Greetings, fantasy fans!
The first in my new (semi) cozy fantasy series is ready to roll. Calculated Whisk may have a few more dragon attacks than the typical cozy, and a touch of adult humor (nothing graphic), but there aren’t any deaths, and there isn’t much violence (especially considering the dragon attacks!). It’s a light-hearted, banter-filled adventure in a city that embraces peace. Actually, it enforces it. With magic, golems, and customs that all shall abide by if they want to enjoy the comforts and culture of a home where all races are welcome.
The first in a series, with each novel standing alone, Calculated Whisk comes out on Amazon in ebook and paperback format this Tuesday. The audiobook is also in the works.
Here’s the blurb:
The Dragon Diner: Bookkeeper Wanted.
After a lifetime as a mercenary and years of war, Rylana seeks a peaceful new career, and this job looks perfect. What could be calmer and more relaxing than crunching numbers while delightful scents waft from a professional kitchen?
There’s just one problem. The Dragon Diner is run by a real dragon, one she shot with an arrow during the war. And, oh yes, he remembers her.
This might not be the relaxing new start to life that Rylana envisioned.
If you’re ready to order (it’ll also be in Kindle Unlimited for the first year), here are the links:
Preview Chapters
Chapter 1
The Dragon Diner: Bookkeeper Wanted.
“Finally, someone is hiring.” Rylana “Falcon” Avandar reached toward the door, a ferocious dragon artistically burned into the wood.
Sylin’s firm hand landed on her wrist. The slender elf assassin possessed far more strength than one would guess, and the grip halted Rylana as surely as shackles.
“You are an archer for the Moon Daggers, one of the most well-known mercenary bands in the southern kingdoms,” Sylin said. “Enemies run for cover when they see you on the battlefield with your bow, and even dragons speak warily of you since they’ve felt the sting of your arrows. They speak warily of you while they plot your demise. What are you thinking?”
“I was an archer for the now-disbanded Moon Daggers. You of all people know the Ore War is over, the unit has dispersed, and Captain Maverick is gone.” Rylana’s throat tightened as she said the last, Mav’s irreverent smirk floating through her mind. Nine months of traveling the world and trying to forget the past hadn’t been long enough. “Besides, I’m qualified to be a bookkeeper. When I wasn’t busy perforating enemies with arrows, I handled payroll and the ordering of supplies for five hundred people. I’m sure I can run the calculations for a diner. This one doesn’t even look that busy.” Rylana peered through the window beside the door.
“It’s not your pen-wielding ability that I question; it’s your intent to walk into an establishment owned by a dragon.” Sylin released her grip and tucked a lock of her forest-green hair behind her pointed ear, though her frank blue eyes remained on Rylana. “That would be even more foolish than me visiting the elven enclave while we’re here.”
“I’m sure the diner isn’t owned by a dragon.”
Sylin pointed at the pyrography on the door.
“I’ll wager two gold coins that a human owns this and put dragon in the diner’s name because it might draw more business. Or he or she liked alliteration. The place also might specialize in meat dishes, the kind carnivorous animals, humans, and crazy elves who were raised by wolves like to eat.”
“Hilarious. As if I’m the crazy one here, the one contemplating applying for a position under one of the great scaled, winged, and fanged enemies that we were paid to battle in the war. Also, meat is delicious. Especially slow-roasted northern elk or herb-crusted star-darter tenderloin.”
“Not according to your vegetarian elven kin. I assume your culinary preferences are the reason you won’t be visiting the enclave and that it has nothing to do with the fact that elves were allies to the dragons in the Ore War—and that you killed even more of them than I did.”
Rylana spoke of their triumphs without pride. Had they even been triumphs? Years ago, she had been pleased by the development of her skills and rising in the ranks as a mercenary. But as she’d gotten older, losing comrade after comrade, the unit often being forced to obey dubious orders, she’d started questioning if they had been doing the right thing.
“I am certain of that. You know the old saying: in the depths of night, a single blade may cut a thousand throats.” Sylin, who always noticed everything, turned as two goblins approached.
