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desires delivered up to us. I’m in such a sorry state I’m afraid I don’t feel much like eating.”

“Consider it done, sir,” Finch said as George opened Hugh’s car door. Hugh stepped out, but

when he turned back to collect the empty gin bottles he’d so carelessly thrown on the floor, he

noticed Finch hadn’t moved. Their eyes met. For a stunning moment, the world itself seemed

to stop, then Finch glanced away.

The bottles could wait. Hugh stepped around the car and opened the door for his secretary,

who climbed elegantly from the vehicle and smoothed his shirt before offering Hugh a curt nod.

There was something special about Finch, Hugh thought as he closed the door and returned

to his side of the car to collect his trash. Something that put him head and shoulders above the

rest. If he was to keep Finch on his payroll, he would need to make sure he kept him happy—

there were other dragons out there with larger estates, bigger hoards, and more influence than

Hugh who would swoop a man like Finch up in a heartbeat.

Hugh couldn’t let that happen.

Bottles collected, he led Finch into the house. They made a short detour into the kitchen to

dispose of their garbage and request refreshments, then headed upstairs.

Gold coins, it seemed, were not enough. Hugh would have to do better.

* * *

Hugh enjoyed Finch’s private domain as much on his second visit as he had on his first. The

room was tidy—naturally—but it was decorated in such a way that gifted Hugh a glimpse into

the life of Finch the man rather than Finch the manservant. He enjoyed the vintage record

jackets artfully arranged on the walls and the framed map of London marked with dainty pins

with round, metallic heads. All of the pins but one were silver, and the odd man out was gold.

It was positioned seemingly at random in St. John’s Wood, close to where an Amethyst dragon

kept residence. What Hugh didn’t like about the room was the large metal cage in it. It was

filled with chaos—paper shreds, gnawed cardboard boxes, and what appeared to be several

old t-shirts that had been tied up so they stretched between its bars. One of the t-shirts was

swinging suspiciously. Evil undoubtedly lurked inside.

“I apologize for the mess, sir,” Finch said as he swept into the room. Hugh didn’t understand

what he was talking about until Finch fetched a dustpan hidden behind the cage and swept up

three shreds of paper from the floor. While he did, a little furry face poked out from the folds of

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