Flight from Mayhem (2 page)

He leaned over Glenda, and she actually cowered back. “If you ever threaten my little sister again, I will personally stuff you in a bottle, seal it shut, and toss you out on the Ocean of Agony. Do you understand?”

Glenda let out an audible gulp, fear washing across her face. “I was just about to leave.”

“Then, may I suggest you go
now
?” Chai's voice was barely above a whisper, but somehow it seemed a far worse threat than if he had been yelling.

Glenda whirled on her stiletto heels, marching off. She didn't say another word—not even a mumble. Alex and Chai watched her go, both with grim expressions on their faces. I shivered as Ralph handed me a towel. Bette hurried over, Dent by her side.

“Are you okay, Shimmer? I'm sorry you took an unexpected dip.” Dent seemed perfectly amiable, if a little bland.
“I don't know if I have anything that will fit you, except a terry-cloth robe, but if you want to change into that, we can wash and dry your clothes while you wait.”

I ran the towel over my hair, squeezing it to dry it as much as possible. “Thanks, I'd appreciate that.”

Alex touched my elbow. “I'm so sorry about Glenda. She's a real . . . well, she's got a temper on her and it looks like she's decided to blame me for the breakup. But I wonder why she waited until now?”

“I know why. She found out we're together. She doesn't want you, but she doesn't want anybody else to have you, either.” I shook my head. “She's a real winner, that's for sure.”

Bette cocked her head. “Follow me. Dent, take over the burgers, would you? I'll show Shimmer to the bathroom where she can shower and dry her hair while I find her a robe. Chlorine leaves a nasty residue.” She linked her arm through mine and began to steer me toward the path leading up to the house, leaving Ralph, Alex, and Chai to discuss Glenda's inopportune appearance.

“You okay, sugar?” Bette was the chain-smoking, leather-clad, curse-like-a-sailor grandmother I never had. Clad in leopard-print jeggings and a chartreuse V-neck bodysuit, she was wearing a black leather jacket over the top. She was loud and nasal, with a bouffant so high it rivaled Marge Simpson's. I was confounded by how she managed to navigate on her platform CFM pumps. But Bette had become a good friend over the months, and she had introduced me to several delightful Earthside delicacies, like See's Candies—though I didn't have much of a sweet tooth—and dripping, oozy fast-food cheeseburgers.

I nodded. “Yeah, I am. Glenda had better watch out, though, or Alex will take her down. He's a gentleman, but not when threatened. And she crossed that line tonight.”

“You aren't spoiling for a catfight, are you?” She glanced around to make certain we weren't being overheard, then lowered her voice so that it was barely a whisper. “Because
honey, I know you're a dragon, but Glenda's mean as a junkyard dog, and she's got a lot of tricks up her sleeve. She wouldn't hesitate to fight dirty.” Bette sounded so concerned that I wanted to hug her.

“No. I'm not spoiling for a fight at all. I'd be happier if she just disappeared.” I paused, then remembered what Ralph had said. “Bette, I'm going to just come out and say it. We're friends. Ralph told me he thought something was wrong, and now that we're away from that crowd out there, I can sense it, too. What's going on? Your smile is pretty much plastered on right now.” Now that I was standing next to her and everybody else was out of the way, I could tell that she was upset over something. The emotion radiated off her in waves. “Are you upset at Dent?”

She blinked. “Dent? Why would I be? No, he's just a little bit of fun and flirt right now. We both know that. But . . . now that you mention it, I
am
worried, but it's not about me. I have a friend I'm thinking may be in trouble.”

“Ralph? Alex?”

“No, no one you know.” She led me into a large bedroom that was decked out in black and white, with potted palms as one of the few accent colors. The floors were dark hardwood. Everything felt out of a designer magazine. Bette darted into an enormous walk-in closet, then returned with a thick, plush terry-cloth robe. It was a pale shade of blue.

“My favorite color.”

“There's a bathroom through that door. Take a shower and warm up, get the chlorine off you. And on the vanity, you'll find a blow dryer so you can dry your hair. If you need anything, let me know. There are clean towels on the side of the vanity. I'll wait out here.”

