by Lori Devoti
Looking unsure again, he nodded. “I can take you to a room. Then ask around.”
“Yes, that sounds like a plan.” Her adrenaline pumping, she followed him up the stairs. Could it be this easy? After all of this, could she simply meet with the Collector and offer him some trade for the cup?
Once on the main floor the dwarf motioned for her to follow him to one of the boards. He signaled to someone Amma couldn’t see, and the board lowered.
He hopped onto the narrow piece of wood. Barely holding on to one of the ropes, he waved for her to follow his lead. Her gaze latched onto the rope and followed it up, to the ceiling three stories above them.
The dwarf frowned. “You want a meeting. You have to go to a room.” He pointed to one of the jagged overhangs she’d noticed during her last visit.
Amma shook her head. She wasn’t afraid of heights, not anymore. She’d flown with Joarr and been fine, invigorated by it even. But that was different. That had been with Joarr.
The dwarf tapped his foot. “If you won’t—” His gaze focused on someone across the room. He cursed.
Amma followed his line of sight. Fafnir stood by one of the bars talking with another dwarf. His hands were moving erratically, and even from this distance, Amma could hear a few of his words.
“Not…enough…need description.”
Amma spun, putting her back to Fafnir. Gulping in air, she stepped onto the board.
* * *
Joarr stood outside the club. Amma had made it inside easily.
Too easily?
Why had she chosen the direct approach tonight when last night she’d been so insistent on stealth?
As a rule, dragons didn’t favor stealth. Yes, sometimes it was necessary to shield themselves in fog so as not to arouse unwanted notice—but in an attack? There was so little to threaten them they almost certainly chose the direct approach.
Of course, perhaps three dragons were dead because of that.
He let out an annoyed breath. He didn’t like the direction his thoughts were headed.
If Amma was working with Fafnir, he needed to know. And if he attacked directly, he couldn’t. Also, satisfying as storming into the club and blasting the dwarf to roasted bits would be, it would not get him the chalice.
But if Amma was working with the dwarf, Joarr needed a disguise to keep her from spotting him. He glanced at his pristine pants. Fingered the fine wool they were made of.
She would not miss him dressed like this.
With one last sigh, he turned and disappeared back into the alley—to shift and change.
* * *
Amma teetered on the narrow board. She was thankful Joarr had thought to include real shoes with her outfit and she wasn’t trying this circus trick wearing the high-heeled boots from the night before.
The dwarf beside her had waved for their board to be lifted as soon as she had stepped onto it, but she could tell his attention was still on Fafnir.
“Your brother?” she asked.
He glanced at her, surprised.
“There’s a resemblance,” she explained, hoping he’d buy her switch from confident wannabe trader to interested patron.
The dwarf grimaced. “It’s his job to work the door. He goes missing every time Dad’s back is turned.”
Dad…the Collector?
She smiled and tried to look trustworthy. “I have sisters. Siblings can be difficult.”
He snorted in agreement then without warning picked up one leg and spun out so only one foot was on the board and one hand held the rope. The board turned with him.
“Don’t know who he’s talking with,” he muttered. “If he isn’t careful I’ll tell Dad what he’s been up to when he’s out of town. Where I’ve caught him a time or two.”
Clinging to her rope, Amma didn’t reply. The floor was far below now. The air was warmer here—heat from all the bodies below rising. Sweat beaded between her breasts. Again she thought of Joarr. When near him she craved heat, but his heat was different, comforting, while this was cloying.
The board jerked and swung another direction. Their upward speed increased. Amma slipped; her arm jerked in its socket as she gripped the rope. Her hand ached.
They were approaching one of the jagged outcroppings now. A few more feet and she’d be able to jump up and grab the edge—not that she would. Her fingers wouldn’t release their hold on this rope until the board was squarely sitting on solid ground.
The dwarf waved his hand and the board swung wide, again without warning. It stopped ten feet from the nearest overhang—thirty-some feet above the concrete floor of the club.
Amma swallowed.
Still holding on with only one hand, the dwarf stared at her. There was a new glint in his eyes. “How do I know you’ve dealt with the Collector before?”
“He… I… Why would I lie?” she asked.
“I don’t know, but I have another question for you. How well do you know my brother?” A short sword had appeared in his hand and it was pointed at Amma’s throat.
