Breaking Ties (4 page)

Cursing. I can bless people as well, but when I curse someone it sticks, though nothing worse than a stubbed toe, usually. As far as I know, I can't lay a death curse on someone because, simply put, I don't kill people.

“
For a week
.” I also don't want to be that much of an asshole.

The Fox reaches in back to grab me by the shirt and bare his teeth in my face. “Take. It. Back.”

Shiko, having stopped at another red light, demurely covers her mouth with the tips of her fingers as she giggles softly. “Now now, Kazuhiro-kun, you brought that on yourself.” She gently pats his hand, and he releases me. “Consider it a lesson in intimidating a chosen of the
Shichifukujin
.” She turns her gaze to me before the car goes back into motion. “Spencer requires a softer touch. He is a storyteller, not a thug.”

At that, I nod a bit condescendingly to the male Fox, returning to my previous state of lounging. Sure, I might be about to lose my unpaid internship, but it's nice to be appreciated for my other talents.

“For example, Kazuhiro-kun, were you aware that a Bard
must
tell his stories?” I catch Shiko's natural smile in the rearview. “They're meant to spread history, lessons, stories, and can hardly serve their purpose if they're tight-lipped. Please, good Bard, regale us with the events of last evening. We await with bated breath.”

Ha. Like that's going to—

“Under the Bridge, a fair and humble tavern, nay, a
refuge
for those not-so-noble members of the Noble Race, for rogues and those of mixed blood—all were enjoying a simple evening of libations and the pleasures of good company when lo! A brigand in knights' colors, donned with the heraldry of the Cobalt Order did verily assault the good barkeep with murderous intent.”

What the
fuck
?

But I can't stop, my tongue moves of its own volition, the words coming quickly and freely.

“She fired, and with shot of coldest iron was the troll given the first wound of battle. But quickly did the good barkeep brandish his weapon and put the rapscallion down with one shot! Huzzah!” I cannot believe I just said that without a mote of sarcasm. “But the barkeep lay dying, his azure blood flowing forth, and with it, his life. But ho! The day was not yet lost, as I, your quick-witted Bard, did verily summon aid in the form of the great—”

I bite down on my hand, making
mmph
ing sounds as I continue the story, the details, particularly of James's intervention, being muffled, though it stings like a bitch. Thankfully, it seems that the Foxes believe I'm just trying to make myself stop. My hand is yanked from my mouth by Kazuhiro, though, and then…

“…with great justice! And the lands of the Sainted Benedict did ring with his victory! Huzzah!”

And then I stop, thank God. And then I quite verily stare daggers at Shiko, who continues with her natural smile back at me. “Thank you, good Bard, for a most
excellent
story.” She glances to Kazuhiro. “So the Fae are dividing over the issue of half-bloods.”

“Will this affect us?”

She shakes her head quickly. “But it will most definitely affect the Dogs, leaving them open to…creative forms of intervention.” She shivers slightly at that, and Kaz does as well. Something to be remembered is that for tricksters, tricking people and the prospect of a big score has the same effect on us as high-quality porn. And if we pull the tricks off, well…

Kaz looks at her. “And the Coyotes? What if they seek to interfere with the Dogs?”

Shiko smirks back in my direction. “The Dogs play Go, not Karuta.” A children's game. “Thank you for the information, Bard.”

The car pulls up to the curb, and I see that we've looped back around in front of Victory Tower. Kazuhiro gets out and opens the passenger door as the locks click. He keeps his eyes on me, but clearly isn't speaking to me when he says, “And this one? It's acceptable that he knows our plans? I can always send him somewhere…” he grins wickedly, “…appropriate.”

“Let him go,” she says, glancing back at me for the barest of seconds. “What can he do to stop us? He's only a human.”

With that, I'm grabbed from the car and shoved toward the building, the car already returning to traffic before I do anything more than double-barrel a famous hand gesture.

Only a human.
Not even that. The Foxes don't see me as someone worth tricking anymore, just a cheap source of information to be used and thrown away like some truck-stop condom. I should be relieved, honestly—it's one less group of people to be looking over my shoulder for—but damn it, I'm pissed off.

Who filched an ancient urn from the Foxes? Me.