I wanted to ask about her friend but decided that it could wait till I got the chlorine off me. I hated the stuff, and it didn't like me much either. I seemed to react to it. Sadly, my reaction was strong enough that it put the kibosh on me puttering around in swimming pools. But two weeks ago,
I'd discovered a saline pool nearby and signed up for a membership at the gym just so I could go swimming. Of course, it wouldn't do to turn into a dragon in the pool—it wasn't really big enough, anyway, but it felt good just to immerse myself in the water.

I slipped out of my wet clothes, kicking them to one side. As I stepped under the warm stream of water, I let out a long breath, stretching so that it pounded on my back. The bath gel was honeysuckle scented—no doubt Bette's rather than Dent's. I lathered up, soaping away the stink of the chlorine. The chemical didn't exactly burn my skin, but a pale rash rose up when I went too long without washing after it touched any significant portion of my body.

As I scrubbed under the streaming water, I frowned.

Glenda's arrival nagged at me. I wasn't seriously worried she would hurt me. Regardless of my temporary limitations, I could still beat the crap out of her, though I doubted my water magic would affect her in any significant way. But the fact that she had decided to show up at a party and pick a fight in public . . . that was troubling.

She obviously hadn't moved on, and considering the way she had used Alex like a whipping boy, I had the feeling that she was finding it difficult to dig up anybody else who would put up with both her temper and her inborn need to fuck every man she saw. Succubi weren't cut out for relationships. Neither were incubi. And yet some of them—against all odds—kept trying.

After I finished, I stepped out of the shower and wrapped my towel around me. It was so plush and thick that I checked the label—I wanted towels like this. Noting the brand, I wrapped another around my hair. As I padded over to the vanity, I saw that Bette had taken away my wet clothes and had laid out the blow dryer and the robe. I dried off, then slid into the robe and tied it tight.

Leaning on the counter, I stared at myself in the mirror. Six months ago, I had been sent Earthside. Exiled, for a
crime that I fully admitted to. The alternative was to stay in the Dragon Reaches and let Greanfyr—the white dragon I had stolen from—hunt me down and execute me. And if he did, nobody would raise a wing to stop him, given my persona non grata status.

As I softly ordered my hair to untangle itself, the shimmering streaks of blue and purple gleamed among the dark strands. They were natural. They indicated who—or rather,
what
—I was, and were as much a part of me as was my tattoo. My ink was a reminder to me that I existed. That I belonged, even though everybody else said I didn't. A blue dragon, the tattoo coiled up from my waist with the tail curling near my hip. The dragon slinked up my right side, surrounded by waves, curling up so that the neck and head coiled over my right shoulder and down my arm, with more ocean waves along the side.

I flipped on the blow dryer, the heat warming me as I instructed my hair to section out, holding itself away from my head while I aimed the blowing air at it. That was one lovely thing about being a dragon—my hair had a mind of its own and I could make it behave however I wanted with just a blink of a thought. Which was why when the Wing-Liege cut it to my midback, the pain had been overwhelming. Our hair was a part of our body, a part of our mane when we were in dragon shape, and unlike that of humans and Fae, it had nerve endings and could register pain and pleasure. Touching Alex's skin with my hair gave me a thrill, even as having someone yank on it could hurt like a son of a bitch.

As the hair fell into place, smoothing softly against my head in clean, gleaming lines, I began to shake off the evening. Earlier, I had been uneasy about coming to the party. I had thought it was just because I would have to face a bunch of strangers and pretend to be Fae—my cover was that of a water Fae. A nymph, to be exact. Humans didn't really know about dragons, and we aimed to keep it that way as much as
possible. But something had set me on edge, and now I wondered if I had been anticipating Glenda showing up.

When my hair was dry and smooth, I slid my feet into the plush terry slippers Bette had left for me and headed into the bedroom to find her sitting there, checking her phone, with a worried frown on her face. She glanced up as I sat down beside her.

“All washed up and clean?”

“Yeah, the chlorine is off my skin, so I should be fine. Now tell me what's going on. Did you get some bad news?” I leaned back in the chair, thoroughly enjoying the soft sinking feeling of the cushions.

Bette looked about ready to say no, but then she paused. “I'm not sure if it's bad news or not. That's the problem. I told you I'm worried about a friend, right?”

