'Til Dragons Do Us Part (Never Deal with Dragons) (16 page)

Ducking my head, I jumped, and felt the ceiling give way. I waited, my body providing a shield for Sara as the worst of the plaster rained down around us, then I jumped again, tearing a hole through the roof. A third jump had us clearing the structure, and as soon as I was able, I slapped my wings out to pull us airborne.

* * *

Turns out, it was surprisingly easy to keep my focus on my hybrid form when someone’s life was on the line. What I hadn’t figured out was what to do when Sara woke mid-flight. When she first started to stir, I opened my mouth to offer reassurance, but quickly changed my mind when a gravelly rumble came out instead of a gentle whisper.

Waking up to a dragon’s roar was probably not the best idea in this case. I made an attempt to morph my vocal cords, but stopped immediately when I realized I couldn’t hold the form of my human hands at the same time. I wouldn’t be able to speak to calm her down. I could only fly faster, and hope she wouldn’t hurt herself if she managed to regain consciousness.

My luck held, and I managed to swoop into the ambulance bay just as Sara’s movements became more forceful. This time I did use my roar, causing several scrub-clad people to spill from the double doors. But they all stopped short at the sight of me—not a single one of the dozens of medical staffers were willing to approach a full-sized dragon.

In the heavy silence I heard the click of a camera. I swung my head around, trying to locate the source. Sure enough, a man stood near the back of the group holding a piece of equipment that could only belong to a professional photographer. The woman beside him, a chunky blonde wearing a pair of khaki pants and an orange shirt, scribbled madly into a spiral notebook and shot him terse orders. In response, he wove through the crowd for another angle, the shutter on his camera going a mile a minute.

It was, of course, pointed directly at me. I had no doubt a photo of me holding an unconscious female would make front page, above the fold in tomorrow’s paper.

And still, no one made a move to help Sara.

I could have morphed back into my human form, but I couldn’t—Emma couldn’t—afford the type of publicity that would bring. Considering I was blatantly displaying a set of human hands, it was all-too obvious that I was a dragon morph. Showing my human face would pretty much guarantee I’d never again be able to blend into a crowd. Just like Trian, I’d attract attention and whispers wherever I went.

And while I doubted I’d lose my job at Bridal Visions over this—Amanda would probably rope me into posing as the poster-child for dragon fashion—it sure as hell would make any future gigs that much harder to pull off.

Good or bad, news of the existence of dragon morphs had the entire world stirred up. I hadn’t exaggerated about the extent of coverage Trian’s movements garnered. Even if I managed to complete this job, Simon and Jeanie and I would be forever paused on the edge of a cliff, waiting for the time when a random person with a dragon fetish pulled out a copy of the paper and compared the grainy photo to my face.

I’d be forced to sit out of operations until the world forgot me again, just when the sale of the Tofegaard would have our status raised and offers pouring in, giving us a chance to really challenge Prometheus for a decent share of the market.

No, I couldn’t change back into my human form, but I had to do something. I moved forward, trying to look as harmless as possible for Sara’s sake. “Somebody please help her. She’s badly injured.”

But no one understood my words. Thinking I was angry, my frantic roars caused the crowd to skitter away, like a colony of cockroaches when the lights were turned on.

It was no use. Sara was covered in blood and held by a dragon. I couldn’t blame them for being afraid. So I did the only thing I could think of. I placed her gently on the ground and flew away.

I mean, I knew I was in the business of getting out of uncomfortable situations by fleeing as fast as I could fly, but lately, it was really getting on my nerves.

Chapter Sixteen

I didn’t expect to go far. In fact, I’d decided I would simply fly a block or so away, morph back into my human skin, and walk back to the hospital. But all the frustrated roaring I’d done had the humans actively looking into the air and taking cover. While my dark scales were quite easy to hide against a night sky, they didn’t do so well during daylight hours, and it took me a while to find an empty alley without the fear of encountering a mob armed with pitchforks and division-of-the-species-flavored religious fervor. There were groups out there who would call me and my abilities a gift of the devil, and I had no wish to encounter them without my scaly armor. There were really good reasons I didn’t morph in public.

Only when I landed did it occur to me that I didn’t have my bag. Which meant that I’d be running through the streets of Tulsa stark naked.

“Savannah, you are a complete idiot.” I looked around, as if staring hard enough would make clothing magically appear in front of me. It didn’t. Neither did patting the empty spot where my bag usually hung.

I was going to have to head back to my apartment. I’d managed to pick a relatively narrow alley for my landing. While it had worked perfectly as a target for reaching the ground relatively unseen, it wasn’t exactly ideal for the reverse. I tried to spread my wings to their full width, but only managed to rub them against two slimy brick walls.

