1
The boxing glove pounded toward my face like a jackhammer.
I dodged, the whisper of its passing whooshing in my ear, then slid in to throw two punches at Colonel Willard’s side. She sprang back, my gloves only brushing her gi top, and turned her failed punch into an elbow strike. I dropped under it, rolled away, and sprang to my feet to face her again before she could rush in.
“That move gets Corporal Clarke every time,” she grumbled her disappointment as we squared off again. “He claims to have the speed and agility of Baryshnikov.”
“Baryshnikov fifty years ago or Baryshnikov now?” I asked.
“He didn’t specify.”
“Convenient.”
Willard waved a glove to signal a break and headed to the benches and punching bags for her towel and water bottle. I followed, glad for a breather, though I would never admit it. Willard was a couple of years older than I and didn’t have any elven blood to give her an advantage, so it battered my ego every time she outlasted me at some athletic endeavor. Never mind that she competed in triathlons and power lifting events in her free time.
“Are you ready for your trip to Dun Kroth?” Willard tossed me an ugly olive-green army towel.
We were training in the small gym in her unit’s office in Seattle, where army decor and accoutrements seemed a requirement, despite the civilian setting. From the outside, the building claimed to be occupied by the IRS and appeared distinctly unmilitary. One had to step inside to notice the lack of beleaguered government clerks and stacks of tax forms. Not that many people bothered.
“Almost.” I wiped sweat from my face. “I have to go shopping for a few more supplies.”
“We’ve got MREs you can buy at cost.”
“I was thinking more like chocolate and salami.” Since I’d used my stash of apple-cider caramels to bribe the powerful fae queen to fix the magic tainting my sword, I was out of delicious rations.
“I see you stick to your health-food diet when you travel.”
“Don’t try to tell me MREs are health food. I well remember pounding people with the pound cake when I was in the army. They weren’t just calorically dense. They were dense.”
“True. I used to take my own food to the field.”
“Organic wheatgrass smoothies travel well, do they?”
“You can get organic wheatgrass juice powder.”
“How can you powder juice? Or make juice from grass?”
“The miracle of science.”
I imagined Zoltan in the basement with fistfuls of grass and a mortar and pestle, then shook my head. Health food was scary. “In addition to shopping for snacks, I have to wait for Zav to get back to Earth. He’s my ride, but he’s off telling his family about the wedding.”
“They care? I thought he’d claimed you as his mate—” Willard’s dark eyes always twinkled when she used Zav’s word for our relationship, “—months ago and that most dragons wouldn’t recognize a human wedding as having any significance.”
“Oh, they don’t think it’s significant, but he believes it will be a fun and festive event that they might want to attend.”
“Uh huh. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.” Willard propped a fist on her hip and gave me a frank expression. “When you asked me to help plan your wedding, I didn’t think it would be… atypical.”
“You didn’t?” I touched my chest.
Even if she didn’t agree with my daughter’s assessment that I was weird, surely, she thought Zav was weird. He wasn’t even from Earth.
“I knew you two were atypical, but I assumed you wanted a normal wedding. Church, priest, reception, rice, flower bouquets, etc.”
“I was thinking outdoors instead of in a church, but the rest sounds fine.” My first wedding had been when I was in the military, so it was very brief and very inexpensive. Thad and I hadn’t been near our families and hadn’t had much money. Even if I wasn’t a girlie girl, I wouldn’t mind a few frills this time around.
“An outdoor wedding in winter in Seattle. Sounds reasonable.”
“Maybe under a pavilion. You know the ogres and goblins from the coffee shop think they’re coming, right? Zav promised them meat carcasses from some animal that’s a delicacy on another planet.”
“That’s not the only thing he’s promising people,” Willard said, her eyebrows drawing together. “Since he learned that I agreed to help you—don’t forget you’re supposed to catch that thief for me in exchange for this—he’s been bringing me some odd requests. You need to talk to him. We’re not going to have a hunt in the middle of the ceremony, nor will there be flying races. As fun as that sounds, your non-winged competitors would be at a disadvantage. He also seems to have attended a carnival at some point, because he believes there should be rides.”
“Rides are fun,” came a familiar voice from the doorway. Gondo, Willard’s goblin assistant, walked in carrying a toolbox. “And goblins are resourceful, so don’t think we can’t compete. I could build a gyrocopter to race against a dragon.”
“No rides and no races,” Willard said firmly. “Thorvald’s wedding will be right and proper. Or at least not embarrassing to her mother.”
“Does that mean I can’t have the DJ play Right Said Fred’s ‘I’m Too Sexy’ when Zav walks down the aisle?” I asked.
“A DJ?” Willard looked scandalized, more at that than at the song choice. “I was thinking you’d want to hire musicians. A pianist at least.”
“Can you play ‘I’m Too Sexy’ on the piano?”
“Why do I have a feeling that Zav’s vision of a wedding might be in line with yours?”
“It’s a mystery.”
“I may have to sit you both down to watch wedding videos so you can see what’s expected. My niece just got married and sent me a few hours of the footage.”
“If you want to torture me, just punch me with your gloves.”
“I would if you didn’t skitter around so much. You’re hard to hit.”
“To the vexation of my many enemies.”
Gondo waved a wrench. “I’m supposed to tell you that Captain Brisco wants to see you, boss. Something about the artifacts storage room.”
Willard frowned. “We’ll continue this discussion later, Thorvald.” She headed for the door but paused to point at Gondo’s wrench. “You’re not planning to use that on something in my gym, are you?” She looked back at the racks of weights, kettlebells, punching bags, and mats.
Gondo looked thoughtfully toward one of the punching bags but smiled and shook his head. “Nope. Lieutenant Reed asked me to use my goblin ingenuity to fix a toilet that keeps running in the male locker room. Goblins don’t use toilets, but I have downloaded schematics from the internet.” He nodded, confident of his skills.
“Remind me to pick up an out-of-order sign from the supply room on the way,” Willard muttered and headed out.
“Oh, the captain also asked to see the Ruin Bringer,” Gondo called after her.
Willard paused and frowned back. “Why? Is one of the artifacts she brought in smoking ominously or throbbing with magical power?” Something about the look she gave me suggested this had happened before.