First||Previous Part Twenty-Three I groan, sitting up, rubbing my head, trying to steady my breathing. There are people across the street, in the diner, watching the events unfold. A few have already taken out their phones to get video. Val and Shan are staring each other down, and no one’s talking about the fact that Val’s holding a sword. “Val! What are you doing? Put that away!” I immediately wince. Why is everything so loud? “You dismiss me so casually?” He advances a step, Shan doesn’t move. “And choose… this as your protector?” That gets a few people murmuring. If what those two said is true, the crowd will hear what they want, what makes sense, because a half-Sidhe drawing a magic sword on a black dragon on a city street in broad daylight doesn’t make sense. A self-absorbed white boy pissed off to the point of threatening violence on a white Goth girl who chose a tall, classically handsome black man over him? Yeah, I can see someone wanting to upload that to YouTube. Shan cocks his head, his voice taking an edge. “This?” Now it’s my turn to get between them, which means the point of that blade is now just under my breasts. Oh fuck, what am I doing…. “This is between me and the…” Val glares at me, I respond my folding my arms. Val almost spits the word, “Dragon.” A few people gasp. I’m guessing they heard something much, much more offensive. The inflection was clear enough, though, that I feel Shan trying to move around me. I hold him back, in that I put my arm in his way and he’s kind enough to respect the gesture, because I doubt I could physically hold him back. “Val, I don’t want to command you by your name. Put the sword down.” He smiles, lips curled. “Go ahead. Speak in Sigil. Let the crowd know exactly what you are. You’re aware of the nation’s history regarding women who wield magic?” “Of course, they-“ “They were burned at the stake as servants and whores of demons and devils. These people will ignore me, even that,” he says, pointing to Shan with his free hand. Shan literally growls, but Val’s attention is diverted. It’s not hard to slide to Fae’s weak side after that. Working in a haunt means that, because your job is to scare people, that you have to deal with the fight or flight instinct. Most of the time it’s flight, but sometimes it’s fight, meaning you’re going to get punched, kicked, slapped, shoved, all manner of undisciplined tactics used in a brawl. Typically, you’re not supposed to fight back, because shortly after they hit you, flight kicks in and they run off, or they suddenly realize that it’s a haunted house so it’s all supposed to be in fun. But you still learn how to throw a punch back, how to close, not scrunch the fist, pull back the thumb instead of tucking it under the fingers, keep the wrist locked, and apply force as if punching through their face, not at their face. And since Tasha covers boxing in the off-season, I also know about the simple jab-jab-hook combination. Val, on the other hand, does not. The crowd’s reaction is mixed to seeing the attractive young man put on his back by a woman, but there are several woman-positive comments mixed in as I’ve essentially fought and won the battle by myself without the aid of a man, though a few comments are directed at Shan for needing a white girl to fight in his stead. While Val is on the ground, hands covering his face, the sword drops to the pavement with a soft clatter. I pick it up, and then stand over him, well, a couple of feet away so he can’t trip me up. “Don’t you ever try any shit like this again, you got that, Val? You and I never were, not by choice for either of us. Find something else to be a hero for, if they can stand you at all.” I will admit it was not ladylike at all for me to punctuate that remark with a spit to his face. But it felt good, regardless. I tap the flat of the blade against him while he gets to his feet, lip bleeding. “Now. Fuck off.” The crowd dissipates soon after Val leaves, vanishing into the people, and I finally relax once he’s out of sight. My grip loosens enough on the sword hilt that I can hold it without my arm aching. “They hunt my kind, you know,” Shan says from behind me, his eyes still focused on the crowd, keeping track, likely making sure that Val doesn’t return. “It’s sport to them, fodder for their self-aggrandizing tales. Mostly the children among us, quick enough to be hunted, strong enough to be a challenge, but not so difficult as to ruin the fun.” “That’s disgusting.” “Of course it is.” He glances to me. “Were you expecting relief on my part that you managed such simple compassion?” “If I were a dragon and said that, would you have responded the same way?” He chuffs. “If you were a dragon and said that, I would fear your egg had been dropped several dozen times so as to leave you moon-brained and tragically naïve. Do not expect congratulations from me for stating the obvious.” “Okay, but what the fuck have I done to deserve this treatment? This attitude?” “You are a sorcerer. And human.” “I get it, okay? Sorcerers are assholes to dragons and humans have treated all of you like shit. I can’t really change that, but I can choose how I act and what I do around you. So what have I done to deserve this? Is it the life debt? That’s your deal, not mine. Is it that I stood up to Val instead of letting you two fight it out in front of a crowd? Sorry if I didn’t let you two whip ‘em out and measure, but his problem was with me and my choices so it was my score to settle. Is it because I walked out on you from the diner? You were being a dick. I’m not expecting us to be friends, okay? We’ve both got our own reasons for chasing that other necromancer, but at least we’ve got the same goal. Can we at least work together, then? Equal partners?” I extend my hand to make the point. “What did you say?” “A lot. You’ll have to be more specific.” “Equal.” I nod. “Yeah. Equal partners.” “I, a dragon, as an equal of you, a Keth?” “That’s what I said.” “And it is what you mean?” “Yes, you and I will be equals in this.” He takes my hand, grips it firmly, and shakes it. “Equals.” “Equals.” He lets go of my hand, and closes his eyes a few seconds, savoring the moment. When he opens them back up, he nods once, a curt smile on his face. “Then as your equal, I would ask that you remand yourself to a bathhouse or shower, as the wretchedness of your scent, I’m certain, is overwhelming my senses and corroding my brain.” “God, you’re a dick.” “I’m quite confident that entity would agree with my assessment.”

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