“I know. I figured I might be more able to find help up here.” He lowered his voice and glanced around the square. “I’ve also been talking to Zoltan.”
I started to ask why but remembered the vampire alchemist supposedly had a huge internet presence, won by sharing videos of himself making potions.
“I drove up here because I got a booth at the farmers market in Woodinville. I’m going to sell my yard art and also some of his wares. In exchange, he said he’d show me how to get started building a platform online.”
“Did you bring your cervical collar for protection?” I was joking—that wasn’t going to stop the fangs of a determined vampire—but Dimitri nodded gravely.
I needed to make a trip to see Zoltan at some point too. I still had the notebook I’d taken from the dark-elf alchemist’s lab, and I was curious if there was anything useful in it. Maybe I could convince Dimitri to take it to him for me.
“Anyway, this is for you, Nin.” He thrust the pot at her. “If you press that button on the top of the cactus, it arms itself, and then you have five seconds before it starts spewing needles. Or you can automate it here.” He flipped up a panel. “Sort of like setting a security system. If someone intrudes and doesn’t know to turn it off, it’ll fire. I wasn’t sure if you needed something like this, but this neighborhood gets kind of rough at night, doesn’t it? And I saw some graffiti on your truck.”
“Yes.” Nin nodded firmly, took the pot, and set it down on a counter. “Thank you for the gift.”
“You’re welcome. I’m hoping to find someone up here—” Dimitri waved vaguely toward the city, “—who programs apps, so the owners could also use their phones to set off my security devices remotely.”
“Is all of your art hostile?” Maybe I ought to get a piece for my apartment. The numerous deadbolts weren’t doing enough to deter assassins, magical muggers, and snooping government agents.
“Some pieces are. Some just warn the homeowner if someone is trespassing. And some don’t have anything to do with security at all. I have an automatic back scratcher made from old ski poles in my van if you want to see it. Oh, and a patio table and chairs made from a ski lift chair I found in a rummage sale.” He pointed his thumb toward the street, though he must have parked somewhere out of sight. “I hope the van is all right. It’s getting dark, and it doesn’t have a security system.”
“I don’t think thieves break into vans for back scratchers.”
“It’s a luxury good, Val. You sure you don’t want to see? Nin? I have a whole bunch of cool stuff I’m going to sell this weekend. Do you have any tips on negotiating?”
“Start higher than the price you want,” Nin said, “and first show a very expensive item, so that the more modest item seems like a deal.”
“Oh, that’s good.” Dimitri nodded. “Ski-chair patio furniture first and then back scratcher.”
“I better get going. I’ll go up to Bothell early tomorrow, Nin.” I was tempted to drive up there now, but if I went during the Pardus brothers’ business hours, I could pretend I was a customer. Maybe then, I could make an attempt at negotiating before falling back on my strength: beating people up.
I also wanted to talk to Willard first to see if she had any intelligence on them. Maybe I would get lucky and find out the government wanted them dead for heinous crimes.
“You’re going to Bothell tomorrow?” Dimitri asked. “You should stop by the farmers market while you’re in the area and pretend to be interested in my wares.”
“Pretend?”
“So other potential customers will think there’s a lot of demand. It’s social proof. I’ve been studying.”
“Why are you selling your stuff in Woodinville? Remember the houses we saw there? And the homeowners’ association? They probably forbid yard art.”
“Not all the houses there were like that. There were plenty of old farm houses and normal houses with big yards full of stuff. Besides, my art is fabulous. No HOA would object to it.”
“If you say so.” I eyed the blue cactus.
“Anyway, I have to pick up Zoltan’s lotions and tinctures to sell.”
“Lotions and tinctures?” I asked. “That doesn’t really go with your steampunk upcycled bike parts style.”
“My style is eclectic. And Zoltan said he’d give me a cut of whatever I sold.”
“According to him, the dragon blood I gave him was worth a half a million dollars. What does he need to sell tinctures for?” And what was a tincture anyway?
“I think he’s using that blood himself, not selling it. I better go find a place I can park my van for the night.”
“You can stay at my place if you want.” I didn’t want a houseguest, but I felt obligated to offer.
“No offense, Val, but your place was ransacked when I was there and then invaded by a dragon.”
“It’s cleaned up now, and you slept through the dragon coming in. What’s the problem?”
“I was creeped out later when I learned he’d been there making threats while I was sleeping. What if he saw me drooling? Or scratching my balls?”
“I promise he wouldn’t care. He thinks humans are vermin and beneath his notice.”
“I’ll find a spot.” Dimitri waved at us. “Don’t forget to come by the farmers market tomorrow.”
“I’m not sure whether to be offended or pleased that the possibility of visiting dragons has made my home unappealing to houseguests,” I said.
Nin shook her head. “I do not know, but if I could pay a dragon to perch on my food truck, I would. I am concerned there will be more graffiti and perhaps worse.”
“There won’t be. I’ll take care of those guys tomorrow, one way or another. And then go to the farmers market to buy vampire tinctures.”
I was joking about that, but Nin looked wistful as she said, “Please buy me hand lotion if there is an appealing scent. I never have time to shop. Maybe someday…”
As her wistful gaze shifted toward the darkening sky, I vowed to find a way to handle the brothers for her. Nin had worked her ass off to build her business—both of them. She didn’t deserve to be picked on by bullies.
7
I sat in my Jeep in a gravel parking lot next to the Sammamish River Trail with the door open as I ate a breakfast burrito and ran searches on my phone. It hadn’t occurred to me that the Pardus brothers wouldn’t have a showroom or workshop address listed online, though I supposed Nin didn’t technically have an address either. Maybe in the magical-weapons business, it wasn’t a good idea to let anyone but trusted clients know how to find you. There were a lot of magical beings who would prefer that guns designed specifically to hurt them didn’t exist.
When Colonel Willard’s name lit up my phone, I answered it promptly. I’d left a message earlier, hoping she could get me the brothers’ address. Nin had never been out here herself, so she hadn’t known it.
“It’s Saturday, Thorvald,” Willard said, a little breathless. What workout had she been engaged in, while she should be resting, this time? Spin class?