by Cate Lawley
He ended the call and very carefully placed his mobile on the bedside table. When he sank into the mattress without saying anything, I started to get worried.
“What happened?” I touched his shoulder.
He shook his head. “The warehouse lock is damaged. Will didn’t check inside, thank goodness. He didn’t want to disturb anything, so he called me right away.”
“Oh, Ben, I’m so sorry. You think someone’s stolen some of your stock?” Because I helped with the books, I knew how tight the budget was at the funeral home. Even with insurance, there were deductibles, and any loss would have a negative impact on the business.
He arched an eyebrow. “No. I’m pretty sure the caskets are safe. Will also told me that it looked like some kids had been messing around in the field next to the funeral home. As he drove in, he saw some scorch marks that he guessed were caused by fireworks or small fires.”
“Marge.” I rolled out of bed so fast my head spun. “Let me just throw some clothes on.”
“Yeah. Hurry.”
And in five minutes, we were out the door and on the way to Kowalski Funeral Home.
The drive seemed to last forever. It didn’t help that were both wrapped up in our own thoughts and barely spoke a word the entire drive.
As Ben pulled into the funeral home’s long drive, we spotted the first of the scorch marks. They were only visible from the driveway, not from the main road.
“I count seven,” Ben said. “You think it’s some kind of code?”
“Or Marge hunting rabbits.” When Ben shot me a funny look, I grimaced. “Sorry. I really don’t know.”
“Can you tell for sure if they’re made from dragon fire?”
“Oh, shoot. Back up and let me get a look. If I use my sight, I can tell you if they have a magical origin.” By “sight,” I meant the magical variety, the kind that required me to use my inner spark of magic more than my eyes. I’d been practicing regularly up until Halloween, but with all the apartment hunting, then the big move, I hadn’t been so diligent. “That’s close enough.”
Ben parked on the grassy verge about ten feet from a streak of scorched grass. The shape and symmetry of the marks, the dew on the grass, and the fact we’d been visited by a fire-breathing Marge yesterday all told me these marks weren’t from fireworks.
But I still had to check. “I can do this.”
Ben chuckled. “What were you telling me yesterday about not keeping up with your studies?” I groaned, and he quickly added, “Hey, I’m kidding. You’ve got this. You’re incredibly talented, and I’m constantly impressed by what you can do.” He scanned the funeral home’s parking lot and looked behind us down the drive. “And it looks like you’re the most qualified witch within at least a hundred-foot radius, so it’s all you.”
“Cute. And it’s more like twenty miles.” I opened the door, but said before I got out, “Stay here. It shouldn’t take me very long.”
I hoped.
Magical sight required concentration. I didn’t know what it was like for other witches—Camille said everyone used magic in slightly different ways—but for me, I needed to tune out the world and focus. Thankfully, the birds and crickets weren’t too obnoxious this morning. As I homed in on the black slash in the weedy grass, I saw flashes of brilliant orange coming off the mark in waves.
And that presented a conundrum.
“Well?” Ben asked as I climbed back into the passenger seat of his sedan.
I pointed up the drive. Once the car was rolling again, I said, “Definitely created using magic. But small problem. Dragons aren’t actually all that common.”
“And?”
“And I haven’t a clue what dragon fire or dragon magic looks like, or how I’m supposed to tell if a dragon or a dang magically directed lightning strike made those marks.”
Ben laughed. “Lightning? That’s what you’ve got?”
That made me want to thwack him, but I refrained, since he was still driving.
“If this autopsy is Cornelius’s way of interviewing you,” Ben said, “and you haven’t a clue how to spot the use of dragon fire, I have to wonder if he really doesn’t want you working with his people. He’s handicapping you from the get-go.”
I shrugged. Did it matter? Did I even want a job with the Society? “On the upside, I could tell magic was involved. I didn’t recognize the type of magic, but magic was used.”
Ben pulled into his regular parking spot. “Process of elimination, then. You know what didn’t make those marks. Whatever remains, however long the list, is what you work with. And you do the same with the body.”
