Light My Fire

  “So you worked for someone before you were bound to Amaymon?”

  Jim sauntered to the couch opposite, shooting me a look.

  “Absolutely not. This is not my house with its old, crappy furniture. Drake’s things are nice, and I’d like them to stay that way. I bought you a dog bed—use it.”

  The sigh Jim heaved was rife with martyrdom as the demon plopped down on the comfy dog bed I’d set next to the couch, but I ignored it. “Yes, I worked for someone else.”

  “Who?”

  “No one you’d know.”

  My lips thinned. “That’s not an answer. Who did you work for before Amaymon?”

  “I believe ‘whom’ is the correct grammatical—”

  “For whom did you work before Amaymon?” I said in a loud voice.

  “Clio.”

  I frowned as I tried to place the name, but it didn’t ring any bells. “Who was she?”

  Jim rolled over onto its back. “Man, what is this, a third degree? If you’re going to interrogate me, the least you can do is scratch my belly while you do it.”

  “I’m not interrogating you. I’m just curious about your life before Amaymon. You’re the one who brought this other employer up.”

  “Only as an example of why it looks so bad for me now to have a boss who just lazes around and waits for everyone to take care of her problems for her.”

  “Oh, now that is patently untrue!” I got to my feet and grabbed my purse, marching over to prod Jim’s shoulder with the tip of my shoe. “I am very proactive! I always solve my own problems—or at least I try to. Come on, demon. If you’re so hot and bothered to see a little action, you’ll get it.”

  “That’s more like it.” Jim trotted after me as I headed for the front door, pausing to write a quick note for Drake. “Where are we going?”

  “The British Museum.”

  “Huh? Why there?”

  The pleasant late summer days we’d been having in London had fizzled into a gray, overcast dampness. I hurried through the drizzle to the closest tube station. I consulted the big chart of tube routes, trying to figure out which line would take me to the museum. “Because they have the best collection of books detailing the history of the Otherworld. Nora told me I should be hitting the special collection there as much as possible. OK. I think we just need to make one transfer. Shouldn’t take us long.”

  “What are you looking for at the BM?” Jim asked, obediently dropping the volume of its voice when I tweaked its ear. “Ow. Meanie.”

  “I want to see if there’s anything about a mage named Peter Burke.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “Amelie and I talked about him at G and T.”

  “Oh. Like I was paying attention. Who is he?”

  I gave Jim a brief, under-the-breath explanation of who Peter was on the tube ride. The British being what they are, no one looked twice at me as I carried on a conversation with my dog. By the time we got to the museum, Jim was asking questions about what his role would be when I became Venediger.

  “Nothing, because I’m never going to be the Venediger. I’m only just coping with demon lord, wyvern’s mate, and Guardian, thank you.”

  “I think you’re making a mistake. You could be someone if you were Venediger! Think of the fame! Think of the glory! Think of all the free food!”

  “We can do quite well without any of that, thank you. Now zip thy demonic lips, or a museum guard will hear you.”

  It took me a bit of fast talking (and the slightest bit of a mind push) to get Jim and me access to a collection of texts normally reserved for those with the proper academic qualifications, but eventually I found myself tucked away in a corner with a list of books about the otherworld.

  Fat lot of good it did. “You can speak now,” I told Jim a couple of hours later as we exited the museum.

  “I really hate it when you order me to silence,” Jim grumbled. “A simple ‘hush’ wouldn’t suffice for you, oh, no. With you it’s all bossy orders to do whatever catches your fancy.”

  I pointed my finger at the demon. “Do you want to talk to Cecile tonight?”

  Its lips twitched. “I hate it even more when you threaten me with revoking my phone privileges. Fine. Have it your way, oh mighty and fearsome demon lord. What did you find out about this Peter dude?”

  “Nothing. Which is significant, don’t you think?” The drizzle had turned into an outright downpour, sending everyone who didn’t possess an umbrella scurrying down the wet road. I, being a true Oregon girl, had no idea where my umbrella was, or even whether I had brought it with me to London, so I turned up the collar of my coat and ran for the busiest street corner, hoping for a taxi rank.

