She blinked. “Dent? Why would I be? No, he’s just a little bit of fun right now, and both he and I know that. But now that you mention it, I am worried, but it’s not about me—it’s about a friend.”
“Ralph? Alex?”
“No, no one you know.” She led me into a large bedroom that was decked out in black and white, with potted palms. The floors were hardwood, thank goodness, so I wasn’t saturating the carpet with the water that trickled off my clothing. She held up one hand, while darting into an enormous walk-in closet, then returned with a thick, plush terrycloth robe. It was a pale shade of blue, and I smiled. My favorite.
“There’s a bathroom through that door. Take a shower and warm up, get the chlorine off you. And on the vanity, you’ll find a blow dryer so you can dry your hair. If you need anything, let me know. There are clean towels on the side of the vanity.”
I wanted to ask more about who she was worried about, and why, but decided that could wait till I got the chlorine off me. I hated the stuff, and it didn’t like me much, either. I seemed to get a reaction to it, and that had put a dent in my swimming in pools for a while, until I’d managed to find a saline pool nearby and signed up for a membership there.
Slipping out of my wet clothes, I stepped into the shower, the warm water streaming over my body. Dent probably wasn’t the one who used honeysuckle body wash—I had smelled it on Bette before—so I figured the bottle was hers. I lathered up, soaping away the stink of the chlorine. It didn’t exactly burn me, but I noticed a pale rash that rose up when I went too long without washing after it touched any significant portion of my body.
Glenda’s arrival nagged at me. I wasn’t seriously worried she would hurt me—regardless of my temporary limit on powers, I could still beat the crap out of her, though I had doubts my water magic would affect her in any significant way. But the fact that she had decided to interfere meant something was up. She hadn’t moved on, and considering the way she ill-used Alex, I had the feeling that she was finding it difficult to dig up somebody else who would put up with not only her violent temper, but her inborn need to fuck every man she saw. Succubi weren’t cut out for relationships. Neither were incubi. And yet, some of them—against all odds—kept trying.
After I finished, I stepped out of the shower and wrapped my towel around me, then another around my hair. As I padded over to the vanity, I saw that Bette had taken away my wet clothes, and had laid out the blow dryer and the robe. I toweled the water away, then slid into the robe and tied it tight.
I stared at myself in the mirror. Six months ago, I had been sent Earthside. Exiled for a crime that I fully admitted to. The alternative was to stay in the Dragon Reaches and let Greanfyr—the white dragon I had stolen from—hunt me down and execute me. And if he did, nobody would raise a wing to stop him, given my persona non grata status.
As I softly ordered my hair to untangle itself, the shimmering streaks of blue and purple gleamed among the dark strands. They were natural. They indicated who—or rather, what—I was and were as much a part of me as was my tattoo. My ink was a reminder to me that I belonged, when everybody else said I didn’t. A blue dragon, the tattoo coiled up from my waist with the tail curling near my hip. The dragon slinked up my right side, surrounded by waves, curling up so that the neck and head coiled over my right shoulder and down my arm, with more ocean waves along the side.
I flipped on the blow dryer, the heat warming me as I instructed my hair to section out, holding itself away from my head while I aimed the blowing air at it. That was one lovely thing about being a dragon—my hair had a mind of its own and I could make it behave however I wanted. Which was why—when the Wing-Liege cut it—it had hurt me so much, and been so painful. Our hair was part of our body, a part of our mane when we were in dragon form, and unlike humans and Fae, it had nerve endings and could register pain and pleasure. Touching Alex’s skin with my hair gave me a thrill, even as having someone yank on it could hurt like a son of a bitch.
As the hair fell into place, smoothing softly against my head in clean, gleaming lines, I began to shake off the evening so far. Earlier in the afternoon, I had been uneasy about coming here. I thought it was just because I would have to face a bunch of strangers and pretend to be Fae—my cover was that of a water Fae, a nymph, to be exact. Humans didn’t really know about dragons, and we aimed to keep it that way as much as possible. But something had set me on edge, and now I wondered if I had been anticipating Glenda showing up.
When my hair was dry and smooth, I slid my feet into the plush terry slippers Bette had left next to the robe and headed into the bedroom to find her sitting there, checking her phone, with a worried frown on her face. She glanced up as I sat down beside her.
“All washed up and clean?”
“Yeah, the chlorine is off my skin, so I should be fine. You get some bad news?” I leaned back in the chair, thoroughly enjoying the soft sinking feeling of the cushions.
Bette looked about ready to say “no” but then she paused. “I’m not sure if it’s bad news or not. That’s the problem. I told you I’m worried about a friend, right?”
She seemed reluctant to say anything, which meant she wasn’t at all sure on what she was chewing on. I knew Bette and she wasn’t reticent with her opinions unless she really wasn’t clear on what she thought about something.
I nodded. “Right. Why don’t you tell me and we can decide if it’s bad news together?” I motioned to the robe. “I really don’t feel like wandering around in a group of strangers wearing nothing but a bathrobe. Plus it will give them time to change the subject to something other than Glenda, Alex, and me.” Grinning, I stuck my feet up on the ottoman and settled back, thinking that if Dent had this kind of furniture, I’d consider hanging out with him, too.