“Right, Mr. Logical. I got it, it’s just a little overwhelming, given my lack of firsthand knowledge. But let’s go see if Marge paid you a visit last night. If we can find evidence of her presence, then I’ve got a tie between her and those marks out front.”
The warehouse wasn’t more than twenty feet from the funeral home’s back door, where we accepted delivery of the bodies. That also happened to be the door most of the employees used, so it was easy enough to see how Will had spotted the break-in. I could see the warehouse door was several inches ajar without even getting out of the car.
“I don’t suppose I can convince you to wait in the car while I have a look?” Ben asked.
“You’re kidding. Do you suddenly have magical defenses I don’t know about?”
He didn’t reply, just exited the car and met me around the front. When we reached the door, he said, “Let me have a look first, at least.”
“Please. Whoever was here is long gone by now.” But if they weren’t, then I sure as heck didn’t want my basically defenseless boyfriend stumbling on them. I threw up a quick shield.
He beat me to the door, but I was inches behind him. Close enough to include him in the shield I’d constructed and block a magical attack should one be waiting for us on the other side of the door, but blind to what was inside because he stood in front of the narrow gap in the door.
Ben held out his arm behind him—as if I wouldn’t slip past him in a pinch, silly man—and then looked through the gap in the doorway. He very quietly slid the door completely shut. It didn’t latch, which explained the narrow gap. He had a funny look on his face that I couldn’t interpret.
“What? Is it bad? Did they damage the caskets?”
“That evidence I was talking about earlier,” Ben said, “something that would point to Marge having been here? Yeah, we won’t be needing that.” He pulled the door wide. “Say hi to Marge.”
7
Marge grinned.
It was a happy dragon kind of grin. One that I interpreted to mean, “I’m really excited to see you!”
But Ben turned a paler shade of ivory than was natural for even his red-headed complexion. Probably all those sharp teeth she was flashing.
“Hi, Marge.” I nudged Ben with my shoulder.
“Right, hello,” he said. “Why are you hiding in my warehouse?”
Marge snorted.
“I don’t think she’s hiding, Ben. Especially considering those scorch marks.” Marge nodded, which prompted my next question. “Weren’t you worried someone else would realize you’re here?”
Ben cursed, and we both turned to look at him. “Sorry. The body. Alistair’s body is being delivered at ten thirty. We need to get rid of the scorch marks or…” He tipped his head at the elephant-sized dragon.
“Or all three of us might end up busted by emergency response. Yeah, that’s a good point, babe.”
I was constantly amazed at his tolerance. He didn’t even look angry. Worried, but not angry. I scrunched my eyes closed. Illusion was an option, but I wasn’t that good. I could increase the growth of the surrounding and damaged vegetation, but even if I had a magically green thumb—which I didn’t—it would still take hours to repair the damage Marge had made.
“Star? Hon, open your eyes.”
When I did, I wasn’t entirely sure I was seeing what I was seeing. Right. That so
unded insane, but a dragon sticking out her long, forked tongue at the two of us wasn’t any less insane than me imagining she was doing it.
“Any idea what that means in dragon speak?” Ben asked. He didn’t take his eyes off the tongue that was about to drip dragon slobber on his warehouse floor.
When I shrugged, Marge snorted—which sprayed dragon slobber all over us.
“Marge!” Ben yelled.
I had to bite back a laugh. Not the hysterical kind. The honest to goodness hilarity-filled version. I thought Ben had no limits, but it seemed he drew the line at dragon slobber.
“So when we have kids, it’s gonna be me wiping the snotty noses, isn’t it?”
Ben turned to me with the remnants of his initial appalled expression. It quickly morphed to a blank look, then he grinned. “We’re having kids?”
“Uh, sure, I guess. I mean, eventually. Maybe. If we—”
“Hey, it’s okay.” He grinned even wider. “Kids are good. I’m thinking at least three.”
