The elevator doors whipped open in the lobby and Justine barely managed to avoid shooting the old lady from the third floor as she waddled into the elevator. She waggled a crooked finger at Justine. “Drug addicts. Despicable. Prostitution will be next.”
“What?” Justine slid the gun behind her back and edged past the woman, trying to catch a glimpse of what was waiting for her.
The woman pointed her purse at the lobby. “Gang war. Go back upstairs and lock your doors before society destroys all of us. I’m going to go donate money to Reverend Munsey on the religion network. Get him to say a prayer for us.”
“Um, okay. Good luck.” Justine stepped out of the elevator and let the doors slide shut behind her. The lobby was silent. No one was in there, but the security desk had been reduced to a pile of rubble. “Hello? Xavier? Are you here?”
“May I suggest you return to your condo and don’t answer the door for a short while?”
Her heart lifted, and she spun around, letting the gun drop to her side. “Derek?”
He shoved the heavy front door out of his way and stepped into the lobby. “I really mean it,” he said. “You need to go back upstairs.”
Gone was the millionaire businessman appearance. His jacket and tie were missing, his shirt was torn, and there was a raw red mark on his right cheek. Cheeks flushed, hair messed up. He looked rugged, masculine, and oh-so-hot. A designer suit guy and a warrior? Yum, yum. Her belly tightened and she had to order herself not to look at the curve of his bicep peeking through his ripped sleeve. Focus on splintered desks. “What happened to you?”
He lurched to a stop, as if it took all his effort to keep from moving forward. “Exactly how well do you know Xavier?”
“I don’t. He’s the doorman. Why?”
Derek scowled and took a reluctant step toward the remains of the desk. “Have you noticed he can make people do things merely by suggesting it to them?” He took another step, then turned around and grabbed hold of the front door, as if something were pulling him across the lobby and he was trying to fight it.
“What are you talking about?” She watched Derek’s erratic movements and the hair on her arms began to prickle.
“Remember when I fell asleep in the lobby the other day? He told me to take a nap.” He jerked back from the door, and one hand slipped free. He cursed and tightened his grip on the door with his other hand, muttering some not-so-complimentary remarks about Xavier.
“You’re certain he made you fall asleep?” She’d heard of people with the power of suggestion, but had never met one. Or maybe she had, apparently. The ones of lesser power could influence only humans, but the really good ones supposedly could manipulate Otherworld beings. They were considered highly dangerous, because if they were really good, you didn’t even realize you were being influenced until it was too late. Combine a strong power of suggestion with a twisted sense of humor or something darker, and, well, it could get ugly.
“Yes. He seems to use those powers to protect you. Convinces people they don’t want to bother you.” His voice was strained, his biceps bulging with the effort of hanging on to the door, even as he pulled against it.
Well, no wonder Xavier was so effective at his job. “Obviously, it’s a good career choice for him.” She watched Derek’s fingers sliding off the door and felt her adrenaline kick in as his hand flew off the door and he spun toward her with a grunt of aggravation.
“He’s not merely a doorman.” His brow furrowed and his jaw flexing, he worked his way across the room toward the desk, his path uneven and crooked, as if he were being yanked and he was fighting it. “I think he’s here because you’re here. I thought he was supposed to keep you safe. After all, he tried to kill me last time I was here. But tonight, he was different.”
“Different how?” She watched as Derek reached the splintered desk and began kicking the boards aside in a frenzy. He was uncoordinated and his face was wrenched as if he was in pain. “What’s wrong with you?”
He cursed, then bent toward the pile of rubble. “Tonight, when I walked in, he told me to kill you. Immediately and without mercy.”
She jerked the gun up and aimed it at his chest. “Why would he do that?” The barrel wavered slightly and she had to use a second hand to keep it aimed at his heart.
Derek shoved aside several pieces of wood to get to a long sword, which glittered as he picked it up. “That’s really not our major concern at the moment.”
She sucked in her breath and took a step back from the one thing that could actually kill her. “Where’d you get that?”
He took a practice swing, like a batter warming up in the on-deck circle. “After he suggested I kill you, he gave me this. Said the only way to get the job done was to behead you.”
She tightened her fingers around her gun and willed her hands to be steady even as the nose kept wanting to dip away from Derek. Dammit. This was not the time for her to lose her nerve. “Derek.” She kept her voice calm. “What are you doing?”
“Isn’t it obvious? I’m going to kill you.” He slapped the blade against his thigh in visible aggravation.
She moved toward the middle of the lobby, so she had room to maneuver. Her heart was racing, and she couldn’t take her gaze off the lethal weapon as he sliced it through the air. “I thought you were going to think about it.”
