DragonGames (2 page)

Sophie sighed with satisfaction. “I love a
happy ending. Speaking of which, there was a reason for Tielo’s visit. He—”

Aislinn’s sudden smile made Sophie laugh. “You
already know about his scheme to lure potential mates to Drake’s Lair.”

“His isn’t the only scheme afoot. Pierce
and Tristan came by with Storm a couple of days ago to set their own plan in
motion.”

“Dare I ask?”

“Fey magic, this time used to benefit the
dragons. Let me show you.”

Sophie followed Aislinn to the counter. She
remained on the customer side, idly digging through a bowl of polished stones
to select one of them.

Aislinn went around and retrieved an
intricately carved wooden box from a cabinet. Opening it, she removed a deck a
cards. They looked hand painted, the artistry amazing. The card backs were the
same scene, a forest path with a naked, androgynous couple seen from behind.

“This is Tristan’s work,” Aislinn said.
“There are different sigils woven into the back of each card, subtle, so
they’re not visible, except to the subconscious. The cards were mentioned in an
old, old book of faery tales he bought for Storm.”

She turned the deck over, spreading them
out along the counter. Painted on the front were the faces of men, overlaid
onto the image of the dragon Sophie thought must be their first form, their
true form.

Sophie smiled at recognizing some of those
who lived on the estate as they served out their liege time to Severn. But it
was the sight of Tielo’s face, then the dragon prince Hakon’s, that had her
snickering. “Oh man, I’m not sure whether to feel sorry for the women who pick
those cards, or to feel gleeful at the prospect of those two guys falling hard.
They may think they don’t want mates, but in the presence of the perfect one,
instinct will kick in and they won’t be able to hold out.”

“True enough.” Aislinn scooped up the cards
and placed them back in the box. “Tristan and I devised a plan. When he saw the
mirror, he suggested I place each of the cards on it.”

“Sort of like feeding images into a magical
mate-matching computer.”

“Yes.” Aislinn shrugged. “There’s no way of
telling if it’ll have any impact on what someone might see if they’re drawn to
the mirror and it reacts to them, but… Our hope is to ease the potential mate
into accepting the possibility they’ll meet not just their match, but that the
one for them is more than human.”

“Makes sense. Plus if the person sees the
image in the mirror, then sees the same face on the card, that’ll reinforce the
match and also give you a chance to call Pierce and make sure the dragon shows
up at Drake’s Lair when their perfect mate is there.”

“Yes.”

“How will you know when to offer the deck
and have someone choose a card? Almost everyone who comes here already believes
to some extent in the supernatural, or are at least curious about it. But they
won’t necessarily volunteer that they actually saw something in the mirror or
tell you what it was. Without seeing what they saw, how will you be sure the
perfect match isn’t to something
not
dragon?”

Aislinn smiled. “You’ve been one of a great
number of test subjects and so far there hasn’t been a single miss. Without
prompting, and I’ll bet without conscious thought, you chose an affinity stone
which I happen to know was at the bottom of the bowl.”

Sophie glanced down at the polished round
stone in her hand, noticing then that all of them were the same color, black,
and seemingly identical in appearance though she could feel a small glyph
carved into it. Looking closer, she recognized it as Elvish and grinned. “Let
me guess, the symbol means, ‘Crazy about dragons.’”

“Or could be crazy about at least one of
them, if introduced to the right mate.”

“So the stones are a safeguard, a clue.”

“Yes.”

Sophie put the affinity stone back in the
bowl, burying it deep before retrieving the invitations Tielo had given her and
setting them down on the counter. “So if the mirror reacts, when they come to
the cash register—because who can enter Inner Magick and leave without buying
something—you see if they pick out the dragon stone. And if they do, you then
present the cards, and afterward, the invitation.”

“That’s one possible sequence. Different
matches will probably come about different ways.”

“You’re trying to cover all the bases.”

Aislinn nodded. “And hopefully prepare the
women invited to Drake’s Lair the best I can without violating the covenants
governing those supernaturals living or visiting this realm.”

Sophie laughed, doing a small hop up and
down as she clapped her hands. “I am loving this! I’ll love it even more when
Tielo or Hakon meet their mates. Are you leaving it totally up to chance and
just waiting for someone to walk in and have the mirror react to them?”