* * *
Like Amma, it had been easy for Joarr to enter the club tonight. No one had been at the door to stop him. He’d just followed the line of humans freely traipsing inside.
As he walked, he listened to the talk around him.
“Better hurry. Fafnir could show up anytime. Or worse, Regin.”
Fafnir, Joarr knew. Regin he assumed was another dwarf, most likely the one who had escorted Amma inside.
He tapped on the shoulder of the human who had said the last. “And where would Regin be? Since he isn’t at the door?”
The man shrugged. “Beats me. But if you see him coming, go the other way. Fafnir’s crazy, but Regin…” He shook his head. “He means business.”
A fist grabbed Joarr’s heart. “A woman I know was with him, petite, blonde. Did you see her?”
The man’s eyes widened. “Regin? Doesn’t sound like him. He’s all business, man. Your girl have some business with him?”
Did she? That was one reason Joarr was here.
Without replying he made his way to the stairs.
* * *
“Your brother? Why would I know your brother? I told you I was here to see the Collector.”
The dwarf’s blade tapped Amma under the chin; she felt a sting as it sliced into her skin. Her gaze slid to the open space below them; power thrummed through her body, made it hard for her to hold on. Under normal circumstances, she would have blasted the little man, but here, dangling so far above the ground, she was afraid she’d lose her grip and tumble to her death.
He tapped her again. “No one comes here to see the Collector. The Collector doesn’t do business here. And I saw you look at my brother. Are you working for him? What have the pair of you plotted?” The sword dug deeper into her flesh. She couldn’t swallow, couldn’t move. She was barely able to breathe.
She shifted her gaze to the club floor and saw Joarr.
She didn’t know how she recognized him. He wasn’t dressed like himself at all, wasn’t dressed like he had been the night before, either. His hair was blue and he appeared to have put on one hundred pounds.
It was his eyes, she decided. That blue was hard to hide, as was the fire that blazed from behind them.
She smiled. Joarr was here. His appearance, especially in disguise and after acting as if he agreed with her plan to approach Fafnir alone, could mean he didn’t trust her. But he was here and suddenly she wasn’t afraid any longer.
She let go of the rope and held out both arms. “I said I was here to see the Collector, but if you are going to be difficult about it—” She unloosed two streams of power and blasted the dwarf in the chest.
He saw it coming and lunged toward her, but she stepped backward off the board.
It was an insane thing to do, or would have been, if she hadn’t been so inexplicably sure Joarr would keep her safe.
She fell feetfirst, dropped like a torpedo, her hands pointing up above her head. She didn
’t let herself feel fear. She concentrated on the sensation of falling instead, the power of the wind pulling at her clothes and the screams from the people below. Her eyes were open and she could see the world going by, saw the dwarf who had threatened her grab another board and cling there, his sword still gripped in one hand. The look on his face, shock, made her move worthwhile—or would if things played as her heart told her they would.
Then there was a roar and she closed her eyes. More screams from the humans below and warmth flooded through her. Her feet hit something solid. She bounced onto her side, grabbed with her hands.
Scales.
Joarr. He’d come like she’d known he would. He tilted to the side so her feet landed on his wing. She grabbed ahold of the ridge of hard scales that ran down his spine and pulled herself atop him. Then a leg on each side, her arms wrapped around his neck, she leaned down and pressed her face against his scales.
She’d known he would save her, and he had.
Amma had never trusted in anyone or anything.
And then, with little thought, she’d stepped off a ledge and fallen, known the dragon would catch her.
Her world was turned upside down.
* * *
Joarr flew up, then down—shrieked his outrage as he did. He’d seen the dwarf with his blade at Amma’s throat and felt fear like he had never felt before.
Dragons didn’t fear. Dragons had nothing to fear. But Amma was a witch, not dragon, and it had been too easy to imagine what would happen if she fell, how her body would look lying broken on the concrete floor.
He’d shifted before he’d seen the rest, before Amma had attacked the dwarf and actually fallen. He’d already been in the air, winging toward her.
He’d chosen to take a modified form so he could take wing, not simply fill the building with his mass. And now he didn’t want to shift back. He wanted to fly farther and faster, steal the witch away and keep her safe, forget the dwarves, the Ormar and the chalice. Forget why he couldn’t do such a thing, why he would have to shift back and then, when this adventure was over, walk away.
