Hopefully, Nin would have time to see me. I needed more ammo, and Fezzik’s front sight had bent during my tiff with the dragon. Since I didn’t know how long I would be in town, I needed to take care of that as soon as possible.
In the morning, I had a meeting with Brightman’s therapist. I’d been so tempted to blow that off, but maybe she could give me a couple of useful breathing techniques that would loosen my chest when it felt tight. I hated relying on drugs. It didn’t make sense to me that someone who could heal quickly would have high inflammation markers, or whatever they’d called it.
Yes, my life was stressful, but I liked stress. A normal job would bore me to death.
But a few minutes with the therapist wouldn’t kill me, and I would have plenty of time to make my meeting with Colonel Willard, who would give me my combat bonus and let me know if she had anything else for me. I hoped not. I needed a few days off. And to figure out how to get around until I could get another rig. Transportation was no problem in the city, but my missions regularly took me to Oregon, Idaho, and British Columbia. For good or ill, I was the preeminent assassin of magical bad guys in the Pacific Northwest.
Even though it was Sunday, Occidental Square was packed for the lunch hour, with tourists wandering through and snapping pictures of the totem poles. I passed a teenager on a skateboard who had the aura of someone like me with part elven blood. That was rare in people under forty since it had been that long since the remaining elves and dwarves in this world had declared Earth too populated and cleared out en masse, finding new homes in other realms. This kid was probably only a quarter elven, enough to give him some extra agility at the skatepark.
The line at Nin’s Thai Tiger truck was packed, as always. I thought about pushing my way around and going in the side door, but I didn’t want to interrupt her day business. Since she also had magical blood, I could sense her working inside near the fryers. Her grandfather on her mother’s side had been a gnome, and she’d known him long enough to learn his trade of making magical weapons.
One of Nin’s assistants was at the window, handing out wrapped paper bundles of beef and rice. My stomach rumbled as the scents of grilling meat and spicy sauces teased my nose.
People chatted amiably in line, nobody glancing at the sword or gun I carried, since their magical glamours made them invisible to people without the blood to see through such things. Nobody glanced at me either. My height usually made me stand out, but the men and women were in groups or pairs, more interested in their private conversations than people-watching.
Strange, but in the crowded square, I felt a twinge of loneliness. Dr. Brightman’s words about my dearth of social connections came back to me, but I brushed them aside with irritation. I did fulfilling work that few others could do, and I helped people. That was enough of a social reward. Enough of a connection.
Besides, where would I go to seek new friends? The magical community feared and hated me, because they knew what I did. Many of them believed I would go after even the innocent among them if someone paid me enough—not true. And humans…
Unfortunately, humans couldn’t be relied upon to take care of themselves if they ran into the magical, and that happened frequently in my company. I’d made a lot of enemies, so blackmail, assassination attempts, and drive-by shootings were a regular part of my life. I didn’t tell anyone I had a daughter or an ex-husband who lived in the suburbs north of Seattle, just as I didn’t draw attention to my mother in Oregon. Forming new relationships would only get people I cared about hurt—or killed. I’d learned that painfully from past experience.
“One suea rong hai,” the assistant said, handing out a meal wrapped in paper.
I stepped to the front of the line. “I’ll take one of those and—” I raised my voice so Nin would hear it, from where she was now putting more rice in the cooker, “—I’m in need of something off the special menu.”
“They only serve beef and rice here,” a shaggy guy in dreads behind me said. “It’s a thing.”
“Thanks for the tip.” I shooed him back to give me an appropriate three feet of personal space.
Nin leaned into view, waving a slender arm and smiling. Her short black hair had been bleached as long as I’d known her, and this week, it was dyed purple. “It is not the usual hours for the special menu, but for a good client, of course, come inside, please.”
I left my puzzled advisor behind and waited at the side door until it opened. I stepped into a workspace that was more like a closet than a smithy, but all manner of completed rifles, pistols, and specialty pieces hung on pegboards. Boxes under the counters held stocks, barrels, and bolts, along with boxes of wildcat cartridges for the weapons. The place reverberated with magic, at least to my senses.
Nin gave her assistant a few instructions and stepped inside with me, closing the door so the people waiting for food wouldn’t see this area. That made the tight space even tighter. I had to duck my head to keep from bumping it on the ceiling.
“Thanks for slipping me in, Nin.” I pulled out Fezzik and showed her the bent front sight. “I probably could have used some pliers to fix it, but I didn’t know if that would void the warranty.”
Her brow furrowed, but only for a second before she got the joke, then laughed. Even though Nin had only been in the country for five years, she’d about mastered American sarcasm and idioms, as far as I could tell. She spoke English slowly, but her words were precise and easy to understand.
“You are funny. What did you fight?” Nin took the gun from me and pulled out her tools. “Did my baby perform well?”
“It did. I got the last of the wyverns that killed those kids outside of Portland. And then I let a dragon throw me around.”
The tool kit slipped from her fingers and clattered to the floor. I managed to catch Fezzik before it suffered a similar fate.
“A dragon?” Nin gaped at me. “You are joking again?”
“Unfortunately not.” I took out my phone and showed her pictures of my wrecked Jeep in the trees. It hadn’t occurred to me to stop and take a picture of the dragon himself—odd, I know—but I trusted the placement of the smashed vehicle would suffice as proof for most people. Not the insurance agents, alas.
Nin stared at the phone, stared back at my face, and then at the phone again. “You cannot fight dragons.”
“It wasn’t my intention.”
“I did not think there were dragons on Earth. I did not—do you think I need to put a warning on my weapons?” Nin glanced at the pegboards. “People will not believe they are strong enough to slay dragons, will they? They will get themselves killed. Then they will sue me. America is very litigious.”
“I’ve heard that, but since the official stance from the government is that magic and magical beings don’t exist, I think you’ll be all right.”
Nin grabbed a pad of sticky notes. “I am going to start putting a warning on all weapons I sell.”
“That’s a good idea, but could you fix mine first? And give me a few more boxes of your special ammo? I had to use more than expected on the wyvern.”
“Yes, certainly.” Nin, her tongue stuck in the corner of her mouth, proceeded to draw a stick dragon with a circle around it and a line through it before retrieving her tools and working on my gun. “Take what cartridges you need from that box, please.” She pointed without looking.