Tickle the Dragon's Tail

by Cate Lawley

  “In a thrift store.”

  I patted his knee. “That’s right, in a thrift store. Although they prefer ‘vintage.’”

  “Got it,” Ben said. But when we pulled up to the little old house with the peeling paint and limited parking, Ben said, “Vintage? I really think this place is more thrift than vintage.”

  “Wait till you see the inside.” Though I hadn’t a clue if inside was any better. I’d only heard from CeeCee about the shop.

  “Hm. Not that I’m knocking thrift stores—that’s where we got your sweet patio set—but the run down vibe says thrift more than vintage.”

  So far, I couldn’t argue with him. Chipped and peeling paint did not bode well, though it really was a darling house.

  Not two feet inside the door and we were mobbed by two enthusiastic witches.

  “So good to see you,” and “Finally! I’m so glad you made it!”

  Bernard spoke and CeeCee bubbled over on top of him. He didn’t seem to mind.

  After Ben and I had extended our congratulations, I asked, “So business has been slow?” How could I not? Their greeting had been a little over the top. They seemed desperate for company.

  “No.” Bernard ran a hand through his already mussed hair. “Crazy. Insanely busy.”

  “Yeah,” CeeCee agreed, while bouncing on her toes. “We haven’t even had time to paint the exterior. I think we should hire painters, but Bernard insists we can do it ourselves.” She narrowed her eyes at him and pointed. “Let’s see what these guys think.”

  Without blinking, I said, “No comment.”

  Ben, wise man that he is, said nothing.

  “See!” CeeCee poked Bernard in the chest. “They think it looks terrible.”

  “No, they’re both too smart to insert themselves in the middle of a couple’s dispute. Aren’t you, guys?” Bernard smirked at us. If I had to guess, Bernard knew exactly how terrible the place looked and wasn’t in any hurry to fix it. Business was good and he got to push CeeCee’s buttons, win-win.

  “Anyway.” I looked around the shop for the first time and grinned. It was cool. With just a glance, I spotted an art deco dresser next to a 1960s wedding gown hanging from an unknown era coat stand, as well as what look like some pretty cool original art. Grinning, I turned back to CeeCee. “Amazing place, but we’re here because we need to know where to get salamander food.”

  “Ah, well, that’s in the back room.” She pointed to a hallway and ushered us ahead of her. Bernard stayed behind to man the shop as the rest of us continued to the back. We passed two open doors, each room full of artfully displayed goods, but then we reached one marked private. She reached around me and tapped the knob. “Go ahead.”

  I opened the door to find the largest magical pantry I’d ever seen. Even Camille’s was only the size of her mudroom. Bernard and CeeCee had chosen the master bedroom for their stash of “special” goods, and then they’d lined the walls with shelves. Two long, tall tables were centered in the room. One held more jars, stones, charms, and gadgets. The other appeared to be a cluttered prep table.

  “Wow.” I spun around a full 360 degrees and then said again, “Wow. It’s really cool.”

  “Uh-huh.” The click of the door pulled my attention back to CeeCee, who was leaning against it. “So what exactly do you have to do with fire salamanders? Does this have anything to do with Alistair’s death?”

  She would jump immediately to the right conclusion. CeeCee was no fool.

  “Just between us?” I asked with a serious look.

  “Puh-lease. Of course. Now spill.” Her eyes opened wide. “What scoop do you have?”

  “Let’s just say that we’re looking into Alistair’s supposed death.”

  She gasped. “That sneaky little jerk. And poor Marge.” Eyes narrowing in suspicion, she said, “It’ll have something to do with shady business dealings. I bet you a pouch of Vulcan powder.”

  “What’s Vulcan powder?” I asked.

  CeeCee winked. “What you just asked for. You sprinkle it on the crickets before you feed them to your salamander. Only if you want him to belch flames, though.”

  I choked back a laugh. But I couldn’t help it—a giggle or two slipped out. “Are you kidding me?”

