Dragons Prefer Blondes (2 page)

“Soooo,” Aspen trilled. “Since you are the premier party planner and one of my dearest friends, I want you to do it all. Everything down to the last detail.” She squealed again, and I dropped the phone into the bag with the dead dragon.

No, no, no.
The last thing I needed right now was to plan a wedding for a woman who had to have at least six choices of outfits for each day. She had two full-time stylists who could barely keep up with her. Planning Aspen’s wedding—I’d rather fight a cadre of dragons with my bare hands.

I fished out the phone and wiped off the dragon goo. Pushing the speaker function so I didn’t have to hold it close to my face, I prepared to put her off. “Oh, Aspen, hon, really I’d love to, but—”

“I knew you would.” She cut me off. “Oh, the jet’s here. I have to run. I’ll e-mail you with the dates. Did I mention we want to do it before the end of the month? And my color choices. I’m in a strawberry mood right now, so think luscious red with lots of white, and maybe some pink. Oh, I don’t know, maybe more of a sapphire since it’ll be a winter wedding. I’ll think about it on my way to London to see the castle. Ta! Oh, listen to me, I sound like English royalty already.”

The line went dead.

I snorted. Aspen was in for a rude awakening when she saw that castle. The last time I’d been there was four years ago for a charity event. I’d stayed in the dusty, drafty hunk of stone for one night and swore never to do it again.

Of course it didn’t help that Huffington’s great-uncle George kept pawing at me every time he was around. He told me that he had a thing for my bum. Ick. If he hadn’t been nearly eighty, it wouldn’t have been so disturbing.

I slay dragons on a daily basis, and I’d been reduced to peeping around corners to make sure he wasn’t in the room I was about to enter.

Crap, now I have to plan a wedding there.
Make that two weddings for a woman who couldn’t make a decision. Dread settled in my stomach like an ulcer waiting to happen.

The dragon had taken a quick shot at my ribs with its claws and had succeeded in bruising them pretty good. A nasty four-inch scrape on my arm wouldn’t stop bleeding. I’d have to deal with that later. As I hauled the bag o’ beast up onto my shoulder, I winced.

A chill settled down my spine that had nothing to do with the wintry weather, and I felt like someone was watching me. I made a three sixty to assure myself that no one had observed my actions. The last thing I needed was paparazzi catching me in the act of stuffing a body in a garbage bag. I’d make the cover of every tab rag in the world with that one.

The street was as empty as before, but that’s when I saw the building. The two gargoyles above the door caught my eye first. There were three more up on the roof. On any other edifice so many of the wicked monsters would have been too much, but they fit right in here.

They had these intriguing grins on their faces, as if they knew a fantastic secret they wanted to share.

I can’t believe I didn’t see this before.
The place was beyond romantic, straight out of a Dickens novel, and I couldn’t resist. I’m a sucker when it comes to great architecture, and I’m not picky. Buildings from any time period, in any place—if it’s cool, I have to explore it.

This particular building was from the late eighteen hundreds with beautiful tall, arched windows. It looked like an old London shop. It was a little beat up, but a good power washing on the stone and windows would do wonders.

My spine tingled, and I suddenly decided I had to check out the inside. I couldn’t explain it if I tried, but I had to go in that building. Breaking in through the front door, even though the street was vacant, wasn’t a good idea, so I made my way around to the alley and I stored the dead dragon by the back door. The real estate gods were smiling on me, because I tried the knob, and the darn thing opened.

Taking a deep breath, I stepped into the darkness.

CHAPTER 2

It took a few minutes for my eyes to adjust. The light from the lamppost outside helped illuminate the front room just enough that I could see it had once been some kind of pub. The massive bar was carved from cherrywood with a low brass footrail. Lion heads flanked each end, and intricate fleur-de-lis patterns wove along the curved edge. Battered and scratched, it was still an amazing piece of work. I smoothed a hand over the wood. “Beautiful.”

I glanced up to the ceiling and saw several chandeliers. “Those look like Swarovski crystals. What the hell are they doing in a bar?” I said aloud. I’d seen the light fixtures in many homes of my friends and knew they sometimes went for several hundred thousand apiece.

