Dancing with Dragons

by Lorenda Christensen

  Daniel shot me a smile and patted me on the knee.

  We’d turned off the main road and, after a brief stop at a security booth, our auto-rickshaw sped through the gates and up the driveway to the main entrance of Savitri Enterprises.

  Daniel—probably in an effort to brighten my bad mood—had stopped at a street vendor offering fresh coconut milk for breakfast. It was fun watching the man open a hole in the husk with a machete, and the milk had been sweet and strangely filling. Now, even that small amount of food was raising complaint in my stomach, unwilling to co-exist peacefully with the nerves running through my system.

  Now more than ever I wished I’d been in a position to turn down Daniel’s offer. I didn’t need another excuse to throw up on a dragon lord.

  The driver stopped before the grand double doors and cut the engine. Daniel offered me a hand as I stepped down from the small, yellow-roofed rickshaw, my movements still tentative in the unfamiliar sari.

  “According to the guy I spoke with yesterday, there’s a reception desk just inside. Oh, and don’t forget—” Daniel handed me my passport, “—you’re Julie Wallent. Not Carol Jenski. Carol blows up dragons. Julie helps them. Savitri wants the girl who helps dragons.”

  I stuck out my tongue. “Ha-ha. Very funny.” I glanced down at my freshly printed CV. “Jeez, everyone’s embellished a bit on a resume, but this is the first time I’ve gone to an interview and lied about my actual name.”

  He laughed, and placed a hand on each of my shoulders. “Don’t worry. You’ll be fine. And I’ll be right here when you’re finished. Tonight, we’ll relax. Do a little sightseeing.”

  I took a deep breath and nodded. Daniel’s words gave me the push I needed, and made me realize I was probably overreacting. Myrna worked with dragons all the time. And it was possible Savitri didn’t make a habit of killing or otherwise injuring her staff. Otherwise the smiling woman manning the reception desk wouldn’t be smiling, right?

  Julie Wallent. Recently married. Former hotel manager looking for work closer to her husband. Dragonspeaker. And of no relation to notorious terrorist Carol Jenski. Got it.

  I smiled. I could do this.

  I informed the receptionist of my appointment, and she asked me to have a seat in one of the overstuffed, human style couches near the window. About five minutes later, a tall Indian man with a distinctly British accent walked out and shook my hand, introducing himself as Krishnan Venkat and urged me to follow him back to his office for my interview. With me on his heels, Krishnan pushed through the door into Savitri Enterprises business central.

  The office area was huge, the rows of cubicles separated by wide corridors designed to accommodate dragons. My nervousness came back when I got a good look at the fifty-foot ceilings, but I brushed it away and followed my guide to a small office.

  Krishnan was polite, and the interview questions easy. He started by handed me a single sheet of paper, followed by a thin spiral notebook and pen. “Please copy this into English and Hindi.” The page contained a brief passage on wheat and rice prices, written in dragonscript. I made short work of the English version, and while I struggled a bit with the Hindi numbers, I felt that my version was a close approximation of the basic meaning of the original text.

  My interviewer seemed to agree, because he smiled widely and peppered me with a few questions in the same Indian tongue. When he was satisfied my language skills were passable, if not fluent, he leaned back.

  “I’ll be completely honest. This has been a difficult position to fill. The DRACIM office here in Bangalore has only recently started offering classes in dragonscript, and with the written language being so new, the hiring pool has been virtually nonexistent. I was delighted to receive your CV. Your Hindi needs a little work, but that’s to be expected. Can I assume that since you read and write dragonscript, you are also a dragonspeaker?”

  I nodded. “I’ve never been officially tested, but my roommate—” I stopped, forgetting for a moment that I was supposed to be married, “—I’m sorry, my former roommate worked for DRACIM in a translating capacity, and she said I was pretty good.”

  “How are you with the Indian dragonspeak dialect?”

  I smiled. “It’s about as good as my Hindi. But I’m a fast learner. I can pick it up relatively quickly.”

  My answer seemed to satisfy him, because he moved on.