I’d stepped out onto the sidewalk, and had just made the first hop to start my flight when I spotted a large red dumpster just across the street.

“Could I be so lucky?” Checking traffic to make sure I didn’t get hit by any oncoming vehicles—just because cars wouldn’t injure me permanently didn’t mean they didn’t sting—I walked over for a closer look.

I performed a mental fist pump when I saw that the word DONATIONS had been carefully stenciled onto the side of the container. The bin, similar to others placed all around the city, contained items humans had decided to donate to charity. And clothing was always a popular giveaway item. I lifted the lid off the bin, and cackled when I found it more than half full of used clothing. I love thrift stores. Glancing both directions to make sure I wasn’t being watched, I pulled the lid completely off its hinges, morphed and hopped inside.

Five minutes later, I hopped back out, rather less enthused. The dumpster may have been half full of clothing, but there had been very few items even close to my size. In fact, I was half convinced someone had bought out the big and tall store next door, and then decided not to bother with returns.

I managed to locate a few items that were close to my basic dimensions, and even if it was the most ridiculous outfit I’d ever put on—a pair of lime green track pants and a black shirt—dressed was dressed. The black shirt was especially precious, because it came complete with a spangled grinning unicorn head dead center of my chest. The flip flops were rather tight on my feet, and the left one scratched against the inside of my big toe annoyingly, but they would get me back to the hospital.

Savannah Cavenaugh, dumpster-diving queen.

* * *

Relieved to see that Myrna’s assistant had at least been picked up and brought inside while I’d been away, I approached the nearest reception desk and asked for her by name.

The nurse checked the pile of charts at her elbow and shook her head. “No one here by the name of Sara.”

I stood there, dumbfounded. “What do you mean there’s no one here by that name? I brought—” I stopped, realizing that with Sara unconscious, they probably wouldn’t have her name. I backtracked and tried again. “I was told she was brought in just a few minutes ago. Petite, dark hair, had bruises on her stomach and face?”

The nurse’s eyes widened. “You mean the dragonlady?”

I smiled. “Yes, the one brought in by the dragon.”

“They took her straight back to surgery. That dragon certainly did a number on the poor thing. Broken rib, cracked ulna, and possible internal bleeding.”

I struggled to keep the temper out of my voice. “You think the dragon hurt her? It looked to me like the dragon was trying to help.”

The nurse just gave me a blank stare, making it clear that she’d never entertained another possibility. I grit my teeth in frustration. I was sick and tired of dragons being blamed for anything and everything, of everyone assuming that we were out to maul and mutilate everything in sight.

If Myrna were here, she’d set everyone straight.

Oh, my God. I hadn’t called Myrna. “Is there a public telephone nearby?”

The nurse pointed me down the hall, where a row of cheap wooden booths had been attached to the wall, complete with phone books and tethered writing utensils. I found the main DRACIM line and dialed, hoping that not only would Myrna come down here and take charge, she could also help me reach Sara’s family.

I was patched immediately through to Myrna’s office, and I breathed a sigh of relief when, after I’d told her about the bomb and the resulting hospital situation, she snapped into emergency mode, promising to take care of notifying Sara’s parents before heading over.

I hung up the phone and decided to wait for news from the waiting room, but stopped when I saw a familiar face heading for the exit.

“Simon!”

My partner turned, shifting Emma in his arms to peer down the hall in my direction. He touched Jeanie’s arm to get her attention, and they stopped and waited as I approached.

“Hey there, sweetie,” I said, placing my hand on top of Emma’s head. “How are you feeling?”

Emma smiled and pointed at my chest. “You have a unicorn on your shirt. It smells funny.”

The girl wasn’t wrong. Apparently the previous owner of this shirt had gone to extreme lengths to keep it safe for donation, because every time I turned, I got a whiff of fresh moth balls.

“It does smell funny. I think I’ll take a bath when I get home.”

“I get to take a bath too, because today is the day I go home. Mommy says they still have to poke me with needles for a while, but I get to see Mr. Ruff.”

I struggled to hold my smile. “Mr. Ruff will be very glad to see you, pumpkin. He’s been staying at my house, and I’m not nearly as much fun as you are.”

Simon looked me up and down. “Something I need to know about why you’re dressed like this?”

“Probably, but it’ll keep.”

He nodded and turned as a nurse walked up, dressed in a set of scrubs that featured rubber duckies in various forms of sports gear. She leaned in to walk Simon and Emma through the discharge instructions, leaving me with Jeanie.

“How is she really?” I asked, watching as the nurse pretended to tickle Emma with a small stuffed piglet.

Jeanie sighed. “She’s fine for now. The doctor said we can come back anytime for her implant, but until then, it’s a long road full of needles and near constant monitoring of anything and everything she eats.”