“They were my mother’s.” A hoarse-sounding voice answered me out of the darkness and made me jump.

Turning my back against the bar, I searched the room. I had a modified Beretta Px4 in my back holster for emergencies and pulled it out. “Who’s there?”

“No need for the weapon, young lady; I’m unarmed.” There was a shuffling, and then I saw a small, white-haired man come out of the shadow of the staircase. He’d told the truth about not having a weapon, but I kept my gun trained on him. In my line of work, a girl can never be too careful.

He held up his hands. “You will come to no harm here, lass. I am a friend. This is my place, and you are welcome.” His soft Irish lilt was comforting.

Since I was the one who had broken and entered, I put the gun away. Well, technically I didn’t break anything to get in.

“I’m sorry for just walking in, but the back door was open, and I was curious.”

He didn’t say anything but watched me carefully.

“That’s dangerous, you know. Leaving the door unlocked,” I blabbered on, which was something I hardly ever, almost never, did. “I love architecture, and those gargoyles—well, I just had to see inside.”

“My grandmother built the place when she came over from Ireland.” He held out a hand, “Cillian McMurphy, and this has been McMurphy’s Pub since 1892. Well,” he sighed, “it was.”

I took his outstretched hand. “I’m Alex, Mr. McMurphy. I can tell, even in the dark, how beautiful it is. Why did you shut it down?”

“I’m an old man, and when my wife and son died—” The sadness in his eyes said it all. “I didn’t have the heart to keep her open.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Nothing could be done. Cancer took him, only fifty-two years old. A parent should never outlive a child. His death broke my wife’s heart, and I lost her to a stroke last year. I closed down after her wake.”

I didn’t know what it was about the man, but I had an extreme need to hug him, and I’m not really a huggy kind of girl. “I’m not sure what to say. I can’t imagine losing one of my sisters or my brother. They drive me crazy, but I couldn’t live without them. My dad died a few years ago, and that was tough.”

Hell, it was more than tough. The nurturer of the family, he’d been the one to dispense the bandages when we were hurt and the advice when we were older and the hurts involved hearts. I still can’t think of him without tearing up. I sniffled.
God, Alex, get it together.

He waved a hand upward. “Would you like to see the upstairs?”

I thought about the dragon outside. “I’ve imposed enough.”

“Nonsense. Come keep a lonely old man company. Your package outside will be safe.”

My head snapped around. “My package?”

“The dragon in the trash bag by the back door.”

I coughed. “I—uh. What?” No way could he know that thing outside was a dragon.

“Don’t worry, lass. Your secret is safe with me. What’s your family name?”

“Caruthers. But—”

“Think about it, girl. McMurphy.”

It took me a second, but then the name slapped me upside the head. “Are you related to Siobhan and Niamh?” They were Guardians who lived in Europe and were known to be awesome warriors.

“They would be my nieces. All the magic of the family is in those two girls.”

I smiled. “I believe you. They have fierce reputations.” The two sisters had most recently been responsible for keeping a Chimera raid in the middle of Paris from getting out of hand. “So it’s probably not a coincidence I was drawn to this place.”

He shook his head. “It’s been a safe house for your kind since my grandmother opened it over a hundred years ago.”

“The gargoyles were an invitation.”

“Yes.”

“And the dragon outside?”

His eyebrows rose. “I didn’t have anything to do with that mess. From what I saw, he was most definitely in the wrong place at the wrong time. You have a way with that knife. There aren’t many people who could pierce a dragon hide the way you did.” He pointed toward my sheath.

“It’s a really sharp knife.” He was right. Dragons had notoriously tough hides even in human form, but if you hit them in just the right spot . . .

Laughing, he motioned with his hand. “Follow me.” He shuffled to a door at the base of the stairs and opened it. Shoving aside a metal grate, he led me into a small elevator. “Stairs aren’t made for old men.”

Before I knew it, the elevator door opened into a hallway. Unlike the dusty downstairs, this area was well-kept and decorated in the art nouveau style which was popular back in the 1890s. The dark walls were lined with beautiful art and lit with tiny triangular sconces, and all the doorways were arched.

“Wow.”

“Must be like stepping into the past for you.”

