I took out my phone and showed her pictures of my wrecked Jeep in the trees. It hadn’t occurred to me to stop and take a picture of the dragon himself—odd, I know—but I trusted the placement of the smashed vehicle would suffice as proof for most people. Not the insurance agents, alas.
Nin stared at the phone, stared back at my face, and then at the phone again. “You cannot fight dragons.”
“It wasn’t my intention.”
“I did not think there were dragons on Earth. I did not—do you think I need to put a warning on my weapons?” Nin glanced at the pegboards. “People will not believe they are strong enough to slay dragons, will they? They will get themselves killed. Then they will sue me. America is very litigious.”
“I’ve heard that, but since the official stance from the government is that magic and magical beings don’t exist, I think you’ll be all right.”
Nin grabbed a pad of sticky notes. “I am going to start putting a warning on all weapons I sell.”
“That’s a good idea, but could you fix mine first? And give me a few more boxes of your special ammo? I had to use more than expected on the wyvern.”
“Yes, certainly.” Nin, her tongue stuck in the corner of her mouth, proceeded to draw a stick dragon with a circle around it and a line through it before retrieving her tools and working on my gun. “Take what cartridges you need from that box, please.” She pointed without looking.
“How’s business?” I wondered how many clients she had who knew what she did when she wasn’t mixing sauces and grilling beef—and how many were likely to go on a dragon safari with her weapons.
“Business is good. I am saving my money and thinking of opening a restaurant next year.”
That wasn’t the business I’d meant, but I asked, “Will it have more than one entree on the menu?”
“In my country, it is very common to perfect one dish and sell only that.”
“I guess that’s a no.”
“I am thinking of adding a gluten-free sauce option.”
The assistant opened the door far enough to hand me the food I’d ordered. I dug out ten dollars for the meal and a hundred for the repair service. Nin, I knew, wouldn’t charge me for anything but the ammo, so I stuck the cash on a shelf when she wasn’t paying attention.
My phone buzzed. The number wasn’t familiar, but it was a local area code.
I answered, hoping the therapist was calling to cancel my appointment. “Yeah?”
“Ms. Thorvald?” a young male voice asked uncertainly.
“Good guess. Who’s this?”
“Lieutenant Sudo. I’ll be meeting you at the usual place tomorrow, but I need to move our appointment up an hour. I have something important to do in the afternoon.” His voice was snotty, and I immediately disliked him—and the insinuation that I wasn’t important.
But more concerning than that…
“Where’s Colonel Willard?” I asked.
“She can’t make it.”
“She’s always my contact.”
“Not this time.”
I opened my mouth to ask for more details, but he hung up.
“Why do I have a feeling this crappy week is not about to get any better?”
4
As soon as I walked into the fourth-floor waiting room and saw the marble floors, the leather couches, the counter full of free snacks and drinks, and the view of Lake Union out the window, I knew I should have asked for the therapist’s rates before making an appointment. As an independent contractor, I had health insurance on the minimalist side.
I rolled my eyes through filling out the new-patient paperwork, feeling antsy because my new contact had moved up our appointment, and I was already suspicious that this was going to be a waste of time.
“Are you all right, Ms. Thorvald?” The perky twenty-something receptionist looked at me with concern.
“Yeah, why?” I glanced around.
There were two other people in the waiting room, presumably to see other therapists. If this turned out to be some surprise group share-fest, I was going to bring Sindari out to eat everyone here. Or at least cow them into fleeing.
“I can hear your pen scrawling from here. You seem to be applying more pressure than necessary.”
“I like to be firm.” Noting the thick dark pen strokes on the paper, I forced my fingers to loosen. Would I be judged for that? Were there cameras in the waiting room, taking note of how pissed or frustrated people appeared while filling out the paperwork?
“Of course.” Perky Receptionist smiled, her artistically feathered eyebrows twitching.
Even though I attempted to finish the paperwork with