He took another cut. “I did. I came up with an excellent plan that I need your help with. I have no intention of killing you yet. Unfortunately, your doorman has other ideas.”
She kept the nose of her gun aimed at his chest, keeping a safe distance between them as he advanced on her. “Where’s Xavier?”
“Unconscious in the middle of the street. I tried to convince him to rescind his suggestion, but he’s a stubborn bastard.” Derek’s dark eyes flicked to her neck and then to his blade.
She eased her feet apart and raised the gun, her blood thundering in her ears. “So, that’s how the desk got broken?”
“Mmm-hmm.” He swung the sword thoughtfully, studying it with interest. “Quincy would be so interested in this. I bet there’s a math equation to describe the perfectly balanced sword. It flows quite nicely through the air.” He held it in a ready position and fixed his gaze on her. “I have to kill you now, but I’ll do my best to allow you to get in a blow that will temporarily disable me. I expect his suggestion will wear off, and then we can have a civilized discussion.”
“‘Temporarily disable’? All I have is a gun.”
Tension flickered across his face. “I’m trusting you on this. I’ll fight the compulsion, and give you a chance to knock me out or something. Don’t try to kill me. I know you may have to ultimately but there will be plenty of opportunity for it later.” He lunged and swung, and she barely dodged it in time. She got a nick on her shoulder, but nothing serious. Yet.
“Where’d you learn how to use a sword?” She spun around, keeping out of his reach, the gun trained on his heart. Steady and unwavering.
“Again, irrelevant at the moment. Can’t you focus?” He moved slowly, circling her, his eyes fixated on her neck. “I don’t know how long I’ll be able to fight this off. Knock me out, already, will you?”
“How? If I get close enough to hit you, you’ll cut my head off.” He lunged again, and she dodged out of the way as the blow veered off to the right at the last second. It was a precise swing, lethal and perfect for beheading. “Derek, I’m really sorry. You’re too dangerous. I have to kill you.”
He scowled at her. “You realize that if we don’t find a way to end this Curse, LaValle men will come after you until one of them finally succeeds, don’t you? It’s not just me you need to worry about.”
Her gun wavered again. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Think quickly, my dear.” And with that, he lunged for her again, and she knew instantly it would be a death blow.
She cursed as the gun barrel dropped ever so slightly, but she didn’t hesitate. She pulled the trigger and the bullet thudded into his gut.
The sword clattered to the floor. He dropped to his knees, clutched his belly, already oozing with the bright red of fresh blood. “You call that temporarily disabled?” And then he fell to the ground unconscious in a puddle of his own blood.
And to think she hated her job. Go figure.
“You can’t give him a drink.” Theresa was lying on the kitchen floor next to Derek’s body, her head resting against his cheek. “You’re supposed to kill him, not break rules to save him.” She snuffled against his neck. “My poor pretzel king. I’ll miss him so much.”
Justine chewed her lower lip as Derek bled all over the tile, a pool of blood spreading out beneath his hips. “If I don’t give him a drink, he’ll die.”
“Should have thought of that before you shot him. You think they’ll have to close Vic’s Pretzels down? I mean, he was the creative genius behind it, right?” Theresa muttered an epithet. “So unfair. How am I supposed to survive without those pretzels?”
Justine laid her hand on his chest, slipping it under his shirt. Still warm, but barely. “But what about the Curse? One of the LaValle men will eventually succeed.” She shook her head. “I can’t risk it. I have to keep Mona safe.” She met Theresa’s weepy gaze. “I have to keep him alive so we can break the Curse.”
The dragon sat up. “No way, girlfriend. Bad choice. Even for pretzels, it’s not worth it!”
“It’s the only option.” Justine jumped to her feet, hustled over to Mona, and poured a cup of the always-prepared frothy liquid. “One drink won’t make him immortal.”
“It’s still highly forbidden. And after that whole Carl thing, you’re really not supposed to be making this kind of decision without getting prior authorization.” Theresa’s tail was flicking and her pupils narrowed in her golden eyes as she stood up.
“Prior authorization takes seventy-three years, and Derek’s going to die in about one minute.” She knelt next to him, closed her eyes for a moment while she tried to clear her mind of all emotion. Logic only. Am I making the right decision? “Theresa?”
Theresa dropped next to her with a thud. “Fine. The fact you haven’t slept with him yet and are still planning to kill him when the whole Curse thing is over does lend credence to your claim that it’s purely about Mona’s safety, even if it is highly forbidden.”
Derek’s body jerked and seized, and Justine knew he was near the end.
Time’s up, Guardian. Make the decision.