“That sucks.”

“Yes. It does.”

“I went back to get the painting, but they’ve moved the vase I hid it in.”

Jeanie gave me a sharp look—she had real issues with how I handled priceless pieces of art—but I ignored her. “I’m still trying to track it down. As soon as that happens, the entire fee is yours. No arguments,” I said as Jeanie opened her mouth to protest. “She’s my family too, and I’ll happily give her everything that I own.”

Jeanie squeezed my hand, and I squeezed back. There were no words necessary.

We stood there a few moments, watching Simon as he whispered something to Emma that made her laugh, but it was clear from the way she rubbed at her eyes that the poor thing was exhausted.

“You two head back to the apartment, and I’ll bring Mr. Ruff by as soon as I finish up here.” I decided to wait before telling Jeanie about the bomb, but I wanted to make sure Sara was well taken care of before I left her here alone.

“Emma and I are headed home, but Simon has a meeting with one of his contacts in less than an hour. He didn’t feel comfortable trying to reschedule.”

I frowned. The world of art theft was still very much reliant on who you knew, and while I ran point on a handful of our networking arms, Simon was the undisputed expert in that area. But I hated the idea of him being forced back into work when his family could use him at home.

“Which contact?”

“Bernie Laurens.”

Good. Bernie was one of the more easygoing black market fencers, and as he specialized in the business of high-end counterfeiting rather than straight-up theft, he was generally looking for company rather than a way to stab someone in the back.

“I’ll take the meeting. Bernie likes me. Especially if I can find us a decent pool hall. I get to hustle him for twenty bucks, and he gets to show off the fact that he managed to convince a relatively young woman to go somewhere with him.”

Considering Bernie was somewhere around seventy years old and weighed close to what I did when in dragon form, it wasn’t such a bad deal on his side.

“Really? You don’t mind?”

“Nope.” I looked down at my clothes and reconsidered. “Well, I guess it depends on whether you still have one of my emergency kits in your car.”

Jeanie gave me one of the first real smiles I’d seen in ages. “You don’t think the unicorn will go over well at a pool hall?”

“Nah, the unicorn is fine. It’s the pants. I think they make me look fat.”

“They make you look something, for sure. It just so happens I do have some of your clothes in the trunk. Tell Simon I’ll be right back.”

While Jeanie ran out to the car for my clothes, I wandered back over to the reception desk to check on Sara, and was relieved to spot Myrna just inside the waiting room with Trian. I fought the urge to jump back when I saw she was speaking to the blonde reporter, telling the woman in no uncertain terms that no, Trian was not the dragon who’d attacked Sara, and no, she had no additional comment on the episode at this time.

Unhappy, the reporter nevertheless thanked her and left.

“What was that all about?”

Myrna rolled her eyes. “She wants me to spill the identity of the dragon who brought Sara here, and they’re hoping for a big story full of blood, claws and animalistic rage. But I already spoke with Cameron on the way over.”

“Oh.” So it was too late to hope I could catch Cameron and convince him to keep my secret. I braced myself for the inevitable questions.

“But he told me the dragon morph was already shifted when he saw her. Based on the description, it’s the same dragon morph that Trian ran into at DRACIM, and Cameron confirmed that she had nothing to do with the bomb. Other than that, we know absolutely nothing.”

For a minute, I was stunned into silence. He hadn’t told anyone. I struggled to compose an appropriate response, then realized that as Savannah Cavenaugh, human wedding planner, I should be very confused about the existence of a second dragon morph.

“Wait. So the dragon at Bridal Visions wasn’t Trian?”

As Myrna patiently explained the circumstances that I already had firsthand knowledge of, I let my mind drift back to Cameron. Why had he lied to keep my secret? Not that I didn’t completely appreciate it, but I just didn’t see what he got out of the deal. I’d seen the look in his eyes when he realized what I was, and there had been nothing there but ice.

The warm, caring Cameron who held me and asked after Emma had vanished, replaced by a cold, professional stranger. Sure, he’d been thrown into serious bodyguard mode, but I didn’t think all of his distance was due to business.

I caught Jeanie’s wave from outside the waiting room. “I’m sorry to run off like this, but I have a friend waiting on me.” I looked around and snatched a pen from one of the tables, scribbling my home number on the back of the piece of paper I’d torn from one of the many outdated waiting room magazines. “Can you call me as soon as you hear anything?”

“Of course.” Myrna gave me a squeeze on the shoulder before I turned to leave. “If I haven’t said so already, thank you for driving over to make sure she had someone with her. You should go rest. You’ve had quite the day.”

I gave her a grim smile and started for the door. She had no idea.