Flight from Mayhem (3 page)

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 Bette 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.

O
ne thing about
working the night shift, it left my days free. Because I was a dragon, even in my human shape I needed far less sleep than most people. In fact, usually five hours was plenty, and I could run on four without a problem if it wasn't night after night.

Alex dropped me off. Glenda's appearance had put a damper on the rest of the evening and the awkward silence between us begged for an argument, so we both decided to let it rest. Chai was already home by the time I climbed off the back of the motorcycle. He was out in the yard, working under the cover of darkness using the glow of a faint light he had conjured to see by as he weeded the flower beds. We had discovered his inner gardener and, within a few weeks of him moving in as my roommate, my yard was the prettiest one on the block.

He stood as I came up the sidewalk. “Door's unlocked, and I left a plate of chicken on the counter.” He dusted his hands on his jeans. “You need to talk, Little Sister?”

Chai was like that. We had a bond, and he could sense when I was upset and vice versa. We had always been aware of the connection, but once he moved in, the strength became obvious. Now he followed me into the house, which was spotless. I had never been dirty or a slob, but Chai was a neat-freak and the house was always clean.

I wandered over to the aquarium that took up two thirds of the long wall in my living room. I had a variety of fish swimming in it, meandering this way and that. Coolray came up to the glass and pressed a tentacle to it. Everybody said jellyfish had no minds, but I knew better. They might not have brains like humans or dragons, or even like octopi, but they had a sentience that existed outside the norm. Over the years, I had been able to tap into it. I pressed my hand against the glass and whispered, “Hello,” and Coolray zoomed to the top of the tank and then down again. That was the way he usually greeted me.

As I watched the water, I began to breathe easier. Being in my home, with the aquarium, always calmed me down. It was my safe haven, and even though I lived in the infamous Greenbelt Park District—the most haunted area of Seattle—I always felt like my house had a buffer around it, repelling all spooks and spirits. And it had a good security system to repel the other miscreants.

Chai came up behind me and pressed his hands against my shoulders, kissing the top of my head. “Something bothering you, Little Sister?”

I shrugged. “Glenda, for one. I really didn't expect her to show up like that. And I have a nasty feeling she's not done with Alex and me yet. I really don't want to deal with her.”

“Unfortunately, relationships are messy and most come with some form of baggage.”

I had dated around some—even here, Earthside. In fact, when I first arrived, I took to dating a half-demon, half-Titan named Carter. He was a demigod, really, when I thought about it. And I had discovered that, as wonderful a friend
he was to have, he was far too dark and intense for me to endure as a boyfriend.

A thought struck me. “Do you think . . . am I . . . maybe I'm not cut out to be in a relationship? I don't like mess. I don't like complications.”

“You just don't like dealing with people because you don't know how. You've always been a loner, Shimmer. At the orphanage you had to fend for yourself. You didn't dare trust anybody to help you out, because chances were you'd be let down. And ever since then, you've been fending for yourself.”

I sucked in a slow, deep breath. He was right. “I couldn't trust that anybody would care enough to come through in a pinch.”

“See? I think that—for you—it feels easier when you only have yourself to worry about. You're just going through the growing pains most people . . . be they dragon or human . . . go through when they learn how to interact with others. You're just coming to it far later than most. And seriously? It's not easy, whether you're trying to cope with a lover's baggage, or a friendship that might be going through a bumpy spot.” He wrapped his arms around me for a quick hug. “Now go eat something. You only picked at your food at the party.”

“You're like a fussy mother hen, you know that?” I grinned up at him, my worries sliding away. Chai was always good at helping me see things in a clearer light. “And, by the way, I love hanging out with you. I don't feel out of place. Humans are pretty short, especially human women. And so are the Fae. I always feel like I'm one of the tallest ones in the room.”

“True, but around me, you're short and petite and easy to hug. And yes, I
am
a fussy mother hen. So do as I say and eat.” He steered me into the kitchen, where I found a plate of chicken waiting. Fried chicken. I loved fried chicken, had developed a passion for it, in fact.

As I ate, licking my fingers, Chai poured me a glass of milk and cut me a slice of cherry pie, pushing them across the table to me. I wiped my mouth with a napkin, then told him about Bette's friend.

“I'm having lunch with them today. I'm not sure if Bette's just being overprotective, or what she expects me to find out. I sense emotion, but I can't read minds.” I toyed with the last bite of the pie. There was something about cherries that intrigued me. They had such a bright pop of color and flavor. Back in the Dragon Reaches, my diet had been mostly meat—cows here and there, a horse . . . other creatures that ventured into the highlands. But being stuck in human form most of the time meant I ate human food, and it had begun to dawn on me that really, humans and Fae had it one up on dragons with variety and flavors.

“She's worried about a friend. She's reaching out to you, so help her however you can. She probably doesn't expect anything from you except maybe a confirmation that she should be worried, or a reassurance that she's imagining things.” Chai tilted his head to the side, leaning back in the chair. “Just be honest with her, and walk softly. She's a blunt old broad, yes, but I have the feeling—from what you've told me—that this worries her more than she's letting on. She needs you to be supportive.”

Listening, I finished the last bite and stared at the plates. All that was left were the bones.

Chai had brought me another gift besides not feeling alone in the house—one that was invaluable. He was helping me understand how to best bridge the chasm that seemed to exist between me and others. I was learning how to interact without feeling like the proverbial bull in a china shop.

“Got it. Thanks, Chai.” I glanced at the clock. It was eight
A.M.
already? “I thought it was seven.”

