Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

" W here is Carl?" I demanded of the mirror in the bathroom.

For answer, I got more snoring.

Mick had sprung out of bed and dressed when I rushed to tell him that Carl had stolen his bike and was already searching the ground behind the hotel for fresh tire tracks. I wasn't certain why he bothered—there were only so many directions Carl could go on a motorcycle not made for off-roading.

Did Carl even know how to ride a motorcycle? Probably. He knew how to hot-wire one, that was for sure.

Mick's Harley had a piece of the magic mirror ground into one of its side mirrors, as did mine. We used them to communicate when one or both of us were on the road, and to stay in touch with Cassandra at the hotel.

I set the egg back on its towel bed before I half climbed on the freestanding sink and put my face to the mirror. "Wake the hell up and tell me where Mick's motorcycle is."

The mirror snorted and snuffled, as though dragging itself from deep dreams. I pounded on it with the flat of my hand. "Come on!"

"All right, all right." The mirror's fake grogginess vanished.

It hated being pummeled, though even if I broke this particular mirror, I wouldn't hurt the true one. It was projecting itself from its real form in the saloon and wasn't truly connected with this mirror, any more than it was to the side mirrors on our motorcycles. Even the original getting shot, half melted, repaired, and broken again hadn't destroyed it.

"I see …" The mirror paused as though searching. "Vistas."

"Very helpful. What kind of vistas?"

"Dawn sky, desert highway, thrill of the open road—" It broke off. "Oops, cop."

"Shit." I imagined Carl being taken in by state police. Nash would retrieve him and slap him into a high-security assisted-living facility, and the old guy would never see the light of day again.

"Which highway?" Northern Arizona was crisscrossed by them, all offering desert vistas except the mountain views around Flagstaff. "What does the scenery look like?"

"It's a tribal cop." The mirror let out a wolf whistle. "Well, he's cute. I'd say the scenery just improved."

"Show me."

I realized I'd see only the motorcycle's side mirror's field of view, which might not project anything helpful, but I had to try.

Lucky for me, the mirror's angle caught the tribal cop who slid from his SUV and sauntered toward the motorcycle. That Carl had let himself be pulled over was surprising .

The convex mirror elongated the cop in his khaki uniform, long hair pulled neatly into a ponytail. I hoped it was Frank Yellow, a Navajo officer who'd nearly busted me once. He was related to Gina, Dad's wife. Possibly I could use family ties to get Carl out of too much trouble.

As the distortion resolved, I saw that it wasn't Frank. I recognized the broad face, the wise eyes—or wise-ass eyes, whatever mood he was in—and the exaggerated swagger.

"Going a little fast, weren't you?" he asked Carl.

Carl fiddled with the bike's ignition, as though wondering why he couldn't get it to start up and whiz him away from the situation. I could have told him exactly why the motorcycle had suddenly ceased functioning.

"Coyote!" I yelled into the mirror.

Carl, not being magical, couldn't hear me. He continued flicking switches and jiggling the handlebars.

Coyote leaned close so the curve of the mirror would stretch his smile, rendering his human lips into the weird parody of a coyote's muzzle.

"I got this, Janet," Coyote said clearly.

"Janet?" Carl's head snapped up. "You called her? Damn it, I don't need a babysitter."

"Bring him back," I shouted at Coyote. "Before Nash notices he's gone."

"I said, I got this." Coyote brushed his hand in front of the mirror, and the image vanished. I was back to glaring at myself, nothing reflected behind me but my small bathroom.

I kicked at the tile wall, as though that would help. "Nash is going to kill me."

"Sorry, sugar," the mirror said in a small voice. "I lost them. "

"Not your fault." Coyote was far more powerful than a mirror, even one that had been made in an earth-magic sink by a witch tampering with stuff far beyond her control. If Coyote didn't want us to see what was going on, we wouldn't.

At least Carl was safe, I told myself with a sigh of relief, not mangled beneath Mick's motorcycle. Coyote had found him and shut down the bike in time. Although whether Coyote brought Carl straight home or not remained to be seen.

I hadn't been able to pinpoint their location. The sky above them had held a few wisps of clouds, but that kind of weather could stretch across the state and into any of the adjacent ones. Coyote had conveniently blocked my view of any landmark mountains, mesas, or valleys.

I patted the mirror to reassure it, did the same with the egg, and went outside to find Mick.

Mick took the news in resignation. "Guess we leave it up to Coyote," he said.