Chapter 17
Fafnir’s heart leaped to his throat. His pulse pounded so hard in his ears he couldn’t hear the terrified screams of the crowd packed into Tunnels. Didn’t see them rushing toward the exits or diving behind the bar.
In his world at that moment there was no chaos. There was nothing except the dragon.
A dragon, in dragon form, soaring through his club.
Fafnir had never seen anything so majestic.
His mouth watered.
His fingers were wrapped around the wrist of the dwarf beside him—the dwarf who had been assigned to watch the dragon as he came through the portal and deliver Fafnir’s message, the dwarf who had lost his quarry, who, until seconds before, Fafnir had intended to skewer like the worthless chicken he was.
But then the dragon had appeared.
The dwarf jerked, tried to follow the others and dive for cover. Fafnir squeezed his wrist harder.
“He’s here,” he murmured. “Where did he come from?”
The dwarf struggled. Fafnir, his gaze never leaving the dragon, raised his ax and held it to the other male’s throat. “See what you almost cost me?”
The dwarf didn’t reply. Fafnir didn’t bother glancing at him to see his reaction. The spy had failed; he was lucky to be alive.
“The woman, is she the one you told me about? The one who came through the portal, too?”
The dwarf didn’t move or make a sound.
Grinding his teeth, Fafnir lowered his ax, but only a hair. “Answer.”
“Looks like her.”
“Hmm. He seems fond of her—to reveal himself like this he’d have to be.” Fafnir mulled the thought around. “What’s her story? What is she?”
“Don’t know.”
The dragon swooped low. The dwarf Fafnir held trembled.
Fafnir lowered his ax and swung it at his side. He could throw the weapon, wound the beast, but he’d still have to collect the blood. Two teams had already failed at that assignment. Time for a new tactic—put away the hammer and use a more delicate approach.
“She was with Regin. He won’t talk to me, but he might to you…or one of your females.” He prodded the dwarf in the gut with the handle of his ax. “Set it up. Find out whatever you can about this woman.”
The dwarf nodded and started to move. Fafnir jerked him back. “And when the dragon leaves here, have him followed. Pick someone good. If you lose him…” He let the threat hang. The dwarf knew what would happen. Fafnir was tired of waiting. If he couldn’t have dragon blood, he just might have to try dwarf next.
He watched the dwarf scurry toward the exit. Most of the club’s clientele had left by now or were hidden out of sight. A few dark elves lurked in the shadows, their gazes locked on the dragon. They appreciated what was happening, but were smart enough to know the danger, too.
Dragons were rare, almost a thing of legend.
Fafnir envied their stares, couldn’t wait until he could shift, too, become the mighty flying beast. Would he be silver like this male or some other color—perhaps copper like the veins of metal that ran through his father’s cavern in Nidavellir?
The dragon shrieked again. The woman who clung to his back seemed to be whispering to him, calming him. His flight slowed, became more of a glide. Ropes hung from his wings where he had flown through them, the sharp edges of his scales slicing them free of their moorings. He tossed his head and a flame flickered in his throat.
Unable to move, Fafnir stood his ground. The dragon could have torched the building around him and the dwarf would have been unable to move. He shifted his hold on his ax, tempted again to fling the thing, but there were still witnesses and the dragon was already on alert.
He had to wait, to be smart.
He lowered the ax to his side and stepped back, into the shadows where the dark elves watched.
The dragon circled once more, then landed softly with only a whisper of sound.
In this form he wouldn’t fit through the doors. Fafnir held his breath, hoping the forandre would shift, that he would get a look at the dragon’s other form.
A flicker, like a light with a short losing and regaining power, then the dragon was gone—the giant silver beast was gone, anyway. In his place stood a man dressed all in white and in his arms was the woman.
Fafnir froze. His heart thumped. He memorized every nuance of their appearances. They wouldn’t slip by him again.
* * *
Joarr didn’t let Amma down, not at first; he couldn’t. And she clung to him, too, just as she had clung to him in his dragon form as he had circled the interior of the club.
A rope was tangled around his leg; he shook it free.
“Fafnir was here, watching,” Amma murmured.
