The Lost Dragon Princess

Chapter 5

His nostrils flared, more like the dragon he’d been than the human he was now, and he looked me up and down again. Disdainfully.

“You are part human, that verminous infestation that blights this world, but…” He sniffed, nose wrinkling. “You also smell like an elf. And also like a dragon which is not only strange but also very disconcerting. ”

“And here I thought I smelled like ferns and dirt.”

I’d been thirteen and not-dying of what should have been mortal wounds after a car crash before I’d believed my parent’s story that I was adopted. After that, I’d accepted it and learned to appreciate the handful of atypical aptitudes it gave me, such as the ability to heal quickly from wounds. Already, the acid burns in my skin had stopped hurting. That didn’t mean I could survive having a dragon snap me in half like a toothpick.

“An elf would never lower herself to be an assassin for humans.” He curled his lip. “Your trinkets and cat will not protect you if you irritate the Dragon Justice Court.”

He turned and walked toward the road.

It took me a minute to realize that he was done insulting me and leaving. Was I actually going to survive this day?

When he reached the road, he faced me again. “If you interfere with my work again, I will eliminate you.”

His eyes sent chills through me, but I made myself meet that gaze with all the confidence I could muster. “I’ll keep that in mind. Any chance you’re on your way back to 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—Xervan, 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. Vida. 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. This had also started new since before I used to get hurt and within a few days the bruises were gone but now they were gone in like hours.

As I left the bus station, I grimaced at the idea of walking the mile to Occidental Square where Min’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.

If only I knew what I was going to do about the Jeep. The basic fact that when my Dad comes to know this and get the call since I was not old enough to deal with insurance agents but what was I ging to tell him I had no idea. No amount of logical reasoning was going to save me and I could not tell my father that a dragon was responsible for the condition of my car.

Hopefully, Min 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.

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 research 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 research missions regularly took me to Oregon, Idaho, and British Columbia.

Even though it was Sunday, Occidental Square was packed for the lunch hour, with tourists wandering through and snapping pictures of the totem poles. Lately I have been able to see people who were not completely human like there was a difference in the colour of air that shimmered around them. I read that book and it told that I could, in all probability see auras.

The line at Min’s Thai Tiger truck was packed, as always. I thought about pushing my way around and going in the side door, but I didn’t want to interrupt her day business. Since she also had magical blood, I could sense her working inside near the fryers. Her grandfather on her mother’s side had been a gnome, and she’d known him long enough to learn his trade of making magical weapons.

One of Min’s assistants was at the window, handing out wrapped paper bundles of beef and rice. My stomach rumbled as the scents of grilling meat and spicy sauces teased my nose.

People chatted amiably in line, nobody glancing at the sword or g*n I carried, since their magical glamours made them invisible to people without the blood to see through such things. Nobody glanced at me either. My height usually made me stand out, but the men and women were in groups or pairs, more interested in their private conversations than people-watching.

Strange, but in the crowded square, I felt a twinge of loneliness. Dr. Brightman’s words about my dearth of social connections came back to me, but I brushed them aside with irritation. I did fulfilling work that few others could do, and I helped people. That was enough of a social reward. Enough of a connection.

In school they had all wanted me for cheerleading squad, since I was extra agile but then I was drawn into the bitchy politics of the mean girls and I had looked at the queen b***h and then slammed the palm of my hand to her nose and that had been the end of my cheerleading days. Thankfully, I might say.

Running cross country was a good thing because it helped me clear my mind of all these things that kept on happening with me and it had only a small number of people on the team and we were more of team mates rather than friends. Now you cannot go and keep on telling people that you went out and saw creatures which supposedly did not exist. They would have me put in a strait jacket as soon as possible. Neither could this be shared with my parents.

I had tried searching my heritage from the back at the adoption agency which had me till four months before my parents picked me up. But I had drawn a blank there as well.

“One suea rong hai,” the assistant said, handing out a meal wrapped in paper.

I stepped to the front of the line. “I’ll take one of those and—” I raised my voice so Min would hear it, from where she was now putting more rice in the cooker, “—I’m in need of something off the special menu.”

“They only serve beef and rice here,” a shaggy guy in dreads behind me said. “It’s a thing.”

“Thanks for the tip.” I shooed him back to give me an appropriate three feet of personal space.

Min leaned into view, waving a slender arm and smiling. Her short black hair had been bleached as long as I’d known her, and this week, it was dyed purple. “It is not the usual hours for the special menu, but for a good client, of course, come inside, please.”

I left my puzzled advisor behind and waited at the side door until it opened. I stepped into a workspace that was more like a closet than a smithy, but all manner of completed rifles, pistols, and specialty pieces hung on pegboards. Boxes under the counters held stocks, barrels, and bolts, along with boxes of wildcat cartridges for the weapons. The place reverberated with magic, at least to my senses.

Min gave her assistant a few instructions and stepped inside with me, closing the door so the people waiting for food wouldn’t see this area. That made the tight space even tighter. I had to duck my head to keep from bumping it on the ceiling.

“Thanks for slipping me in, Min.” I pulled out Fezzik and showed her the bent front sight. “I probably could have used some pliers to fix it, but I didn’t know if that would void the warranty.”

Her brow furrowed, but only for a second before she got the joke, then laughed. Even though Min had only been in the country for five years, she’d about mastered American sarcasm and idioms, as far as I could tell. She spoke English slowly, but her words were precise and easy to understand.

“You are funny. What did you fight?” Min took the g*n from me and pulled out her tools. “Did my baby perform well?”

“It did. I got the last of the wyverns that killed those kids outside of Portland. And then I let a dragon throw me around.”

The tool kit slipped from her fingers and clattered to the floor. I managed to catch Fezzik before it suffered a similar fate.

“A dragon?” Min gaped at me. “You are joking again?”

“Unfortunately not.” 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.

Min 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?” Min 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.”

Min 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.”