The Lost Dragon Princess

Chapter 23

Uh, I went there on a field trip when I was a kid. It’s a bunch of basements and a couple of spots where you can walk under the street downtown. I was underwhelmed.

That’s only a tiny portion of what’s down there. The whole city burned in the late 1800s. Today’s Seattle is built on top of that. All of downtown, and some say there are tunnels that were added later and go under Lake Union and Portage Bay, all the way up into Fremont and the U-District. Every time someone’s started exploring them, city workers die, and access points get cemented in real quick.

I rubbed my face. Why did this sound like a place I was going to end up having to visit?

But, Pariah continued, the dark elves have never given me trouble personally, and if you didn’t know they existed, it seems unlikely that they would be behind this. Even if they had a reason to hate me, why would they come after me and risk bringing the light down into their tunnels?

To get to me?

Pariah was getting the brunt of all this, but I couldn’t help but think someone might want to take both of us out of the picture. If she was gone and Mood was in charge, I wouldn’t have a job, and I wouldn’t be going after the magical—or so someone might think. I would still kill murdering wyverns even if I wasn’t on anyone’s payroll.

They’ve spent over a hundred years convincing the city that they don’t exist, Pariah added. They clearly like it that way. I think it’s more likely that someone found one of their recipe books and made a potion.

That’s what I was thinking. I’ll hope for that. A human dabbler should be easier to find and deal with. I didn’t point out that creating the vial would have required more than a recipe book—that hadn’t been some bauble picked up at Walmart. It had been handblown by an artist. And the glow-in-the-heat sigil was definitely magical.

Yes. I don’t know where you would go to find an entrance into their portion of the Underground.

“We’re here.” Diavan found street parking he could wedge his van into.

A homeless guy wearing five coats and pushing a shopping cart eyed Bessy, admiring the galaxy curtains, perhaps.

“Good. Thanks.” I finished my conversation with Pariah. I’m going to talk to Min, see if she has any suggestions on alchemists. I’m confident I’ll be able to get to the bottom of this, so hang in there, all right? If there’s an alchemical potion that did this, whoever concocted it can damn well come up with an antidote, and I’ll bring it in personally. Along with your cat.

I didn’t share my concern that the cancer wouldn’t be something that could be treated with a potion. I had to hope—had to believe—that if there had been a magical cause, there would be a magical solution.

I do miss my cat. Thank you for working on this for me, — Vida. But be careful. Our people were originally trying to find you and deal with you in-house, but Mood got the police involved and said there’s going to be a warrant for your arrest soon. If there isn’t already. You better get a hood for that duster of yours if you’re going to roam around downtown.

I’ll look into it.

I grabbed the door handle. “You coming with me or hitting that nightclub?”

“What are the odds that you’ll take your tiger out tonight?”

“His name is Damas, and given my last two phone conversations, the odds are excellent.”

“I’m going with you. Can I pet him?”

“If he lets you, sure.”

“Will he let me?”

“Call him regal and noble, not a pet or a service animal, and he’ll let you rub his ears.”

We met on the sidewalk, and the homeless guy scooted away when he saw Diavan’s imposing height and brawn.

I lifted a hand to stop him. “How much for one of your jackets? That one with the hood.”

He scratched a gray beard with gum stuck in it and eyed me up and down. “I’ll give it to you for a kiss.”

“I deal in cash only, friend.” I pulled out a couple of twenties and rubbed them together.

“I’ll trade it for your coat.” He pointed at my duster.

“Another nope. This is part of my look. Werewolves would be distressed if I showed up to kill them without it.”

“s**t, I hate werewolves.” He spat on the street.

“Don’t we all. Forty bucks. Deal?”

“Deal.” As he pulled off the jacket, the streetlight caught a few dubious stains, making me regret my decision already.

We traded and I headed off down the street, putting on the jacket over my duster and pulling up the hood. The scent of pot and body odor almost made me gag.

“It’d be better to be arrested,” I grumbled.

“What?” Diavan was walking several steps to my side.

I had a feeling I wasn’t the only one who could smell the jacket. “Nothing.”

Min’s truck was still there when we walked into Occidental Square, but I doubted the three big men lined up by the side door were there for beef and rice. Two had some magical blood, my senses told me, and the third had a stronger aura, a purebred something. Not a mongrel, as Zav would have called the others—and me. Probably a shifter of some kind.

The men turned toward us, stepping apart from each other to give themselves elbow room in case of a fight. That wasn’t the usual reaction I got from guys. Maybe Diavan and his bruiser dwarf blood had them wary.

“Hey, girlie,” one said, ogling my chest, though it couldn’t have been that impressive under two coats. I had to be downwind from him, or he would have been gagging instead of leering. “Why don’t you lose the arm tough and come over here and enjoy our company?”

“You sure you’d enjoy her company?” one of his buddies asked, pointing over my shoulder. “Her sword’s bigger than yours.”

My weapons’ camouflage didn’t work nearly as well on the magical.

The first speaker smirked. “I don’t mind a challenge. And you might be surprised about what I keep in my pants.”

