Chapter Ten

I dropped Sani off about a mile back to pick up a map at a gas station. I know he can catch up with us in about a minute, and he was right—the weight of both him and Dominic would’ve had me sweating if dragons did that sort of thing. With Dominic still on my back, I drop behind the massive dumpster in the back of a 24-hour greasy spoon restaurant in one of the shadier suburbs around D.C. The agent is quick to jump off—I may have done a few unnecessary swoops and loops since dropping Sani off. So sue me.

I shift to my human form and round the dumpster toward the restaurant, narrowly avoiding the legs of a junkie who’s decided this is a great place to pass out for the night. Leaning against the back wall of the restaurant is another scraggly guy staring straight at me, not seeing me. He’s got a bottle in a brown paper bag in his left hand, and I can smell the stench of whiskey and vomit from twenty feet away. This place is perfect; there’s no way a CIA agent or one of Cleft Chin’s goons will stop at this place for a bite. Under normal circumstances, there’s no way I’d stop here.

There’s a ninety-pound middle-aged woman sitting on the bench next to the front door. She’s got an extinguished cigarette hanging from her painted lips and holes the size of my fist in her thigh-high stockings. “Are you lost, honey?” she drawls.

I don’t slow my steps, but I don’t speed up either. “No, ma’am.”

“I’m no ‘ma’am’,” she says.

As a rule, I avoid eye contact with crazies. Dominic walks behind me, every muscle in his body poised to strike.

When my hand touches the door handle, the woman’s bony hand wraps around my other arm. Dominic freezes. I look at her now. I know my skin is scorching hers, but she holds tight, her dilated eyes open wide.

“Are you some kind of demon?” she whispers.

“Ah,” Dominic says. “So you two know each other, then.”

I toss him a glare and return my gaze back to the woman. I see a couple of dime bags sticking out from her black lace bra. I notice the track marks on the arm still holding mine and the permanent dark circles under her eyes.

“Yes, ma’am, I am,” I say, keeping my voice low and serious. “I’m not here for you tonight, but if you continue on this path, I’ll be back for you real soon.”

The heat of my skin finally overwhelms her deadened nerves, and she snaps her hand back, gasping. “Take me now,” she says. “No use in waiting.”

“Trust me,” I say. “You don’t want to go where I’m going.”

With that, I turn and continue on into the restaurant. Dominic follows me, slack-jawed.

“What the hell was that?” he asks.

“Ever heard of scared straight? I’m like the supernatural version.”

The waitress, whose apron is more stained than it isn’t and who has more wrinkles than smooth skin, motions for us to take a seat anywhere. I make for a table in the back, close to the emergency exit.

“What gives you the right—”

“To save that woman’s life?” I ask. Only when he leans over to pull his chair out do I notice the St. Christopher medal hanging around Dominic’s neck. “Ah. You’re Catholic.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” he asks.

“What did I miss?” I didn’t see Sani come in, but he’s suddenly standing next to us, not even winded from the brisk pace he would have had to run to be here so soon. He has a U.S. map book wedged between his arm and his rib cage.

“Mephisto,” I say.

“Ah,” Sani says knowingly. “And Dominic’s Catholic.”

Makes total sense to him; don’t know why the G-man can’t figure it out. If I’m going to be mistaken for a demon, it might as well be the one who accidentally saved Faust’s soul.

“What?” Dominic begins, but he seems to decide it’s not worth the argument. He huffs out a breath.

Now that Sani’s here, I scan the room. About six tables are occupied and no one looks out of place—except for us. At least four illegal handguns are stuffed in the waists of sagging pants around the room. No one would ever guess the two kids sitting in the back are the most dangerous things in the diner.

The waitress glances at us, but she isn’t exactly in a hurry to get to the weirdo table. The walls were probably white once, but now I can’t come up with any color besides “dingy.” Weirdly, the floors are perfect, shiny light gray tiles without a speck of dirt or a single crack.

Sani places the map book on the table, but drops something else in front of me.

America’s favorite adorkable actress winks at me from the cover of one of three gossip mags. Dominic glares at the magazines like they’re infected, but I couldn’t possibly care less what he thinks. Sani knows having this little bit of normalcy will keep me grounded. Sure, talking about who wore it better and knowing which thirty-something starlet had a bit of work done isn’t going to fix anything, but I’ve always loved getting lost in the fantasy and glamor of it. When I’m reading about their disasters, for just a few minutes, I don’t have to think about my own.