Who beat Selah, a
former Sorcerer Kin
g, using nothing more than playing cards and Tenacious D lyrics? Me.

Who learned the Phouka's tale of their Emerald in the Snow? Me.

And who stole not one but
both souls of the Kitsune in that car all by himself and scammed his way to being the only non-Fox trickster in the City who can work Kitsune magic? You goddamned know who.

“I'm not a mark?
I
don't owe you any favors? I'm
just
a human? Well, fuck you right back, you uppity bitch, who only has that many tails to hide just how far the stick's shoved up her ass. ‘What can he do to stop us?' What can I do?” I actually start laughing, getting a bit of a shiver myself. “Oh, the softball you just threw Fate, Shiko.”

I narrow my eyes and walk away from Victory Tower, away from my boss and my internship. “I'll show you what a lowly human can do.”

Chapter Four

James

December 19, 7:50 am

“Parry, I'm starting to wonder if there actually is a meeting, seeing as we've been driving so long the sun's come up.”

We're heading north, upstate, well, at least we are
now
.
We've gotten lost three times. You'd think a dragon could afford to spring for a GPS.

I glance over at him, his attention focused solely on the road, gripping the wheel like I did the first month after I got my license. The radio is apparently too distracting. “Parry? You listening?”

“I've flown faster than this, why does it seem so…”

“Because you're behind the wheel. Learn to relax, you'll have better reaction time.” I glance around at the various farmland, mostly cows and the occasional horse. “I'd think that the Dracon Council would prefer to meet somewhere a little more urban? I mean, all of them can play humanoid, right? Couldn't I have just taken this meeting in Allora? Maybe in a nice restaurant or a Starbucks? I don't like using my wake-up spell too much. It messes with my head after a while. Plus, it's not the same as coffee and a four-dollar Danish.” My stomach growls to punctuate the comment. I could conjure some food, but that requires some energy, and who knows what parts of the car would get converted. Besides, conjured food is just empty calories anyway.

“The Ra'saar does not assume a lesser form.”

There's a new term. “The what, now?”

“The Dragon King. Only the Ra'keth possesses greater station, my liege. He requested the meeting with you.” There's some apprehension in his voice.

“Parry, what are you not telling me? Does he have a problem with my being higher on the totem pole than him? I've been pretty hands-off with your people, I don't see why he'd take issue. Besides, I figured Jutte was in charge, or that you all ruled by committee.” I catch a glimpse of a building pretty far down the road, as well as a long fence. An airfield.

Well, that would make sense for dragons to use as a landing spot, as human denial could just see them as Cessnas or something.

Parry shakes his head to my previous statement. “She is Broodmother to the Crimson Flight, their leader and representative, and that is the extent of her authority outside of her seat on the council. The council has sway, but decisions are ultimately the Ra'saar's.”

I quirk a brow at that. “And the reason that Ra'keth and Ra'saar have the same prefix?”

He blinks at me in disbelief. “
Ra
means king in Sigil. You do not know this?”

“I'm not too up on my Sigil, Parry. Not exactly a lot of teachers for it.”

We enter the airfield through an access road and make the drive to a private hangar, many high-end cars parked outside, the main bay doors opened a few feet. After parking the car next to a deep-red Ferrari, Parry exits the car and rushes around to pull my door open with a curt bow.

“So I pretty much just go in there and ask them what they want?”

“Of course not, my liege, you must be properly announced to the council, anything less would be an insult to your station.” I fight off rolling my eyes at that, and he starts toward the hangar alone. “I will find someone who can pronounce your arrival properly, sir.”

“God, just do it yourself, I don't want to be here any longer than I have to.”

Parry does a quick about-face and visibly quivers. “M-me, Your Majesty? You would have
me
announce your arrival?”

“I'm tired, I'm irritable and I'm starving. Let's just get this over with.”

“But…but,
sir
, I'm barely above a hatchling to the council, to have me announce the
Ra'keth
would be a grave insult to your honor and—”

So I shove him inside ahead of me, mostly because the bowing and scraping is getting more than a little grating on my nerves. This is another reason I avoid dragons. Constant hatred and derision from the rest of the supernatural community I can handle, but the praise is just a pain in the ass.