Only a block away from the busy Luminous Lake docks, the shop-lined cobblestone street held many passersby, most minding their own business, but the pair of three-and-a-half-foot-tall, green-skinned males were whispering to each other and pointing at them. No, judging by the lewd gesture that one drew in the air, they were pointing at Sylin. She always attracted more male gazes—species regardless—when she and Rylana were together.
With her own feminine curves and reasonable facial appeal, Rylana wasn’t usually ignored by men when she traveled with a less striking companion, but as a mere human, she didn’t star in their fantasies the way Sylin did. That was fine with Rylana since she was one who chose companions infrequently and with care. Today, with her short black hair in need of a washing and her trousers and tunic travel-stained, she doubted she would interest even a horny goblin.
“Do you think they’d like to zerg with us?” one of the males asked, drawing close enough that their conversation was audible.
“When has a beautiful elf ever zerged with you?” his companion asked.
“In my dreams every single night. Sometimes many times a night.” The speaker hurried forward, beaming a smile at Sylin, his wispy white hair sticking out in all directions like a dandelion gone to seed. “Beautiful elven maiden, I was wondering if—”
Sylin drew a knife so quickly that Rylana almost missed it. Sylin flipped it casually up and down at the level of the goblin’s face. It was her utility knife, not one of the various blades she used in her profession. Those were in a wooden case in her backpack, tied with a magical red “tranquility” ribbon, courtesy of the peacekeepers who’d searched them before allowing them entrance into the city. A similar ribbon was tied on Rylana’s sword scabbard and around her bow and the arrows in her quiver. If anyone tried to remove the knots, the peacekeepers would be alerted, and golems would charge into the streets to deal with the infraction.
The goblin halted midstep and midsentence, his yellow eyes transfixed on the flipping blade. “I was wondering if you might have been going in to eat the special soup at this establishment.”
“The special soup?” Rylana asked.
If that was what the diner was known for, there definitely wasn’t a dragon inside.
“Yes, the magical spices that the chef uses… Well, they’re known to put most species in the mood to, ah…” The goblin looked toward his comrade.
His buddy, who didn’t appear daunted by the knife flipping, made pumping motions with his hips. “To zerg. You know the word?”
“Everyone knows that goblin word,” Rylana said dryly.
“Elves are immune to such substances,” Sylin said, “but why would a chef use magical spices in the food?”
“Who knows what motivates dragons?” The goblins stepped back from Sylin and looked across the street, one saying, “Let’s see if our cake is ready for Vardok’s stag party on the docks tonight.”
The pair darted between a horse-drawn carriage and a self-ambulating wagon, a glowing yellow controller embedded in the front guiding it to its destination. A grandmotherly dwarf in an apron opened the front door of a bakery with a sign that promised delicious custom goods for all needs, naughty or nice, no questions asked. The goblins trotted inside.
“I’d forgotten what an interesting part of Tranquility this is,” Rylana observed.
“I told you there was a dragon.” Sylin pointed to a tea and coffee shop next to the bakery, a steaming cup painted on its wooden sign. “Why don’t you inquire about employment there?”
“Retiring to work at a coffee shop is your dream not mine.” Of course, Rylana was almost as much of a fan of a heady dose of fresh brew as Sylin, and she smiled at a memory that arose. She’d first become the bookkeeper for the Moon Daggers—and registered to Captain Maverick’s awareness as more than a nameless archer in Fleet Foot Squad—when she’d had a fit because the company had been out of coffee. He’d said that if she was that concerned about the status of luxury goods, she could take over the position of supply officer. He’d been surprised when she’d gleefully agreed. Never again had the company been without such an important substance.
“I think it might be a bookstore too.” Sylin pointed at tome-filled cases behind a table visible through the window, then rested her knife across her heart and sighed. “I’m going to investigate.”
“And apply for a job?”
“I would be bored serving coffee. Even traveling has felt mundane without any challenges to occupy my mind and force me to keep my skills honed.”
“As a barista, you might get the opportunity to slap away handsy men.”
“That’s not challenging. And it’s the epitome of mundane.”
“Well, for my sake, ask if they’re hiring.”