“What?” Kids in the abstract were good. I wanted a kid, maybe kids, at some point. But pushing out three watermelon-sized kiddos through my not-watermelon-sized hoohah was a disconcerting thought. “Three? Really? Three?”
“Sure. Maybe four.” Ben laughed at the look on my face, but I wasn’t sure if he was joking or just found my response entertaining. Sure, he could laugh. It wasn’t his hoohah. I mean, it was sort of his, but not really his. Ugh. We needed to not talk about this right now.
“Men,” I muttered.
Marge snorted again. Which brought back the more pressing question of a dragon who stuck out her tongue at us and her impending discovery on Ben’s property.
“Sorry, Marge,” I said, “but I really don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I’m guessing it has something to do with covering up the scorch marks,” Ben said.
She reeled in that long, slobbery tongue and nodded. She even fluttered her lashes at Ben. That girl was a total flirt, even in the face of looming death by enraged vampire horde and imminent discovery by a less-than-dragon-friendly emergency response.
Ben wiped a bit of goo from his face. In its place was a distinct white mark. I stepped closer and examined the mark. “What’s wrong?” Ben shot a look over my shoulder at Marge. “This stuff isn’t poisonous, is it?”
Marge huffed. Even I could tell she was offended.
“Shush and lean down.” I frequently forgot about our height difference, but he was easily a foot taller, and I couldn’t see well enough to confirm my suspicions. Once I’d examined the mark and wiped away the rest of the small splatters, I bit my lip.
“How bad is it?” Ben asked, and again Marge huffed.
“It’s about as bad as that time you got splotches of sunscreen on your pale legs. How many times do I have to tell you to spread evenly?” I patted his cheek and then turned to Marge. “Does your spit heal wounds?”
She tipped her head, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.
Ben flushed. “Burns. Her spit heals burns.” When Marge nodded enthusiastically, I couldn’t help a chuckle. Ben hated how easily he burned. He wore sunscreen most days, but obviously he was burned now, or Marge’s spray of spit wouldn’t have had any effect on him. “Laugh away. Just wait till all our kids come out red-headed and pale as sheets.”
Yep, that cut my amusement short. Not that I’d mind little red-headed babies that looked just like Ben…someday. But I wasn’t ready for the reality of little baby Bens today. We didn’t even live together. Forget being married or even engaged. Kids were so far away.
“I’m guessing this works on vegetation?” Ben asked Marge. When she nodded, he added, “And diluted?”
Marge grinned and looked at me.
I’d learned about dilute preparations from Camille. She was the queen of potions, and I’d picked up a few things over the last few years. “We should use distilled water to prevent complications. I think we have some in the storeroom.”
Marge sighed and settled into a curled-up ball on the warehouse floor. She glanced at us and then the door.
“I think we’ve been dismissed,” Ben said.
“Vampire horde, Ben. Bloodthirsty vamps should be avoided at all costs. Also, overzealous fake police.” Alex, my ex, would hate being called fake police.
Ben opened the door. “The vampire horde are hardly likely to be accompanying the body. It’ll be your ex, won’t it?”
“Most likely, but Alex won’t be alone, and whoever accompanies him won’t have any motivation to keep signs of a wanted fugitive from Cornelius. Also, I’d rather not put Alex in the position of having to choose. His first duty as the senior emergency responder is supposed to be to Cornelius.”
“Supposed to be?”
“Alex is his own man, and his first duty as long as I’ve known him has been to his own conscience.”
“Fair enough. He’s really not half bad, your ex.” And that was exactly the kind of man that Ben was. Not jealous, because in his mind, he had the girl, so why waste ill feelings on some guy who clearly didn’t? He unlocked and then ushered me through the back door of the funeral home. “How long will it take you to mix up a dragon spit potion?”
“I’m totally calling it that. Dragon Spit Potion. It has a nice ring. Better than ‘burn cure’ or ‘limited regeneration potion.’”
Ben didn’t comment, endorse, or shoot down the name, just asked what he could do to help.