“It’s gorgeous,” I said in awe.

He opened one of the three doors off the hallway. “We divided these up into apartments years ago. Each one has a bedroom, kitchen, and living area. Here’s mine.”

Books lined shelves on every wall, with the occasional painting breaking up the space. A long sofa had been set in front of the bay window, where morning light must have been just perfect for reading.

“Wow, again.” This time I laughed. “You must love books.”

“I don’t watch much of the telly, except for news and my sports, so the books keep me company.” He sounded a little melancholy.

“My sister Claire would go nuts in here. She loves books.”

“Please, have a seat.” He pointed to a set of chairs near the fireplace, which roared to life before my eyes.

“Looks to me like your nieces aren’t the only ones with a little magic.”

“I know enough to take care of that scratch.” He motioned to my arm.

“No need to worry. I’ll handle it when I get home,” I told him.

“Suit yourself. The tea tray is ready; I just need to add another cup and saucer.”

While waiting, I perused the shelves. From what I could see, Mr. McMurphy loved philosophy. He had everything from Plotinus to Descartes and all points in between. There were also well-worn classics. A man who actually read Tol stoy and Jane Austen; that was pretty amazing. There were also books on magic. While I didn’t sense it in him, my guess was Mr. McMurphy was a mage.

“You have quite a collection,” I said as he put the tray on the small table between two leather club chairs.

“At one time, an entire floor of this building was a research library for Guardians and mages.” He picked up the tea and poured. His hand shook, but he didn’t spill a drop. “That was up on the fourth floor. When part of the family moved back to Europe after the last war, most of the collection went with them. I kept some of my favorites.”

“You said Siobhan and Niamh had all the magic, but you’re a mage, too, aren’t you?”

Pausing, he smiled. “Low level. Enough to help heal wounds when necessary and to mix a few spells and potions.” I had the feeling he was underselling his talents, but not to be deceitful. He was just self-effacing.

“The club downstairs was a place for those fighting evil, Guardians and mages, along with a few neighborhood locals mixed in. Milk and three sugars?”

How had he known about the three sugars?
Probably a lucky guess, since strong tea always needed more sweetener. “Thank you.” I took the fragile cup with tiny purple flowers from him. Something told me it was vintage Noritake, but I didn’t want to be rude and glance at the bottom.

“We’ve continued to mend wounds and shelter those in need through the years. When my wife died, I kept the apartments up in case someone needed to rest, but I didn’t have the energy to keep the pub running.”

“I can understand that. I have several nightclubs and restaurants around the world. If I didn’t have an incredible staff, there’s no way I’d be able to do it all. And these days it seems like there’s always a crisis somewhere.”

Fighting dragons had put a world of hurt on me when it came to my other businesses. I didn’t lie about having a great staff. If it weren’t for them, I’m not sure what I would have done the past few months.

He smiled. “Yes. At first I felt guilty because I knew your kind and the mages needed a safe house. So I kept these rooms open for you to rest if necessary. The magic here is impenetrable. Evil cannot cross the threshold, and it will be that way long after I’m gone.”

There was something so endearing about him, an innate kindness. “Do you have many visitors?”

Shrugging, he put his cup on the table. “Once every few months or so a mage needs some help, but you’re the first Guardian I’ve seen in a while. Recent troubles aside, you Guardians have made Earth a much safer place. I think your brother’s contributions have also helped. I’d like to meet him someday. That boy fascinates me. My nieces speak highly of his weapon designs.”

This time I smiled. “So you’ve heard about the brilliant but obnoxious Bailey.”

“Oh, yes. There are no mistakes, that boy was born to a family of Guardians for a reason. Whether you and your sisters realize it, his technology has made a world of difference in how the war will be fought.”

I frowned. “You know about the darkness?”

“Yes, much worse than it has ever been. It will work to invade Earth as well as the other worlds. For as long as I’ve been alive we’ve been battling it, but now—it will be a difficult time for all of us.” He yawned, and I remembered the lateness of the hour.

I had so many more questions for him, but he’d already been more than kind. “Thank you so much for the tea.” I set the cup down on the tray. “But I’ve kept you too long. Let me wash these up, and I’ll get out of your hair.”