  “How is it that you aren’t affiliated with a DRACIM office? Isn’t that a little unusual?”

  It was. In fact, in North America, a non-affiliated dragonspeaker was almost unheard of. The dragons used DRACIM exclusively for their translating needs, so if you weren’t affiliated, you were most likely unemployed. Luckily, Daniel and I had expected the question and had a valid, if a little vague, answer. “My interest in dragonspeaking developed after college. By the time I realized this is what I wanted to do for a living, I had already been in the workforce for several years, and I’ll confess that it felt odd to attend screening events with applicants who were several years younger than I. I decided to stay in the hotel business where I had already proven myself in real-life, so to speak. But recently, that life started to feel a little less fulfilling than it had in the past. So I took the plunge, and here I am.”

  “What brings you to India?”

  Oh, you know. The usual. A dragon-killing bomb, a sexy but stubborn reporter, and the fact that an entire army of North American and European dragons were ready to hunt me down and kill me like a cockroach in a cake store.

  I coughed. Daniel and I had decided to stick to the story of our recent marriage, adjusting the details as necessary until our honeymoon became a long-term job assignment for my “husband.” I gave Krishnan a brief version of our fake wedding and the trip over, and eliminated the fun bits about bombs and cockroaches.

  He nodded. “Well, Julie. If you want the job, it’s yours.”

  I did my best to look appropriately pleased at the opportunity. “I’m delighted. Thank you.”

  “I hate to do this to you, but we’ve had a contractor from the India DRACIM office who’s been giving us as much time as he’s able around his other projects. Unfortunately, he was called on to attend the trial in Budapest, and he isn’t scheduled to be back until next week at the earliest. If at all possible, I’d like to have you in here before his return, so we can look into moving him on to other projects.”

  I froze when he mentioned Budapest, and I had to force myself to keep a calm expression. I had no idea what would happen if Savitri discovered I was the woman wanted by Lord Relobu. The announcement of my terrorist status had gone out after Hian-puo’s trial had wrapped up, so Savitri’s representatives had likely already left Budapest. But surely the dragon lord at least paid cursory attention to the world news, if only to make sure she wasn’t the one about to be attacked.

  Daniel was confident that even if she surmised I had entered her territory, the dragon lord wouldn’t expend the energy and manpower Adelaida had trying to apprehend me. But I also didn’t hold out much hope that she would look the other way with an accused dragon killer under her very snout.

  Krishnan was still speaking, and I struggled to catch up. “...and so we’re getting rather behind on some of our work. I know you and your husband are still settling in, but we’d love you to begin with us as early as possible.”

  “I can start tomorrow.”

  Krishnan seemed surprised, but he nodded. “Tomorrow it is.”

  We killed the next few minutes making small talk about the local restaurants I should try to get a true taste of India. He’d just finished extolling the virtues of the chicken tikka at the Sahib Sindh Sultan when he looked up and scrambled to his feet.

  “Lady Savitri. I’d like you to meet Julie Wallent. She’s just accepted the dragonscript position.”

  I was certain my heart had stopped the moment I realized he was speaking to the dragon lord. I turned to find a gray dragon standing directly behind me, the points of her spiny wings peeping above muscled shou
lder blades as they rested demurely against her back. The large claws on her feet scraped audibly on the floor as she shifted her weight, and fear jolted through me like a spear through the chest. I sprang out of my chair.

  Even as the smallest of the dragon lords, Lady Savitri still towered over me by at least a foot. If compared to the bright colors of Lady Adelaida and most of Lord Relobu’s kin, Savitri’s uninterrupted gray scales would have seemed plain. But their color complemented her relatively slender body and long neck. Dragons had been genetically engineered from a mixture of different animal DNA samples, and if I had to guess, Lady Savitri’s petri dish had received an extra dose of lizard or amphibian. Her scales were tiny and arranged in a very fishlike pattern, their gleaming surfaces reflecting the light from the fixtures above.