I wait outside a few seconds, ponder conjuring a smoke, but I manage to fight off the urge, which I take some pride in. Attempt number twelve to quit has held out for two weeks and counting.

The voice that comes from the hangar is loud and booming, aided by the echo, though the words completely escape me. I only recognize them as draconic, given Dave's penchant for swearing in said language. It's an odd sound, to be sure, having a definite aggression in the syllables, but a poetic quality as well. It goes on for over a minute, and then after a few seconds' rest begins again, only this time in fluent Sigil, which my mind, as all human minds do, translates into my native language, English.

“
Jureontia the Munificent, Argentus the Opulent, Maratrix the Esoteric, members of the council, and his most wise, most affluent, most preeminent majesty, Ra'saar Te'qin the Provident, may I, Parivian the Algid, please announce the arrival of His Majesty, the Slayer of the Frozen River, Champion of the Snow Clan, Denier of the Usurper's Decree, Walker of Tartarus, He Who Made Three Into One, Bearer of the Last True Diamond and Occupier of the Ivory Throne, our liege, the Sole Ra'keth, the Lightning Rod, James Black of the Argent City.
”

Okay…

Guess that's my cue.

When I step into the hangar, it's largely empty, save the twenty dragons of various colors and sizes that inhabit it. I play a certain game, so the sight, I will admit, makes my knees turn to Jell-O.

The dragons are lined up along the walls; their sizes range from the smallest, who are closest to me, and go on up until the three largest at the far end, who stand with a massive wyrm of at least one hundred feet with shining golden scales, his horns having jeweled inlays, though his eyes are pale blue, no irises. He's flanked by Jutte in her dragon form on his right, as well as two dragons, silver and blue, both of comparable size to his left. My guess is the golden one is the Dragon King.

A dragon with milky-white scales is directly in front of me, facing me. He's about the size of a trailer and has his head bowed low enough to almost brush the floor. Parry, I would assume. When he speaks, I can tell he's putting considerable effort into making his voice as quiet as possible, which to my ears sounds like someone venting road rage. “My deepest apologies, Your Majesty, but I only considered myself worthy to give an abbreviated introduction.”

Jesus, I have a longer name and list of titles than
that
?

I gesture to my polo shirt and jeans. “I'm feeling rather underdressed for this.”

He snorts some cold mist from his nostrils, but it has the same context, I infer, as a shrug.

Hell with it, why not?

“Stand back.” I close my eyes and focus my will, imagining my full name and the bits of it that make it human, and then remembering the name of dragons, which I learned from Jutte, and the unfortunate name that Spencer saddled me with when I was stuck in my draconic form several months ago, Slartibartfast. Apparently I'll get it if I read some Douglas Adams.

Luckily, the transformation isn't some physically painful affair where I'd be writhing on the floor for several minutes while I grow scales and wings and all that. Instead, when I commit my will to the working, it's as simple as a flash of light, and in an instant my perspective alters from that of five feet eight inches off the floor to about ten feet, my body luckily having good enough instincts to give my mind a break from figuring out a quadrupedal stance as well as wings and a tail.

The issue right now is holding on to my identity. The downside to having a form with a different name than my own is that Slartibartfast is like another part of me, what I'd be like personality-wise if I'd been born, or rather hatched, as a Snow Dragon instead of a human. And the longer I'm in this form, the easier it becomes to just be him instead of me. The big danger? If I'm like this too long, I might forget I was ever human in the first place. I've slipped before, but luckily Spencer was around to remind me who I actually am. I can already feel Slartibartfast in the back of my mind, or to put it better, what I identify as him. What I do know is that, seeing all these dragons here, especially the more important ones, makes me feel very small.

There's a bit of a reaction when the transformation is finished, more surprise than anything else. Though from the chatter I can infer that it's not that I can take a dragon's form, but more which form I took. When I survey the long line of dragons that make up the council proper, the Snow Clan, save Parry, is conspicuously absent.

I make my way forward, figuring that's just what I'm supposed to do, feeling the eyes of the dragons on me as I pass between them. To my credit, I don't trip over my own feet. I keep my head high, since I didn't come here to kowtow. As I approach the quartet at the far end, all three, save the king himself, bow their heads, while I catch the slightest of nods from the Ra'saar.