Rylana had already inquired at more than twenty establishments and found that nobody was. In the aftermath of the Ore War, a lot of former soldiers had come to Tranquility, the city that welcomed all, as long as they obeyed the laws of the new god that required all intelligent species to exist in peace. Since Rylana and Sylin had taken a roundabout route here, those who’d arrived earlier had acquired all the available jobs and also filled the temporary lodgings, something else Rylana’s inquiries had revealed. When she and Sylin had decided to come to Tranquility, it hadn’t occurred to them that there wouldn’t be work or a place to stay.
Sylin turned back to the door, standing shoulder to shoulder with Rylana. “I won’t let you face a dragon alone.”
“I still don’t believe there’s a real dragon. They’re not allowed to live in their native form in Tranquility because their fangs and claws are too dangerous—not to mention their magic. The gnome peacekeepers can’t tie a knot on a dragon’s ability to breathe fire.”
“It would be amusing to see a three-foot-tall gnome attempt to fasten a ribbon around one of those long scaled necks.”
Sylin reached for the door again—nobody had gone in or out in the time they’d stood in front of it, so it definitely wasn’t busy.
“Be careful in there,” came a woman’s call from behind. It was the apron-wearing gray-haired dwarf who’d let the goblins in. She now held a tray filled with miniature cupcakes. “With your beauty, if any of the male patrons have been imbibing the soup, they might try to force a mating on you. Cupcake?” She smiled and held up the tray.
“I assume she’s talking to you,” Rylana murmured.
“You’re more trusting than I and likely to take a sweet from a stranger,” Sylin said.
“I meant about the beauty.”
“You’ll want to watch out for the dragon too,” the dwarf added, her gaze squarely on Rylana now. “He doesn’t take kindly to human soldiers, and you’ve the look of one.” Cupcake in hand, she gestured toward the chain mail shirt visible under Rylana’s tunic, the bow and quiver, and the combat boots that had seen a lot of use in the dragon-filled mountains that rose out of the mists of the southern jungles.
“See, there is a dragon.” Sylin nodded, as if she’d known for certain all along. Maybe she had. Elves had more ability than humans did to sense the magical, and dragons, with their ability to fly, breathe fire, and shape-shift into other forms, were definitely that.
“He’s the chef,” the dwarf added, then popped the cupcake into her mouth. “I really must stop eating so many of the samples,” she murmured to herself, then went inside.
Rylana faced the diner’s dragon door again, but all the warnings were succeeding in making her believe this establishment would be best avoided. She still had a few coins. She didn’t need a job immediately. Just… soon.
“There have to be alternatives. Didn’t you say your wealthy family lives across the lake here?” Sylin waved toward the west where, opposite of the city core that sprawled along the eastern side of the lake, ancient castles that had been turned into manors of wealthy families stood along the shoreline, each on sprawling acreages overlooking the water.
“I’m not asking the father I haven’t seen or even written to in seventeen years for money.”
“Didn’t he offer you a job in the family business once?”
“He tried to force me into that job after torturing my brother and me with ten stifling years of nonstop tutoring and testing. If my lute teacher hadn’t let me sneak out into the woods to practice with the neighbor’s bow, I could have gone insane.” Rylana didn’t mention the worst part, that her father had tried to arrange a marriage for her to a socially acceptable landowner whose family also had an estate on the banks of the lake. That had been what had ultimately prompted her to flee the city and become a mercenary in a far-off land. “You’re lucky you were an orphan, Sylin.”
“Oh, yes, all orphans are thankful every day that they weren’t born into wealthy families where missed meals were nonexistent.”
“I bet the wolves didn’t make you learn the lute.” Brimming with determination, Rylana thrust open the door.
So what if there was a dragon? If he was hiring bookkeepers, she was a bookkeeper.
Rylana stepped inside to the most wondrous of smells. Was that bacon? With a hint of sweetness like maple? The scent wafted through a tidy dining room with not a speck of food or grime on the tile floors. Illuminated by daylight flowing through the windows, the back half was further brightened by lamps and sconces adorned with paper-thin wooden shades that had been burned with the same dragon logo that was on the door.