She grabbed his head, opened his mouth and poured the steaming espresso down his throat. Her hand was shaking so much she barely managed to hold on to the cup.
Theresa steadied Justine’s hand with a claw. “Easy, girlfriend! You’re going to give his esophagus third-degree burns.”
“He’ll heal.” If she’d done it in time. She poured the last bit of steaming coffee over the oozing wound in his gut, then grabbed a pair of needle nose pliers and poked them into the hole in his stomach. She wiggled them around until she found the bullet, then pulled it out. God, she hated blood.
She tossed the bullet onto the floor, where it hit with a clank and rolled to a stop. Then she leaned back on her heels and waited, her chest tight. “Is it just me, or is it really difficult to breathe in here?”
“It’s just you.” Theresa’s nose was inches from Derek’s face, her gaze unblinking. “Come on, Pretzel King. You can do it.”
Justine touched Derek’s skin. Cooler than it had been. He was too still, too pale, and his breath was so shallow she could barely see his chest move. Blood was oozing freely from his belly, stirred up by her fishing around in there. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
“He’s too far gone. He needs more,” Theresa said.
“But that’ll be two drinks.” Two drinks would make him almost immortal. Not quite, but too damn close.
Theresa sat up and leveled a stare at Justine, her claw resting on Derek’s shoulder. “You’ve already given him one. You might as well do it again, revive him, and prove that you did it for the right reasons. If he dies now, you have no proof that saving him was the right choice. You’d just look like you wimped out.”
“He’ll be so much harder to kill.” He’d been so skilled with that sword. Giving him a dose of immortality could seriously affect her odds.
“Didn’t stop you with Carl.”
“Yeah, but I was mad at him, and he wasn’t exactly a competent opponent.” She laid the back of her hand against Derek’s face. Too cold. She jumped to her feet and ran over to Mona to fill the cup again. “Why did this happen?”
“Because you put a bullet in his abdomen.” Theresa leaned back on her haunches, her gold hoop earrings swaying with the movement. “Haven’t you ever heard of a kneecap?”
Justine pulled his head onto her lap and poured more of the espresso down his throat, stroking his neck to get him to swallow. “I’ve been trained to kill, not maim.” She hadn’t even thought of a kneecap. Idiot!
She poured the rest of the boiling hot espresso over his belly, then set the cup on the floor.
They waited.
No response.
“He needs more.” Theresa was standing now, fiddling with the hem of her camisole as she watched Derek.
“No way. Two drinks are highly forbidden. Three drinks? There’s no justification for that.” Why wouldn’t he revive? It wasn’t supposed to end like this.
“I know. I just thought I’d point out that it was an option.” Theresa ran to the freezer and pulled out a Vic’s pretzel, carried it back to Derek and set it on his chest. “A memorial to our pretzel king.”
Justine batted the pretzel away. “He’s not dead yet! Cut that out!” She laid her hands on his cheeks and leaned over him. “Come on, Derek,” she whispered. “Don’t die on me. Not yet.”
A puff of black smoke shot out of Theresa’s nose as she stalked away from Justine. “You’re so ungrateful. I don’t know why I waste my time hanging around with you.”
“Because you’re a dragon with no other friends and you need me to do your errands for you.” She tensed as she saw a blue spark jump off Derek’s stomach. Hope exploded through her body, shattering the lump that had settled in her gut. “Did you see that?”
“See what?” Theresa paused in the doorway.
Another blue spark popped up. Followed by a green one. And then a series of gold and silver. “It’s working!” She set his head on the floor and backed up as fireworks began exploding off his body. Relief rushed through her as a whistler erupted from his shoulder and spun off toward the ceiling, whipping around with a high-pitched squeak as white sparkles hit the floor. Whistlers were a really good sign.
Theresa pranced over to Derek, sighed with delight and leaned over him, letting the sparks hit her in the face. “I love this part. I wish I could produce fire of different colors.” Her skin sizzled as the sparks landed on her scales. “It’s so beautiful. It’s like the Fourth of July.”
Justine sat down by the door, out of the range of most of the sparks. “I forgot what this was like. I haven’t seen the fireworks since Carl drank from Mona.” It was a pyrotechnic display that would make any mad scientist batty with envy. “It’s incredible.” Now that she knew he was going to be all right, she could enjoy the moment. All they had to do was break the Curse and prove she’d made the right decision by giving him two drinks. Then she could kill him, and everything would be fine.
Because she would kill him. Because that was her job and she never shirked her duties. Right? Of course, right. It would be no problem to follow through. No problem at all. Everything was perfect. She pressed her fingers to her temples and tried to rub the sudden headache away.
