'Til Dragons Do Us Part (Never Deal with Dragons) (13 page)

Myrna, who I’d be willing to name as one of the greatest political minds of the decade, had managed to coax Lord Nir Relobu into performing the ceremony. Doing so had effectively put to rest any and all speculation surrounding the North American dragon lord’s supposed disapproval of Trian’s marriage, and all but guaranteed the presence of at least three of the other dragon council members. And Myrna said she’d put money on the remaining three showing up, just to make sure they didn’t miss anything by staying home.

Based on the rumors I’d heard, Relobu was planning an informal sit-down with the council following the wedding, an attempt to persuade them to make good on their promises of developing global standards of human and dragon interaction.

As acting head of the world’s largest dragon relations offices in the world, these standards were something Myrna been campaigning about for years, and—as she’d said herself—were the primary reason she was putting up with this entire circus of a wedding. In fact, it had been the promise of meetings such as this that had led to her taking the job that reunited her with Trian.

Frankly, I was impressed she’d managed to convince the normally introverted Relobu to oversee the ceremony. Pushing the dragon lord into scheduling a meeting afterward was testament either to Myrna’s tenacity, or Relobu’s indulgence in the happiness of his soon to be extended household family. As human-friendly as the dragon lord was relative to the other six, it was still very rare that anyone had the gall to try and tell him what to do.

Which was why we were completely shocked at Amanda’s request.

“No. Not that one. The item underneath.”

Cameron frowned, and I watched him run his eyes over the page once again. “She wants you to get Lord Relobu’s measurements to make sure he fits under the canopy. And then direct him in appropriate human wedding etiquette?”

I nodded. “Not only that, but she provided me a script to give him. Basically, she wants me to call the dragon lord of North America fat, then tell him that he needs lessons on social behavior. She actually wants me to mention that he needs to refrain from making, and I quote, ‘that horrible grunting noise when he breathes through his snout.’”

He laughed. “I hope you don’t plan on phrasing it like that.”

I glared at him. “You’re making the assumption that I plan on talking to the dragon lord at all. Even Amanda wasn’t able to get him to show up for the rehearsal, what makes you think he’s going to make time to talk to a lackey? Amanda may think I’m a good choice for this task simply because I’m a dragonspeaker, but there’s no way I’m calling up Relobu’s assistant and requesting a meeting with the leader of this entire continent.”

“Come on. He’s really a very nice guy once you get to know him.” Cameron looked back down at my list, and I saw a shadow of doubt cross his face. “But maybe you should just keep the script to yourself and tell Amanda you did your best. It’s not like she can blame you if he grunts once or twice during the ceremony.”

I laughed. “Oh yeah? Watch her.”

Not only did I dread even the thought of approaching a dragon lord about manners, I’d long ago decided that I never wanted to meet the dragons I stole from. Simon, who was so much better at the game than I, had never understood my stance on that. He liked to argue that whether we met them or not, it didn’t make their stuff any less stolen.

Yes. He had a point. But that didn’t make me any more eager. Cameron still had a teasing glint in his eye, and I held up a hand before he could attempt to goad me further. “Not a chance. I’d like to remain an unknown when it comes to Lord Relobu, thank you very much.”

Chapter Thirteen

Amanda disagreed with my decision. Vehemently. I tried to reason with her. I tried to offer to serve as her translator while
she
spoke with Lord Relobu. I even offered to talk to Myrna about going through official DRACIM channels. But Amanda was adamant. So adamant, in fact, that she icily informed me that if I didn’t report back on my meeting with Relobu by end of business, there would be no need for me to report back at all.

So there I was, once again standing outside the Relobu Manor wondering how in the world I’d gotten myself into this mess. After saying my goodbyes after the rehearsal, I’d headed straight to the hospital to check on Emma. In high spirits despite the IV in her arm, she perked up when I walked in the room, telling me stories about how one of the nurses had come in with a real live clown for a show. Nevertheless, Simon’s little girl looked weak and exhausted in the middle of the enormous bed, so I told her I had to go, placing a kiss on her forehead before leaving the room.

Outside in the hall, Simon and Jeanie filled me in on the prognosis. There was a device available that could, with Jeanie and Simon’s permission, be implanted inside Emma’s body to constantly monitor her blood sugar and provide dosages of insulin any time she needed them. The device would last about five years, and then a replacement would be needed to keep up with Emma’s growth and the wear and tear of the gadget. While implanted, the device would allow Emma to live a completely normal life, without the need for constant needles and measuring of her blood sugar throughout the day.

I’d been ecstatic at the news, and had almost squeezed the life out of Jeanie in celebration before I noticed they weren’t smiling. This device, while in many ways a miracle for someone with juvenile diabetes, was also expensive. Very, very expensive. The implant operated, in part, with the help of a very sophisticated piece of circuitry that recorded her insulin at regular intervals, and calculated the dosages she’d need to get through the day. To keep this very expensive machinery from corroding like everything else in the world, the wiring had to be covered with an extra layer of expensive coating, in the form of a type of plastic specifically manufactured for this purpose.

