Nothing like having the tip of a gun pressed against your left nostril to make you really wish you had a different job. Justine eyed the man on the other end of the weapon. He was actually quite attractive. Surfer-boy blond hair, a pair of cut-off jeans, flip-flops, and a tank top that showed off a nice set of biceps.
So not the type you’d expect to whip out a gun in the middle of a sunny Tuesday afternoon while carrying a box of Vic’s Pretzels.
She could only hope that she was being assaulted for her money or her hot bod, but she seriously doubted it. She was going to have to kill him, wasn’t she? Was this the test her mom had been talking about?
Option 1: Don’t kill him.
Result: By sparing his life, she proves she has a good side and Mom goes to heaven, but Justine violates her Oath to keep Mona safe and gets sent to the Chamber of Unspeakable Horrors for all eternity.
Option 2: Kill him.
Result: She fulfills her Oath and avoids the Chamber by protecting Mona, but Mom goes to hell because Justine took a life.
Damned if you do, damned if you don’t. Literally. Stupid Qualifying Incident. She was totally overthinking and doubting herself and had no idea what she was supposed to do. Argh!
Then again, maybe she was overreacting. Maybe it was a case of mistaken identity and she didn’t have to off him. It was worth a try. “May I help you?”
“Hand over the wineglass.”
Huh. So he was after Mona? How was that possible? She and Theresa had worked very hard not to be findable. Not even Satan had been able to track them down. The only people who could find them were her mom and the Council, because their portals were linked to wherever the Guardian was. So how in the world had this surfer dude found them? No one had tracked them down since Carl. What trail had they left? What mistake had they made? This was not good. Really, not good.
But, on the plus side, at least it made her day interesting. After a hundred and eighty years of no action (well, except for the incident in the Amazon after Carl died), there was nothing like a hot surfer guy with a gun to suddenly make the day much brighter. If every day had this kind of eye candy and threats to Mona’s safety, maybe she wouldn’t be so bored all the time.
A girl could hope.
She eyed him carefully, taking a moment to enjoy his biceps before focusing on the bigger issue at hand. She needed to find out how he’d found her, and then clean up the mess. “Please, do come on in.”
She stepped back and he followed, keeping the gun pressed against her face.
He kicked the door shut behind him. “Where is it?”
“Are you going to kill me after I give it to you?”
“Yeah.”
“So why would I give it to you, then?” She peered more closely at his face. His eyes had a weird blurry look. Sort of glazed. Drugs? But why would a druggie spend time chasing down Mona? “How did you find me? How did you learn about the crystal Goblet?” She wasn’t about to tell him Mona was now an espresso machine. He was working with dated information but it wasn’t up to her to point that out.
He frowned, his eyebrows crunching together in thought. “I don’t know . . .” The gun started to drop, then he lifted it back up. “Hand over the wineglass.”
“You already said that.” She waved a hand in front of his face, but he didn’t even blink. Interesting. “Let’s make a deal. You leave without killing me or taking any of my kitchen supplies, and we’ll call it even. As long as you tell me how you tracked us down.”
“Hand over the wineglass.”
Hmm . . . Not a lot of creative thinking going on in his mind.
He moved so quickly she almost didn’t have time to react. His finger twitched on the trigger, she kicked his knee out from under him, the gun went off and a bullet singed her left ear. Then he was on the ground, the gun was in her hand, and her knee was in his chest. “Damn you,” she grumbled. “All I want is some answers. Don’t make me kill you.” Now really wasn’t the time to add a dead body to her list of Otherworld credentials, “Otherworld” being defined as all things magical and nonhuman, including such nasties as the Council and Satan.
“Hand over the wineglass.”
“What are you, a robot or something?”
He shifted underneath her, and she ducked to the side just as he whipped a knife from behind his back and clipped her neck. So she smacked him in the temple with the gun and let him drop to the floor unconscious. A couple centuries of training did wonders for hand-to-hand combat, especially since men tended to underestimate her. A five-foot-four woman? What could she possibly do to a big strong man? “Kick your ass,” she said to the lump on her floor. “That’s what I could do to you.” But he had gotten in a good whack with the knife. She was getting careless.
The door slid open and Theresa poked her head in. “Did he bring pretzels?”
Justine leaned back against the wall and held her hand to her neck. The blood trickled down her collarbone; there must be a decent-sized hole in her neck. Her quick healing capabilities didn’t stop it from hurting like hell. “I need bandages before you eat.”