Theresa beamed at her. “I think we should do this more often. Pick random people off the street, let them drink from Mona so we can see the light show, then kill them. Don’t worry, as the only non-Guardian in the room, I’ll do the dirty work.”
Justine blinked at her friend, barely visible behind the cascade of vibrant fireworks. “Then why didn’t you offer to give the drink to Derek instead of me?”
Theresa’s mouth fell open. “Oh, wow. I didn’t even think of it at the time. I was too traumatized by the thought of losing Vic’s Pretzels. I’ll do it next time, I promise.”
“Oh, like I plan to be in this situation in the near future.” Justine hauled herself to her feet as the fireworks subsided. “Thanks for nothing.”
Theresa’s tail switched, banging into the cabinet. “What does that mean?”
“It means that you’re supposed to be my right hand, and you contribute absolutely nothing around here. You eat, you have cybersex, and that’s about it.”
Theresa stood up, her tail whacking a chair into the wall. “It’s not my fault you were too freaked about your sex toy dying to think of it yourself.”
“I wasn’t freaking and he’s not my sex toy!” Justine leaned into the dragon’s personal space. “I was relying on you to ground me in a moment of crisis, and you let me down. In fact—”
“Hey! Don’t be taking it out on me just because you almost killed lover boy by mistake! That was your fault and—”
“Um, hello?”
They both looked down. Derek was lying between them, and he was covered in ash. He gave them a weak wave. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but Theresa is spitting on me.”
“Derek!” Justine’s first reaction was to drop to the tile and hug him, but instead, she took a step back. “How’s the murderous inclination?”
He cocked his head to study her, and something inside her gut curled. “I seem to be back to my normal feelings about you.”
“So you’re not going to try to kill me?” God, he looked hot, stretched out on the floor, covered in soot and blood and his belly spouting sparks.
“Not at the moment.” He touched his stomach, where a red scar was still generating small sparkles. “Can’t say the same for you, apparently. I said temporarily disable me, not put a bullet in my stomach.”
“Um, well . . .”
Theresa cleared her throat. “Well, I’ll just leave you two to work out your lovers’ spat. I’ll be in the other room if you need me.” She dropped a dish towel on Derek. “Fire-retardant fabric, so you can use it while you’re still on fire. Sorry about the ash.” She then spun around, narrowly missed Derek’s head with the spike on the end of her tail, and stalked out of the kitchen.
Justine managed a weak smile for Derek, who had propped himself up on an elbow, his partially burned, blood-soaked shirt falling open to reveal a heavily muscled chest. What to say to a man after you’ve almost killed him? She couldn’t exactly apologize, since she’d been shooting to kill. “Um . . . you have nice chest hair. Just the right amount. Not too much. Not too little.” Oy. How pathetic was that? Did she have no brain at all?
He raised an eyebrow at her. “You could have just asked me about it. No need to go to such lengths just to get my shirt off.”
She grinned and felt the tension ease from her body. “You’re not mad?”
“Well, I’m a little offended.” He levered himself to a sitting position, leaning heavily against a cabinet. “I thought we had an understanding.”
“Instinct. Sorry.” She cocked her head. “Don’t you owe me an apology? I mean, you tried to kill me first and all.”
“Hey, I did all I could to avoid killing you, a claim you can’t make, I might add. It’s Xavier who owes you the apology, not me. Where is he, anyway?” He let his head drop back against the wood and closed his eyes.
“I have no idea. I’ve been occupied with saving your wimpy mortal behind.”
He frowned and fingered the red mark just above his cute little belly button. “How am I not dead?”
“Yeah, about that.” She chewed her lower lip. “I sort of broke a rule, so I think I made up for shooting you.”
He opened his eyes, and raised his eyebrows. “Dare I ask?”
Justine avoided his gaze and busied herself with brushing ash off her jeans. “Well, it’s kind of complicated . . .”
“She gave you two drinks from the Goblet of Eternal Youth,” Theresa shouted from the other room. “You’re not immortal yet, but you’re close. Be sure and thank her with appropriate body massages—with hot oils. I have some in my bathroom if you want to borrow them.”
Her cheeks swelled with heat as Derek grinned. “Theresa! I’ll handle this!”
“No, you won’t. You’re sitting there being all girly.” Theresa threw the kitchen door open and stuck her blue head into the room. “Here’s the deal, Derek. You guys have to break the Curse now, or Justine’s in deep shit. So quit sitting around and get on it. Don’t you die in like three days or something? And clean up the mess you made on the kitchen floor. You’re such a bleeder.” She let the door slam shut, muttering about inaction and useless mortals.