  She angled her head to look at me, and I had to suppress a shudder. Hian-puo’s dragons had shared the sensuous movements and unnatural stillness of their Indian sister. The memory of being taunted by a massive dragon who had killed and eaten a goat in the grossest way possible, right in front of me—for the fun of it—made my skin crawl.

  Unaware or unconcerned with of my rising discomfort, Lady Savitri stared closely at me for several moments. I had to clamp my lips together to keep a scream from escaping from my throat when she leaned closer, her nostrils flaring as she took in my scent.

  “She is American?”

  Dragons could guess my nationality from how I smelled? I was creeped-out all over again.

  Krishnan cleared his throat in preparation for his answer, but I stepped forward and gave the dragon lord a slight bow. I’d accepted the position, so like it or not I needed to act like I could handle the job. And part of the job was speaking with dragons.

  “I am. My husband and I only recently arrived in Bangalore.”

  She studied me once again. The silence stretched beyond the comfortable, and I was half afraid she’d somehow recognized me from reports coming out of Budapest.

  “You worked for Relobu?”

  “No, ma’am. I did not. I am a civilian. With a love of languages. Both spoken and written.”

  Her eyes flashed with emotion. I’d almost have called it disappointment, but before I could consider why, the dragon nodded curtly and waddled off to attend to other business. I watched as she lumbered along the wide corridor, bending her slender neck over the cubicle walls to speak with the various humans within. I watched the employees I could see carefully, but while they all treated the dragon lord with respect and caution, none of them wore the terrified look that had been a staple among Hian-puo’s human staff.

  So she wasn’t as obviously bloodthirsty or sociopathic as Hian-puo. Then again, Myrna had always spoken of Lord Relobu as a levelheaded dragon specimen, and he was currently holding a jail sentence over my head for simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Massive mood swings seemed to be a common thread among dragon royalty.

  I guess now that I was an employee, I’d get the chance to find out whether mood swings were a regular part of Lady Savitri’s day as well.

  * * *

  Daniel was waiting for me just outside the door. I called his name and he looked up, a question in his eyes.

  “I got the job. I’m supposed to be here at nine tomorrow morning.”

  I expected him to congratulate me, or at least give me one of his familiar self-satisfied smiles, but instead he reached for my hand.

  “You’re okay?”

  “I’m fine. A little shell-shocked.” I filled him in on my encounter with Lady Savitri. “She wasn’t actually nice, per se, but she wasn’t slicing human bodies into pieces and hanging them from chandeliers either.”

  Together we walked back to the street, his hand still wrapped around mine. I tried to ignore the feel of his fingers against my palm, and the unwelcome jolt of attraction at the casual touch. I was so keyed up from the interview that my libido was more than a little confused.

  When my brain started replaying how nice his hands had felt as they held me against him before our plane trip, I pulled free of his grip and scratched lightly at my head. My gaze drifted to the outline of his broad shoulders under the thin cotton of his T-shirt, and I felt my face grow warm at the thought of following the path of muscle from the bottom of his neck to the base of his spine.

  Daniel twisted to flag down an auto-rickshaw, and the muscles in his back flexed.

  Down girl.

  Oblivious to the thoughts playing through my head, Daniel motioned for me to get inside. “Did they tell you what they needed a dragonscript specialist for?”

  I shook my head, trying to dislodge the adrenaline-fueled fantasy and focus on his question. “Not really, but it sounds as if I’ll be going through a ton of paperwork they had assigned to a DRACIM employee who was reassigned to the Budapest event.”

  I waved off his alarmed look. “Don’t worry, I met almost no one in Budapest. I spent most of my time either shopping for clothes or crying because I thought my boyfriend was sleeping with my best friend.”

  Daniel’s eyes grew even wider, and I gave him a wry smile. “Don’t even think about teasing me. It’s a long story, and it’s nothing compared to your leg-humping booty-call buddy. For the record, Richard wasn’t sleeping with my best friend. He was just ignoring me in favor of Relobu business.”

  At least I hoped it had been Relobu business. I pushed the disloyal thought from my mind.

  Daniel laughed. “You haven’t had a very good time lately, have you?”

