice.

  “Nope, sorry.” I shrugged. She stared at me without blinking.

  “What if I told you we saw someone in the area we know you are acquainted with?”

  “Yeah. Tony Gitano.” I nodded. “I saw him, but he had nothing to do with this.”

  “Are you sure?” I wasn’t sure how Detective Meat Cleaver Weaver managed to keep her eyes open without them tearing.

  “Look, Tony’s not my favorite person in the world, but he couldn’t have been shooting at me from that sedan.” I waved my hand. “He putt-putted by on a Vespa like the lamest excuse for Ghost Rider in the known universe.”

  Detective Klein chuckled. His partner snapped her fingers, and he stopped it on a dime. I wiped the smirk off my face. Apparently, any charm or wit was lost on Detective Weaver. I straightened my tie, and what was left of my shirt, trying to imagine I was talking to Mother. The last thing I wanted was to get taken down to the station for questioning, and this felt like some kind of test.

  “We’ve been watching you, Harcourt.” The detective pointed one claw-like finger at my chest. “You or any of your little friends make one wrong move here in Newport, and we’re on you like spiders on flies.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I gulped. She nodded, apparently mollified for the time being.

  “I got their statements.” Detective Klein waved a couple of triplicate sheets marked with Kimiko’s and Jeannie’s names in the air.

  Detective Weaver didn’t say anything. Her face could have been on one of the marble statues in Mother’s poison apple grove. She turned her back and stalked off to her car, Detective Klein following at a safe distance. What in the name of Tiamat could she be? I held my breath until they got in their unmarked sedan and pulled away.

  “Creepy spider shifters you have on the police force here.” Kimiko patted my arm. “I’m sorry. Not apologetically, but in the sympathy kind of way.”

  “So that’s what she was. Spider shifter.” I shuddered. Spiders freaked me out almost as much as Pharaoh’s Rats. Tiny things were more dangerous to dragons than other dragons most of the time.

  “Well, the big bad spider’s gone now.” Kimiko winked. “Why not head off to wherever we were going as long as we’ll make it in time for the reservation?”

  “Um, but I’m not really dressed for that anymore.” I turned my back, letting Kimiko and Jeannie inspect my shredded jacket and the holes in my shirt. Even though my dress shirts had special flaps to accommodate my wings in an emergency, the bullets had done a number on it.

  “It’s not really that bad. Mostly, you’ll need a jacket.” Jeannie’s voice came from behind me as she plucked at my shirt. “They have those at most restaurants here, for pe
ople who show up too touristy.” She stepped back around in front of me, standing next to Kimiko.

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” I sighed. “Still, Mother’s going to hear about this, and she wouldn’t want me to go ahead with dinner after a drive-by.”

  Jeannie nodded, of course. She was an RA after all, the kind of person used to passing the buck and respecting the sort of authority my mother represented. Kimiko raised an eyebrow, shaking her head. One of her turquoise-shod toes tapped the pavement.

  “You mean to tell me you’ve been stuck in that house for half a week and you’re going home just because some assholes who won’t come back shot at your scaly ass?” She twirled her hair. “Well, if that’s what Mother thinks is best, I guess you ought to do it, right?”

  The zing of sarcasm under her words made me tingle all over. I blinked my clear lid, looking for anything out of the ordinary about her energy. Nothing. But the entire idea she’d presented, rebellion against the great and powerful Hertha Harcourt, apex dragon shifter of the Eastern Seaboard, hit me with more force than all the Gatto Gang’s bullets. A west wind blew around me, brushing her bangs aside. I noticed the tiny star-shaped scar again, focused on it. It was paler than the rest of her skin, clearly old. I wondered again where had I seen something like that before.

  “You’re right.” I took a step toward her, reaching one hand out, not entirely sure what I was about to do. Jeannie cleared her throat.

  “Now that I’m a third wheel dressed in Flasher Couture, I’d better get to the bus station and hope no one calls the cops before they open in the morning.”

  “Wait, Jeannie.” I turned, my hand still extended. I flattened my palm into an inclusive gesture. “You’re always getting us out of trouble back on campus. The least I can do is pull a string and get you a smarmy ex-boyfriend free place to stay. Come on.”

  Jeannie nodded and said something, but I barely noticed. Kimiko gazed up at me like I was some kind of hero even though Jeannie had actually run the bad guys off. But that look on her face wasn’t about the drive-by, or was it? It didn’t really matter. What did was that girls didn’t look at me like that. I was always the brainy buddy or the smart-aleck sidekick, or the also-ran rival to any women of substance.

  I was the guy shallow girls brought home for kicks, not to their families. I recited a litany in my head about her mysterious break-in, her lies, her sticky fingers, the poison apple. She walked along next to me, so close our hands kept touching. I shut the litany off and put my arm around her again. She was my problem in so many ways already, what was one more?

  We walked the rest of the way to the Spiced Bear, which was inside a swankier place to stay than the one Jeannie’s cheating ex-boyfriend had booked for them. I got her a room, and she went up to it. We were just in time for our reservation. And of course, the restaurant had a tatty tweed they kept for vacationers who’d forgotten the jackets-required policy. It reminded me of Professor Watkins. As we sat down, I remembered all the information Kimiko’s app had organized. It’d have to wait for another minute or three, though.

  “Um, they’re going to come over here to take our wine order, and I don’t know whether—”

  “I’m old enough to drink, Blaine.” She winked. I imagined having wine and other things with her in an extremely unorthodox and messy fashion. I was so distracted I didn’t notice the hostess standing at my elbow with the telephone.