Despite the sumptuous scents, only two booths were occupied, one by a man eating skewers of meat while reading a newspaper, the other by an amorous university-age couple, the girl sitting in the guy’s lap as they giggled over bowls of stew. Or maybe that was the soup the goblins had warned them of. The other booths and a dozen or so stools at an empty bar in the back were unoccupied. A hallway beside it led toward a swinging kitchen door, what might have been an office opposite it, and to what looked like a large supply room taking up the back half of the building.
A pale-skinned gnome with shaggy black hair, bare feet, and wearing an apron sat cross-legged in a corner of the dining room, next to a toolbox and a knee-high mechanical contraption, a panel open in its side. Busy tinkering, the gnome didn’t acknowledge Rylana’s entrance. Nobody did, certainly not the giggling couple.
Since the gnome looked like he worked in the diner, Rylana started toward him, but the kitchen door swung open first. A handsome man as tidy as the dining room walked out in black trousers, an apron, and a crisp cream-colored shirt with the sleeves evenly rolled up to reveal muscled forearms. He had short silver hair, emerald-green eyes, bronze skin, and radiated power even though he was carrying a tray, not unlike the dwarf baker across the street. Instead of cupcakes, his held a plate of sliced meat under a precise dollop of gravy and surrounded by cubes of beautifully colored vegetables.
It had been a long time since breakfast, and Rylana’s mouth would have watered, but she was promptly struck by there being something familiar about the man. No, that was undoubtedly a dragon shape-shifted into human form. There was a scar beside his right eye that stretched back into his hairline, and when his emerald eyes locked onto her, Rylana rocked back. She’d met him before. She was sure of it.
The dragon in human form roared and lifted the tray, as if he might hurl it at her—or against the wall in a fit of rage—but he caught himself and instead set it on the bar before springing toward her.
Rylana slung her pack and her weapons off her shoulder as she rushed back outside where she would have more room to maneuver. But the cursed tranquility ribbon kept her from drawing an arrow. The presumptuous magic even zapped her when she tried to pull one from her quiver. Furious, she threw her bow and quiver to the ground and pulled out her utility knife, the only blade the peacekeepers hadn’t tied.
“Problem?” Sylin, who’d waited in the street, asked calmly.
“I’ve met that dragon before.” Rylana backed farther, surprised he hadn’t yet charged out after her.
A roar sounded again, not the vocalization that might come from a man’s throat but the thunderous heart-rattling roar of a real dragon. It came not from the front room of the diner but the alley behind it.
“You met him?” Sylin asked. “Or one of your arrows met him?”
“I think he got a real personal introduction to the contents of my quiver, yes.”
As Rylana crouched with her knife, a shadow fell over them. Scrapes came from the rooftop of the diner—talons gripping the gutters. A huge silver dragon with great muscles bunching under sleek scales glared down at her, and his fang-filled maw opened, saliva glistening on teeth like daggers. No, like swords.
Rylana looked down at the ridiculously small weapon she held. Her knife wouldn’t even scratch one of the dragon’s scales.
“I’m dead.”
Chapter 2
Alarms gonged as the dragon leaped from the rooftop and onto the street, roaring again as his emerald eyes locked onto Rylana. She had no trouble reading the intent to kill in them. He crouched, not able to spread his wings fully because of the storefronts on either side of the street, but nothing impeded his legs, the powerful muscles that would let him spring at her.
Before the man had changed into a dragon, he’d seemed familiar, but now that he stood before Rylana in his natural form, she remembered seeing him before. She remembered shooting him before. It had been from a high perch above a mountain valley while human, orc, and dwarven soldiers had battled against elves and dragons on the battlefield below.
Eyes ablaze, the dragon roared again, drowning out the gongs coming from a pillar in a nearby intersection, and she knew he remembered her too. He opened his maw wider, and all the passersby that had been in the street scattered. Drivers of wagons abandoned them, rushing into doorways or alleys.
Rylana backed farther away, glancing around a corner and toward one of those alleys. She turned and sprinted toward it, and none too soon. Flames roiled from the back of the dragon’s throat, spraying the cobblestones where she’d stood. The brilliant light and intense heat followed her into the alley.
She would have sprinted for the end, hoping to lose the dragon in the city, but an authoritative call of, “Halt, dragon!” came from the other side of the diner.