The result was a machine that could fit easily into the palm of my hand, but one that cost more than most houses.

Medical insurance had disappeared during the war, and since then, hospitals had experienced far too many patient disappearances after surgery to allow anyone to arrange for a payment plan. No, the entire cost of the device would have to be paid up front. In cash. And when Simon gave me the exact dollar amount, my heart sank.

Even if I gave them the balance of my entire savings account, it wouldn’t be enough to cover what they needed.

But the fee for the Tofegaard, I reminded myself, would cover the cost of the surgery and implant both. Not to mention a successful completion of this job would finally put us in the running with Prometheus for the most lucrative contracts in the market. We’d started this gig with dreams of cultivating a reputation, but now all I cared about was the cash our improved street cred would bring.

So when Amanda threatened me with the loss of my job, I’d calmly apologized and picked up the phone to call the mansion. A meeting on the books with Lord Relobu gave me, at the very least, another reason to drive over to the mansion after work at Bridal Visions. With or without Simon, I was bringing the painting home.

A fact I had deliberately withheld from Simon and Jeanie. He’d be furious when he found out—the first rule of a good heist is to always have someone you trust to serve as your “Plan B” when or if things started falling apart. And had I asked him, he’d have been there with me, standing outside Relobu’s and wondering just what we were in for. But I couldn’t stomach adding one more problem to their already full plates. For the first time in my career, I was going completely solo.

The dragon lord was booked for the day, but his assistant had offered to save me a slot just before dinner, which I eagerly accepted. As a result, I was brain dead and bone tired from a long day of nerves, bows and endless flower orders from the parade of new brides anxious to work with the wedding planner responsible for the most talked-about wedding in the world.

It occurred to me that if my position at Bridal Visions was for real, I’d be enjoying some serious job security.

But now, it was early evening, and I was more than ready to get away from my side business, and back to what I did best—swiping priceless items out from under their owners’ noses. And if I were a little nervous about the lack of my usual Simon shadow, I didn’t care.

“Training wheels off,” I murmured to myself just before the butler opened the door to greet me. I told him I was here just a little early for my meeting with Relobu, but when he started to escort me toward the wing the dragon lord used for his at-home business enterprises, I faked an urgent need to check on something in the kitchens and assured him that I would find my own way. Waiting until he wandered back to wherever butlers hung out when the doorbell wasn’t ringing, I put my fingers around the tool Simon had developed for me when I’d first convinced him to let me join the business. It was basically a Swiss Army knife customized for art theft, containing picks, screwdrivers and all manner of clamps placed strategically inside a convenient plastic casing. I took it out of my jacket, pushed the button on my mental countdown clock, and headed to the dining hall.

On my way there I ran into a few human employees roaming the halls, and even one or two dragons, but the closer I got to what I’d started referring to as the “publicity wing”—the part of the house used primarily for guest visits and the area where Myrna and Trian’s banquet would be held—the more alone I became. It was one of the first times I’d actually been thankful for Amanda. In her usual take-no-prisoners approach to the wedding, she’d pretty much commandeered the entire side of the home and declared it off limits to anyone without her express permission. I wasn’t the only one afraid of crossing her. Lately, even when she was nowhere around, the publicity wing more closely resembled a graveyard.

Thank God for the Amanda effect.

As I walked, I indulged in a rare bout of remorse. After today, I couldn’t risk coming back to the house, or anywhere near Bridal Visions. It seemed just a little silly, but I was feeling a bit nostalgic about my time at the wedding shop. I regretted not trying some of April’s cakes, or succumbing to the embarrassing urge to try on one of the huge poofy wedding gowns hanging from the shop window when I knew Amanda would be out for the day.

And then it hit me. Even though I’d been in Tulsa for a fraction of the time I’d spent on past gigs, it
felt
like I’d lived here forever. Watching Myrna and her girlfriends giggle and joke as they tried on dresses poked at that small sore spot in my heart that I called loneliness, and made me wish that I had a circle of friends I could feel completely at ease with.

It was no small bit of sadness when I realized the girls at the shop could very easily be those people for me.

The thought made me immediately guilty. I had Simon and Jeanie. They’d accepted me as I was, no questions asked, and I was beyond lucky to know them. I reminded myself that being able to help Emma was a privilege, and the sacrifices I had to make in pursuit of that goal were negligible compared to how the money we received from this painting would change her life.

And if I had to wipe away a tear at the thought of turning down an opportunity to have a relationship with a guy as strong, and sweet, and as funny as Cameron? So be it.

My resolve strengthened, I pushed the button that opened the dining room doors...and felt my jaw hit the floor.

* * *

“No no no no...”

The room was empty. And when I say empty, I mean completely bare. Other than the long runner stretching from one set of double doors to the other, the formal dining hall had been completely cleared of everything.

I took a couple of running steps into the room before I stopped to swivel my body for a better look, as if the act of inspecting the bare spots on the stone wall would somehow force the paintings that had once hung there to reappear. Tables, chairs, tapestries, everything packed up as if this wasn’t a room in the mansion at all, but a dark tunnel that just happened to have windows carved out every few feet. But most of my attention was directed toward the small space just behind the door on the opposite side of the room. Because that small nook was where I’d left the vase that held a priceless piece of artwork.