  My smile faded. “Not exactly, no.”

  Daniel reached up and smoothed down a strand of my spiky hair. “Let’s see if we can do something about that. At least for tonight.”

  “Krishnan said the Sahib Sindh Sultan had a mean vegetable biryani.”

  He grinned and nudged me good-naturedly. “You want to know the best part? The restaurant’s in the mall.” He held out a hand. “Come on. I’ll buy you another pair of shoes.”

  “Be still my heart.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Our meal was surprisingly pleasant. Krishnan had been right about the vegetable biryani, and Daniel was an excellent dinner partner. With the news stream filled with the stories of DRACIM’s trip to China—Myrna and the gang were doing a great job of pushing the trip as proof that the dragon council was enthusiastic about cooperation with humans—I was officially free to share stories from my visit, on or off the record. I told him about Cai, a young girl who we’d rescued along with her mother, from a horrible situation as servants to Hian-puo and his human-hating generals. He laughed when I told him Myrna’s experience with a scientist who hadn’t taken well to flight by dragonback, and had spent most of his time in China trying not to heave up his latest meal.

  It appeared that Daniel had been serious about giving me a break from stress, because he followed my lead and kept the conversation in neutral territory, with us sharing stories of work experiences, childhood memories, and the occasional good-natured tease. In short, it was the perfect date.

  He took my hand as we browsed our way through the mall shops, stopping occasionally to read the labels on things we didn’t recognize. Soon, we’d tired of the retail scene, so we stepped outside. The night was warm, but there was a breeze, so we eschewed help from our auto-driver to walk to the nearby public garden, chatting about nothing in general and enjoying some time breathing relatively fresh air.

  With the help of a hit to the worldwide economy, Bangalore was slowly regaining its status as the Garden City of India, as less of the city’s citizens could afford a gasoline-powered vehicle. The sizable reduction of cars on the road—to imagine Bangalore holding more vehicles than its present amount was mind-boggling to me—had led to a healthier population of flora.

  The park had quite a display tonight, and we weren’t the only ones enjoying the peaceful surroundings. A path had been created to allow better access to the sights, and it stretched in a wide circle through the well-cared-for lawn and flowering plants.

  We strolle
d in comfortable silence, each of us lost in our own thoughts, until we heard music playing several feet ahead of us. With wordless agreement, Daniel and I started to make our way toward the sound. Turning a corner, we discovered a small band, consisting of only a set of speakers, a guitar player, and a man holding a tambourine. The band had set up in a small clearing near the center of the garden. The song list was surprisingly familiar, with hits from back home cropping up at a semi-regular pace. A street vendor was busy taking advantage of the gathering, and sold hot tea from a rickety cart made for the purpose. Daniel got us each a cup and, after finding a small patch of grass to sit, we settled in for the show.

  The singer’s voice was surprisingly good, and soon I was humming along to the music, the stress from earlier today a long-forgotten memory. After the band finished a particularly energetic number, they slid into a soft rendition of an old favorite of mine.

  “Would you like to dance?” Daniel looked at me over the rim of his cup, and nodded toward the band. Several couples, some dressed in traditional Indian saris, and others in jeans and T-shirts, had already created a space a few feet away from the music. He helped me up when I nodded my assent, and soon I was swaying back and forth to the rhythm, eyes closed, pressed against a warm male body, and breathing in the flowery scent of India.

  This is what I had wanted from Richard. From the beginning, he’d dutifully showered me with flowers and small gifts, and I’d been a willing companion when he wanted to try out the latest upscale restaurant on opening night. But his attention had been just that. Dutiful. As if paying attention to me was one line of a very long checklist of activities he’d needed to complete within a twenty-four-hour time frame.

  I’d simply wanted to have a man I could hold close, without worrying whether my eye makeup had run, or my hair had gone frizzy, or whether my hips were slightly too large for my jeans. With Richard, I’d always had the vague feeling that we’d somehow been keeping score, and every time I asked him for something, he’d write it down in a mental accounting list, and I’d be expected to do something for him to even out the ledger.