I grin at Sani. “My hero,” I croon.

He nods, smiling a little, then motions for Dominic to begin. As I stuff my magazines in my backpack for later, the agent flips to California and points at one of the many inserts for Los Angeles. He spouts off an address that means nothing to either Sani or me.

“The rumored headquarters for the Yakuza’s main warehouse?” Dominic says.

“Hold your horses,” I say. Yeah, it’s an old saying, but I like to be occasionally surprising. “You’re telling me the first two locations are the CIA headquarters and a mob warehouse?”

A man with tattoos covering most of his skull turns to look at our table. Seeing the three of us, he shakes his head and turns back to his girl. She raises painted eyebrows at him and shrugs.

“It only gets more interesting from there,” Dominic says.

The waitress finally saunters over, and Dominic closes the map. As if it says something that a million other maps don’t also say.

“Drinks?” she asks.

Sani orders water and Dominic orders coffee, black. I glance at the grease-covered plastic cups stacked on the counter and ask, “Do you have anything that’s prepackaged and sealed?”

The waitress stares at me blankly. Her dyed brown hair is pulled into a messy ponytail and she’s wearing thick blue eye shadow.

“Something in a bottle or can? A carton even?”

“Chocolate milk,” she says. It’s not a question. If it was, I wouldn’t have time to answer it, because she spins on her heel and heads for the kitchen.

“More interesting?” Sani prods Dominic.

“Possible location number three,” he says, flipping to Virginia’s map. He points at Norfolk. “PETA Headquarters.”

“What the hell?” I ask. “Did your intelligence group just pick the most random collection of headquarters in the United States? Maybe they threw darts at a map? Oh, I know—the first five hits for conspiracy websites that popped up after Jacob was kidnapped.”

“You know as well as I do that the CIA is the best at what they do.” A harsh glint flashes in Dominic’s eyes. “In fact, you know better than I do, don’t you?”

The dragon roars in my head. My entire body itches to change. “You little fu-”

The table clangs against the floor when I surge to my feet, the sound reverberating through the diner. The only thing that keeps me from jumping across the table and causing this guy permanent damage is Sani’s arms wrapped tightly around my arms and chest. We’re standing in a strange, fierce embrace before I even realize he has me restrained.

“Shh,” Sani whispers in my ear. I can feel his breath on my neck and, though it’s as hot as steam, it sends a shiver down my back all the way to my toes. “Not here, Kitty. Not now.”

He pulls his head up even with mine and indicates the diner with his eyes. I forcibly tear my gaze away from his face to check it out. Every single person in the room stares at us with differing degrees of annoyance. The biggest black man I’ve ever seen comes out from the kitchen and crosses arms the size of me over his ridiculous chest.

The giant is staring straight at me. “Problem? I don’t allow no problems in my diner.” His voice sounds like Mr. T gargled some boulders and washed it down with sand.

Sani drops his arms and returns to his seat. I follow his example.

“No, sir,” I say.

“You sure?” he asks, indicating Dominic with a deadly glance.

“Sorry, sir,” Dominic says, bumbling like an idiot. “Just made a bad joke about her mom. Won’t happen again.” It’s the truth, more or less.

“See that it doesn’t,” the giant says, then returns to the kitchen without another word. I imagine that if we had looked like his usual clientele, we wouldn’t have gotten off so easily. Only when the doors to the kitchen close again does the normal buzz of conversation return to the room.

Dominic unwraps the spotty silverware and refolds the paper napkin before placing it in his lap. He doesn’t look at me, but I’m pretty sure my eyes are burning holes in the top of his head.

Sani reaches under the table and takes my hand, squeezing it gently. Both my hearts beat so loudly I’m afraid the Unjolly Giant is going to come back out to figure out what the drums are banging for. I look at my partner and I forget about Dominic—hell, about the rest of the world. His hand envelops mine completely as I think he can’t possibly know how this affects me. He’s just trying to comfort a friend. To calm me enough so that I can complete the mission. That’s it. Nothing more.

Get a freaking grip. I squeeze Sani’s hand. No, Kitty—get a grip on yourself.

