Never Deal with Dragons (5 page)

That’s okay—I never really liked her either. The only thing we had in common was a penchant for spending way too much on clothes. And dealing with Emory.

While we drove, I took a moment to really admire my surroundings. By admire, I mean I gawked. I’d probably never get to see something like this again. DRACIM was a good-paying job compared to most, but it was nothing compared to Lord Relobu’s personal wealth. The war had left human society and technology a bit stunted. We were just starting to bounce back to what the elderly referred to as “the good ol’ days.” Luxuries such as this posh limo were exclusive only to those with money to burn. Or, in other words, dragons.

The car even had a selection of small, handheld electronics devices. Both the GPS system and the built-in television had a wireless remote tucked into the seat pocket. I didn’t have the courage to try them out, but I’d bet they were the expensive, EMP-resistant models. Tech companies started manufacturing EMP-R devices when people started to realize all their cord-free, circuit board electronics couldn’t handle the residual electromagnetic pulses floating around from the hi-tech weapons attacks we’d traded during the war. The devices worked, but they were expensive. I’d been campaigning for DRACIM to get some of these, but so far the budget wouldn’t allow it.

Twenty minutes later, instead of waiting outside my boss’s house for Emory to find his favorite tie, I was still alone and rolling through the gates to Lord Relobu’s home. The dragon lord must have sent a separate car for Emory. My palms were damp and I wiped them on my thighs. One of the joys of dragon-treated clothing was that I didn’t have to worry about sweat stains on silk.

When the car glided to a stop, I stepped cautiously from the vehicle and onto the white flagstone walkway. I’d been right. Not a pothole to be seen. With my attention able to be directed at something other than where I put my feet, I looked up to the sky. Dragons flew overhead, their wings making a faint whoosh as they maintained altitude. Every so often I could hear them snort status updates to one another as they passed midair.

Relobu’s security. No wonder the paparazzi kept their distance. The movement of the dragons’ wings stirred the air around me, infusing it with the unique smoke and forest scent of dragons. Surreal.

I had almost managed to tear my gaze away from the show and step inside with the waiting butler when I spotted it. A great black dragon, flying silently above the herd. As if it knew I was watching, the dragon dipped into a lazy set of dips and circles, twisting midair like the most limber of acrobats. It was February, the days were short, and the moonlight gleamed a pearly white from the dragon’s outstretched wings. He was magnificent.

Angry voices sounded behind me—Emory and his wife had arrived—but I didn’t turn to greet them. “Myrna, can you believe it? They won’t allow Amy inside!” I stumbled a bit when Emory bumped into me from behind, and I had to put a hand on one of the house columns to stay upright.

“Emory. Look.” I pointed to the sky. “A black dragon. That’s something you don’t see every day.” Dragons came in all shapes and sizes, the more colorful the better. But black dragons were pretty rare, and I was pleased I’d been present for the air show. The dragon’s head tilted slightly as it returned my regard. He was too far away for my voice to carry, so I waved, hoping the beast understood that the gesture was in thanks for the performance. I grinned when he spread his wings wide and executed a mock bow.

“Good Lord!” Emory shoved off the hand of a human servant who had offered assistance. The movement caused Emory’s elbow to jab into my arm. The black dragon flashed his teeth and rumbled, causing Emory to take a cautious step backward. “Scary bastard, isn’t it?”

“I think it’s gorgeous.” I rubbed absently at the sore spot on my forearm, watching as the dragon picked delicately at its claws, almost as if it were cleaning its fingernails.

Emory wasn’t listening. Apparently his mind was already back on his wife. “They told her she hadn’t been invited and shoved her back in the limo. Shoved!”

I blinked and forced my attention back to Emory. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Amy! They wouldn’t let her out of the limo! Said the seating wasn’t sufficient for uninvited guests. They’re taking her home now. Can you believe it?”

My lips twitched dangerously but I held my sympathetic expression. Emory had been forced to choose his translator over his wife. It surprised me that she wasn’t welcome, but the invitation had specified only two. It made sense; we hadn’t RSVP’d, so they probably had the table placements for invitees and a date only. Amy would be furious. She’d likely told all her friends about the honor, and would be interrogated for the details at the next Tuesday tea party. For a moment I almost felt sorry for Emory. Amy was probably plotting ways to punish him for the embarrassment. Tofu for a week.