“A sock ball, your mom says.”

“You’re supposed to be my wingman, not my buzzkill.”

I hoped Min was in the truck and would come out soon. If I had to make conversation with these Einsteins, I’d grind my teeth out of their sockets.

The third man, the shifter, eyed my sword with more than passing interest. “You get that from Min? In the magical spectrum, it’s lit up like the Space Needle.”

“No.” I stopped a few paces from them, so I would have time to react if needed. “I had to travel to Mordor, past the Dark Tower, up to Mount Doom, and do battle with the Lord of Barad-dûr for it.”

“Sounds epic.”

“I think they’ll make a movie of it.” Keeping my eyes on them, I pulled out Fezzik. “This I got from Min.”

This elicited a few oohs and ahhs. The g*n looked pretty, but for those who could sense magic, its intricate web of integrated auras would be even surer to impress.

I let them step forward to admire it, though I watched them carefully in case anyone tried anything. Diavan lurked nearby, not looking like he knew if he should threaten them on my behalf or stay out of the way. Fortunately, he opted for the latter.

It was possible the men would give me trouble, especially if I’d killed a friend, distant relative, or childhood schoolmate of theirs, but Min’s was considered neutral territory by most in the community. I hadn’t seen many fights break out here. Muggings by mundanes, sure, but not battles among the magical. Min sold guns to normal people who were afraid of the magical, but she also sold weapons to the magical, so they could settle their grudges with each other.

The side door opened, and Min walked out, her blue hair swept up in two perky pigtails, and a unicorn on her pink T-shirt. A few smudges of grease and weapons-cleaning oil marred the hem, but it didn’t keep her from looking ridiculously cute, especially standing next to the present company. She carried in her slender arms something that looked a lot like a Civil War Gatling g*n complete with a crank handle. Everyone turned, their attention riveted to it. Even I, not a weapons enthusiast despite my armament, had to admit it looked awesome. I wanted to find someone to fire it at. A black dragon, perhaps.

The men listened with rapt attention as she described its dimensions and automatic function, demonstrating how to load and fire it. There was something ludicrous about someone who looked so sweet and with such a polite, earnest voice rattling off the morbid details.

“The bullets are in these packages.” Min grabbed paper wraps off the shelf of the food window that looked exactly like the ones she used to pass out her meals. “These are tipped with a paralysis poison.” She handed the first wrap to the shifter. “These are incendiary and will blow s**t up when they hit. And these will just kill the motherfucker.”

“Perfect.” The shifter handed over a wad of cash.

Min carefully counted it, then slipped it into her jeans pocket, the seam lined with rhinestones. “A pleasure doing business with you gentlemen.”

The shifter handed the big weapon to his sock-ball-owning buddy to carry and headed for the street. Sock Ball winked at me, hefting the machine g*n. “Now whose weapon is bigger?”

“You win, buddy. Don’t forget to lube it.”

“Never.” He winked again, and I was positive he believed we would inevitably get horizontal the next time we met.

“Min,” I said as the men left, “I like your lunch customers better.”

“Yes, but my night customers pay so much better.” She smiled and patted her pocket.

“You getting close to having enough to bring your family over yet?”

“Not yet, but one day. My family is very large, and I want to bring everyone to America. Now, there is Grandma and Mother and my seven sisters all living in a two-bedroom apartment. Only my brother has been able to afford to move out, but he does not make enough to help them. I want to be able to buy my family a house here, so they do not have to worry about working and paying rent right away, but it is very expensive. A house costs much more here than in Bangkok.”

“Maybe you can set them up in the suburbs, and they can open a restaurant. Didn’t you say your grandmother was the one to teach you to cook?”

“Yes, this is true. And my grandfather taught me to make magic guns.” She smiled. “It is sad for my family that he disappeared, and everyone had to move into the city. There are so few opportunities there. Not like here. I am living the American dream.”

“I’m not going to argue that. You make more than I do.”

“An entrepreneur must be a marketer, Sig. You should make clever videos and advertise on the socials. This is what I do for my food truck.”

“I think they arrest you if you advertise assassin services online. But hey, with the way this week is going, it probably doesn’t matter.”

She tilted her head, one of her pigtails flopping onto her shoulder. “You are in trouble? Did you break Fezzik again?”

“No, Fezzik is good.”

“You have acquired the services of a bodyguard?” She looked at Diavan.

“No, a chauffeur. This is Diavan. Listen, I’m trying to find out who’s been tinkering with dark-elf alchemy to poison my boss. You have any dark elves for clients?”

“Oh, no. I have only heard rumors about them. They do not come up here.” She waved to the street and the square. “And they do not purchase goods from outsiders. Have you spoken to Zaqose?”

“Isn’t he the guy with the continuum transfunctioner?”

Her brow furrowed.

“Never mind. Who is he?”

“A vampire alchemist who lives in the basement of an old barn in Woodinville. Do you have any information about the poison? With a few ingredients, he may be able to identify it for you.”

I leaned in, hope rising. If the alchemist could identify it, maybe he would also know how to nullify it.