25. In Which Sam Has Been Measured and Found Wanting

"No pressure, though, right?" Great. Now I had to hope that the Queen of the Dragons didn't go nuclear on my ass.

"Quite a bit of pressure, actually. Do try to be extraordinary, won't you?" Clive led us to a metallic pale blue roadster with a soft top.

"Wow," was all I could think to say. It looked like a Bond car. "What is it?"

Clive opened my door. "BMW 507. Since you're no longer chilled and we'll be taking the coast route, I thought we could drive with the top down."

I sat, glad I'd put on the long leather trench I'd bought for New Orleans but had never worn. I'd even grabbed a scarf and gloves in case my aunt tried to break in again. Why had she gone for cold like she had a couple of months ago? Hot and itchy would have been worse. Perhaps she had issues with the cold. I'd need to think about that and how I could use it against her.

Clive slid into the two-seater and started the engine. It roared to life and I was thrown back in my seat as he raced out of the garage and around the house, a grin pulling at his lips. The full garage clearly pointed to a man who appreciated cars, but watching him drive made me realize it was more of a profound love. Leaning over, I kissed his cheek as he sailed through the main gates, waiting open for us. The guards at the gate bowed as Clive shot out onto the street.

"You're cute."

His eyes cut to me before he downshifted and executed a perfect turn. "Cute? I don't believe I care for that."

"Too bad. I calls 'em like I sees 'em."

He hit a button and the soft top roof slid back, opening us up to the night. I pulled my gloves out of my pocket and pulled the scarf up so it covered my head before wrapping the soft weave around my neck.

"Too cold?" Clive asked, his hand hovering by the button to close the roof.

"Perfect." It was a clear night, stars bright above us, and I was feeling too good to be worried about a dragon's fire-breathing judgment at the moment.

Far too soon, though, Clive turned down Sea Cliff Drive, an enclave of the ridiculously wealthy. The mansions we passed had to be worth ten, more like twenty million, each. It being San Francisco, though, meant that they were crowded close together.

Clive parked in front of the grandest on the street. It soared four stories high, but no doubt had a few more below ground, as these houses were built on a cliff overlooking the ocean.

A dusty Jeep was already parked on the street in front of the mansion. "Good," Clive said. "Coco's here." He closed the top as we both got out. "Ready?"

Nodding, I took his hand. "As I'll ever be. If she says no, we'll figure it out."

"We will," he agreed. When we passed through the gate, more of the house, hidden by a wall and large trees, opened up. The fa?ade was austere and dour, but I had a feeling, like good dragons, they hid their treasures on the inside.

The doors opened before we reached the steps leading to the grand entrance. A man dressed in black stood in the open doorway.

"Thank you, Fyffe. I can handle this." Coco came out from a side room, wearing her usual flannel shirt, jeans, and work boots.

The butler glided out of sight.

"Grandmother knows you're here. She'll be down shortly. Please come in."

The entry was elegant, with lacquered black flooring and smoke gray walls. Enormous blown glass flowers hung from the ceiling, casting sparkling light in the dark foyer.

"We can wait in the living room." Coco beckoned us into an adjacent room with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the ocean, the Golden Gate Bridge lit up in the distance.

I'd started to follow her in when I saw movement to the side. Pausing, I looked up the swirl of stairs leading to the second floor as a woman began to descend them. Clive and Coco had already moved into the living room, but I waited at the base of the steps for the lady of the manor.

Like Coco and George, she had flawless, deep brown skin and knowing green eyes. Her hair was swept back in a chignon. She wore flowing silvery-gray slacks and a white silk blouse. Large, faceted rubies with pearl drops decorated her ears. She was stunning and I was horribly underdressed for this meeting.

Her gaze traveled over me, assessing, from my braided hair down to my running shoes, and I was consumed by the desire to point at Coco and shout, "But she's wearing flannel and scuffed boots." Thankfully, I held it in.

"So you're the one causing all the trouble." If I hadn't already known this woman was formidable, her voice would have settled it. This was a woman who suffered no fools, and I was currently feeling quite foolish.

"Yes, ma'am." I stopped myself from curtsying, but just.

"Grandmother, you're here." Coco rushed in, with Clive right behind her. "Let me introduce you to our guests."

"I'm well aware of who our Master of the City is, Coco. This one," she said, looking down her nose at me, "you may introduce."

"Of course. Grandmother, this is Sam Quinn. Sam, this is my grandmother Benvair Drake." Coco's nervousness was not helping to calm my fears.

"It's an honor to meet you, ma'am."

"Hmm." From the look of disdain on her face, we wouldn't be progressing past introductions.

Clive circled around behind Coco to stand beside me and wrap an arm around my waist.

"I see," she said, looking away from the two of us. "Let's sit down and you can explain why I'm being asked to loan you a family heirloom. Coco, have Fyffe bring in the tea."

"Yes, Grandmother." Coco disappeared down the hall.

Benvair led us into the cavernous living room with high ceilings, and the same black lacquered floors and smoky walls as the entry. Flames blazed in a black marble fireplace. More crystal-bright blown glass flowers hung from the ceiling, like treasure hoarded in a dark cave.

Benvair sat in a high-backed chair, upholstered in a charcoal gray and silver damask. A small sofa in dark gray sat opposite her, with an exquisite black coffee table between us. Clive and I sat on the sofa. Coco returned a moment later and took a bench in front of the window.

"It'll just be a moment," Coco said.