She seemed reluctant to say anything, which meant she wasn't at all sure on what she was chewing on. I knew Bette and she was never reticent with her opinions unless she truly wasn't sure what she thought about something.

I nodded. “Right. Why don't you tell me, and we can talk it over and decide if it's bad news?” I motioned to the robe. “I really don't feel like wandering around in a group of strangers wearing nothing but a bathrobe. Plus it will give them time to change the subject to something other than Glenda, Alex, and me. I just hope that Ralph and Alex can quash the dragon rumor.”

Grinning, I stuck my feet up on the ottoman and settled back, thinking that—given furniture this comfortable—I'd consider hanging out with Dent, too.

Bette lit up a cigarette and, as usual, let it dangle off her lip. I was about to ask if Dent let her smoke inside but then saw a few ashtrays scattered around, which meant he probably smoked, as well. Bette was no fool—she never got involved with nonsmokers or teetotalers who might try to curb her habits. But she was also gracious enough to refrain
from lighting up in my house, or over at Ralph's, and she kept her smoke downwind.

She inhaled deeply, then blew out a ring pretty and perfect enough to make even a dragon jealous. As she gave me a little shrug and put her own feet up, she said, “All right. I hate breaking secrets. Oh, it's nothing earthshaking, but, fuck a duck, this has been eating me up. I don't know if you realized that I volunteer at the Supe Community Action Council once a week. I teach an art class there.”

I stared at her. It was hard to imagine Bette doing anything of the sort. But I kept my mouth shut.

“So, a lot of my students tend to be elderly Fae—mostly Earthside. They're . . . think of them like the great-aunt who lives in the upstairs attic. They've lost enough strength and vitality to lack confidence, but they're still in fairly good health. Which means another few hundred years to go, but they aren't ready to die just yet.”

I knew very little about how the Fae aged. My kind tended to keep to themselves for the most part. It was mostly due to arrogance but, regardless of the cause, there were few dragons who took an interest in the outside world. Or outsiders. We tended to be an insular race.

Bette puffed on her cigarette. “So, the problem is this: I have a student there, a friend really. Her name is Marlene, and she's one of the Woodland Fae. She's a lovely woman, but she's drifting, really. When the Fae get as old as she is, especially the nature Fae, they tend to get a bit . . .” She looked like she was trying to find a polite word for what she was thinking.

Ever helpful, I said, “Balmy?”

A nod, then: “Yeah, balmy sums it up. Marlene and I get together and play poker once every couple of weeks. We watch movies, and take walks in her garden because she's too old to go out in the wild anymore, but I keep an eye on her, you know? Make certain that she's eaten lately and isn't just sitting in the garden, dozing during the rain.”

I sighed. In my realm, when dragons reached that age, they slept in their dreyeries until they never woke up again. They were treated by their families as sleeping gods, ancestors to be venerated and waited on. But among humans—and some of the Fae—the aging ones were treated with less respect and often just left on their own, discarded like used tissue.

“I understand. You make sure she's okay, and that's a good thing, Bette. But what's the problem?”

“Marlene told me a few days ago that she's dating a young man. I was surprised—she's no Melusine, after all. And she's never mentioned wanting to explore that side of her life again. In fact, I thought she was pretty much over any interest in anything but pottering around. But she told me he makes her feel young, and that he romances her.” A dark look flashed through her eyes. “I don't trust him, Shimmer. Marlene's a lovely woman but she's not a cougar, and she's very, very wealthy.”

I blinked at that. Vampires tended to accumulate wealth. The Fae? Some of them did, but Woodland Fae weren't that interested in material goods, especially the Earthside ones.

“So you think this guy is looking for a sugar mama?”

Bette croaked out a laugh. “Pumpkin, I think he's out to get what he can. I can't come out and tell Marlene what I think, though—it would hurt her feelings terribly. So I'm thinking I should just bite the bullet and find out what I can behind the scenes. I'll ask Ralph to use his know-how to see what we can dig up about the guy. I need his last name, though, and she hasn't given it to me. I'm supposed to meet her for lunch tomorrow. Would you join us? I know you can read emotion, even though you try to hide it.”