  “Significant how?”

  “In the absence of information. This guy is a mage, right? Assumedly a big, powerful mage if he’s shooting for Venediger. And you don’t get to be big and powerful without someone taking notice of you. So if he’s been around the block a few times—dammit, that cab should have been ours! Damned pushy tourists. If he’s been around for a while, why hasn’t he made it into any of the books or magazines that detail Otherworld history and society?”

  “Maybe because he’s not as big and powerful as he says he is?”

  I joined the queue at a taxi stand and thought about that. “Doubtful. Amelie said the other contenders to Venediger weren’t as powerful as him, and they ended up killing each other. So it’s pretty much a granted that this guy is all that.”

  “Maybe. Or maybe he’s just been in the Far East like he said he was.”

  “Even so—” An awareness of someone behind me caused me to turn as I was speaking. My body changed position just far enough so that the dart that was intended to pierce my neck zipped past me and embedded itself in the taxi sign.

  “Whoa,” Jim said, its eyes big as it looked at the two-inch thin metal dart tipped with a plastic cone. “You don’t see one of those every day.”

  I didn’t waste time examining the dart. I spun ninety degrees, caught sight of an Asian man turning away as he tucked a long, thin metal pipe into his jacket, and flung myself forward in a leap that would do a long jumper proud. “Jim, attack the dragon,” I yelled as the man sprinted away. He crashed into two elderly ladies emerging from a shop. Jim’s dark form raced past me as I paused to help the ladies up and make sure they weren’t hurt.

  Jim’s muffled woofs clued me in to its location, a fact I was grateful for, because the red dragon had managed to find a way behind the row of shops, into a narrow access alley devoid of anything but crates, garbage cans, and the usual detritus of city life. I caught sight of them next to a large square metal garbage can, the red dragon trying to climb a fire escape, but Jim, bless its demon heart, threw itself at the dragon. The two of them went down with a loud crash. I snatched up a half-empty can of paint and ran over to where the dragon was bashing Jim’s head into the wall.

  “You son of a bitch,” I snarled, swinging the paint can at his head. Words from my self-defense instructor regarding the best way to disable someone echoed in my memory, causing me to switch targets. The can slammed into the dragon’s left knee, connecting with a sickening crunching noise. The dragon screamed and went down again, both hands on his leg. Jim shook its head, a long line of bloody slobber flying from its mouth.

  “Stay back,” I warned Jim, in case it had thoughts of attacking.

  “No problemo,” it croaked, making an odd face as it ran its tongue over its teeth.

  “All right, you bastard,” I said, raising the paint can (which now had a big dent in the side). “If you don’t want your other kneecap smashed to hell and back again, you’ll hand over that blowgun and any other weapons you have stashed on you.”

  The dragon said something in Chinese. Judging by the face he made as he did so, I assumed it wasn’t “I surrender.”

  “Have it your way,” I said, swinging the can again, praying the threat would be enough to make the dragon talk. I have no issues with defending myself and
those I love, but I was not really a fighter. The fact that I’d already disabled his knee was enough to live with—I didn’t want to be responsible for crippling him.

  “No!” he shouted, pulling his body into a fetal shape as he rocked back and forth with pain. “I give you gun.”

  “Jim, how’s your head?”

  “It hurths. I think he knocketh a tooth looth. I thay we kill him.”

  “It’s a thought,” I answered, hoping to scare the dragon into believing I was callous and cold. “You’re Shing, aren’t you? One of Chuan Ren’s bodyguards?”

  The dragon refused to answer me. It didn’t matter—I remembered him. “Look, it’s not going to do you any good to cop an attitude. You’re at our mercy here, so if you don’t want to die, you’d better start telling me what I want to know.”

  “Kill me,” Shing said, his face grim. “There is only honor in death at the hands of an enemy.”

  I thought for three seconds before snatching the two-foot-long plastic blowgun that peeked out of his jacket. “I’ve got a better idea.” He glared at me. I smiled. “One that just reeks of dishonor.”