Theresa tossed her the first-aid kit then pranced over to the unconscious guy. She blew a puff of ash over him, and watched it settle. “That’s weird.”
Justine winced as she taped two oversized gauze pads to her neck. Crap. It totally hurt. “What are you talking about?”
Theresa nudged the surfer dude with her right claw, which was sporting a fresh manicure of frosted silver nail polish. She snorted a load of soot over him. “See how the ash slows down right before it hits his skin? It’s being stopped by something.”
“Are you serious?” Justine crawled over to the guy and looked more carefully. She leaned closer, and caught a whiff of something delicious. It was the scent of man. Of skin. Of aftershave. She inhaled deeply. It had been too long.
“Getting off on our unconscious friend?” Theresa asked.
“Shut up.” She ordered her nasal passages to shut down. “Blow the ash again. I want to watch.”
She did, and this time Justine definitely saw the ash linger over the surfer boy’s tanned flesh, though it dropped freely over her own skin. She frowned and peered closer. That’s when she noticed the golden hue emanating from his skin. The ash was resting on top of the layer of gold. “Is that his aura?” Weird. She’d never seen an aura before. Wouldn’t have thought it would be gold either. Maybe blue or yellow or red. Not gold, unless he was rich. But he looked like an eighteen-year-old beach bum, and most of those weren’t rich. Of course, most of them weren’t in New York City either.
“Is what his aura?” Theresa asked.
“That golden hue over him. You see it?”
Theresa crouched beside her and inspected the man. “He looks normal to me. Except the ash hovering two millimeters off his skin, of course.”
“The soot is resting on something gold. It’s like a glowing light. You don’t see it?”
“Nope.”
“Weird. You ever seen soot float like that?”
“Nope.”
“Well, why would that happen?”
“No idea.”
She sat back on her heels. “You’re a two hundred and thirty-two year-old dragon. How can you not know how ash works?”
“For the first part of my life, I was letting hot men have their way with me, and I’ve spent the last two hundred years trying to get back in human form. I haven’t exactly had time to be researching the properties of ash.” Theresa’s tail flicked sharply, a sure indicator that she was getting annoyed.
Theresa’s bad moods usually meant a visit from the fire department, so Justine grabbed one of the many fire extinguishers stashed around the condo. She tossed it at Theresa. “Suck on this for a while, okay?”
Their captive groaned, and Theresa dropped a spark on the carpet next to his head, all complaints forgotten. “May I? It’s been so long since I’ve gotten to kill anyone, I’m actually twitchy from the withdrawal. I swear I won’t so much as singe the floor. Pretty please? It would be so fun. You have no idea what it’s like to be constantly suppressing my instincts. I feel like my chest is going to explode all the time. Please?”
“Can’t you forget about killing people for one minute and focus on the issue?”
“No, I can’t. I’m a dragon and it’s in my blood to incinerate and destroy.”
Justine grimaced. The last thing she needed was a rampaging dragon. “Well, maybe just threaten to toast him when he wakes up. We need to find out why he’s here.”
“Then can I incinerate him? Fry his trespassing ass into oblivion?” Theresa warmed up, a symphony of toots, growls, and hisses as she worked the air around in whatever body part was responsible for generating fire.
“Maybe. We really need to try to avoid killing him.” But they were really going to have to find an outlet for Theresa soon.
“You think refraining from deadly skirmishes will save your mom?”
“I’m hoping.” Justine tensed as the man opened his eyes and gazed at her. Such blue eyes. Too beautiful to be owned by a murderer who wanted to ruin the world by stealing Mona. “Who are you?”
He propped himself up on his elbow, his forehead furrowed. “I’m not sure.” He peered at her. “Who are you?”
Justine frowned. His eyes had lost that glazed look. Now he just appeared confused. “I’m the one with the wineglass.” She braced herself for his attack. “I need to know how you found us.”
He shook his head like he was trying to clear it. “What wineglass?”
“The one you wanted to steal.”
He snorted. “I’m a beer guy. Why would I want a wineglass?” He struggled to a seated position. “What happened?”
He hadn’t noticed Theresa, who was pacing restlessly behind him. Justine gave her roomie a look.
Theresa widened her eyes and jerked her chin toward the surfer, flicking her tongue in frantic circles.
What was she trying to say? Even after all this time, Justine had difficulty reading dragon body language. Um . . .