"I wish I could be as calm as you are. If Carl had gone joyriding on my bike, I'd be freaking out." Both for Carl's safety and the motorcycle's.

Mick ran a hand through his unruly black hair. "Running around yelling and stamping my feet won't change anything." He shrugged, but I noticed his eyes were no longer blue. "Let me fly around and check it out."

"Coyote can conceal himself from you too, you know."

"Not as well as he thinks he can." Mick's amusement told me he was recalling his dealings with Coyote in the distant past. Coyote hadn't triumphed in those encounters, but neither he nor Mick had given me any details.

"Just be careful," I said, worry gripping me. Who knew what Mick had been trying to fight last night, and when they'd be back? "I need Carl home in one piece, preferably before Nash finds out he's gone."

Mick cupped my face in his hands and gave me a firm, hot kiss. "They'll never see me," he promised.

He jogged toward the railroad bed, as he had the night before, waiting until he was on the other side before he started to throw off clothes. I didn't see him shift this time, but after a moment or two, a black speck rose into the morning sky. Anyone looking out from the hotel would believe him to be a large bird, maybe a hawk or a buzzard.

I had to let him go, to trust that both Mick and Coyote would look after Nash's grandfather and return him safely.

The problem was, Coyote and Mick weren't sticklers for anyone else's rules. If they thought Carl was better off far away from Nash, assisted living facilities, and restrictions, they'd help him achieve that. Carl might be happy, but I'd be in deep shit with Nash.

I returned to the hotel's lobby, pleased to see the Horribles piling into their vehicles in search of more food. While Elena couldn't stop them eating her pastries that Cassandra put out for the guests, she'd extended her refusal to cook for them to all meals. If they wanted a full breakfast, they had to look elsewhere.

So busy was I watching the family go—and willing them not to turn back for a forgotten purse, watch, phone, scarf, earrings, hat, or to change into another entire outfit—that I didn't sense the presence of another behind me until a smoky aura tapped me on the shoulder.

I swung around to see a tall man in a gray silk business suit lounging in one of the lobby's armchairs, one pristinely creased pant leg crossed over the other. He had dark red hair, neatly cut, and eyes that at this moment were gray. Or gray-ish. They flickered to tawny even as I gaped at him.

He rose to tower over me, his calm demeanor in place. "Greetings, Janet Begay. Do not be alarmed. Your manager admitted me."

Cassandra, behind her desk, looked up and gave me a minute nod. The wards would have alerted her to his presence while I was outside, but she must have decided he didn't pose a threat, at least not one she couldn't handle.

"Titus." I'd met this dragon that even Drake respected last fall when he'd helped us battle a dragon slayer and other evils. "What brings you here?" Dragons didn't simply drop by to chat.

The egg was still in my bathroom, guarded by the mirror. I'd debated whether to leave it there while Mick was gone, but now I was glad of my decision. I'd never have concealed what it was from Titus.

"You have something of mine," Titus said.

All right, so maybe he already knew the egg was here. Neither Drake nor Mick would have told him, but he could have been following Drake around.

"What's that?" I asked, trying to be casual.

"I'll not be coy and say you know what it is ." Titus sent me a ghost of a smile, while his eyes turned silver. "It is my son. Or daughter. My offspring, in any case. I know it was placed in your care. May I see it, please?"

I stared at him in incredulity, at the same time I became aware that Cassandra and I were very much alone in this lobby. Elena banged pots in the kitchen, but she'd be oblivious to anything but what she was cooking. No guests were in the saloon, and Carlos's shift didn't start until lunch. Rooms were being cleaned, so Flora and the other maids were upstairs.

Titus had chosen his moment well. Cassandra and I would be powerful opponents, but we'd have to fight hard to best a dragon. He'd definitely waited until Mick was out of the way to corner us, in his refined way.

" Your offspring?" I asked without moving. "You're claiming you're the dad?"

Titus's eyes became very dark gray. I read grief in them. "I was Cesnia's lover, yes."

"I don't want to upset you," I said gently, "but you weren't her only one."

Titus regarded me without surprise. "I know. Cesnia was not one for monogamy. We didn't mind. It was an honor to be with her."

Wow. I was growing more regretful that I'd never met her.

"I thought dragons were possessive of their mates," I said. Mick certainly was.

"We are." Titus's eyes became light green. "Very possessive. Cesnia wasn't my mate. She was no one's mate." His lips quirked into a minute smile. "She was special."

