Battle Bond: An Urban Fantasy Dragon Series (Death Before Dragons #2) - Lindsay Buroker Page 0,19
would take me most of the way there.
The geese had multiplied by the time I got out of the Jeep, fastening Fezzik in my thigh holster, and making sure Chopper was secure in my back scabbard. A hint of magic made it so normal humans—mundanes—wouldn’t notice the weapons, though I got a few odd looks from bicyclers and walkers as I strode down the trail in combat boots, my brown leather duster, and a utility belt out of a military supply store. Regular belts weren’t sufficient for carrying ammo pouches. I’d experimented before.
Unfortunately for my antisocial tendencies, the trail was as busy as the streets. As a skater zipped past closer than I preferred, I thought about bringing out Sindari. His presence usually created questions I wasn’t interested in answering, but I knew nobody would dare brush me on their way by. Further, people might entertain me by skating off the trail and into the slow-moving shallow river.
I chose maturity over whimsy, turned off the trail before it crossed the river, and trekked down a couple of streets. The noise of the nearby freeway grew audible, and I laughed as the posh riverfront neighborhood I’d imagined came into view. It was a mobile-home park.
As I wandered in, following the map on my phone toward a manufactured house near the river, I wondered how this place had avoided being razed and sold to a builder of overpriced luxury homes. The traffic noise was noticeable, but waterfront property was waterfront property.
Judging by the tenants wandering past, older ladies walking small barky dogs, it was a mobile-home park for seniors. The Pardus brothers were either older than I’d expected or had a granny tied up in a back room, who they pulled out whenever they needed to prove their eligibility to live here.
My senses picked up magic as I neared a drab gray-and-green house with the siding falling off and moss growing on the roof. It looked to be one of the original homes placed in the neighborhood, though nothing here screamed new and modern.
Tall evergreens and shrubs partially hid the house from the street, and there weren’t any signs to suggest it was a business. A couple of beat-up trucks occupied a driveway with wide cracks spurting clumps of grass and weeds.
As I approached the front door, I was able to refine my overall sense of magic to pick out numerous artifacts—weapons, likely—and two magical beings inside. No, three. Two were on the ground level and one felt like he or she was on a lower level. But a manufactured house couldn’t have a basement, could it? Maybe the lot sloped down behind the house and there was a shop back there.
The doorbell was broken with wires dangling out. I opened the rusty screen door and knocked. As one of the magical beings on the ground floor came to the door, I studied his aura with my senses. The brothers were shifters, Nin had said, but she hadn’t specified what kind. There was a feline aspect to this one. Maybe a lion or tiger shifter?
I’d encountered numerous types of shifters over the years, all hailing from, according to Willard and her intelligence gatherers, a single world in the Cosmic Realms. They were always predators, and some shifters even said that many of our big predators here on Earth were descended from early visitors from their world. There was, as far as I knew, no science to back that up.
The strong-jawed, olive-skinned man who opened the door didn’t look old enough to live in this park. His lips curved into a smile. If he was surprised to see me, he didn’t show it, but a full-blooded magical being would have sensed my aura before I sensed his. He’d probably felt me coming as soon as I turned into the neighborhood.
“Well, well,” he said, looking me up and down, his smile turning lewd as his yellow-brown eyes fixated on my chest. “What brings the Mythic Murderer to our humble abode?”
“A coupon. I hear you’re selling dragon-slaying weapons.”
“We might be, but I assure you, there aren’t any coupons out there. We sell premium products and only to those who can afford them.” His gaze dropped to my combat boots and utility belt. “I wouldn’t think your assassination services came cheap, but to be frank, you’re a bit shabby. Our last customer came in wearing a Versace dress and driving a Range Rover.”
“Only in Seattle would those things go together.” I plucked at a peeling piece