Light My Fire (25 page)

“Maybe because he’s not as big and powerful as he
says he is?”

I joined the queue at a taxi stand and thought about that.
“Doubtful. Amelie said the other contenders to Venediger weren’t as powerful as him, and they ended up killing each
other. So it’s pretty much a granted that this guy is all that.”

“Maybe. Or maybe he’s just been in the Far East like
he said he was.”

“Even so—” An awareness of someone behind me
caused me to turn as I was speaking. My body changed position just far enough so that the dart that was intended
to pierce my neck zipped past me and embedded itself in
the taxi sign.

“Whoa,” Jim said, its eyes big as it looked at the two-
inch thin metal dart tipped with a plastic cone. “You don’t
see one of those every day.”

I didn’t waste time examining the dart. I spun ninety
degrees, caught sight of an Asian man turning away as he
tucked a long, thin metal pipe into his jacket, and flung
myself forward in a leap that would do a long jumper
proud. “Jim, attack the dragon,” I yelled as the man
sprinted away. He crashed into two elderly ladies emerg
ing from a shop. Jim’s dark form raced past me as I
paused to help the ladies up and make sure they weren’t
hurt.

Jim’s muffled woofs clued me in to its location, a fact
I was grateful for, because the red dragon had managed to find a way behind the row of shops, into a narrow access
alley devoid of anything but crates, garbage cans, and the usual detritus of city life. I caught sight of them next to a
large square metal garbage can, the red dragon trying to
climb a fire escape, but Jim, bless its demon heart, threw
itself at the dragon. The two of them went down with a
loud crash. I snatched up a half-empty can of paint and
ran over to where the dragon was bashing Jim’s head into
the wall.

“You son of a bitch,” I snarled, swinging the paint can
at his head. Words from my self-defense instructor re
garding the best way to disable someone echoed in my memory, causing me to switch targets. The can slammed
into the dragon’s left knee, connecting with a sickening
crunching noise. The dragon screamed and went down
again, both hands on his leg. Jim shook its head, a long
line of bloody slobber flying from its mouth.

“Stay back,” I warned Jim, in case it had thoughts of
attacking.

“No problemo,” it croaked, making an odd face as it
ran its tongue over its teeth.

“All right, you bastard,” I said, raising the paint can
(which now had a big dent in the side). “If you don’t want your other kneecap smashed to hell and back again, you’ll
hand over that blowgun and any other weapons you have
stashed on you.”

The dragon said something in Chinese. Judging by the
face he made as he did so, I assumed it wasn’t “I surrender.”

“Have
it
your way,” I said, swinging the can again,
praying the threat would be enough to make the dragon
talk. I have no issues with defending myself and those I
love, but I was not really a fighter. The fact that I’d al
ready disabled his knee was enough to live with—I didn’t
want to be responsible for crippling him.

“No!” he shouted, pulling his body into a fetal shape
as he rocked back and forth with pain. “I give you gun.”

“Jim, how’s your head?”

“It hurths. I think he knocketh a tooth looth. I thay we
kill him.”

“It’s a thought,” I answered, hoping to scare the
dragon into believing I was callous and cold. “You’re Shing, aren’t you? One of Chuan Ren’s bodyguards?”

The dragon refused to answer me. It didn’t matter—I
remembered him. “Look, it’s not going to do you any
good to cop an attitude. You’re at our mercy here, so if
you don’t want to die, you’d better start telling me what I
want to know.”

“Kill me,” Shing said, his face grim. “There is only
honor in death at the hands of an enemy.”

I thought for three seconds before snatching the two-
foot-long plastic blowgun that peeked out of his jacket.
“I’ve got a better idea.” He glared at me. I smiled. “One
that just reeks of dishonor.”

Fifteen minutes later Jim (drooling excessively) and I grimly marched up the stairs to a nondescript hotel while
I maintained a firm grip on the collar of the dragon. Shing
had adopted a hunched over, half-shuffle, half-limp, shoot
ing me periodie glares of outright loathing, but most of
the fight had gone out of him once he realized that he was
in a vulnerable position. “Chuan Ren will repay you for
shaming me!” he managed to snarl as I dragged him into
the hotel.

“Uh-huh.”

“You will die the Death of Ten Thousand Screams!”

“Only ten thousand? I thought she was good for at
least eleven.”

Shing tried to straighten up, but the pain of his dislocated kneecap was too much even for his stoic self.
“Followed by the Dismemberment of a Thousand Slashes.”

“Yeah, you mentioned that one in the cab. Jim?”

“Right behind you.”

“I myself will participate in the Ceremonial Rending
of the Flesh!”

“Good for you. Hi. I’d like the room number for Lung
Tik Chuan Ren,” I told the reception clerk, who was look
ing somewhat flustered at our sudden, unkempt appear
ance into polite company. “I have something of hers I think she’d like returned, but he doesn’t seem to be in
clined to tell me what room she’s in.”

“Never will I talk! I will die before I reveal anything to
you!”

“For thomeone whothe not talking, you thure are blab
bing a lot,” Jim said in a low voice.

Shing’s face went red.

“I will ring the room and announce you,” the woman
said, glancing at the dragon nervously.