After I retrieved a beaker, I sent Ben back to collect saliva while I gathered the few other items I’d need. It wasn’t quite so simple as mixing water and dragon spit. I had to make sure to preserve as much of the potency as possible. Thankfully, Camille was a masterful potion brewer, so I had a few tricks up my sleeve.
Some of those tricks took a little time to sort, so I had to get cracking. Those scorch marks needed to be gone before Alex arrived in less than two hours. And then, when I could breathe a little easier, maybe I’d ask Marge what the heck she was thinking. What was up with the scorch marks? I had to wonder if they were even intentional, because why expose herself—expose us—to discovery?
Ben returned with the beaker a quarter full and handed it to me. “How much concentration does this take?” His question was curiously bland, given the time pressure.
“Why?”
He shrugged but didn’t look at me. He kept his focus on the bucket I’d sterilized to use in the potion preparation.
“Ben, spit it out. I can multitask.”
“Hm.” He bit his lip, still not looking at me. “You sure about that?”
“What, already? If you don’t tell me, I’ll just be worried.”
“Right. So, we missed a pretty big detail earlier.”
After I’d dumped the saliva into the bucket, I stopped my prep and put my hands on my hips. “What in the world are you not telling me?”
Ben scrubbed his hands over his face. “I think I know why Marge ran, even though she might be innocent. She’s, uh… I saw an egg.”
I shook my head, confused. “An egg?” Then understanding filtered in. “A dragon egg? Marge dropped a dragon egg in your warehouse?”
“Yeah. That happened.” He looked as dismayed as I felt.
8
No pressure.
An egg-dropping dragon nesting in the warehouse, a fried body due to be delivered, and emergency response less than two hours from my doorstep.
But no pressure.
I sprinkled a few pinches of Himalayan salt into the potion with a shaking hand. A few weeks ago, I’d stashed some basic supplies at the funeral home, but nothing fancy. At least I was saved from using table salt. Iodine wasn’t always a great addition to a potion.
“An egg? Why would she drop an egg here? Now? Today?” I stirred the concoction with a big metal spoon Ben had found in the tiny break room. When it started to froth, I slowed my frantic churning to a more reasonable speed. Who knew what overstimulated dragon saliva would do? It could be flammable when agitated too stron
gly. “You’d think she’d find a safer place. And how can there be an egg when there aren’t any boy dragons running around?”
“I knew I shouldn’t have told you,” Ben muttered. I shot him a peeved look, and he said, “Anything I can do to help?”
“Not that I wouldn’t have mentioned the last four times you asked.”
“Right. And while I don’t know how dragon procreation works, chickens can lay infertile eggs. Maybe it won’t hatch?”
“That’s a terrible thought. Unless she’s not treating it like a proper egg?”
Ben shook his head. “It’s back in the corner on a pile of shredded cardboard boxes, so she’s got a nest going. That’s why we didn’t see it at first, because it’s in a dark corner and she was in front of it.”
Right, so maybe it would hatch. A baby dragon. A baby Marge dragon. It would be so incredibly cute, all purply, blue, and green.
“You cannot have a baby dragon as a pet.”
I looked up from the potion. “Not a clue what you’re talking about. Besides, it’s not like dragons are pets.”
“You sure? You have that look you get when you cuddle puppies.”
He knew me so well. Time for a quick topic change or we’d be wandering down the kid path again.
“I just need to heat this for a few minutes and then we should be good. I don’t suppose you want to test it out?” I waggled my eyebrows at him. “Even out those speckles on your face?”
“Since I know what’s in that concoction, I’m gonna pass. But I can run out and test the nearest strip of charred grass.”
I transferred enough of the potion to almost fill the original beaker then held it over a small Bunsen burner, swishing it gently. “You can take this batch out in a sec. If it works, we’ll fill up two spray bottles and drench the marks with whatever we’ve got. Maybe more potion will make it work faster.”
Ben glanced at the clock. “We’ve got about an hour and a half. You think the dilute version will take longer than the pure stuff?”