  “Sir, a call for you.”

  “No, thanks.” I waved her away.

  “But, sir, She insisted.” The capital letter in her voice meant it was Mother on the line.

  “That’s lovely of her. Please tell her I’m handling the situation, per her orders.” I smiled. “We would like a bottle of Cardinale. And we’ll have my usual for dinner. Thanks.”

  “Very good, sir.” The hostess gave a slight bow and carried the phone away.

  The meal was phenomenal as usual, and the company matched. But the best part of all was knowing I was having dinner here tonight by my own choice, not Mother’s. I’d been around more than one block in the physical sense with women, but this was different. I wasn’t out on a date with Kimiko Ichiro because I could be, or because Mother wanted me to be. We sat in the Spiced Bear because we wanted to be there together, and that made more of a difference than I could ever have imagined it would.

  We didn’t have time to walk after dinner. So we kept the mealtime conversation light, focusing on the games we hadn’t played earlier that day. After getting my scales filled with lead, I deserved to relax and have fun. Kimiko seemed to understand that didn’t happen too often for me, or maybe she felt the same way. Lockdown at The Academy trapped her as surely as expectations and obligations caged me. But she’d gotten out of that prison. I could bust out of mine, too. She helped me see how when you break free once, you learn to watch the exits just in case you need one the next time.

  The limo stood at the curb directly in front of the steps, and we got inside and let the driver take us back to the mansion. This time, I sat next to her instead of across. She turned, looking at me expectantly. But I couldn’t put my arm around her like I had on the relatively anonymous streets. Going back home was like going back into battle after a respite. When she put her hand over mine, I should have shaken it off. I didn’t.

  When we got out of the car, Mother was waiting. She gave me a smile that glittered like fool’s gold. I wanted to look back, give whichever servant assigned to escort Kimiko back to her room a little stink-eye motivation to leave me to it. Mother wasn’t having any of that. She had her game face on. When she stalked up the staircase and turned left, I knew she meant to give me five kinds of nastiness, all in the spirit of Tiamat’s five heads. I followed, clenching my fists.

  I wasn’t surprised when she brought me to her rage cage. She’d spent too much time lately in the saltine-box shaped room, lined in granite from floor to ceiling. This was where Mother always went when she thought her temper needed a release. The only decor was what appeared to be wall carvings, vaguely runic. I knew better. The whole chamber was big enough for four fully shifted dragons and warded more heavily than some prisons. She waved a hand, and the door closed behind me. I knew this drill well. I wouldn’t be leaving until she either opened that door or conceded to any argument I might present.

  “How dare you disobey your mother?” She put all her weight on one leg and crossed her arms over her chest.

  “Are you serious, Mother?” I’d been shot at, interrogated by a spider shifter, and rescued two people. I would not just stand there and eat the helping of Guilt Trip Supreme she wanted to dish out.

  “Deadly.” She tossed her head, black hair falling behind her shoulder on the right.

  “That’s interesting because you’re the one who wanted me to write the story of Kimiko Ichiro and the Mysterious Dragon Hoard Invasion.” I narrowed my eyes, homing in on the corners of her mouth and her nostrils. That’s where she wore all her human form tells. “I was handling that.”

  “You’d just been shot at. Why in Tiamat’s name would you go out and have a leisurely dinner afterward?”

  “To get the girl I shielded from gunfire and certain death to talk to me, of course.” I rolled my eyes, but only after a pause. I hoped she didn’t notice my own slip in the Tells You Don’t Show And Expect To Win At Poker department. “It’s a tactic I learned from the best.”

  “You haven’t used what you’ve learned by watching me before. Why start now?”

  “You haven’t dropped a responsibility this big and important in my lap before. Why start now?”

  Her only response was a low growl. Someone who’d never lived with her may have mistaken it for a warning or expression of anger. I didn’t. I ducked. Good thing.

  The hiss behind me meant Mother’s acid breath was doing the Alka Seltzer Sizzle on solid rock. From experience, I knew that if she hit me, I wouldn't heal for days. The wall wouldn’t heal at all, though. I didn’t bother looking over my shoulder because I knew there�
��d be one more vaguely runic line etched back there. I straightened, mirroring her cross-armed pose.

  “Don’t question my judgment, whelp, until you’re prepared to challenge me for this estate and everything in it.”

  “And how do you know I’m not?”

  “Because even you have no idea exactly what and who will become your responsibility if you do.” Mother tapped the toe of one five-figure price-tag shoe against the stone.

  “A point that becomes more irrelevant every time we have an argument like this.” My dagger-thin glare turned into more of a squint as the smoke rising from my nostrils thickened. “Be careful, or all the trouble you went to, using nurture to direct me away from Father’s mistakes, will backfire. Literally.” I took a deep breath.

  One corner of her matte-red mouth twitched down, and her weight shifted to her other leg. I let the breath out with a laugh instead of the gout of flame she must have expected. Although Mother stood up straight after that and put on her most withering glare, she seemed smaller than usual, somehow.

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Nothing moved besides her mouth. “Until you understand the full extent of what you’re inheriting, you will never be ready to.”

  “Like you were ready when it happened for you?” I put my hands on my hips.

  “You are not me.” Her eyes shifted from round pupils to slitted, dark brown to poison-green.

  “Good.”

  “I already know how you feel about that, and now it’s time for you to understand that I agree.” She closed her inner eyelid. “No one should have to do the things I’ve done, especially not you. And that’s why I say again, you are not ready to inherit everything in this house, whether you do it by challenging me or some other way.”