by Amy Star
Mitch chewed that over in his mind for a moment before he asked, “Then, the insistence that no one would believe you if you said anything about it, if it makes so much sense?”
Melissa rolled her eyes and prodded at him with her elbow. “Being able to see how something makes sense or put the pieces together doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten how other people work,” she drawled blandly. “I’m aware that other people are just going to hear ‘this fantasy creature is not actually a fantasy creature’ and they’re going to laugh me off like I just claimed that the sky was orange and the ground tastes like marshmallows.” A colorful simile, to be sure.
It made sense, he supposed. Maybe not the same sort of sense most people made, but he could still see where she was coming from. Which was good, since evidently that was all she had to say on the topic, as she abruptly sat up, one hand lifting to point towards the sky.
“Look!” she commanded exuberantly, one finger still extended to point, her arm moving to track the motion of a pinpoint of light across the sky.
Quietly, Mitch watched the comet shoot across the sky, though his gaze strayed from the comet to Melissa’s face after a second. Her expression was open and peaceful, utterly content with where they were just then.
Mitch was pretty sure he shared that feeling, new though it was for him. It was something he would be happy to let himself get used to.
As Melissa slowly laid back down on her back, Mitch let his gaze drift back towards the sky once again. It was a beautiful view, after all. He would hate to miss it.
CHAPTER SEVEN
When it came to actually finding the were-dragon who had been setting the fires, no one was quite sure how to go about it. If the fire starter didn’t want to be found, there was nothing stopping them from just waltzing around looking like a regular human all the live-long day, and that was assuming they were even still in the area. It was entirely possible that they lived elsewhere and were commuting to start fires.
Sabine rambled for a while about some of the habits of dragons that were-dragons tended to
acquire as well—fondness for places where it was easy to hide, an aversion to crowds or coming out when there were a lot of people around, a tendency to collect things even if those things made absolutely no sense—and she could use her knowledge of dragon behavior to help her
actively look for anyone who seemed suspicious.
“And if they’ve got some sort of accomplice or whatever, they’ll probably stink like a meth lab all the time,” she said loftily, though they had all acknowledged that the idea of an accomplice seemed unlikely. A were-dragon didn’t exactly need any help to set things on fire very efficiently.
“What if they just run a regular meth lab?” Mitch asked blandly, because it seemed like the question was just dying to be asked.
Sabine shrugged nonchalantly, evidently unbothered by the question. “Then, they get reported to the cops before their lab can blow up, and it’ll be one less meth lab in the world.”
It was a simple enough idea, and they left her to her own methods of searching.
(Even if it hadn’t made sense, it wasn’t as if any of them could do anything about it. They had her phone number and her name and nothing else. They didn’t even have her last name. So, it wasn’t as if they could track her down to shout at her if they felt like she wasn’t pulling her weight, and honestly, no one was going to try to shout a were-dragon into compliance anyway. It just sounded like a bad time all around, for all parties involved.)
*
Mitch had his own methods, of course. He couldn’t smell out a were-dragon if one hadn’t been around recently, but he did have an entire fire department of people who were at least somewhat aware of the fact that humans were not alone at the top of the food chain.
Granted, Mitch didn’t actually say the words “were-dragon” to any of his coworkers, since informing people that there was a malevolent, gigantic, fire-breathing lizard on the loose, intent on burning their homes to the ground mostly seemed like a great way to cause a panic, but he did wrangle promises out of all of them that they would let him know if they heard about or saw anything strange.
Presumably, they all just assumed it had to do with another were-bear or a were-wolf or something similar. Unsurprisingly, none of them were too eager to deal with any inhuman creatures other than Mitch on their own, so he didn’t need to worry about answering too many awkward questions on the matter.
Not to mention, Mitch himself was a well-established regular at most of the bars and restaurants in town. No one was going to question it if he turned up and lingered for an evening, and considering people were accustomed to seeing him on his own, no one would question it if he lingered by himself, just listening to the conversation around him. Drunk rural people liked to gossip, after all, and if anything weird happened to the farmer down the road or if anything strange showed up in one of the sheep pens, then it was sure to be mentioned in one of the bars.
Really, the only awkward part about it was a new detail, as he had never before had to get into the habit of turning down offers of drinks from the occasional attractive, interested woman. And he supposed he didn’t have to, but he suspected that if word of him conning women out of drinks got back to Melissa, she would be none too pleased with him, and he wouldn’t blame her, so
really, it was a better call to just get into the habit of politely (and sometimes elaborately) saying “no.”
So, he would keep his ear to the ground in case any of the gossip around town was useful, even if his liver might not thank him for it later on. If nothing else, most of the hot spots were within a reasonable walking distance from his house, so he didn’t need to worry about wasting money on a cab after a few drinks.