  Fifteen minutes later Jim (drooling excessively) and I grimly marched up the stairs to a nondescript hotel while I maintained a firm grip on the collar of the dragon. Shing had adopted a hunched over, half-shuffle, half-limp, shooting me periodic glares of outright loathing, but most of the fight had gone out of him once he realized that he was in a vulnerable position. “Chuan Ren will repay you for shaming me!” he managed to snarl as I dragged him into the hotel.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “You will die the Death of Ten Thousand Screams!”

  “Only ten thousand? I thought she was good for at least eleven.”

  Shing tried to straighten up, but the pain of his dislocated kneecap was too much even for his stoic self. “Followed by the Dismemberment of a Thousand Slashes.”

  “Yeah, you mentioned that one in the cab. Jim?”

  “Right behind you.”

  “I myself will participate in the Ceremonial Rending of the Flesh!”

  “Good for you. Hi. I’d like the room number for Lung Tik Chuan Ren,” I told the reception clerk, who was looking somewhat flustered at our sudden, unkempt appearance into polite company. “I have something of hers I think she’d like returned, but he doesn’t seem to be inclined to tell me what room she’s in.”

  “Never will I talk! I will die before I reveal anything to you!”

  “For thomeone whothe not talking, you thure are blabbing a lot,” Jim said in a low voice.

  Shing’s face went red.

  “I will ring the room and announce you,” the woman said, glancing at the dragon nervously.

  I leaned across the reception desk and put my free hand on the phone, my eyes on hers as I opened the door in my mind and focused my attention. “You just need to tell me the room number. I’ll find her on my own.” I gave a little push as I spoke. Her eyes went blank as her hand fell limply to her side.

  “Room number?” I asked, a tiny bit nervous about using the mind push without proper supervision.

  “Six oh four,” she answered, looking over my shoulder at nothing.

  “Thank you. Have a nice day. Oh, and forget about seeing us, OK?”

  “As you wish.”

  I smiled cheerily, gave Shing’s collar a jerk as he tried to twist out of my grip, and trundled my little gang toward the elevator.

  “Your head will be severed from your body,” Shing promised in as mean a voice as he could rally. The whimpers of pain kind of took away the threatening effect, however.

  “Aw. I wath hoping we could take the thtairth,” Jim lisped, narrowing its eyes on Shing. The dragon growled at it. Jim growled back, deliberately slobbering on his foot.

  “Stop it, you two. Honestly, it’s gotten so I just can’t take them anywhere,” I told the woman who was about to get on the elevator. She wisely chose to wait for the next one.

  “Thithy,” Jim said.

  “We are not here to judge others. And please remember your party manners,” I reminded Jim. “The red dragons may have declared war on us, but that doesn’t mean we have to descend to their level and be rude.”

  “I will rip out your heart and eat it before your eyes,” Shing moaned, clutching his knee.

  I doubt I’ll forget the look on Sying’s—Shing’s buddy and Chuan Ren’s second bodyguard—face for a long, long time. The disbelief that chased horror when he saw his compatriot crumpled on the floor in front of the door (Jim had “accidentally” managed to trip Shing) was priceless, and definitely worth the aggravation of being the victim of yet another assassination attempt.

  “Hi. We’re here to see Chuan Ren,” I said, pushing past the stunned Sying to enter the suite. “I’d appreciate it if you could tell her I’m here, and I’d like to have a couple of words.”

  “Your death will be one that lasts a thousand years,” Shing whimpered as I half dragged him into the room. “Our poets will write many songs detailing just how horrible it will be.”

  “Oh,” I said as Sying continued to stand openmouthed at the door. I pulled out the small gun that I had taken from Shing and pointed it at the second bodyguard. “Just…uh…in case you had thoughts of saying no, or something. Would you mind removing any guns or other weapons you happen to have stashed on yourself?”

  Sying closed the door, hesitated for the count of four, then reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a gun, which he laid on the table next to him.

  “Thanks. Jim?”

  “On it.” Jim brought the gun to me, then returned to check over Sying. “He’th clean.”

  “Excellent. Now, where is Chuan Ren?”