The anxious butler once again tried to herd us into the house. He was shooting worried looks at Emory, like my boss was a ticking time bomb just waiting to go off. I quickly figured out why. Sweat beaded at Emory’s temples and his tuxedo buttons strained to hold in a heaving belly. Sometime between our arrival and now, he’d developed a nasty tic near his left eye. The butler likely feared he’d drop dead of a heart attack.

I should be so lucky.

“How are you holding up?” I patted him reassuringly on the arm.

Emory paused in the act of mopping his brow. “I’m fine. Why do you ask?” Beads of sweat were already popping up to replace the ones he’d blotted.

“No reason.” I might not have the most handsome date, but damned if I wouldn’t try my best to have a good time.

Gathering the hem of my dress so I wouldn’t trip over it climbing the stairs, I allowed the butler to usher me into Lord Relobu’s dinner party.

* * *

Despite Carol’s fear that I’d be eaten and ruin her chance to wear my gold sandals, we were fifteen minutes into the party, and the only danger we’d faced was boredom. Emory and I were led down a gleaming hallway filled with sculptures and tapestries galore. Cognizant of Amy’s abrupt removal when Relobu’s instructions weren’t followed to the letter, I stifled my urge to stop and explore.

Instead, I had to content myself with sneaking glances at Grecian forms and medieval armor rather than spending hours examining each one as I preferred. Whether truly hereditary or the dragons’ version of a practical joke, most dragons did indeed suffer an instinct to hoard. While humans were still concentrating on killing each other during the war, dragons were quietly amassing large fortunes in art and antiques. And jewelry. Lots of jewelry.

Humans did what humans always do. They locked up their valuables in vaults at the local bank. Unfortunately, safe deposit boxes, no matter how thick the concrete securing them, were no match for hordes of dragons with a penchant for sparklies and an intellect to know where to find them.

By the time the bombs stopped falling, the dragons were the new Vanderbilts.

I followed Emory and the butler into a room defined by an enormous table. It didn’t take a genius to figure out we’d reached the dining hall. The table stretched the entire length of the room, and if I had to guess, there were at least one hundred human-style chairs tucked under its surface. The glossy red wood gleamed in the electric light given off by the twinkling chandeliers overhead.

There were three of these chandeliers spaced evenly through the middle of the ceiling across the room. Each one was elaborately curved into complicated designs that were unique but somehow evoked a similar elegance as the tiny crystals caught the light. The design made the dark painted ceiling look as if it were filled with indoor stars. By the windows, round wooden beams, about a foot in diameter and six feet in length, lined the room, providing a perch for any dragons also in attendance.

Our footsteps echoed on the bare marble floor as we were led across the room. My dreams of a dazzling night of dancing and rubbing elbows with the rich and famous had been crushed. Emory and I were the only persons present, dragon or human. I couldn’t help but smile when I noticed the four place settings arranged neatly near the end of the enormous table. “Insufficient seating” my ass. I wondered whether Emory would mention the size of the table to his wife.

I was slightly disappointed that the dinner would have only two other participants. I had to admit my curiosity about what actual parties looked like here in the dining hall. Based on the size of the space, it appeared Lord Relobu’s dinner engagements usually involved a huge number of people. That meant he’d likely entertained at least a few non-dragonspeakers in the past. There weren’t this many employees in all of DRACIM. I wondered how the general public felt about being surrounded by dragons, and whether they, like Carol, thought the entire species was dangerous.

It wasn’t unheard of for non-dragonspeakers to mingle with dragons—it was almost impossible to avoid, actually. Because the dragons controlled quite a bit of the world’s money, most businesses were more than happy to open their doors to the creatures. But it wasn’t often that dragons and humans got together just to socialize. Humans were leery of a dragon’s unpredictable habits, and dragons were mostly confused when presented with a human social function. We were just too different, I guess.