“All right, I'm here, can we get this over with? I'm late for work.”

Murmurs from the council, but they're silenced with one glance from the Ra'saar. His attention turns to me, his voice rumbling and powerful and deep, as expected. “
This
is the Ra'keth?”

I sigh, a bit of frost appearing on the floor from my breath. “You didn't get that from the long-winded introduction? I thought you guys were supposed to be hyperintelligent. Did Dungeons & Dragons lie to me again?”

I don't really want to be here, why not be snarky?

In response, the Blue Dragon, Maratrix, leans toward him to whisper something, at which the Ra'saar's eyes go wide, and then I get a look at his bared teeth. “You play at fantasies where my kind is
hunted
?”

Okay, maybe not the wisest idea. “In my defense, my group primarily hunts orcs and evil wizards.” Best not to mention that a dragon is running these “fantasies”. Dave's probably in enough trouble with his family for the crime of being poor. “But forget all that, you obviously wanted to talk to me for a reason, so let's have it. What do you want?”

At that, he nods to Argentus, the Silver Dragon, and also Dave's dad, who steps forward, but not so far as that he'll upstage the Ra'saar. Dragons aren't exactly common which, according to Dave at least, has necessitated interbreeding between clans, and it's anyone's guess what a hatchling will be until they, well, hatch. I never thought I'd meet Dave's father, much less in an official capacity.

“After review of your usurpation of the throne, and your decision for our people to retain their Name,” Argentus intones with resonance that has flashes of James Earl Jones, “It is the honor of the Dracon Council to formally recognize your reign as the first Ra'keth of this age.”

I understandably blink. “That's it? That's why I was woken up and dragged out of bed practically at gunpoint in the dead of night? So you could tell me something you could've put in a text message?”

When I look around the hangar, I see a lot of shocked faces and quite a few insulted ones. Best to change tack here. “Of course I'm grateful that you went to such lengths to do me this honor, but it really wasn't necessary. I try to be easygoing about these things. I was looking forward to a hands-off relationship between us.”

At that, Jutte steps forward, nearly even with the king, “You yourself agreed to choose a protector, my liege. Do you remember?”

Shit. On the night I took the throne, the night that Cale, my teacher, was murdered, I was looking for vengeance and didn't quite know where to find Heath, the man who did the deed. In exchange for showing me the way (i.e., telling me to look over my shoulder), I agreed to eventually take a dragon as my personal bodyguard, as that's the entire reason that dragons were created to begin with.

“So that's the reason I'm here, to choose my protector?” When I look behind me, I see that most of the dragons appear a bit eager. “Clear something up for me, would you? Just who makes up the council proper?”

The quartet of large dragons almost simultaneously snort jets of flame, electricity issuing from the Blue. At least D&D was accurate about
that
. The rest of the hangar is conspicuously silent.

I guess that's my answer.

“So I pick my protector from one of the others?” I tic my head at the rest of the assemblage and catch the slightest of nods from the king.

“I can't do that.” I cut off the uproar before it starts. “I don't even know any of them. You'd have me trust my safety to a stranger?”

The Ra'saar makes an amused sound and motions toward a Crimson Dragon at the front of the left line, who bows his head curtly and then steps forward. “Not all of us are strangers, my liege.”

Oh God. “Salondine?” I catch a toothy grin from him, at which I look over my…shoulder? I don't know, but my neck cranes at a disturbing angle without any pain as I look behind me and find Parry, still waiting patiently by the door to the hangar, keeping an eye out. “I'd take that hatchling as a protector before him.”

And there's the outrage. Not just from Salondine, but from every other dragon in contention for the job. Great. I try to get their attention, and on instinct my tail slams hard into the floor, which stings like a bitch, sounds like a thunderclap and leaves a long crack in the concrete.

Okay, I need to think, be clever, consider the situation, because honestly I don't want to walk out of here with extra company. I seriously doubt that Dave would be up for another flatmate, especially a dragon.

“Let's do some simple process of elimination, shall we? You'll be spending nearly all of your time in a humanoid form. I trust that you're all powerful enough to do such?” A chorus of fiery and electric snorts at that. “How many of you can drive?”

Half of the contenders taken care of.