Bette lit up a cigarette and, as usual, let it dangle off her lip. I was about to ask if Dent let her smoke inside, but then saw a few ashtrays scattered around, which meant he probably smoked, too. Bette was no fool—she never got involved with nonsmokers or teetotalers who might try to curb her habits. But she was also gracious enough to refrain from lighting up in my house, or over at Ralph’s, and she kept her smoke downwind.
As she inhaled deeply, then blew out a ring to make even a dragon jealous, she gave me a little shrug and put her own feet up. “All right. I hate telling secrets—it sounds so ridiculous at times, but, fuck a duck, this has been eating me up. I don’t know if you realized that I go down to volunteer at the Supe Community Council once a week. I teach an art class.”
I stared at her. It was hard to imagine Bette doing anything of the sort. But I kept quiet and nodded.
“So, a lot of my students tend to be elderly Fae—mostly Earthside. They’re . . . think of them like the great-aunt in the upstairs attic. They’ve lost just enough strength and vitality to lack confidence, but they’re still in fairly good health. Which means another few hundred years to go before they die, but they aren’t ready to die just yet.”
I knew very little about the Fae when they aged—my kind tended to keep to themselves for the most part. It was mostly due to arrogance, but regardless of the cause, there were few dragons who took an interest in the outside world, or outsiders for that matter. We tended to be an insular race.
Bette puffed on her cigarette. “So, the problem is this: I have a student there, a friend really. Her name is Marlene, and she’s one of the Woodland Fae. She’s a lovely woman, but she’s drifting, really. When the Fae get as old as she is, especially the nature Fae, they tend to get a bit . . .” She looked like she was trying to find a polite word for what she was thinking.
Ever helpful, I said, “Balmy?”
A nod, then—“Yeah, balmy sums it up. Marlene and I get together and play poker, and we watch movies, and take walks in her garden because she’s too old to go out in the wild anymore, but I keep an eye on her, you know? Make certain that she’s eaten lately and isn’t
just sitting in the garden, dozing during the rain.”
I sighed. In my realm, when dragons reached that age, they slept in their dreyeries until they never woke up again. They were treated by their families as sleeping gods, venerated and waited on. But among humans—and some of the Fae—the aging ones were treated with less respect, and often just left on their own, discarded like used tissue.
“I understand. You make sure she’s okay, and that’s a good thing, Bette. But what’s the problem?”
“Marlene told me a few days ago that she’s dating a young man. I was surprised—she’s no Melusine, and she’s never mentioned wanting to explore that side of her life again. In fact, I thought she was pretty much over any interest in anything but pottering around. But she told me he makes her feel young, and that he romances her.” A dark look flashed through her eyes. “I don’t trust him, Shimmer. Marlene’s a lovely woman but she’s not a cougar, and she’s very, very wealthy.”
I blinked at that. Vampires tended to accumulate wealth. The Fae? Some of them did, but Woodland Fae weren’t that interested in material goods, especially the Earthside ones.
“You think he’s out for a sugar mama?”
Bette croaked out a laugh. “Pumpkin, I think he’s out to get what he can. I can’t come out and tell Marlene what I think, though—it would hurt her feelings terribly. So I’m going to just have to bite the bullet and find out what I can behind the scenes. I’m going to ask Alex if he minds if I use Ralph’s know-how to see what we can find out about the guy. I need his last name, though, and she hasn’t given it to me. I’m supposed to meet her for lunch tomorrow, and thought I’d be able to pick up a few more tidbits then. Would you mind joining us? I know you can read emotion, even though you try to hide it.”
I stared down my nose at her. “Oh, really?” Even though she was spot-on, it surprised the hell out of me to hear that she knew. I hadn’t mentioned it to anybody but Alex. But then, he and Bette were thick as thieves and for all I knew, she was privy to our entire relationship.
“Shimmer, you’ve been working with us for almost seven months. By now, you should know that there aren’t any secrets in the office.” She cackled, then, and puffed on her cigarette again before tamping it out in one of the ashtrays. “Which is why I can tell you this. Glenda? She’s not done with the pair of you. I’d expect trouble from that little bitch, because honey, you cross a succubus? You’ve got a mess of worms on your plate.”
And with that lovely thought filling my head, I agreed to have lunch with Bette and Marlene the next day, but even as she brought me my clothes—now clean and dry—all I could think of was Glenda, the bad and brazen, and what revenge she might be planning.
New York Times bestselling author Yasmine Galenorn writes urban fantasy, mystery, and metaphysical nonfiction. A graduate of Evergreen State College, she majored in theater and creative writing. Yasmine has been in the Craft for more than thirty-four years and is a shamanic witch. She describes her life as a blend of teacups and tattoos, and she lives in the Seattle area with her husband, Samwise, and their cats. Yasmine can be reached at her website at galenorn.com, via Twitter at twitter
.com/yasminegalenorn, and via her publisher. If you send her snail mail, please enclose a self-addressed stamped envelope if you want a reply.
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