Hidden Dragons (17 page)

“Someone’s in the house,” she said.

Rick’s warning bells went off then. He drew his gun and held up a finger for her to be quiet. He touched the door, which was no longer locked and swung slightly. Gesturing to the wall beside it, he made a sign for her to stay. A peculiar sound issued from the apartment, reminding him of an unhappy and not-quite-human child.

The cat
, Cass mouthed, her eyes gone wide with alarm.

Wanting some idea what he faced, Rick pricked his ears harder.

“Put that creature in the other room,” he heard a low voice say.

Cass must have heard it too, because she stifled a small gasp. Great. Now she was worried about her cat. No way would he coax her to go to Security and wait.

The idea of handcuffing her to the elevator rail was a little too distracting.

Resigned, he pushed the door fully open and slipped inside. Wolves knew how to track prey in silence and so did Rick. He noted a pair of cleaning carts parked in the round entry. Their plastic sides bore the logo for the Merriment Maids service. This
might
have reduced his tension, except none of the supplies had been removed. No vacuums hummed farther in, no scrub brushes swished, no brooms swept across marble. He did hear drawers being quietly opened and shut again. He wished he heard them opening and shutting in the same area.

He wished even harder that Cass hadn’t crept after him.

When he frowned at her, she held up nine fingers. He guessed she was better at counting energy signatures than him.

Goblins
, she mouthed with exaggerated lip movements. She held up her cell phone, clearly offering to call for back-up.

Nine goblins were pretty many, but they were small as a rule. Rick probably could take them if Cass had sufficient juice to dampen their limited magic. Waiting for back-up would give the intruders more time to find what they were searching for.

If Rick’s half-baked theory about Cass’s rocks was wrong, the dragon eggs could be here. Cass would have been in and out of her grandmother’s house as a girl. So would her father. Rick wasn’t convinced she’d remembered everything that had gone down all those years ago.

Wherever the truth lay, they couldn’t afford to let the clutch fall into the wrong hands.

He looked at her, not knowing how to ask if she was up for this. There she stood in her prissy I’m-a-member-of-the-Board pantsuit, not so much as a smudge to prove she’d been hiking through the woods—in four-inch heels, no less. On the other hand, her pristine appearance kind of proved the amount of casual power she had.

No harder than tying shoes
, was how she’d put it.

“I can help,” she whispered as quietly as she could. She seemed nervous but not afraid—no more than the downspout-scaling seven-year-old she’d been.

He nodded and squeezed her arm, wanting her as steady as possible. Even in the midst of facing danger, touching her felt incredible.

You love her
, he thought.
It’s too late to stop that from happening
.

This made him feel a little grim, so maybe he was lucky he didn’t have time to think. He peered around the corner to the central hall, the one that did double duty as a portrait gallery. Three goblins were in a confab around its midpoint. The tallest was four foot nothing, the shortest maybe three. Only one appeared to be a woman, though all wore the female version of the Merriment Maids’ baby blue uniform. They shared the same mud green skin tone, suggesting they were members of the same low-ranked clan.

Vibrant colors were the mark of goblin aristocrats.

The lower ranks supplied the city with cheap labor. Because they were strong for their size, rarely sick, and usually hardworking, penny-pinching employers overlooked their tendency to petty larceny. Certainly intelligent enough for skilled jobs, goblins sometimes pretended to be stupid. Rick had interrogated quite a few who conveniently “forgot” they knew English. He had mixed emotions about them being approved Pocket residents—sympathy and suspicion generally fighting for dominance.

At that moment, suspicion was winning.

Deciding a direct approach might gain useful information, Rick tucked his gun into the back of his jeans and strode into the hall. He looked like a bodyguard. He’d let them assume he was one.

“Excuse me,” he said as the three goblins froze and gaped. “What are you doing in Miss Maycee’s home?”

“Cleaning,” said the shortest, none too believably. He held a framed oil portrait nearly as tall he was. “See?” He dusted it ineffectively with his ill-fitting sleeve.

The four-foot goblin took the picture from him and—by stretching up on his toes—hung it crookedly on a waiting hook. “We have a standing appointment. Security let us in.”