“Nope. Eight.”

I carried my plates over to the counter and rinsed them off. I was due to meet Bette and Marlene at noon, which gave
me a few hours of free time—one fewer than I'd expected, but what the hell. Ralph had begged out of my driving lesson that morning, so that was off the calendar. I was due to take my test in a week or so, and finally, I wouldn't have to rely on anybody to drive me anywhere.

Feeling oddly at loose ends, I headed outside. My neighbors to the right were up; I could tell by the lights on in their house. We didn't really know each other, especially since I worked nights and they worked during the day. Other than Charles and Linda, I really didn't know anybody else on the street. Most of the houses stood empty. While the housing boom was in full force again, people just steered clear of the weathered, ghostly homes, as if the energy pushed them back saying,
No, leave us to our restless sleep.

I wandered across the street. A run-down two-story house sat opposite mine, abandoned, with an overgrown lot that was well on its way to becoming a jungle. The fence was weathered and falling apart, the pickets no longer white nor upright. A huge old weeping willow was budding out—though the leaves were still a few weeks away. And everywhere, waist-high grass filled the yard. I looked for the for-sale sign and finally found it, buried under a thatch of thistle that had overgrown the signpost, but the sign was old and so faded I couldn't read the number on it. Gingerly avoiding the prickly plant, I skirted it and entered through the broken gate. I wasn't sure what about the house attracted me, but something had caught my attention.

As I slowly snooped around the yard, I saw an old swing attached to a thick willow branch. The chains were a little rusty, but it looked sturdy, so I sat down on the board and quietly pushed myself back and forth, letting the energy of the yard settle around me.

At the Lost and Foundling, we had never had toys. We had been given recreational time, especially when we were little, but it had been regimented and structured, geared toward competitive games. I had always longed to run off,
to play by myself, but we were forced into team sports and forced to focus on winning. The handlers claimed that they did so for the good of the orphans—that if we weren't taught to compete, we would die when we were released, unable to stand up for ourselves against the harshness of a world that refused to acknowledge our presence. I remembered one day in particular, when the enormity of being the only person I could count on crashed in on me.

It was on a day they called Benefactor's Day . . .

*   *   *

“W
hat's your name?”

We were in human form, standing at attention in the vast Grand Hall of the Lost and Foundling. We had lined up in our natural form, for inspection. The Benefactor wanted to see how well we shifted, so we were ordered to transform so she could see how we had learned our lessons.

I never had a problem with shifting shape, but the girl two spots down the line always had difficulty. She never wanted to be in human form, and her transformations were sloppy, usually ending up with her sprawled on the ground. I didn't really like her—she had a hot temper and was always starting fights—but I didn't dislike her enough to wish her what was coming next.

Stumble shifted, clumsily at best, the last to attempt the maneuver. It didn't go so well. She made it into human form but went sprawling at the Benefactor's feet, right onto her nose.

Benefactor Tris changed shape along with Ser-Rigel, the director of the Lost and Foundling. The Ser looked royally pissed as Stumble picked herself up off the floor and slowly came to attention. I could tell she was shaking, and she had good reason. To embarrass the orphanage in front of a Benefactor? Unacceptable. And punishments for screwing up were harsh. The Ser glared at her, but he said nothing. It was not his place to speak until the Benefactor pronounced judgment.

“I see you have not yet managed to take her in hand. I believe we discussed this one the last time I visited.” Benefactor Tris's words echoed in front of all of us, her voice ricocheting through the chamber. I shuddered. That the Ser was getting rebuked, and in front of the orphans, meant trouble all the way down the line.

“Stumble seems to have difficulty with even easy tasks. She is a quarrelsome girl.” The Ser glared at Stumble, who had gone white as a sheet. That she was a white dragon made her even more pale, and for once, I felt downright sorry for her. She couldn't help having a testy temper—she was a white, after all, and her inability to shift easily? Not really her fault. Some dragons were just slower than others.

“Then perhaps we should find her something to do that requires very little in the way of basic skills. She's not even fit for a scullery drudge, given her inability to handle rudimentary tasks. And given her age, she's not likely to grow out of it. We might as well channel our resources into those who can become productive in our society. After all, I don't offer you donations in order for you to waste them on the ineffectual.” Benefactor Tris glanced up and down the line at the rest of us. “The rest seem responsive enough, though I don't like the surly look on the blue's face there.”

I sucked in a deep breath but then realized she was talking about the blue dragon next to me. When the Benefactors paid a visit, it was best to be as bland and pleasant as possible. Stand out too much and you could find yourself in a mess. Too pretty and you might end up a concubine in some lecherous dragon's dreyerie. Too bright and you would be forced into whatever work they wanted you to do. Too stupid and you ended up culled . . . which meant you were cast out—until full grown—and that usually meant an early death.

The blue dragon the Benefactor had pointed to immediately hung his head, trying to appear repentant. He was a troublemaker, all right, but he wasn't stupid.

With a huff, Benefactor Tris turned back to the Ser. “Take
this . . . Stumble . . . and sell her to the stockyards. They can put her to work shoveling dung, and she might fetch a price that will repay some of the food she's eaten here.” And with that, the Benefactor moved toward the door. “Come, we'll discuss the waning half of the year in your office.”

Ser-Rigel turned to us and motioned for us to bow. We did, in unison. Even Stumble managed it, though tears were streaking down her cheeks. As the adults left, leaving us dragonettes to our own devices, a small group of the tougher, crueler orphans gathered around Stumble.