whatever realm you came from?”
Something flashed in the dragon’s eyes, some emotion that was, for the first time, not irritation, indignation, or pomposity. Was it… wistfulness?
“No. I have many criminals that I must remove from this benighted prison yard of a planet. Stay out of my way, mongrel.”
He—Zav, was all I would call him—shifted from human form to dragon in a second, then sprang into the air, muscular legs propelling him up to the treetops before he extended his wings. He flapped them twice and soared out of view.
I lowered my sword and looked at my Jeep. How was I going to get home?
My phone buzzed. I dug it out of my pocket.
Great news, Ms. Thorvald. It was Dr. Brightman. My therapist acquaintance had a cancelation on Monday and can work you in. Here’s the link to book the appointment.
I groaned. I’d rather talk to another dragon than a therapist.
My wounds had mostly healed by Sunday afternoon when the bus dropped me off at the Greyhound station in Seattle. The acid burns on my hand were gone, and I trusted any bruises I’d received in my fight had disappeared. Healing fast was the biggest perk of having elven blood, especially in my line of work. Some people might think it a perk that I was in my forties and didn’t yet look thirty, but I wouldn’t mind getting past the stage where guys ogled my chest.
As I left the bus station, I grimaced at the idea of walking the mile to Occidental Square where Nin’s food truck was usually set up. I’d lost track of how many miles I’d walked this weekend, first on that dirt road and then on Highway 101, before I’d been close enough to order a car to take me to Portland. The outrageous receipt for that trip was in my inbox; I planned to write it off on my taxes as a work expense if Colonel Willard wouldn’t reimburse me.
If only I could be reimbursed for my Jeep. I’d spent most of Saturday on the phone with the insurance agency, trying to convince someone that an act of God had hurled it into those trees. My initial attempt to be honest and blame a dragon had gotten me hung up on. The last I’d heard, the agency was sending someone out to look at the crash site. Nobody had openly said I’d doctored the photos I’d sent, but it had been implied.
Hopefully, Nin would have time to see me. I needed more ammo, and Fezzik’s front sight had bent during my tiff with the dragon. Since I didn’t know how long I would be in town, I needed to take care of that as soon as possible.
In the morning, I had a meeting with Brightman’s therapist. I’d been so tempted to blow that off, but maybe she could give me a couple of useful breathing techniques that would loosen my chest when it felt tight. I hated relying on drugs. It didn’t make sense to me that someone who could heal quickly would have high inflammation markers, or whatever they’d called it.
Yes, my life was stressful, but I liked stress. A normal job would bore me to death.
But a few minutes with the therapist wouldn’t kill me, and I would have plenty of time to make my meeting with Colonel Willard, who would give me my combat bonus and let me know if she had anything else for me. I hoped not. I needed a few days off. And to figure out how to get around until I could get another rig. Transportation was no problem in the city, but my missions regularly took me to Oregon, Idaho, and British Columbia. For good or ill, I was the preeminent assassin of magical bad guys in the Pacific Northwest.
Even though it was Sunday, Occidental Square was packed for the lunch hour, with tourists wandering through and snapping pictures of the totem poles. I passed a teenager on a skateboard who had the aura of someone like me with part elven blood. That was rare in people under forty since it had been that long since the remaining elves and dwarves in this world had declared Earth too populated and cleared out en masse, finding new homes in other realms. This kid was probably only a quarter elven, enough to give him some extra agility at the skatepark.
The line at Nin’s Thai Tiger truck was packed, as always. I thought about pushing my way around and going