  “With the belching? Not even a little. It’s actually much more predictable than you’d think. Fire salamanders aren’t actually salamanders, and the little dudes belch a lot. Sprinkle some Vulcan powder on a few crickets, let him gorge himself, then startle him, and bam! Flames like you wouldn’t believe.”

  “That’s, uh…” Ben couldn’t even finish the thought.

  “Yep, sweetie. It’s weird, even in the magical world of super strange.” Turning to CeeCee, I asked, “What’s in Vulcan powder?”

  Serious in a flash, CeeCee said, “That’s proprietary. But you know what’s not proprietary? Who’s been buying it lately. That fanged freak bought his own Vulcan powder. Does he think we don’t talk?”

  “You’re kidding me.” We couldn’t be so lucky…could we? “Alistair bought Vulcan powder from you.”

  “He did. And I wouldn’t have thought twice about it if you hadn’t come in blathering about salamanders. It has”—she cleared her throat delicately—“other uses.”

  I snorted. CeeCee wasn’t usually so circumspect, so I jabbed Ben in the ribs and said, “Cover your virgin ears, honey.”

  Ben shook his head and headed for the door. “I’ll join Bernard up front. We can talk exterior paint.”

  At the words “exterior paint,” CeeCee put her hand over her heart. “Your guy is a sweetheart, isn’t he?” When I nodded, she said, “He’s so perfect for you. I never really got you and… Anyway, so, about that powder. Vulcan was the god of fire and the forge. Think metal and hammering and sex. ’Nuff said.”

  “Are you telling me that Alistair came in looking for a gentleman’s”—I glanced downward—“pick-me-up?”

  “More a lengthener, hardener, and, ah, stamina increaser.”

  Thinking back on the few instances I’d met him, I just couldn’t picture it. “And he made that clear when he bought it?”

  “Crystal.” She moved to the worktable and started digging around a pile of what looked like odds and ends. “I should have known when he was so open that something hinky was afoot.”

  “If you’re willing to make a statement to Cornelius, I think it will go a long way in proving Marge innocent.”

  She pulled a piece of parchment from the pile she’d been rummaging in and began to scribble. “What would make it even more obvious that she’s innocent would be Alistair’s miraculous recovery from death. Do you think there’s any chance of finding him?”

  “Alex is on it.”

  She raised her eyebrows. If she found it odd that I still worked with my ex on occasion, she didn’t say. She gestured to the document, and I quickly read through the statement she’d written. When I nodded my approval, she folded and sealed it. Handing it to me, she said, “I’ll contact Cornelius to let him know I’ve provided my official testimony to you, but that I will gladly come into headquarters and testify in person if necessary.”

  I wasn’t a big hugger—excluding Ben, who could have all the hugs he wanted—but this was a hug moment.

  CeeCee wrapped her arms around me, squeezed hard, and let go. “Go save your dragon.”

  With her statement clutched in my fingers, I followed CeeCee out of the best magical pantry ever. I’d take a page out of her book and create one of my own someday.

  “You ladies get everything sorted?” Ben asked. He was leaning on the counter and Bernard was behind it. They looked thick as thieves.

  “All good.” I’d tell Ben all about Alistair’s supposed sexual deficiencies in the car. I wasn’t sure exactly what was in that powder that it both turned a salamander into a fire-belching beast and a man into the Energizer Bunny version of a sexual jackhammer. I wasn’t sure I really wanted to know.

  “Come back soon,” CeeCee said with a cheery wave
. “If you need anything, anything at all, you know where to go.”

  I snickered. Given what we’d been discussing, I knew exactly what she meant. “Thanks, all the same. I think we’re good.”

  CeeCee winked, and I pulled Ben out of the store before he realized I’d just semi-publicly proclaimed my sexual satisfaction.

  15

  “We have problems,” I told Ben. He was driving us back to the funeral home at my request. “Other than having not a single suspect, someone—possibly Alistair—purchasing a salamander the day before the body was crisped, and Alistair purchasing the necessary foodstuffs to produce a fire-belching salamander, we’ve got nothing.”

