Battle Bond: An Urban Fantasy Dragon Series (Death Before Dragons #2) - Lindsay Buroker Page 0,64

and into the iron. She seemed to be saying the conversation was over.

“Were they not agreeable to work for?” Maybe if she had left in disgruntlement, she might be tempted to rant. Rant and share valuable information.

“They’re assholes.”

“I agree, but they must have paid you decently, or you wouldn’t have started working for them, right?”

“It was a side job. It didn’t matter that it didn’t pay that well. I just wanted enough for a house. Not even a house. A little condo here, something with decent ceiling height, so you can take a shower without bending in half.”

“That is annoying.”

“You’re short. You wouldn’t know.”

“Even at six feet, I’ve cracked my skull on some showerheads.”

“Showerheads, doorways, car roofs…” Inga thunked her tool down and gave me an exasperated look. “They didn’t even pay me for the last batch. They just ended our deal, said they’d found someone else who would make ammo for them and modify their guns cheaper. As if any sane person would work for less than what they paid me. It sucks to be a woman in a man’s business. The bastards are always trying to lowball you, treat you like some commodity rather than the skilled craftsperson you are.” She turned a scathing expression on the man manipulating the grinder, but he’d gone back to work and wasn’t paying attention.

“If I get a chance to pummel them mercilessly in the near future, I’ll let you know.”

“If you do, take pictures and send them to me, so I can blow them up and throw axes at them.”

I laughed. Who would have thought I’d find someone who shared my interest in hurling weapons at posters of obnoxious magical enemies?

“I will definitely do that. I should have done it the last time I visited. Otto looks good wearing a broken TV on his head.”

“That the one that can never put a shirt on?”

“He did seem to have that proclivity. Do you know who is working for them now, by chance?”

I still thought that if I could convince their bullet-maker—and it sounded like Inga had also enchanted their guns—to sever her relationship with the brothers, then that would help convince them to take their business elsewhere. If they suddenly couldn’t supply their customers with their promised goods, competing with Nin would be the last of their worries.

“No idea. Like I said, it has to be someone slaving away for nearly free, because my work was good and way underpriced. Maybe they’ve got someone tied up in their garage and they’re forcing him to work.”

I rocked back. “It’s the basement.”

“What?”

“I sensed a magical being in the basement when I was there. A full-blood, I’m sure.”

Her thick brows rose. “I was joking. Besides, even shifters couldn’t keep a full-blood enchanter imprisoned. It would be easy for him or her to use magic to escape.”

She laid her hand next to an iron bar on the table, and I sensed magic flowing again. The metal turned liquid and flowed over her wrist, re-forming into a shackle and locking itself. A second later, it unformed and returned to its original shape on the table.

“So whoever is in the basement is an ally and being paid?” I asked skeptically. I remembered that telepathic request for help.

“That’s my guess, even if it’s hard to imagine those two with allies. Still, they’ve got all those other cat shifters that visit their place. They must have some mysterious allure that’s unfathomable to me.”

“Maybe it’s their sex parties.” I grimaced, remembering the brothers’ suggestions.

“I can’t talk to that. I don’t get invited to a lot of those.” She sounded more wistful than happy about that.

“I don’t think those are parties that any sane woman would want to be invited to. All right, Inga. Thanks for the information.” I wasn’t sure how she would react, but I laid a hundred and fifty dollars on the table. It didn’t seem right that the receptionist should make more than the person I’d come to talk to.

“I don’t want your money, Mythic Murderer.”

“It’s the government’s money.” Technically, it wasn’t anymore, since this was part of my combat bonus from the wyvern job, but I had a feeling Inga would be more likely to accept it if she didn’t think it came out of my purse.

She snorted and stuffed it in a pocket. “You’re definitely Slytherin.”

I shook my head and walked out. I needed to work on my reputation.

18

Tuesday morning found me in a grumpy mood as I sat in Mary’s waiting room with the magazine-tidier