Page 22 of Elixir of Strife
I steeled myself, shook my head, pulled on his arm as I led the way back. “That was very risky. Very dangerous.”
“Sorry,” he said, stumbling after me. “But not sorry, too. The steam was coming too fast. I wasn’t sure we would make it if we ran.”
“Then thanks,” I said, angrier than I’d intended, the grumpiest gratitude I’d ever offered to anyone. Was I pissed that he took the risk to save both our butts, or was I more annoyed about him and his secret dragon?
Couldn’t it be both?
We stopped at the end of the pier, grabbing our thighs and panting. My breath left my body in puffs of fog. Fog, not steam. Very important distinction. We were safe, for now.
But who the hell was out there trying to steam us alive? What did Leon do with his fingers? No, the other thing first. I straightened up, catching my breath at last, angry at this amorphous, invisible enemy. We weren’t cruciferous vegetables, for fuck’s sake. No one steamed Maximilian Drake and got away with it.
A burly, bearded man in a thick woolen hat stood in front of us, hands held up to either side. “What the hell are you screaming for?”
“Nothing,” Leon said, a huge, compensatory smile on his face. “Beautiful night out. Just got excited.”
The man narrowed his eyes. “Well, keep it down, whatever it is. What are you two doing out here so late at night, anyways?”
Leon frowned. “What areyoudoing out here so late at night?”
I slapped my hand on my forehead. Bad time to get all sassy. This guy was just some dockworker trying to get his job done. If Leon’s mouth got us into a scrap, we wouldn’t be able to use magic to get ourselves out of it.
“Sorry, sir,” I said, placing myself squarely in front of Leon, blocking him from view. Out of sight, out of mind, except I could hear him sputtering indignantly behind me. “Just out for a stroll. We’ll be on our way, now. Didn’t mean to bother you.”
He gave each of us a last, hard look, then lowered his head. That was a nod, apparently. “Well, go on, then. Some of us have to work through the night.”
Leon poked his head around my shoulder, an inquisitive gopher, too much energy for his own good. “What’re you guys moving?”
The man scowled. “Drugs. Dead bodies. Nosy runts. Take your pick.” He stomped off, work boots tromping heavily on the concrete.
“Did you hear that? He called me a runt.” Leon stepped up to my side, earnestly inspecting himself. “And do you think he was serious about the other stuff?”
I smacked him on the shoulder. He yelped, massaging his arm, but he knew better than to fight me. The cheeky fucker was already wearing a self-satisfied grin, after all. His second favorite place was right next to me under the covers in bed. His favorite place was right under my skin.
“Come on,” I growled. “We’re getting out of here. You and I need to talk. I know a diner that’s so terrible it refuses to close. Ever.”
“Wha — isn’t there somewhere nice we can go? Don’t I have a choice?”
“Not at this hour,” I said, glancing at my watch. “And no, it’s what you get for being a mouthy brat.”
Leon sighed, plodding after me in resignation. “There’s no getting out of this, is there?”
I scoffed. “Not unless you want to walk all the way back to the city.”
He was about to tell me something just before that steam began to rise from the jetty. I could sense it. Something important. Maybe it had to do with this Emanate spell he loved so much, how this time the magic actually manifested as a dragon. Nope. No way Leon was backing out of this.
And if he tried, I’d only chase him down and wrestle an answer out of him.
We took my car to the No Finer Diner, so ancient it was practically a Dos Lunas institution, both a landmark and a gaudy, electric blemish on the cityscape. The owners had never bothered to repair most of the busted neon signage, allowing the restaurant to warn prospective customers from afar. Every night it screamed “NO” in angry red letters.
The diner was one of a few places to reliably get a hot meal in the city so many hours after midnight. Note that I said hot, not edible. It was also a place one might reliably expect to get food poisoning. The diner was where tastebuds went to die, where food skipped the digestive tract and arrived as excrement right on the plate.
See also: relic, health hazard, should be condemned. But no one could convince Leon that going there was his punishment.
His eyes lit up at the sight of the waffles our server brought us, a dour woman with sunken eyes who was either having a horrible shift or was an actual zombie. He drizzled syrup over the golden-brown waffles, piled on dollops of whipped cream. Clever boy. That way, he might actually be able to choke the stuff down.
My diet caffeine-free cola sweated profusely by my hand, filled with so much ice it nearly burned to touch. My club sandwich stared limply back at me from the plate. The thick-cut fries at least looked somewhat appetizing. I picked one up, bit into it, marveled at how it was blazingly hot, soggy, and partially frozen on the inside, all at once.
The No Finer Diner never disappointed at disappointing.