More alarms gonged from pillars in other intersections throughout the area. Soon, the entire city would know about this.
The order to stop didn’t keep the dragon from stomping to the entrance of the alley. His long silver neck snaked around the corner, his eyes focusing again on Rylana as he once more opened his maw.
She threw her knife at one of those emerald eyes, then sprinted toward the end of the alley. The dragon turned his head to avoid what would have been a precise strike at her target, and the blade glanced off his scaled cheek. As she’d feared, unlike the mithril-headed arrows she’d loosed on the battlefield, the simple steel blade didn’t even scratch him. All it did was piss him off. Further.
The dragon roared again. He was too large to rush into the alley, but he crouched, probably to spring over it and land on the street one block over.
But a magical net flew at him from the side, the strands sizzling as they touched his flank and stuck to him. Two twelve-foot-tall golems strode into the alley from the opposite end, their brownish-gray bodies appearing to be made from stone, but magic making them far more impervious. Three-foot-tall gnomes in gray peacekeeper uniforms and armed with stun sticks and net hurlers gathered behind the golems, commanding them to stride past Rylana and toward the dragon. He’d paused in his attack to snarl to the side at whoever had hurled the net. More peacekeepers, presumably.
In most of the world, nobody would consider the diminutive gnomes, no taller than a goblin and less muscular, suitable for law enforcement, but here, in this city that they’d made with the help of the new god, everyone knew they had the magical wherewithal—and the divine blessing—to ensure people obeyed the laws.
“Halt, dragon!” someone called from the street again.
More golems appeared on either side of his netted flanks.
“You are in violation of the laws of Tranquility. If you do not immediately change into a benign form, we will force you out of the city and close your establishment.”
The dragon seethed, tail rigid and muscles taut. Would he have the power or be able to use his fire to destroy the net that covered him?
Perhaps, but, at the gnomes’ threat, he looked toward the diner, and he didn’t try. Smoke wafted from his nostrils when he glowered back into the alley at Rylana, showing his fangs again before closing his maw. But in the end, surrounded by peacekeepers and their golems, the dragon shifted forms, the air rippling around him like a mirage in the desert.
Once more, he stood as a man, his short silver hair now tousled and his clothing rucked and wrinkled. He plucked at the netting, grimacing as it sizzled and probably zapped him the way the ribbon had Rylana, but he focused on removing it instead of looking at the golems and gnomes that had encircled him. The golems were expressionless, as always, mere automatons doing their duties, but the gnomes looked sternly at the dragon, and one stepped forward to address him.
Rylana thought about slipping away, especially since the peacekeepers might take issue with her having thrown a knife, but she risked creeping forward. Maybe she could retrieve the blade from the cobblestones where it had landed before anyone noticed it.
“Jildarin-grozanarav,” the head gnome said.
Was that the dragon’s name? Even though Rylana had battled him, she’d never known it. It did sound familiar, like he might have been one of the generals or clan leaders during the war. Such important beings had been mentioned in the orders and reports that had come down from the kingdom militaries. What in either hell was he now doing here in Tranquility running a diner?
“I am Patrol Captain Dindarik, and you are in violation of Tranquility law. You’ve changed into your dangerous native form outside of your lair, something that is expressly forbidden. Have any been injured or slain?” The gnome peered into the alley and also toward the storefronts and wagons, one of which was in flames. “I see that goods have been damaged. At the least, there will be a fine.”
The dragon—Jildarin—sighed and looked at Rylana, curling a lip when she picked up her knife. Sylin appeared, stepping past a couple of gnomes to peer into the alley. Her wooden case of daggers was in hand, but she must have seen the peacekeepers and golems approaching, because she hadn’t tried to break the tranquility ribbon tying it closed.
Rylana waved that she was all right.
The patrol captain pulled a mechanical device out of a pocket and started tapping on a button. It glowed with his touches and whirred softly. As the dragon finished extricating himself from the netting, a paper spat out from a slot in the top of the device.