“No.”

Sophie rubbed her hands together. “Who have
you got in mind?”

“Her name is Lyra Cotterill. She’s a
teacher who collects tarot cards. I’ve got some unique ones coming in. They
should be here any time now. When they arrive, I’m going to call and tell her
they’re here.”

“Any guesses as to who she’s going to end
up with?”

Aislinn’s smile was full of mystery while
her eyes sparkled with teasing. “You’re an author, Sophie, it’ll ruin the story
if you know the entire plot in advance.”

“Cruel,” Sophie muttered, but she was
smiling as she reached over and tapped the top invitation. “Do you think she’ll
use this today?”

“All I can say with any certainty is that
it’ll be in her possession and there will be a selection of men at Drake’s Lair
for her to choose from.”

Sophie snickered. “And to bring out dragon
competitiveness.”

“That too.”

Chapter Two

Lyra put the last bite of enchilada in her
mouth, savoring the taste and spiciness of it as much as she had the first
bite. If she kept this up, she was going to need new clothes in a larger size.

The prospect of it wasn’t exactly something
to make her excited about hitting the mall and spending money. And then there
was the whole seeing-herself-in-a-full-view-mirror thing.

Keep eating the way she’d been for the last
several months, it’d be like looking into a fun-house mirror, only she wouldn’t
be laughing. And the truth was that eating as many meals as she could at the
Ochoas’ restaurant wasn’t going to be enough to keep them in business or make a
big enough difference when it came to helping the family.

She pushed the empty plate to the side. It
was the signal her two companions were waiting for. Nine-year-old Sebastian
pounced. “What about a
tres leches
cake with strawberries, Ms.
Cotterill? If you order it, I’ll go get it right away.”

Dark eyes pleaded for her to say,
yes,
yes, yes
. He was going to be a heartbreaker when he grew up, same as the
brother sitting next to him. They’d both been her students, but she couldn’t
love them any more if they were her own nephews.

“Blackberries, not strawberries,” ten-year-old
Nicolas chimed in. “I bet Mama would even give it to you for less money if we
tell her you’re going to share some of it with us.”

Lyra laughed, heart lifting as it did every
time she stopped by for a meal. Six months ago, she’d braced herself to attend
their funerals.

There were still times when she felt the
well of tears, at how close she’d come to losing them after first Sebastian
then Nicolas had become sick. It’d started as flu-like symptoms, nothing to
rush a kid to the doctor for, not with flu going around and money tight.

She hadn’t faulted Romina and Emmanuel. She
would have done the same, delayed, and she’d known they were already struggling
to keep their restaurant alive in an economy that had been hard for a long,
long time. They’d heavily mortgaged their house, cut their own wages and, like
a lot of people, had only the bare minimum of coverage when it came to health
insurance.

Even if they’d taken the boys to the doctor
immediately, she wasn’t convinced Sebastian and Nicolas would have been
correctly diagnosed, not based on the events that followed. They’d already been
hospitalized and were in critical condition by the time three other students
developed fevers followed by small red bumps and medical professionals knew
what they were dealing with. MRSA—methicillin resistant staphylococcus.

MRSA was a seminar topic, something she’d
heard about and received handouts on, but it wasn’t at the forefront of her
brain in the same way meningitis was. It wasn’t exactly an everyday health
concern in a school environment.

In layman’s terms, MRSA was bacterium that
caused a wide range of difficult-to treat-infections. Most often it was
localized to the skin, quickly diagnosed, and not as hard to get on top of. But
there were also more virulent forms that affected vital organs and led to
widespread infection.

The doctors didn’t know why it hit
Sebastian and Nicolas so hard and so aggressively, bypassing the skin so they
never developed the small red bumps. But with the diagnosis of MRSA, health
officials swarmed, closing the school temporarily. There’d been panic and fear
for the parents of the other students, rampant concern that may or may not have
been helped by news programs showing workers in hazmat suits sanitizing the
environment.

“What about half strawberry and half
blackberry, Ms. Cotterill?” Nicolas asked, drawing her back to the present.

“I think I’ll burst if I eat any
tres
leches
cake.”

Sebastian’s smile was heart-melting. “You
don’t have to eat much. Just a taste so you can tell Mama it was delicious when
she asks. We’ll help you finish the rest of it.”