  “You’ve said before how much Alex and Cornelius dislike circumstantial evidence.” Ben rubbed his neck. “If Alex finds Alistair—”

  “That’s highly unlikely.” Seeing Ben’s expression, I said, “Okay, not highly. Alex is pretty amazing at his job. But it’s unlikely.”

  “So why are we headed back the funeral home? You have something in mind.”

  I scrubbed my hands across my face and growled. “Ugh. I don’t know what else to do. I’m going to beg Marge to give up her baby daddy’s location. I’m hoping we can get a sample from him to prove that the damage to the corpse was inflicted by some other creature. I really don’t see us catching a salamander anytime soon. I wouldn’t know where to start. Even the magical creature whizz kid said it takes time.”

  Ben shifted in the driver’s seat. “I don’t see Marge giving up her mate. Not even if he was just a sperm donor. What if the tide turns and they go after him instead of Marge because he’s accessible?”

  “Yeah, I get it. That’s exactly why I won’t ask her to come forward to give a sample of her fire. But I have to ask anyway.”

  “And then? When she says no? What about another look at the body? You were rushed before. Maybe now, knowing that it isn’t Alistair—or probably isn’t Alistair—you can look for evidence pointing to the true identity of corpse.”

  And that only made me feel worse. If he was a young vamp, he might not have cut ties with his family yet. There could be people out there missing him, worrying about him.

  “Yeah. We’ll talk to Marge and then take another look at the body.” I didn’t know what a second look might show me, but Ben wasn’t wrong. I had been rushed. “Oh, no. I forgot to mask the explosion of magic in the field next to the funeral home.”

  “I’m sure it’s fine. If no one’s been by, then no one’s had a chance to see it.”

  Except, wouldn’t you know, when we arrived back at the funeral home, someone was waiting for us. An agitated, pissy vampire.

  Tall, thin, brunette, and ridiculously gorgeous, a woman stood at the front door, waiting impatiently. And when I say impatiently, I mean with glowing red eyes.

  Other than the differences in their figures, there was a striking similarity between this woman and Lisette. The dark, glossy hair, the sculpted cheekbones, porcelain skin, and full lips. I’d bet she had chocolatey brown eyes when her eyes weren’t bleeding red.

  She had to be Odette.

  When she spoke, my suspicion was confirmed. She had more than a trace of a French accent. “I have spoken with Lisette. We do not think Alistair is dead.”

  It seemed Alistair had a very specific type. I really couldn’t get over the similarities.

  “Oh?” I asked, with just a touch of curiosity. Ben assumed a neutral expression and remained silent.

  “Yes. We think that Alistair, he is alive. What do you say?” She waved her hand wildly as she searched for the word. “It is the setup.”

  Yeah, her accent was definitely stronger than Lisette’s, because it took me a second to process what she was saying and garner her meaning. “You think that Alistair has faked his death.”

  Much as I tried to make it sound like the thought hadn’t even crossed my mind, I clearly failed.

  She narrowed her eyes and stabbed a finger at me. “You. You know this. I see your lie in the eyes.” When I didn’t reply, she threw her hands in the air. “Alistair, he is impossible! He tries to end with Lisette, but she makes the goo-goo eyes and he cannot say no. Now he tried to end with me, then change his mind, and poof, he is gone.”

  Ben shook his head. “You think Alistair faked his death to break up with you and Lisette?”

  “No. I did not say this.” She pursed her lips. “The one happens, then the other. But we are not the reason. No.” Again, she stabbed the air violently, but this time she wasn’t pointing specifically at me. “It is the business. Always with the money and the business. I have money. Lisette, she has money.”

  Her agitation was making me nervous. Perhaps if I could convince her to come inside and have a seat, she’d calm down. “Would you like to come in so we can discuss Alistair and his—”

  “No. No, I will not go inside, in your house for dead bodies.”

  I caught the hint of a smile twitching at the corners of Ben’s mouth. He better stop it, or I’d be laughing at the most inappropriate of times. And while Odette sounded like a woman who’d been wronged by her man, she was a vampire who’d been wronged.

  Ill-timed laughter was not advisable.

  One deep, calming breath later, I said, “You think that Alistair might have faked his death so that he could burn this identity and create another.”