Very special, I was beginning to understand.

"How do you know you're the father?" I asked. "Are there DNA tests for dragons?"

"We don't need them," Titus answered. "All will know without doubt after the dragonling is hatched. It will tell us who is its sire."

Interesting. "Until then, you can't be sure?"

"I still believe it is mine. If I am proved wrong, then I will return the dragonling to its true sire."

My brows went up. "Would you, really? "

Titus had seemed like an honorable guy during our last adventure, helping out against some pretty nasty evil when he hadn't had to be involved at all. On the other hand, he'd been complicit with a dragon slayer in organizing gladiatorial games that had put Mick into grave danger. That had also been about honor, because Titus had been compelled to fulfill a promise.

But I didn't really know him. I'd been around dragons for several years now, and while I could more or less predict what Colby, Drake, and Mick would do in a given situation, I had no idea what Titus was capable of.

More or less predict. Dragons did what they wanted, and very few beings in this world could stop them.

Titus touched his fingertips together, like one businessman patiently waiting for another to agree to his terms. I noted that he didn't answer my question.

"I'm a neutral party," I said. "How about I keep the egg until it hatches, and we know its parentage? That way, there are no mistakes."

Titus's eyes flickered, though they didn't change color again. "But you are not a neutral party. You are Mick's mate."

"Which means I'd give the kid to him?" I asked in astonishment. "Why would I do that?"

"Because a dragon child can bring another dragon much power."

"Wouldn't he bring you power if you're his father? Why would he help Mick, instead?"

Titus heaved a minute sigh. "Such things are difficult to explain."

Dragon-speak for I don't want to tell you .

"If you mean the kid can bring a dragon power because that dragon could threaten him or enslave him, then I'm definitely not giving him to anyone but the true dad."

Not that dragons were known for being fond parents. The dragonling might not be any better off with its father, even straight-up guys like Drake or Titus.

Which took me to another thought. Mick had told me that the mother sang the baby dragon's name to it, while it was still in the shell, the name no one in the world knew but the two of them.

Had Cesnia had time to give her child its true name? And what would be the consequences if not?

Titus opened his hands in resignation. "I will never make you understand. Your best option is to give the egg to me. Trust me on this."

"I'd love to, but I can't." I folded my arms and looked Titus squarely in his eyes, which were now shimmering silver. "The egg stays here."

Titus brushed off the sleeves of his jacket as though they'd grown dusty in my lobby. "You know I could simply take it from you," he said in a mild tone.

"It's protected," I stated. "Try to take the egg through these wards, and it's you who will be seared."

I wasn't sure about that, but I lifted my chin as though dead certain.

I read in Titus's gaze that he didn't believe me, but he didn't argue. "Then you will have to bear the consequences." His tone was somber, even sad. "I tried."

"What consequences?" I demanded. "I hate it when dragons go all cryptic. Explaining would be so much easier on everyone."

"Consequences too awful to contemplate," Titus finished. "If you change your mind … "

Titus reached into his coat. I braced myself, as did Cassandra, the two of us waiting for him to withdraw a weapon of some kind. Instead, he pulled out a small, mauve-colored rectangle. A business card.

He held it out to me. "Give me a call."

I took the card between my first two fingers, careful not to touch him. Titus could fry me into unconsciousness with a small spurt of dragon fire if he chose.

The card held the name Titus embossed in silver, and a ten-digit phone number. That was all.

"Sure," I said. "I'll do that."

Titus sent me another of his tiny smiles, made Cassandra a polite bow, then strolled out of the lobby into the sunshine outside the front doors. I followed him, pausing on the doorstep.

Titus continued walking northward across the parking lot, never mind the red dust that must be coating his shoes and the hem of his fine trousers.

The air between him and me shimmered like summer heatwaves, and when they cleared, Titus was gone.

A movement caught my eye. I turned toward it and saw that I hadn't been the only one to watch Titus disappear.

A tall man had stepped out of the Crossroads Bar—which shouldn't have been open yet—and stared at the space where Titus had disappeared. He had long black hair threaded with gray, a strong body, and a firm face.

Last night, he'd been nude, like a Changer who'd just shifted, but today he was dressed in jeans, a sweatshirt, and motorcycle boots.

He regarded the dusty lot from which Titus had vanished, then turned his head to look straight at me.

"Good morning, Janet," he said.