Her grandmother inclined her head. "It's been quite some time since you've visited, Clive. And now, after so many years, you've come to ask a favor."

"I have," he said. "I hope my absence wasn't interpreted as a lack of interest in your well-being. I try to give the members of our community the freedom to live their lives as they see fit, assuming nothing is done to call our existence into question."

Ignoring Clive's response, she turned to the entry as Fyffe rolled in a tea service.

Handing Benvair a delicate cup and saucer patterned in gold filigree, he turned to Coco. "Miss, may I serve you?"

"No, thank you, Fyffe."

This seemed like a breach of etiquette to me. Shouldn't Clive have been asked next? Maybe it was because they knew he didn't drink tea, but I thought it had more to do with dragons being held above all others.

Fyffe nodded and then turned his attention to me. "Miss?"

"Miss Quinn and I will both have a cup. It smells wonderful," Clive said.

Ha! I saw it. The slightest of hesitations as she brought the cup to her lips. Clive just threw her off her stride. As a rule, vampires did not eat, nor did they drink anything but blood. It was a mark of one's age and power to consume food and drink without becoming sick.

Fyffe passed each of us the same sublime cups and saucers containing a light gold tea with a tantalizing fragrance.

Clive breathed in the scent and murmured, "Silver tips," before taking a sip.

"Yes," Caught off guard again, Benvair set the cup and saucer on the table. Shrewdly, she studied Clive and then me.

"If you are a connoisseur of fine teas," he said, "I could have a packet of Da-Hong Pao sent over. As a thank you for meeting with us this evening."

Slow blink. "You have Da-Hong Pao? I've found it quite difficult to acquire."

Clive took another sip, savoring it a moment before placing his cup on the table as well. "The right connections can be useful, can't they?"

I felt like a spectator at a tennis match, watching the advantage passing back and forth between the two. Content to drink the most amazing tea I've ever tasted in my life, I left them to it.

After a pause, heavy with calculation, she replied, "They can." Turning her attention to me, she asked, "I was under the impression my granddaughter had already given you a treasure to keep you safe."

"Coco made the most exquisite necklace I've ever seen, let alone owned." At her smile, I knew praising Coco first was the right way to start. "Unfortunately, I have an aunt who's a sorceress."

I heard a hiss, though neither dragon appeared to move her lips. "A particular skill of hers is mind manipulation. When Coco made me the necklace, it was to take the place of one my mother had spelled to protect me."

"I was under the impression that you were a werewolf. Was I misinformed?" The way she said werewolf told me all I needed to know about her views on the subject.

Feeling less inclined to be polite, I said, "No, ma'am. That's correct." I put down my cup and sat straighter. "I'm the last of the original line, a born wolf on my father's side and a wicche on my mother's."

Tipping her head to the side, she pinned me with a stare, sparks of red dancing in her dark gaze. "Is that so?"

"Yes. I'm sure George would vouch for me, were that needed."

Blowing out a breath, she looked out the window. "George is off with his…friend."

It was the pause between ‘his' and ‘friend' that did it. I stood, ignoring the dragons. "We should go now." Because fuck her and her disapproving pause.

Clive stood and took my hand. "I believe you're correct. Good evening, ladies."

Coco rose, as well, reaching for my arm. "You misunderstand. Grandmother has no patience for any of us if we're not producing baby dragons."

When I returned my gaze to the matriarch, her features were pinched but her chin was high. "We are dying out and I won't have it!"

I understood the fear, but… "Will you die more slowly by being an asshole?"

I heard a deep intake of breath from Coco and felt amusement from Clive.

Red flickered in her glare and I could swear wisps of smoke puffed out of her nostrils, but she didn't attack. Turning to the window, she seemed to watch the white caps race toward the shore in the moonlit ocean. "Sit." Still not looking at us, she added, "I love my grandson and I won't have that called into question. I'd just like great-grandchildren as well."

"Perhaps you'll get them." George's desire for children was his to share or not.

"I don't like uncertainties." She turned back to us. "Enough. Sit down."

Your decision.

Let's give her another chance. She continues to be an asshole, though, and we're out of here.

We resumed our seats and she picked up her tea again.

"Having an aunt who's demon controlled doesn't explain why Coco's creation has disappeared." She took a sip, pinning me with a predator's stare.

"She possessed a friend who has a talent for fire. He did his best to fight her, but he had my neck in his grip when flames ran down his arm. Later, we realized the choker was gone. We assume it was melted."

Benvair showed no reaction. "Why then aren't you covered in burns?"

"I was, but as Clive mentioned earlier, the right connections can be quite useful." I had no idea if I was doing this whole we're-powerful-but-we-need-your-help thing right. If I misstepped badly, I was counting on Clive to whisper something in my mind.

"Your connection being your…friend Clive?"

She was a master of the pause. This time, it was all about me being a trifling gold digger.

"Her fiancé Clive," he corrected, causing another slow blink. "And I am just one of the many powerful friends Sam enjoys."

Benvair stared into her tea a few moments. When she took a sip, her gaze shot back to me. "I don't approve of a man paying the debts a woman incurs. Whether or not I loan you this heirloom will depend on what you can do in repayment, not him." Her fingers flicked in Clive's direction. "I have no use for a werewolf. What talents can you claim as a wicche?"

Do I tell her the truth?

I believe you're safe to do so. Don't mention immortals, though.

"I'm a necromancer."

She put down her cup and walked out of the room. "Do keep up, child."