*
Melissa had never been particularly social at work. She wasn’t disliked or anything like that, but her relationship with most of her coworkers never went much beyond “polite small talk” in most cases, with Harry and their boss being the only real exceptions. While she firmly believed that it was never too late to change, she was also aware that it would look more than a little suspicious if she just suddenly decided she wanted to be everyone’s best friend and squeeze everyone for gossip.
So, in her case, she was limited to listening to the background chatter. It was entertaining, and it still provided a surprising amount of information, but she knew there was more she could learn if she really wanted to be helpful.
Luckily, she had Harry. On paper, he didn’t always seem like much, but he was, indeed, Melissa’s secret weapon in such situations. Or at least in that situation, as Melissa had never really found herself acting as a spy in the past. Regardless, she knew what Harry was like, and she knew he would be able to help her out.
Harry was good at being everyone’s best friend, albeit in a rather fair-weather way. He was interested in everyone, good at listening (or at least seeming like he was), and good at asking probing questions that nonetheless didn’t sound probing. Which meant he was Melissa’s deputy when it came to mining the depths of the rumor mill at work.
Frankly, he seemed thrilled about it. Never was Harry happier than when he was presented with a reason to be a social butterfly. He was allergic to standing still and had never met a person he couldn’t squeeze some amount of interesting information out of.
So, it became a routine for the two of them to combine everything they learned at the end of each work day. Some of it seemed relevant. A lot of it was just garbage that could be disposed of. In either case, the results were better than if Melissa just tried to work on her own.
And in a strange sense, it was a good bonding experience. It had been too long since she and Harry had a project to work on together, and it gave them something to gush about as they tossed ideas back and forth about what the unknown were-dragon would be like, in much the same way as a pair of book club members might discuss what they thought might happen in the next chapter of the book.
Not the most professional way to go a
bout it, perhaps, but they were taking it seriously in their own ways. And there was no reason they couldn’t still enjoy what they were doing simply
because it was important.
If Mitch was allowed to enjoy using his searching as an excuse to hit up every bar in the county, then Melissa and Harry were free to enjoy it like they were watching an afternoon soap opera.
*
It seemed as if that was all the help they were going to get. It stood to reason that they could find more, but without blatantly shouting about the fact that they were looking for inhuman creatures, trying to openly solicit more help seemed like it would be a touch suspicious, to say the least. It came with the possibility of an entirely unrelated inhuman creature taking them down to shut them up as retaliation for being loud, obnoxious, and obvious.
But not everything always went as they expected, and that wasn’t always a bad thing.
When Jasper met Melissa in the middle of town, it was unexpected, to say the least. He didn’t corner her. He didn’t make any threatening motions. He didn’t say anything untoward. One
Moment, she was alone in the gas station parking lot as she headed back to the pump where her truck was, and the next, he was standing between her and her truck.
She blinked at him, and he looked slightly sheepish in return.
“I couldn’t really get in touch with you any sort of…traditional way,” he explained after a
moment, shrugging slightly and shoving his hands into his pockets. “I don’t have your address, and I don’t have a phone.” He cleared his throat. “I want to help you find whoever’s been setting shit on fire. I keep thinking about it, and your bear friend probably isn’t the only one who figured it was vampires. The more I think about it, the more it keeps pissing me off.”
“We’re happy to get any help we can,” Melissa returned easily, though she hadn’t expected a vampire with wounded pride to be included in that help. But considering how easily he had shown up without her even noticing him, presumably he would be able to gather information in ways that Melissa, Mitch, Harry, and Sabine could not, since the four of them were limited to moving at more mortal speeds.
Slowly, he nodded. “Right. Good,” he replied, though it sounded more like he was mumbling it to himself. For a second, it looked like he was simply going to bolt off into the ether again, until he stiffened as a thought occurred to him. “Um.” He pantomimed writing something in the air. “Address,” he added. “So I can actually let you know if I figure anything out.”
Quickly, Melissa patted her pockets down, pulling out a stub of a pencil and her receipt from the gas station. She scrawled her address out on it and handed it over, pointing in the direction of the mountain as she did. “If it seems like you’re in the middle of nowhere, you’re probably going in the right direction.”
Jasper nodded slowly as he pocketed the paper, and he backed out of the way, letting Melissa pass him to get back to her truck. By the time she was sitting in the driver’s seat again, Jasper was gone without a single sign that he had ever even been there.
Melissa spared a moment to look around the parking lot, but there was no sign of him. She started up her car and was pulling out of the parking lot a moment later.
*
“How do we know he isn’t just going to try to kill one of us again?” Mitch groused, arms folded and shoulders rounded.