Rick let this pass temporarily. If these “maids” had been here before, why was the cat so upset? He glanced at the newly hung painting. It depicted a sour-faced woman in 1920’s dress. The plaque on the bottom said it was Millicent Maycee. Rick was no expert, but he’d never heard of her.

“This doesn’t belong here,” he said sternly. “Older family members go near to the door.”

He hoped to herd the trio toward it. Maybe he could rout them without the others he’d heard moving around the penthouse piling on.

“Of course,” said the middle goblin—the female. She reached the portrait down. “Pardon us. Our mistake.”

The mistake was Rick’s. As soon as the picture was off the wall, the female hopped like lightning onto one of her companion’s shoulders, using him as a springboard to bash the heavy wooden frame against Rick head. The blow didn’t knock him over, but he staggered. At the same time, a door opened behind the trio and to the left. Two more goblins plus Poly the cat streaked out. She must have recognized him and decided he was a friend. She clawed up his leg like he was a tree she wanted to hide in.

Rick ended up on the carpet beneath five goblins and a panicked cat.

This isn’t going to earn me a medal
, the calmer part of him thought.

His wolf reflexes and greater size enabled him to block the barrage of kicks and punches. He got in a few himself, tossing one attacker at least ten feet. Not liking that, another goblin muttered a weakening spell. Luckily, it sputtered out before it had a chance to sap Rick’s muscles.

Unluckily, he wasn’t alone in guessing why it failed.

“The halfling!” someone called. “She’s here.”

Four more goblins rushed out of various doors and ran toward where he’d left Cass.

Crap
, Rick thought. With a burst of strength, he pitched off the remaining goblins. This allowed him to roll to his feet. His hand flashed to the small of his back . . .

And came out with nothing.

“Looking for this?” the smallest goblin inquired. Rick stared down the barrel of his own Smith & Wesson, dismayed to find it in someone else’s unexpectedly competent grip. The safety was off, the gun primed to fire. The goblin’s four-knuckled finger curled over the trigger.

“She’s in the parlor!” another goblin cried. “Help me control her.”

The goblin with the gun let his focus split. Rick didn’t wait for a second opening. He unleashed a kick from his hip, neatly knocking the weapon from his opponent’s hand. The goblin cursed in Goblin and shook stinging fingers. The middle-sized one, the female, scrambled for the pistol before Rick could. Simultaneously, chaos erupted in the parlor. Rick knew he had to settle this group before he could help Cass.

“Go ahead,” said the female, pointing his gun at him. “Make my day.”

Really? Now he had to deal with goblins who thought they were Clint Eastwood? Frustration swelled inside him, a growl rising from his belly as if he were his wolf. Evidently, his opponent wasn’t immune to the primal threat. A shot rang out but went wide, the female’s nerves not up to aiming. Seeing she’d missed, she ran. Rick launched himself over her, landing in front of her in a beastlike crouch. That really rattled her. Still crouched and too quick for her to dodge, he swung his arm in an uppercut.

As he did, flame engulfed his right hand. Had another of the goblins gotten off a spell? In that instant, he didn’t care if they’d set him on fire. This punch was going to connect.

His fist landed with a crunch he wasn’t prepared for. Something flew and bounced off the wall. It was the goblin’s head. He’d ripped it clear off the female’s neck. Rick gawked at his hand, no longer burning but encased in an exquisitely articulated knight’s gauntlet. His electrum cuff had transformed again. Slender spikes sprouted from the metal glove’s knuckles—sharp ones, apparently. A
thunk
announced the rest of the goblin collapsing to the floor. Since the species was rather gristly, there wasn’t a lot of blood.

A scream he thought was Cass’s sent him running to the parlor.

Four goblins had her backed against a wall of glass-fronted display cabinets. Using what looked like all the room’s floor lamps, Cass had erected a fence between her and her attackers. A magical force field shimmered between the posts, which the goblins were wildly throwing themselves against. Cass flinched each time they hit—and no wonder. Snarling like mad things, their lips were peeled back from their pointy teeth, their eyes bloodshot and bulging. Two were actually drooling.

This wasn’t the image goblin leaders tried to promote. Right then her assailants resembled true monsters. If Rick had filmed them and shared the footage, he could have gotten the entire species’ visas revoked.