“The other two locations,” I prod.

He tells us about a militant environmentalist cult holed up in the mountains in Colorado. They call themselves Justice for Earth and have made continuous threats on the president for years.

“And the last?” asks Sani.

Dominic flips to the Arkansas page, and his finger falls on an empty spot in the northern area of the state. He gives Sani a long, anxious look. “Zinc, Arkansas.”

“It’s not even on the map,” Sani points out.

Dominic nods; he’s stalling.

My right leg starts to shake with impatience. “And what would be there?”

“Let’s just say I hope this isn’t the one.”

I growl under my breath. What could possibly be worse than CIA headquarters and the Yakuza?

Dominic leans toward the center of the table and gestures at us. “I’m just saying, you two would not be welcome.”

“We’re well-practiced in going to places we’re not welcome,” I say.

Dominic shakes his head.

“Who is there?” Sani asks.

Dominic leans in even closer and glances around the diner. Even I, inches away from him, can barely hear what he says. “Knights of the KKK.”

Sani’s calm breaks for an eighth of a second, and he looks away, seeing a place he never wants to go again. This is the part of Sani’s history we haven’t discussed since he shared it with me a year ago: Before fleeing Uganda, he was forced to fight in an ethnic conflict he never truly understood. Someone else’s intolerance had turned the most honorable boy I’ve ever met into an assassin at only ten years old. I don’t realize his hand’s still holding mine until he squeezes it so tightly it would injure me if I was human.

“Awesome.” I allow some of the dragon’s rage to slide into my eyes. “Let’s go there first.”

“There’s no indication this is a more likely place than all the others.”

“But how do we know for sure?” I ask, mischief in my voice. “Until we burn it to the ground and check?”

With a hard, slow blink and a jerky turn of his head, Sani joins us again. His shining eyes turn to me. “Not now, Kitty. We need to focus on getting Jacob back.” Then, so, so quietly: “We’ll deal with the rest later.”

The swinging doors to the kitchen clang against the wall and Unjolly Giant lumbers out. He examines my face like a kid trying to memorize the periodic table.

A hush follows him through the dining room as he walks to our table. Dominic gives him a quick smile. “Oh good! We haven’t had the chance to order yet.”

I don’t know if the guy is just oblivious or if he’s really good at pretending he doesn’t know something’s up.

The giant looks at me and nods like he’s confirming something with himself. His sigh rattles the silverware on our table. He motions at the kitchen with his shiny shaved head. “Come with me.”

My body kicks into ready mode. I feel the heat of Sani’s dragon flare in response to a potential threat. I have no idea why this guy wants us to go to the back of the restaurant with him, and I’m not really planning on finding out.

“That’s kind of you, sir,” Dominic says, “but we really don’t have time for a tour of the kitchen tonight.”

“Wasn’t even talking to you, son. And even if I was, that sound like a request?”

I’m ready to make a break for it, run as fast as I can out the door and down the street until I can’t run any more—which, by the way, is a really long time. I stand up, and Sani’s right behind me.

And so is everyone else in the room. I don’t have to look at them. I hear the screech of chair legs against the linoleum floor, the rustle of clothing, and the less subtle sound of guns being drawn from waistbands. Safeties are clicked off in a gentle symphony. What the hell kind of restaurant is this?

Chef Giant turns around and makes his way—very slowly—back to the kitchen. He doesn’t look back to make sure we’re following him. It probably doesn’t even cross his mind that we might not obey. I can’t say I blame him with the amount of hardware in this place.

I shrug at Dominic, knowing I’m about to piss him off and follow the big man. Sani is so silent that I only know he’s following me because I can still feel his dragon straining to be released and calling out to mine in collusion. Dominic, on the other hand, could be detected by a deaf man.

“Give me my gun,” Dominic whispers.

I shake my head.

“What if I need it?”

“What if Gesina—the kitsune, whoever she is—is back there?” I say.

I can tell by his breathing that he wants to object, but there’s nothing left to say after that. I have a feeling he’s flashing back to those lost moments from this morning, knowing I’m right.

“I’ll keep you safe,” Sani promises.

In a better mood, I would laugh. There’s no way Dominic believes Sani, but he really does mean it.