I leaned across the reception desk and put my free
hand on the phone, my eyes on hers as I opened the door in my mind and focused my attention. “You just need to tell me the room number. I’ll find her on my own.” I gave a little push as I spoke. Her eyes went blank as her hand
fell limply to her side.

“Room number?” I asked, a tiny bit nervous about
using the mind push without proper supervision.

“Six oh four,” she answered, looking over my shoulder
at nothing.

“Thank you. Have a nice day. Oh, and forget about
seeing us, OK?”

“As you wish.”

I smiled cheerily, gave Shing’s collar a jerk as he tried
to twist out of my grip, and trundled my little gang toward the elevator.

“Your head will be severed from your body,” Shing
promised in as mean a voice as he could rally. The whim
pers of pain kind of took away the threatening effect,
however.

“Aw. I wath hoping we could take the thtairth,” Jim lisped, narrowing its eyes on Shing. The dragon growled
at it. Jim growled back, deliberately slobbering on his
foot.

“Stop it, you two. Honestly, it’s gotten so I just can’t take
them anywhere,” I told the woman who was about to get on
the elevator. She wisely chose to wait for the next one.

“Thithy,” Jim said.

“We are not here to judge others. And please remember your party manners,” I reminded Jim. “The red drag
ons may have declared war on us, but that doesn’t mean we have to descend to their level and be rude.”

“I will rip out your heart and eat it before your eyes,”
Shing moaned, clutching his knee.

I doubt I’ll forget the look on Sying’s—Shing’s buddy
and Chuan Ren’s second bodyguard—face for a long,
long time. The disbelief that chased horror when he saw his compatriot crumpled on the floor in front of the door
(Jim had “accidentally” managed to trip Shing) was price
less, and definitely worth the aggravation of being the victim of yet another assassination attempt.

“Hi. We’re here to see Chuan Ren,” I said, pushing
past the stunned Sying to enter the suite. “I’d appreciate
it if you could tell her I’m here, and I’d like to have a cou
ple of words.”

“Your death will be one that lasts a thousand years,” Shing whimpered as I half dragged him into the room.
“Our poets will write many songs detailing just how hor
rible it will be.”

“Oh,” I said as Sying continued to stand openmouthed
at the door. I pulled out the small gun that I had taken
from Shing and pointed it at the second bodyguard.
“Just
...
uh
...
in case you had thoughts of saying no, or
something. Would you mind removing any guns or other
weapons you happen to have stashed on yourself?”

Sying closed the door, hesitated for the count of four,
then reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a gun,
which he laid on the table next to him.

“Thanks. Jim?”

“On it.” Jim brought the gun to me, then returned to
check over Sying. “He’th clean.”

“Excellent. Now, where is Chuan Ren?”

Sying’s eyes flickered for the briefest of moments to
the double doors across the room. He said nothing,
though, clearly unsure of whether he should try to attack
me or help his friend.

“I wouldn’t,” I advised as I grabbed a handful of
Shing’s hair and prodded him into moving forward. “I’ve
got your guns, Shing is in poor shape, and Jim’s really an
noyed at having a tooth knocked loose. Why don’t you
just open the doors for us, and we’ll get out of your hair.”

I don’t know quite what I was expecting Chuan Ren to be doing—maybe torturing an innocent child or plotting
the overthrow of Western civilization—but standing in the middle of a small living room kissing someone was
not it.

“Hi. I don’t know if you remember me, but I’m Ais
ling Grey, and I’m sick and tired of having your guys on me.”

Chuan Ren spun around, her long black hair flying out
behind her, caressing the chest of the man she’d been
kissing.

I took one look at that man—the broad, broad chest,
long legs, and dark emerald green eyes, and fire literally
burst forth in a ring around me. “Just what the hell is
going on here!” I yelled as I stormed forward. Shing squawked as he was dragged along with me. I released
his hair and marched over to where Drake stood with an
extremely irritated look on his face, trailing fire with
every step. “You are in so much trouble, buster! I cannot
begin to tell you how much trouble you are in, but I will
say this—it is trouble like you have never seen before!”

“Would it appease you at all to know that she kissed
me?” he asked.

“Barely.”

“What are you doing here?” Chuan Ren demanded to
know. “Shing, why are you on the ground? Did I not send
you out to kill her? Can you not accomplish even the sim
plest of tasks? Where is Sying?”

I stopped glaring at Drake long enough to take two steps over to Chuan Ren. Without thinking about it, I
pulled hard on Drake’s fire and slammed it into her, send
ing her flying backwards three feet. “Don’t think I’m not
holding you responsible for this, either, you witch!”

“I think you lefth the
B
off that word,” Jim said.

“Witch!” Chuan Ren screamed, lunging forward for me,
her long nails clawlike. I’m willing to admit that I would
have been a goner if Drake hadn’t been there. I might have
caught Chuan Ren by surprise the first time, but she was
first and foremost a warrior, and had been for over a thou
sand years. I really didn’t stand a chance with her.

“Cease!” Drake bellowed, suddenly in front of me, his body shielding me from Chuan Ren’s attack. She snarled
something at him but sheathed her claws, her dark brown
eyes glittering with a deep red light that did not bode
well.

“Mate.” He turned his head slightly to look at me.

“What?”

One eyebrow rose. I followed his gaze and cleared my
throat. “Is there a fire extinguisher in this room?”