The dragon finally blew a little puff of ash, and it dropped freely over the man’s skin, with no impediment. That’s when Justine noticed the golden hue was gone from his skin. He was just a normal guy now. He didn’t even seem to notice the gray dusting as he staggered to his feet. “I gotta get home. I feel like shit.”
He didn’t look over his shoulder, or around the room, or at Justine, as he limped to the door. He yanked it open and nearly fell into the elevator. But he wasn’t holding his head where Justine had clobbered him. He had his arms wrapped around his midsection, like his stomach was hurting. Or he was freezing cold. Or both.
Completely freaking weird. He hadn’t even remembered his gun.
The elevator shut behind him, and she let it go. There would be no answers coming from that guy.
Justine locked the door behind him, then leaned her back against it. “What in the world just happened?”
“I didn’t get to fry him. That’s what happened. I’m going to have to go set fire to something else now that I’m all worked up. Are there any chairs you don’t like?” Theresa scooped the box of pretzels off the floor. “At least he left these. It’s always best to destroy things on a full stomach.”
“Theresa!”
“What?” She blew on a pretzel to heat it up, her eyes going all glittery in anticipation of the snack she was about to get. “You don’t want me to burn up a chair? Fine. A bed works for me. Whatever. Just pick something soon or I might set you on fire instead.”
“Get a hold of your instincts, will you? There will be no burning today. I was talking about the surfer guy. What was that gold glow and ash thing all about?”
“I don’t know. Why do you always expect me to know everything? You’re the Guardian. That’s your job. I’m just a useless roommate who lets you save the world.” She popped the warm pretzel in her mouth. “That is one good pretzel. The first thing I’m going to do as a human is go find the man who created these snacks and give him an entire week to do with my body what he will. He’s totally deserving.”
Justine frowned as Theresa chomped the pretzels. First, her mom’s visit. Now, someone had tracked down Mona? And he was glowing? What was going on?
All she knew was they’d been compromised. Which meant one thing. “It’s time to move on.”
Theresa stopped mid-chew. “What?”
“That guy found us. We have to bail. I’ll call Graham and have him clear the tenants out of our Santa Fe property. We’ll leave tonight.”
“But I don’t want to leave! I like New York and we’ve been here only five years.”
“I’d like to stay too, but you know the drill. Mona’s protection takes priority.” She swept photos off a table. “Clear out the personal stuff. We’ll have Graham take care of the rest.” Dammit. She didn’t want to leave. Life was finally getting interesting! Guns, biceps, and assailants? It was about time she got to do some Guardian stuff! How else was she going to get off Guardian probation, if she didn’t get a chance to prove herself? As long as she was on probation, the Council had the right to spy on her unannounced and unrevealed. It drove her crazy wondering when they were around, watching every little thing she did, waiting for her to screw up so they could toss her in the Chamber of Unspeakable Horrors.
No, she wanted to stay so she could slay someone in the name of Guardianship and redeem herself.
Plus New York had great delivery services. If you’re stuck in your apartment most of the time, you might as well live in a city that delivers anything you can imagine twenty-four hours a day. What could they get delivered in Santa Fe? Cactus pie and sand appetizers? In New York they could even order a man if they wanted to . . . Hmm . . . not a bad thought . . . no strings, a little action. If only that damned Council wasn’t watching, bastards.
“New York is home,” Theresa whined.
“I know.” New York was the one place where they weren’t the weirdest couple around, always a comfort when your only friend is a sexually deprived dragon considering breast implants, and you have eternally perky boobs that no man has fondled since long before electricity was invented.
And now that someone had found them in New York, who knew how long it would be until it was safe to return? Maybe never. Crap. Her first duty was to avoid the danger. Stand and fight was available only if flight didn’t work.
Theresa stood up. “I’m not leaving.”
“Fine. You can stay here.” Her voice wobbled at the thought of leaving Theresa behind. “But I have to leave with Mona.”
“But I can’t be here alone. I need someone in human form to do errands for me. I need a personal servant and you’re my only option!”
“Dammit, Theresa! What do you want me to do? I don’t have a choice! I’m the Guardian, remember? Page eleven of the Guardian Treatise specifically says I must spirit the Goblet away in the event of any threat to her safety, which includes the appearance of idiot, gun-wielding treasure-seekers who have somehow found her.” She slammed a picture down too hard and cringed as the glass shattered.