Lyra looked at the menu board. Nicolas
chimed in. “How about this, Ms. Cotterill? What about playing
rock-scissors-paper to see who gets to choose the topping?”

She needed to get back to her apartment,
but she couldn’t say no. “One slice. I flip a coin. Heads for blackberries.
Tails for strawberries.”

Digging in her purse, she came up with a
quarter and tossed it. It landed on the table strawberry-side up.

“Yes,” Sebastian said, pumping his fist. “I’ll
go get it.”

He slid from the booth and left. Their
older sister, Andrea, came over to collect the dishes.

“Add a slice of
tres leches
cake to
the ticket,” Nicolas told her.

Andrea gave a small smile, but worry hung
on her in a way it shouldn’t for a fourteen-year-old girl. Lyra knew the cause
and felt her own stomach knot.

The restaurant was only a few blocks away
from her apartment. She’d gotten to know this family well, even before she’d
had Nicolas, then Sebastian in her class.

Between the economy and the horrendous
medical costs, they were now living in a motel room, two adults and six
children trying to stay together as a family. Lyra’s mother had their cat, lost
when the bank foreclosed on the house and evicted them. And Lyra had the
hamster, at least for the summer. He’d go back to the classroom when school
started.

The Ochoas weren’t the only family to live
at the motel. So many students called it home that it was an official stop on
the school bus route.

Sebastian returned with a generous serving
of cake. Lyra’s mouth watered as she lifted her fork, trying not to think of
fun-house mirrors where she’d be twice her current size when she looked into
them. She wasn’t a big woman, though she always felt like one when she was in
the same room as her fine-boned, willowy sister.

Much more of this and my ass is going to
serve as a tabletop some guy could set his beer bottle on.
It was there in her genes, at least on her mother’s side of the
family. But her eyes closed in momentary bliss with the first bite of
tres
leches
cake and she probably managed an equal share against the boys’ quick
eating.

“Excellent meal, as always,” she told
Andrea after paying the bill and leaving a good tip. “Tell your mom, okay?”

“
Sí.
”

Lyra stood and the boys scrambled out from
their side of the booth. They each gave her a hug at the door. “See you
tomorrow, Ms. Cotterill?”

“Maybe.”

A patrol unit pulled alongside Lyra at the
edge of the parking lot. She smiled at Donovan. Damn, he was a fine-looking
black man. Rich caramel to her dark chocolate but more importantly, he had just
about every quality a woman could want in a man. Caring. Courteous. Honorable.
A hard worker. And according to his new wife and Lyra’s friend, Mia, knew how
to make a woman scream with pleasure.

He could have been mine
. But all she could feel was happiness that, instead of saying yes
when they’d been neighbors and he’d asked her out, she’d done the next best
thing and introduced him to a fellow teacher.

Donovan opened the door and got out of the
car, reminding her again how gorgeous he was with his quarterback build.
Trouble was, she had a thing for white men, probably because her mother had
married one and because her stepfather, since she was four, had been everything
a kid could want in a father-figure.

“You grabbing a bite here?” she asked,
knowing that like her, Donovan and Mia tried to give the Ochoas what business
they could.

His expression went from smiling to grim.
“No. Swinging by to talk to Emmanuel and Romina. They both working tonight?”

“Yes.” She glanced back toward the
restaurant. “Can you tell me what’s going on?”

“Trying to head off trouble.”

“Carlos?” she guessed, though she didn’t
know the sixteen-year-old as well as she did the younger kids.

“Yeah, Carlos. I saw him with a couple of
gang members over on J Street.”

The food took on weight in her stomach.
“They’re involved in moving drugs?”

“Definitely. They wear a lot of bling and
drive fancy cars. Temptation for a kid looking to help out his family with some
fast cash. Hell, temptation for a lot of different kinds of kids.”

“Will he listen to Romina and Emmanuel?”
She knew without doubt they’d tell Carlos to stay away from gang members.

“Don’t know. Mia taught him. Says he’s a
smart kid. But he’s got to be scared about losing everything and he’s probably
full of enough machismo to think he can pull something like this off.”

“Not a good combination.”

“No.” Donovan headed toward the front door.