Melissa snorted and pantomimed knocking on a door in thin air. “Hello!” she greeted to the imaginary person who opened the imaginary door. “Murder-gram! Specially delivered to your front door for your convenience!”
“I’m serious,” Mitch huffed, rolling his eyes.
“I’m not going to be a shithead to him,” Melissa informed him primly, “so I’m pretty sure I’ll be just fine.”
“Why are you still so convinced I was being a shit to him?” Mitch asked, and he only narrowly avoided sounding like he was whining.
“Because I at least know you that well,” Melissa returned primly. “You like being a shit to people. It makes you feel manly.”
“Wha -- that’s not what happened!” he protested, folding his arms over his chest and hunching. Ah, to watch a man’s ego being wounded. It would never stop being entertaining. Melissa had, on a few occasions, contemplated turning such events into a sport and selling tickets. On a purely hypothetical basis, of course.
Melissa shrugged and waved it off. “Whatever,” she replied, dismissing the topic. “The fact
remains, he offered to help, and I’m not going to turn down perfectly serviceable help for your ego.”
Mitch scowled at her for a moment. “I’m the one who asked you for help,” he pointed out. “When did you wind up in charge?” Despite himself, he sounded amused as he asked.
Melissa grinned and pressed the side of one finger to her lips, shushing him. “Since it makes more sense this way,” she answered wryly. Actively social or not, the fact remained that Melissa was still better with people than Mitch was, and that was an important detail for their ends.
Evidently, Mitch agreed, as he didn’t have any sort of argument after that, other than some
largely incomprehensible grumbling, but Melissa was more or less accustomed to that sort of
response at that point, and she felt no need to soothe him, beyond a brief kiss before she moseyed on her way.
Mitch seemed content with his reward, if nothing else.
And such was the pattern that they all fell into, listening for anything out of the ordinary and hunting for anything that didn’t belong, so they might have a chance of getting the drop on the unknown were-dragon before they managed to burn anything else down.
According to Sabine, they would have a while before the unknown were-dragon could breathe quite as much fire as had been used in the previous incidences, and that, at least, was comforting. A time limit was never fun to deal with, but their time limit wasn’t completely suffocating them and leaving them floundering blindly in the dark.
CHAPTER EIGHT
They all knew what they were looking for. They knew what it might entail. There could be
injuries. There could be casualties. While it was entirely possible that the were-dragon would be the same size as Sabine or maybe even smaller, it was just as likely that they would be even
bigger than her. None of them had any way of knowing what they were actually going up against. All they could do was gather whatever information they could and prepare for the worst.
“Preparing for the worst” was probably supposed to involve carefully saying goodbye to people, so that it didn’t actually sound like a goodbye. None of them wanted to worry anyone, after all. But Mitch had no one to say goodbye to who wasn’t already involved in the mess.
He couldn’t decide if he was grateful for that, or if it was mostly just sad. Or maybe he should just take it as a sign that after everything with the mystery were-dragon was done, he should put some effort into actually putting down roots and living in the place he called home, rather than just existing in it.
It felt like a daunting thought, but he had more incentive than ever before to give it a go. Enough incentive that he wasn’t even worried that he would get bored or eventually start stagnating.
Besides, he doubted Melissa would ever let him get bored. It seemed entirely against her nature.
Of course, that probably meant he should say something to her, even if not to anyone else. (Oh, sure, his coworkers would notice if he disappeared, in much the same way he would notice if any of them disappeared, but beyond some melancholic curiosity, he doubted any of them would
actually care all that much after the first few days.)
But what? How was one supposed to go about that sort of conversation? Wouldn’t it just make it seem like he thought the worst was going to happen? Granted, he knew that planning for the worst just in case was typically a good idea, but even so, what if it was a step too far? What if she thought he was giving up before anything even happened, or what if
he scared her?
All of those thoughts churned in swirling circles in his head as he tried to figure out the best way to go about it. Should it be simple? Should it be grand? As it was, it had already been well-established that he wasn’t exactly an expert when it came to matters of romance, and telling Melissa how he felt about her and what she meant to him definitely seemed like it counted as a matter of romance.
He hadn’t expected it to be quite as complicated as it proved to be.
All of his fretting and pondering and wondering, and then Melissa went and beat him to the punch. It seemed like a pretty ordinary evening until she talked to him.
“Hey, Mitch?” Melissa’s voice rose up out of nowhere, unprompted.
He couldn’t quite place Melissa’s tone when she called him. He poked his head over the loft’s railing to look down at where she was sitting in the den right below. “Everything alright?”
“I love you.” She offered the words without preamble, as if she was afraid they would vanish if she didn’t say them quickly enough. “Just…figured I should say that.”