I smiled. Maybe Lord Relobu hosted a lot of business dinners. I’d have to ask whether he made regular requests to DRACIM for social translators. My department handled only his business ventures. And the dragon did a lot of business. I’d seen that firsthand. Although Richard rarely, if ever, made the call himself, Emory’s department was regularly tapped for dragonspeakers when Mr. Green’s staff was stretched a little too thin. And, of course, DRACIM happily provided the service. My organization was careful to stay in the good graces of our main source of revenue.

There were no dragons to be seen, and Lord Relobu had yet to make an appearance. The butler had politely hustled us into the room and left with a promise that dinner would be served within minutes. I covered my hand over a yawn and did my best to look interested in Emory’s rant. He was still ruffled about the injustice done to his wife. I made some vague conciliatory noises to Emory while I scanned the room for a clock. My banged-up wristwatch just hadn’t gone with the dress.

Where was our freaking dinner?
Food was the only thing likely to stop Emory from yammering. My dreams of a star-studded Hollywood party were falling faster than an aging actress’s bustline. I sat down in one of the chairs, thinking maybe my actions would prompt someone into starting the show.

I guess it did. As soon as my rear hit the chair, the enormous doors at the end of the hall opened, and in walked a dragon.

I wasn’t sure of the protocol when meeting a dragon lord, and I’d never learned how to curtsy, so when Lord Relobu himself stepped through the door, I scrambled to my feet and bent into a slight bow with my eyes on the floor. Emory stop his tirade mid-sentence—finally—and did the same.

Lord Relobu approached the table, his long beard brushing along the floor at his feet. One of the first dragons “born” on that fateful night a century ago when Dr. Smith’s genetic cast-offs decided to thrive inside the kiln that was supposed to kill them, Lord Relobu painted a mighty picture even in rest.

His dark green body was huge but graceful, and his wings stretched the entire length of his back. The dragon lord’s eyes were the color of an Oklahoma wheat field at harvest, and they framed the power and fierce intelligence expected of someone of his rank. Despite Lord Relobu being somewhere near one hundred years old, his appearance was closer to a dragon in his thirties. The ultimate mix of good genes. This was an ancient, and I couldn’t help the hair that rose on the back of my neck.

Lord Relobu had a
presence.

“Mr. Glask,” the dragon lord rumbled in Emory’s direction, “I’m so glad you could join me.” I waited a beat to see how much Emory understood. He didn’t like to admit his lack of dragonspeaking skills until he was forced to do so. His timing was a bit off, but Emory nodded and made appropriately grateful noises. Luckily, the dragon didn’t notice. He’d already turned to me. “And Ms. Banks, is it? Welcome to my home.”

“Lord Relobu,” I executed another slight bow. “Thank you very much for inviting us. Emory was delighted to see your invitation.”

Lord Relobu nodded and gestured back to the table. “Please, return to your seats. I fear I won’t be joining you for dinner. I simply wanted to greet you personally before the food arrived.” He turned to my boss. “Mr. Glask, how was the ride over? I trust the car arrived on schedule?”

Emory blinked at the dragon stupidly. I leaned near his ear. “He wants to know how you liked the limo.”

“Oh, yes, yes. The limousine was wonderful. Very...spacious. Thank you.”

There was an awkward pause before Relobu turned his head from Emory back to me. “He doesn’t understand me?”

“Well, uh,” I really hated when this question was invariably asked, because it put me in the position of admitting DRACIM had a non-dragonspeaker running one of the largest departments in Tulsa. Usually, if it were a lower-ranking dragon, I could tell them that Emory preferred they speak directly to me, as I would be the one making the final arrangements in whatever situation we were embroiled in. Dragon society was built around strict, almost medieval notions of class status, and most of them accepted this explanation easily. But this was freaking Lord Relobu. There was no way I could tell him he didn’t rank high enough to garner a manager’s attention.

So I used a different excuse. “Emory has a bit of a hearing difficulty. Low frequency tones are hard for him to pick up. He asked that I facilitate the conversation.”

I bit my lip and tried to look more confident. That was a thing, wasn’t it? That people could hear high notes, but not low ones? Lord, I hoped so.

Lord Relobu looked once again at Emory before nodding. “Well, Ms. Banks, it was a pleasure. Please convey my regards to your colleague.”

And with that, North America’s dragon lord lumbered from the hall.