  It was common practice in our world. The enhanced lived longer lives. Some, like the witches, only marginally so. But a vampire might assume a dozen or more identities in their lifetime. That said, records were kept and memories were long in the enhanced community. If Alistair was trying to ditch his identity not only in the mundane world but also in the enhanced community, substituting a burned body for his own wasn’t the worst idea.

  It just wasn’t the absolute best. And it was outright nasty for him to have set up Marge as the fall guy.

  Ben finally spoke up. “If Alistair were still alive, where would he be?”

  I could kiss him. In all the fluster of Odette’s dramatics, that most essential of questions had evaded me. I leaned forward as I waited for her response.

  She tapped a perfectly manicured nail against her full lower lip. “I do not know.” But she continued to tap away at her lip.

  How did she do that without smudging her oh-so-perfect lipstick?

  “Ah! I have eeet!” Her accent thickened in her enthusiasm. “Ze farmhouse.” She looked me up and down. “I go only once, many months ago, but I remember ze way. You will find him and bring him back?”

  Why were these gorgeous, successful women so into Alistair? He was more than passable looking, but the man was a grade-A jerk. He’d dumped them in the worst possible way, and yet… “Sure. No promises, but I might have someone who can make that happen.”

  Odette practically purred. “Alex, yes? He is… How do you say? Lickable.”

  “Um, I’m not sure that’s what you—”

  “Yes, he is.” Ben nudged me gently. “Where is the farmhouse?”

  Odette proceeded to give us very specific directions to a very remote house in the countryside, southwest of town.

  “He will be there. He will wait until the dragon, she is dead, the body, it is buried, and the hubbub, it is over.” She pronounced “hubbub” with the accent on the wrong part of the word, which again almost made me laugh.

  But this was good intel. Great insight into the jerkface who’d framed Marge. All desire to laugh died. We thanked her politely for her help—one shouldn’t be too profuse in thanking vamps—and then watched her walk to her car.

  Ben handed me his phone as soon as her door had slammed.

  “Alex,” I said when he picked up, “I don’t suppose you’ve found our guy?”

  A grumbly growl was my answer.

  “That’s all right. I have a hot tip for you. You’re going to need a pen and paper.” Then I handed the phone to Ben, because his memory for directions was absurdly good.

  Ben ended the call after repeating the directions and then
listening to Alex read them back.

  I thumped his chest. “You know what this means, right?”

  He gave me a curious look, but had no response.

  I couldn’t help the huge smile that stretched across my face. “If she’s right, if he’s holed up in that old farmhouse, then we’ve got him—and he was brought down by the very women he tried to ditch.”

  It was an immensely satisfying feeling to think that the women in Alistair’s life, the ones he treated so poorly—because stringing along two women only to fake your death could hardly be called anything else—were the source of his ultimate failure. They were the ones who knew him best, and their intimate knowledge of Alistair had wrecked his plans.

  I hoped. If that body wasn’t Alistair’s and all of us hadn’t taken a massive leap into crazy land.

  “Lisette was the one who gave you all of the missing information that made you suspect he was still alive, and now Odette with his possible hiding place.” He wrapped an arm around me and gave me a stout side-hug. “But you did all the best parts in the middle.”

  “Please. I don’t need the runner-up award or sympathy points. If Marge evades punishment for a crime she didn’t even commit, her eggling manages to hatch without complications, and that nut Alistair fails to disappear into the distance and re-create himself, then I couldn’t be happier.”

  The glow lasted about two minutes. That’s when my bubble burst, and I realized the worst was yet to come.

  Now Ben and I had to wait.

  16

  Waiting really wasn’t my strong suit. I wouldn’t say I was impatient, more that I liked to be doing, fixing, solving, and acting.

  “Could you stop pacing? You’re making me nervous,” Ben said from the bumper of his car. We had chairs for the handful of people waiting, but he’d eschewed them in favor of alternately leaning and pacing. And there he went, up and pacing right beside me.

  “Moving helps.” It didn’t, but I twined my fingers with his as we paced together, and that did help.