Sani and I are both ready for action as soon as we enter the kitchen, but we’re left disappointed on that front. The chef’s the only one in the room, and he simply looks at a grease-coated TV balanced on top of an industrial fridge. The rest of the room is filled with flat grills, ovens, deep fryers, another fridge, and a soda machine. Down to the yellow-that-used-to-be-white walls, it looks like a normal grease bucket kitchen.

I’m staring at the chef, waiting for his next move. “Seriously, what’s going on?”

“Shit!” Dominic says.

I don’t look at him, determined to watch the giant chef as closely as possible. “What did I tell you about using that kind of language around children?” Yeah, I’m not letting that one go anytime soon.

“Um, Kitty…” Sani says. He’s looking at the television. I’m the only one not looking at it now.

I turn reluctantly. “What is so—”

My yearbook photo. Words scrolling across the bottom: Wanted: Armed and dangerous. Exercise extreme caution. Do not approach. A phone number.

“Oh,” I say. “OH!” So eloquent.

After the first wave of surprise, rage floods over me. We have a term for this in the clandestine trade: I’ve been burned. I will never be able to work undercover—if at all—again. I’m going nuts trying to save the president’s son from an unknown enemy and the bastard’s government burns me? Sixteen years old and my spy career is over.

Then I realize something else: it doesn’t identify me as a dragon. They still don’t want anyone to know one of us is free. I don’t blame them. Dragons have always inspired strong reactions in humans. When I was young, my grandfather told me stories about villages who discovered a dragon hiding near them. Without fail, one of two scenarios always unfolded: either the humans decided to destroy the hideous beast or declared it a God and devoted themselves to worshiping the creature. Rumors of dragon-worshiping cults still take a turn on the rumor mill every year or so.

Sani, of course, recovers first. He strides to stand inches in front of the big man. “Did you call?”

He shakes his boulder-sized head. “Not a big fan of the fuzz and don’t want them in my joint. You wouldn’t be the first wanted fool I helped.”

We probably shouldn’t tell him what we all do for a living.

“And I figure a girl who orders chocolate milk can’t really be all that dangerous.” He takes one yard-long step to the grill and flips two burgers and three sandwiches over.

I don’t correct him. I try to match his tough-guy devil-may-care attitude, but I’m afraid the shakiness in my voice will give me away. “So how’s this play out?”

“You leave out the back door.” He motions to a sticky-looking door to our left. “‘Fore any of my other clients get the notion of reward money dancing in their heads.”

He called them clients, not customers. Odd.

“Why are you helping us?” I can’t figure out his angle—and I’m well-practiced in that little piece of applied psychology.

“Hey, gift horse,” Dominic mutters. “Need a dental exam?”

Giant Chef gives him a look. I know that look. It’s the exact one I’m giving Dominic at this moment. I choke down a smirk; Gods help me, I think I might like this guy.

“I jus’ want you outta here before any feds catch on to your location.” He speaks slowly, using heavy words. “My location. I don’t want them in this building. You got me?”

“No problem,” I say. “We owe you one.”

I make my first step toward the door when my stomach growls. I can’t help it; those burgers smell so good. Sani’s head tilts slightly, and I know he’s heard it.

“Any chance we owe you two and you give us those sandwiches?” he asks the big guy.

Giant Chef frowns.

“We’re good people to have indebted to you,” Sani hints. In a blur of motion, he snatches the three sandwiches off the grill, tosses them in a takeout bag and stands before the chef again before the giant can formulate a reply. Sani winks. It’s not even aimed at me, and my heart clenches.

I shoo Sani and Dominic out the door ahead of me. Just before I shut the door, I turn to the giant chef, whose name I still don’t know. He’s already back at the grill, replacing the sandwiches. “Thank you.”

He shrugs.

“Really,” I say. “You have no idea how important this is.” I can’t tell him he’s probably freed the last of an entire species. I can’t tell him about Jacob. I’m not even sure he would care.

“Stop looking at me like I’m a hero, kid. I’m just try’na do what’s best for mine. I’m not on your side.”

“Got it.”

My side? I’m not sure what side I’m on or who, besides Sani, is there with me. Heck, I don’t even know how many sides there are and how they intersect. All I want is everyone I care about safe and free. It shouldn’t be so complicated.