“What happened in here?” I stared at the walls like I expected them to speak. But there was no sound other than my panicked gasps and the screaming in my head telling me that Emma’s hope was gone. When bright spots of color started to obstruct my vision, I knew I had to get a handle on the situation.

“Panic doesn’t help. Stay calm, stay strong.” I repeated the words Simon used to help me refocus, and struggled to come up with a way to locate the missing stuff without running through the entire house asking whether anyone had seen a frighteningly realistic version of
Bright Seasons
stuffed into a vase filled with fake flowers. I clenched my fist against the terrible burn of an impending transformation.

I had to get myself under control.

“Miss Cavenaugh?” I turned to find the butler regarding me with a worried frown. “Was your appointment with Lord Relobu rescheduled?”

I ignored his question. “Can you tell me where all the furnishings for this room were taken?”

The grooves on his forehead got deeper as he struggled to keep up with the change of topic. “Ah yes, Miss Amanda ordered that the room be cleared to hold the wedding gifts. She asked that the furnishings be taken to storage as she would be providing tables on which to display any contributions that were offered to the couple.”

“Storage? Can you tell me where they were moved, exactly? Somewhere else in the house?” I did my best to ignore the itching on my arms, the sensation a sign that my fight or flight response was about to choose the fighting option. That meant that if I didn’t calm down in the next few seconds, the odds of me sprouting scales were nearing one hundred percent.

The butler pondered the question for a moment before his face brightened. “No ma’am, I couldn’t, but I know someone who could. Lord Relobu’s assistant Bill was the one who likely wrote the order. Perhaps you could ask him?”

Well, crap. I had an appointment with his boss in less than a minute. There was no way I could go into Bill’s office to ask about the vase without also showing up for the appointment. Looks like I’d be interviewing Lord Relobu after all.

* * *

Glad that I’d at least had the forethought to squeeze myself into one of my power suits, I once again followed the poor butler through the enormous house. Only this time, we walked through the east wing until we reached a set of large wooden doors with the dragon lord’s name emblazoned upon a tasteful gold nameplate. He knocked lightly. There was a moment of silence, and then the pulleys engaged with a series of clicks and groans, opening the doors to reveal a young freckle-faced man with shockingly red hair and a smile as wide as the Pacific Ocean.

“Hello, hello.” The man stood, circling his desk before leaning forward to shake my hand. “You must be Savannah Cavenaugh.”

“I am, thank you. Sorry I’m running late.” I glanced at the butler. “I got a little turned around.”

“Not a problem at all. The dragon lord is running a little late himself, so for our purposes, you’re right on time.” He nodded to the butler, who gave me a grandfatherly squeeze on the shoulder before leaving the room and closing the heavy doors behind him.

The freckle-faced man waved me toward a chair. “Please, have a seat. I’m Bill, Lord Relobu’s personal assistant. We spoke on the phone this morning. Glad you could make it.”

“Thank you.” I did as he asked, smoothing my skirt along my thighs and taking a leisurely look around the office. Despite working on-site for a couple of weeks, I was still surprised to see just how many treasures Relobu had displayed in plain sight. A very convincing Monet—very likely the real deal—served as the backdrop for Bill’s north wall, and the furniture appeared to be, if not the real deal, at least very good copies of Chippendale pieces. The scope of this dragon’s wealth was unimaginable.

Bill wandered over to a side table to offer me a cup of tea. “So Sara tells me you won’t be needing a translator for your meeting today?”

“No. I should be good, but thank you.” I wondered how Sara had known of my meeting. Other than Amanda, Bill and the butler, I didn’t think anyone was even aware I was here.

Bill must have noticed my confusion, because he smiled as the faint trace of a blush appeared on his pale cheeks. “Sara and I met a year or so ago during a DRACIM-organized arbitration session. We decided to grab lunch after, and we’ve been close ever since. The topic of your dragonspeaking abilities came up when we spoke on the phone earlier today.”

His cheeks flared a little brighter, and I couldn’t help but smile at his obvious affection for Myrna’s third bridesmaid. Upon first glance, I’d judged him to be in his late twenties, but his boyish expressions made me reevaluate my guess downward a few years.

“How long have you worked for Lord Relobu?” It seemed odd that the dragon lord would have someone so young in such a high-profile position. The sheer volume of business that passed through his office must be staggering, yet Bill seemed comfortable in his surroundings, confident.

“I’ve been with the house five years now, but in this position less than a year. I took over when, well...when the last person left.” Bill’s lack of inflection caused me to look up, and I suddenly remembered Simon telling me about Richard Green, Relobu’s previous right-hand man, and his recent conviction for treason.

“Yes, of course. I’m sorry I brought it up.”

“It’s not your fault. It’s just that we’re all a little shell-shocked over the whole situation. Richard was one of us for many years, and we’re still struggling through the fallout.”