  Sying’s eyes flickered for the briefest of moments to the double doors across the room. He said nothing, though, clearly unsure of whether he should try to attack me or help his friend.

  “I wouldn’t,” I advised as I grabbed a handful of Shing’s hair and prodded him into moving forward. “I’ve got your guns, Shing is in poor shape, and Jim’s really annoyed at having a tooth knocked loose. Why don’t you just open the doors for us, and we’ll get out of your hair.”

  I don’t know quite what I was expecting Chuan Ren to be doing—maybe torturing an innocent child or plotting the overthrow of Western civilization—but standing in the middle of a small living room kissing someone was not it.

  “Hi. I don’t know if you remember me, but I’m Aisling Grey, and I’m sick and tired of having your guys on me.”

  Chuan Ren spun around, her long black hair flying out behind her, caressing the chest of the man she’d been kissing.

  I took one look at that man—the broad, broad chest, long legs, and dark emerald green eyes, and fire literally burst forth in a ring around me. “Just what the hell is going on here!” I yelled as I stormed forward. Shing squawked as he was dragged along with me. I released his hair and marched over to where Drake stood with an extremely irritated look on his face, trailing fire with every step. “You are in so much trouble, buster! I cannot begin to tell you how much trouble you are in, but I will say this—it is trouble like you have never seen before!”

  “Would it appease you at all to know that she kissed me?” he asked.

  “Barely.”

  “What are you doing here?” Chuan Ren demanded to know. “Shing, why are you on the ground? Did I not send you out to kill her? Can you not accomplish even the simplest of tasks? Where is Sying?”

  I stopped glaring at Drake long enough to take two steps over to Chuan Ren. Without thinking about it, I pulled hard on Drake’s fire and slammed it into her, sending her flying backwards three feet. “Don’t think I’m not holding you responsible for this, either, you witch!”

  “I think you lefth the B off that word,” Jim said.

  “Witch!” Chuan Ren screamed, lunging forward for me, her long nails clawlike. I’m willing to admit that I would have been a goner if Drake hadn’t been there. I might have caught Chuan Ren by surprise the fi
rst time, but she was first and foremost a warrior, and had been for over a thousand years. I really didn’t stand a chance with her.

  “Cease!” Drake bellowed, suddenly in front of me, his body shielding me from Chuan Ren’s attack. She snarled something at him but sheathed her claws, her dark brown eyes glittering with a deep red light that did not bode well.

  “Mate.” He turned his head slightly to look at me.

  “What?”

  One eyebrow rose. I followed his gaze and cleared my throat. “Is there a fire extinguisher in this room?”

  Chuan Ren spat something in Chinese. I lifted my chin, gave her a look that let her know I wouldn’t dignify whatever insult she had hurled at me with a response, and fetched the small extinguisher from where it hung next to the door. By the time I put out the fire on the couch, coffee table, two chairs, and Shing, Drake had managed to get her to the other side of the room. She stood with her feet slightly apart, her eyes burning, looking every inch a dragon lady.

  “I am willing to admit I might have been a bit hasty with the first interpretation of what I saw,” I told Drake as I set the extinguisher down and stepped over the slightly smoking, still-moaning Shing. “But the fact remains that you”—I pointed at Chuan Ren—“just declared war on him.” I stopped next to Drake and leaned into him in a way that I hope screamed possession. “And as odd as dragon politics are, surely lip wrestling the person you just declared war on is not standard operating procedure.”

  “I was supposed to meet Gabriel here to discuss a cease-fire,” Drake said calmly, putting his arm around me and pulling me even closer. “He did not show up.”

  “OK. That explains why you are here. Now would you like to tell me why you were kissing him?” I asked Chuan Ren.

  She turned her back on me, shaking her long black hair so it hung in a perfectly straight line down her back.

  “She was attempting to seduce me again, that’s all.” Drake’s voice might be placid, but I could feel the angry fire within him.

  “Thome guyth get all the breakth,” Jim said, walking over to drool on the top of Shing’s head.

  “Again?” I asked, twisting around to look at Drake. “As in, she’s seduced you other times?”