Page 49 of Dragon Detective

“A dragon,” a small voice said in awe behind me. “A real dragon?”

“Jimmy, don’t,” a woman cried hoarsely. “Come back here.”

A little boy about seven or so barreled past me but came to a stop below Reylor.

“I’m sorry.” His panting mom raced over and grabbed his arm, dragging him away from Reylor, her head tilted back, and her eyes like saucers on her face. “I know you’re a person inside,” she told Reylor. “Jimmy knows better than to treat you like you’re a beast.”

Many of the monsters who’d come forward to join us were pretty much beasts, though she was right, inside, they were people just like her and me.

“I’ve told you not to stare and to leave the monsters alone,” she chided him.

“It’s okay,” I said. “I’m sure Reylor’s used to people staring.”

How couldn’t he be?

“I’ll leave you two to whatever you were doing.” The mother gazed toward the sea. The moon had slipped out of the horizon and its milky whiteness shimmered across the water. “It’s alovely night to go flying, I think.” She winked my way. “I’m assuming you two were about to go somewhere.”

“Yes,” I said. “This is Reylor. He works for Monsters, PI, the detective agency in town. He’s . . .” Could I call him my boyfriend? Not yet, though I bet I would be using the term soon. “A good friend.”

“But he’s not a creature at a petting zoo,” she told Jimmy. “Say goodbye to the dragon and his friend. It’s time we got home. You need a bath and dinner, and then it’s to bed with you, little guy.”

“Bye, dragon,” Jimmy said forlornly. “Bye, lady.” He directed his wave to us both.

Reylor lowered his head to Jimmy’s level and slowly blew smoke across the boy’s body.

“Whoa,” Jimmy said. “He’s . . . He’s breathing fire, Mommy. He’s a real dragon, and he’s breathing fire!” He hopped around while Reylor blew more smoke.

Jimmy’s mother’s gaze met mine. “He’s sweet to do that for my son.”

That was Reylor.

Pure sweetness.

Chapter 23

Reylor

Ishould’ve given Hannah more information, but she did well now that I couldn’t speak with her. Once the boy and his mother had left, I dropped to my belly in the sand and stretched out my front leg toward her, nudging my snout in that direction.

She collected my shredded clothing, placing it in the bag that she closed and tossed over her shoulder. “I assume I’m supposed to climb up onto your spine. No stairs.” She minced her way closer with her fuck-me heels spearing into the sand. “Good thing my body’s used to stuffing itself into closets and stretching out to paint a ceiling from the top of my ladder. When I get old and crotchety, which I’m sure I will—be crotchety, that is—you’re going to hear my knees and spine creaking when I climb up your leg, like I am now, and when I stretch myself out to straddle your back.”

She saw us together . . . I wanted to tip my head back and shoot flames into the sky, but I restrained myself and acted like a tame dragon.

Which I wasn’t. Only with her.

She settled on my spine and hooked my bag on the spike jutting up between my shoulders, latching onto it afterward. “I think I’m ready.” Her legs clamped to my sides. “I don’t suppose you could just walk to the exhibition hall. This height feels high enough to me.”

I turned my neck and nudged the tip of my snout on her leg, then shook my head.

“I thought not,” she said. “How about keeping it to no higher than the power lines?”

And risk snagging a claw or a wing on one? No way. I shook my head again.

“Then let’s not go so high we can touch the stars.”

If I could fly that high, I would grab a few and present them to her. I’d fashion a bracelet, a ring, earrings, and a necklace from them, setting them like stones in pure platinum. Then I’d gift them to her and huff with pleasure whenever she wore them.

Since I couldn’t reassure her, the only thing I could do was show her.

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