“Aren’t you tired of running away? Don’t you want a life?”
“Of course I do! So what? I tried once and we saw how well that worked out, didn’t we?” It still irked her that she’d violated her Guardian Oath for a man who’d betrayed her. She’d been a total idiot and she wasn’t going to make that mistake again, even if it meant bailing prematurely from the coolest city on the planet. She was going to follow the Treatise word for word even if she thought the damned book was outdated, uncreative, and basically useless.
“Well, I might have a solution.”
Justine stared at her friend. “What are you talking about?”
“Well, I know this guy—”
“What guy? You never go out. How do you know a guy?”
“I met him on the Internet—”
“Are you kidding? One of your cyber lovers?” She sank down on the couch. “Did you tell him about us? Are you the reason that man came to our house today?”
“No, no, no. I haven’t told him anything.” Theresa sat down next to her and pulled the computer onto her lap. “I met him when I was researching dragons who had been deprived of their human form. He’s really into all this stuff and we’ve been e-mailing each other and, well, I think he might have the answers we need.”
Justine couldn’t believe the soft look in Theresa’s eyes as she typed away at the computer. “You fell in love with a guy you’ve never met?”
“It’s not love. It’s great cybersex. The dragon stuff is pillow talk.”
“You like him!” Justine had never seen Theresa’s gold eyes glitter like that. “It’s not just sex.”
“Sure it is. He’s an amazing cyber-lover and I’m sexually deprived.” Theresa cleared her throat and set a coaster on fire. “He lives in New York, but I told him we live in California, so don’t freak at me.”
Justine studied her friend. “You want to stay here because he’s here.”
“As if! It’s not like I’ll ever meet him, thanks to my scales. I just like the view from my bedroom. Nothing like cement to make a girl sleep well at night.”
“You’re lying.” Justine grinned. “You’re a romantic. You want to stay here so you can breathe the same air he’s breathing.”
“Ha. Not hardly.” But Theresa kept her gaze firmly fixed on the computer screen. Avoiding eye contact, perhaps?
“Liar.” This alone was reason not to leave New York. She was so going to have to track this guy down and meet him. Take pictures. Maybe invite him to the apartment for naked beer pong so Theresa could watch him over the security camera. Pretend they had a normal life instead of one governed by the Council and the Treatise. “Want me to stalk him for you?”
Theresa slanted a gaze at her. “Maybe. At least knock out the front teeth of any female he kisses.”
“Done.” Justine flopped back on the couch. “How fun would that be? We haven’t done anything like that in centuries.”
“And you want to go to Santa Fe? Who are you going stalk there? Rattlesnakes?”
Justine sighed. “I don’t want to go to Santa Fe, but if we stay here and Mona gets stolen, we’re both in serious trouble.” And her mom would definitely have to go to hell and play strip poker with Satan. Her mom sucked at poker.
“Give me a chance to ask him about the gold auras. He knows this stuff.” Theresa paused with her claws over the keyboard. “Please? Running away isn’t the best answer anyway. You should know what you’re dealing with and eradicate it, right? Isn’t that the better solution?”
“Well, yes, but not at the risk of exposing Mona.”
“A day. Give us a day.”
Justine heard the plea in Theresa’s voice and sighed. How could she say no? It had been too long since she’d had the chance to rag on Theresa about men. Life was boring and Santa Fe would be even worse. Plus, if someone needed to be beheaded, better to do it in New York. No one would even notice a headless body in a Dumpster in this city. She was pretty sure she could find a section of the Treatise that supported staying in town long enough to identify the enemy. “Fine. But you better be ready to incinerate first and ask questions later if anyone else shows up here, even if it’s lover boy.”
Theresa hugged her. “You’re the best.”
“Yeah, yeah. Go IM your sex toy. What’s his name anyway?”
“Zeke. No last names.”
“Of course not.” She stood up. “Twenty-four hours, Theresa. And then we have to go.”
“Promise.” Theresa was already frantically typing. “He’ll deliver. I know he will.”
“I hope so.”
If he didn’t, she might have just sent her mom into the arms of the lover from hell.
Literally.
Or maybe this wasn’t a Qualifying Incident set up by certain corrupt Afterlife officials. Maybe this was simply an ordinary threat to Mona. Or maybe . . . maybe facilitating her best friend’s sexual needs was a selfless deed that would propel her mom to heaven.
Or maybe she was hosed either way.