“Hey!” he called to get their attention.

He succeeded a bit too well. All the goblins rushed him at once. Fury undermined their ability to coordinate the attack. His new accouterment dispatched two handily, the impact of the metal on their skulls knocking them unconscious. The third went for his throat with its pointy teeth. Rick gutted it on his gauntlet’s spikes.

The fourth he had alternate plans for.

Catching it by the neck with his metal fingers, he body-slammed all four feet of it to the floor.

“You resist, you die,” he said, his voice gone guttural and wolfy.

The enraged goblin spat at him.

The spittle missed, but Rick was not amused. He smashed the goblin’s head against the carpet. “Who are you working for?”

He’d stunned the sturdy goblin enough to weaken it. It curled its lip and answered. “You aren’t worthy to hear her name, Wolf Man.”

Her
name? That was interesting.

“Rick!” Cass cried before he could ask more questions.

The goblins from the hall had regrouped. Now blocking the parlor door, two were holding mops as if they were rifles. He’d have found that funny, except the handles started shooting golf ball sized electric bolts.

“You resist,
you
die,” the goblin he’d trapped chortled.

Rick ran out of patience and snapped its neck.

“Come on,” he said, waving Cass to him. She released the force field she’d spun around the lamps and raced over. She got to him as a bolt winged his elbow, the charge jolting uncomfortably through his nerves. He deflected the next shot with his electrum glove. Apparently, it did possess Wonder Woman bracelet qualities. Wising up, the mop-wielding goblins split apart to shoot at them from different directions.

“Crap,” he said, wondering how he’d get him and Cass out of here un-fried.

Cass took his left hand and squeezed it, but she wasn’t trying to comfort him.

“
We’re not here
,” she said in a strange intense tone.

Because his main focus was the shooters, Rick only watched Cass from the corner of his eye. All the same, he couldn’t fail to notice when she disappeared. Registering that he’d blinked out of view as well took a few more seconds.

The goblins who’d been firing at them exclaimed to each other in their own language.

“Don’t let go,” Cass murmured, her invisible hand gripping his harder. “And hurry. I can’t hold this spell long.”

The confounded goblins blundered into the parlor, trying to find them by waving their arms around. Rick slipped Cass between them and out the front entrance. Her spell was flickering as they reached the elevator. Without wasting breath on cursing, she punched in the code and hit the call button. Rick pulled her inside the car the instant the doors opened.

Poly yowled from the threshold to the penthouse.

“Well, come on,” Rick hissed, but the frightened cat didn’t understand.

An electric bolt singed the floor mere inches from her back paw.

Damn it
, he thought, dashing back across the foyer for her.

Naturally the goblins saw him the moment he released Cass’s hand. Hoping to avoid being shot, he weaved and feinted like his old soccer-playing days. He feared the cat might run from him, but he managed to grab it around the middle before it could decide what it was most scared of.

He dove with it cradled to his chest, sliding on his side across the polished marble back to where Cass waited. With a strength that probably shouldn’t have surprised him, she hauled him and his cargo in.

One last bolt sizzled on the elevator doors as they hissed closed.

“Jesus,” he said, repeatedly pressing the “P3” button in a stupid attempt to make the car hurry.

“We’ll reach the garage first,” Cass said. “I melted the mechanism on the door to the stairs.”

She was pleased with herself. A tiny smile played around her gorgeous mouth. What she didn’t realize was that one of the goblin’s bolts must have exploded near her head. Most of her raven hair was floating up with static.

Combined with her smugness, this was pretty adorable.

“That was quick thinking,” he acknowledged, not giving the joke away.

“Shall I take her?” Cass offered, indicating the wriggling cat.

As soon as Rick passed her over, the ungrateful feline began purring.

“We didn’t like those goblins, did we?” Cass cooed into Poly’s ruff. “They had terrible coffee breath.”

Rick’s knees might have been shaking in the aftermath of the fight, but he still found energy to chuckle.

~

To Cass’s amusement, the first thing Rick did after they jogged into the garage was retrieve the rocks from his car. The second was pull out his cell phone. He seemed to be struggling over whether to use it.