6
A salty breeze tugged at the strands of hair dangling free from my braid as I leaned on the railing of the ferry taking me back to Edmonds. My Jeep was down in the car compartment with boxes of hard cider, wine, and chocolate in the back, gifts from the grateful orchard owners.
The children had made it back safely, though I didn’t think their parents had believed their story of being locked in a windmill by a dragon. Ayush, who must have had more encounters with magical beings in his life, had listened with wide terrified eyes. He’d been concerned that kobolds were still in the area and had spoken of listing the property and going back to being a software engineer in Seattle. I hadn’t had the heart to tell him that far worse things than kobolds lurked in and around the big city.
Seagulls squawked as they flew overhead, and I couldn’t help but look up to make sure they weren’t fleeing a dragon. The sky had cleared and the sun had come out, so it would have been easy to spot the new one and even easier to see Zav’s black form. Neither dragon was in sight.
How was I going to contact Zav? It wasn’t as if he’d given me his cell phone number before disappearing.
Normally, I wouldn’t care about delivering a message to him, but if there was a new, meaner, and more vindictive dragon in the world, he was the only one who could deal with it.
Fezzik’s bullets hadn’t done anything on that magical hide, and even Chopper had barely cut it. I imagined fighter jets launching nukes at a dragon and wondered if even that would do the job. Dragons could probably make a shield that bombs would bounce off before they got close.
My phone buzzed, and I groaned. Who, now? I’d given Colonel Willard a verbal report of the incident—as usual, she wanted a typed report sent in by morning—and told Mary I’d go to a yoga class and see her later in the week for a session. I didn’t want any more obligations, or to talk to any more people.
But when I saw Nin Chattrakulrak’s name on my phone, I answered right away. Nin, owner of the Crying Tiger food truck and creator of magical weapons, never called me.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“Val? I need to hire you.”
It was after eight, but the June sun still hadn’t set when I reached Occidental Square, the spot where Nin’s food truck was parked today—and most days. The dinner rush had subsided, but kids wandering over from the busy outdoor Ping-Pong tables stood in line, paddles and ten-dollar bills clenched in their hands.
Nin’s assistant was handing out paper-wrapped packages of the truck’s signature beef and rice dish while Nin worked outside with a brush and bucket of soapy water. She was scrubbing graffiti off the side of the truck. Most of the message had already been cleaned off, but I could still read the word DEATH next to a noose around a clumsily painted skull. Despite the poor art, the message was an ominous one.
“Val!” Nin dropped her scrub brush in the water and rushed forward to grip my arms.
The kids in line looked curiously at us, or maybe at the polar opposites we represented. Five-foot-one Nin with her brown skin, tiny frame, and black hair currently dyed fuchsia versus pale, blonde, six-foot me looking like someone out of a comic book on the Valkyries my mom had named me after. I’d never been able to see much of my elven heritage in my face, but I also had never met my father and could only go by a painted portrait my mom had over her fireplace. My features were a little finer than hers, but I’d been in my twenties before I’d believed her origin story for me.
“What’s going on?” I patted Nin on the arm.
She smiled and waved at the onlookers, then drew me around to the side of the truck. The special side. I ducked as we entered the little room sectioned off from the kitchen and smelling strongly of leather, metal, and gun oil.
Here, Nin had built Fezzik and continued to craft magical ammunition for it. That ammo might not have been effective on the dragon, but it could kill most magical beings.
A new order was in progress, a kris dagger with wavy edges that oozed menace. Guns hung on pegs on the walls, and parts rested in boxes under the counters on either side. All manner of tools were scattered around the compact area.
“You know that I have competitors in the magical-weapons business, right?” Nin spoke in her usual precise, calm English, but worry burned in her dark eyes.
“Sure. Before you showed up, I had a pistol made by Grifford down in Tacoma. I think he’s still in business.”
“He is. He specializes in small arms. And have you heard of the Pardus brothers?”
“They’re up north, aren’t they?”
“They work out of Bothell, but they sell magical guns all over the city. They were the major dealers of enhanced weapons here before I got into the business. In the beginning, they did not bother me or seem to care about me, but lately…” Nin extended a hand toward the wall with the graffiti outside.
“They did that?”
“I do not have proof. I did not see it happen. Tida and I were inside setting up this morning, and it was raining, so we had the window closed. When we opened for lunch, a customer pointed it out. It said my name and death is coming, and you saw the painting.”
“Painting is an optimistic label for that skull. Let’s call it graffiti. Why do you think the Pardus brothers are responsible, rather than some teenager acting on a dare?”
“They have threatened me before. Two weeks ago, Otto and Kurt came here to order food and tell me I had better get out of the weapons business or they would ship me back to Bangkok in a crate. In pieces.”
“Oh? In front of witnesses?”
“They spoke softly so others would not hear.”
“What did you do?”
“I told them,” Nin said in her typical sweet but determined voice, “that if they tried to hurt me or my assistant, I would use my pliers to rip off their balls, dip them in batter, and fry them in hot oil.”
“Good.”
“They were not convinced. They said I had better close my other business or they would return. They are angry because, lately, some of their clients have left them and are purchasing weapons from me. You know my grandfather was a gnome tinkerer who learned his trade from a dwarf master smith, right? I am very well trained. I make high-quality weapons.”
“I do know that.”
“My weapons are superior. Their clients know this. That is why they are coming to me. What good is a weapon that a troll can snap in half?” Nin shook her head, her straight pink hair flopping about. “I do not want to give in to bullies, but it is scary and frustrating. They are full-blooded magical beings and much stronger than I am. I believe they are shifters. I wish my grandfather were here now to advise me.”
“He passed away before you left home, right?”
“I am not sure if he died. He disappeared many years ago. And my father was already gone. He was a deadbeat and an alcoholic. My mother was not sad when he left, but that was when we had to go into the city to live. We struggled to make ends meet. That is why I want to earn enough here as a businesswoman to bring my mother and all my sisters to America and buy them a house.”
That part of the story I’d heard before, and I nodded and patted her shoulder. “You will. You are good. I’m sure many of your clients would be happy to help you convince those guys to leave you alone.”