Lyra walked home, the sense of time running
out for the Ochoa family growing with each step. It felt nearly overwhelming as
she entered her apartment.

Her gaze went immediately to the old wooden
desk she’d found in a secondhand shop and lovingly restored. The screen was
blank on her computer, but not for long.

Next to it was a stack of books, all on a
single subject, poker. Specifically, Texas Hold’em.

She had a head for odds and an innate
ability to spot tells, probably compliments of her biological father, though
she’d never met the man.
Just as well
, her mother would have been quick
to point out, followed by something along the lines of,
The only good thing
to come out of that man’s life was you
and
It’s no surprise he was
killed young and probably while trying to hustle money to gamble with
.

Lyra crossed to the desk, dropping her
purse onto a chair as she passed it. With a touch to the keyboard, the screen
woke to a login page for a poker site. This was what she did in her spare time,
and had since the day Sebastian had sobbed in her arms before school and told
her about how they were moving and couldn’t take either the cat or the hamster.

So far she’d played online only for
practice, never for real money. Part of her thought it was a crazy idea. Even
if she could win enough money to help the Ochoa family, would they accept the
help?

Every time she expressed her doubts, Mia
said, “Win first. Worry about handing the proceeds off afterward.” And Mia had
been willing to pledge some money as a vote of confidence, though like Lyra,
she wasn’t rolling in cash either, not on a teacher’s salary, and not when she was
still paying off college loans as well as setting up house with a new husband.

You care too much about your students.
You’re too invested in them. You’re going to burn yourself out if you don’t
toughen up and accept that there’s only so much you can do for any given one of
them.
Lyra knew that’s what teachers who’d been at
it longer than she had would say.

Maybe they were right. Maybe she was just
young and idealistic, but…

She didn’t think that was necessarily a bad
thing. Believing something was possible was the first step to making it a
reality.

History proved it repeatedly. Once upon a
time, no one had thought a four-minute mile was possible. Then one day, a
twenty-five-year-old British medical student did it. And as soon as Roger
Bannister broke the barrier, then suddenly it became something a lot of
athletes accomplished—not because the human body had changed radically but
because human thinking had.

But… Gambling was why her mother had kicked
her biological father out of their lives before Lyra was a year old. Her mother
had been tired of food and rent money never making it home because he’d handed
it off to his bookie.

I’m not like him
. It was a refrain she’d repeated so often it had become a mantra.
Only it never completely silenced the little voice that said,
Maybe I’ll
find out that I am.

Her mother couldn’t answer the
all-important question of
why
he’d gambled. Whether it was an addiction,
or whether he was a dreamer who wanted a load of cash by just getting lucky, a
man who didn’t understand that often hard work preceded luck, and luck was
created when effort and opportunity crossed paths.

Lyra sat, logging in but not immediately
looking for a table to join. Playing poker this way didn’t lend itself to
reading tells. She thought that would make a real difference when it came to
her chances of success.

Live card games with friends, and being
able to read a kid’s face and body language, had all reinforced a lifelong
belief she was good at telling what people were thinking and feeling. But until
she went to a real casino, and played for money that mattered, she wouldn’t
know if her scheme would be a dream made true or the beginning of a long
nightmare.

“I just need a sign I’m ready,” she
whispered, immediately chiding herself.

What sign did she want? Carlos dead or in
jail after joining a gang? The family broken apart, kids divided up among
relatives and parents living in their car or at shelters?

She
knew
it happened. Race didn’t
matter. Educational background or work ethic weren’t always predictors either.

Her thoughts went to the tarot cards she
kept in her bedroom. She was a little too embarrassed by the collection, and
the fact she regularly consulted the cards, to have them out in the living room
where a visitor would see them.

Maybe it was time to do a reading, if for
no other reason than to bolster her confidence about going to a casino. She
stood and took a step toward her bedroom, only to be halted by her cell phone
ringing.

She retrieved it from her purse and
couldn’t help but smile when she saw who was calling. Aislinn, at Inner Magick.
“Hi,” she answered.

“Guess what just came in?”

Her smile widened. “Some new cards.”

“Hand painted, unique. Some of the decks
are new, but a few of them were picked up at estate sales. Right now they’re in
the back room. I haven’t put them out yet. You’re my first call.”