“This is an official warning. Should you change into your dragon form again on public streets, you will be forced to leave the city. At the bottom, you will see a fine listed for your infraction. You may pay it at Peacekeeper Headquarters. The address is listed at the bottom.” Captain Dindarik handed the paper to the dragon, who accepted it with another lip curl, but, after looking at his diner again, he didn’t object.
Maybe it was strange, since the dragon had tried to kill her scant moments earlier, but Rylana felt a twinge of sympathy toward him. After all, he was only being fined because he’d reacted strongly to her arrival.
“As you were warned when you entered the city,” the patrol captain added, “such behavior is not tolerated within Tranquility’s borders or near Luminous Lake’s shorelines. Should you wish to hunt in your native form, you must first leave the city.” Dindarik looked at Rylana to address her. “Given the nature of the incident, and your obvious need to defend yourself, you will not be warned or fined at this time for hurling a blade with the intent to harm.”
Rylana had already sheathed the knife and lifted her open hands, resisting the urge to say something snarky. Sylin had disappeared from view again. Had the peacekeepers frowned at her for pulling out her knife case?
When the golems and their gnome handlers departed, the gong noises finally fading, Jildarin glared at her. Rylana tensed. She didn’t think he would attack again, probably more because he didn’t want to lose his diner than because he cared about fines—though he did glare down at the paper, the tendons of his hands taut, as if he was tempted to ball it up and throw it away. Instead, he smoothed it, folded it once, and tucked it into a pocket. He also smoothed his clothes as he resumed glaring at Rylana.
“What do you want, foul enemy? To attempt to slay me again? The gnomes will not permit that, any more than they will allow me to kill you. Regretfully.”
“My name is Rylana, and I came to apply for the position of bookkeeper at the Dragon Diner.”
As he stared at her, his jaw slack with disbelief, Sylin appeared again, stepping into the alley to stand at Rylana’s shoulder. The support would have meant more if Sylin hadn’t been holding a paper cup with coffee inside, as if she’d wandered off in the middle of the chaos to place an order.
“You are not hired,” Jildarin stated and walked out of view and back toward his diner.
“Are you sure working for your father isn’t an option?” Sylin sipped from her cup.
“Yes.” Rylana raised her eyebrows as Sylin smacked her lips in some assessment of the brew.
“Now that he’s changed back into a man, a lot of people have flowed out into the street to watch,” Sylin said. “The coffee shop owners and the bakery dwarf are taking this opportunity to hand out free samples. This is surprisingly good, all things considered.”
“All things considered? Did you think the presence of a dragon or me nearly being incinerated would affect the flavor?”
“No, but I didn’t expect a quality beverage to be foisted on me by a street peddler.”
“Was it foisted on you, or did you rush over to get it as soon as you smelled coffee? I’ll bet you were first in line for that sample.”
“I was second in line,” Sylin said, sipping again, “behind the fast-moving goblins who’d just exited the bakery with a cake box, a hole snipped out on the top so that a rather erect and large… zerg stick could protrude. You’re fortunate that dragon isn’t interested in hiring you. I can’t imagine the indignity of working at an establishment where the food has strange aphrodisiacal qualities that prompt the libidinous diners to order pornographic cakes from the bakery across the street.”
“I don’t think anatomically-shaped baked goods quite qualify as pornography.”
“You didn’t see the size of the zerg stick. It looked like it was inspired by an ogre, not a goblin.”
“How do you know it wasn’t?”
Sylin took another sip as they returned to the street. “It was green.”
“For someone who isn’t usually interested in such things, you got a good look.”
“Shall I remind you of my profession? It behooves me to constantly remain alert and monitor my surroundings.”
“You’re retired, aren’t you?”
“Hm,” Sylin said noncommittally.
Rylana paused in the street. Jildarin was still outside the diner, and his fists were clenched. Fortunately, he wasn’t looking at her but instead faced a male human who wore the kind of blue-tweed frock coat that was popular with bankers and business owners in the city. Most people, having seen Jildarin in his native form scant minutes earlier, were giving him a wide berth, but this man adjusted his round brimmed hat and stepped closer to him.
“When are you going to be able to pay your rent?” he demanded.
“Soon,” Jildarin said.
“You said that last month.”
“It’s even truer now.” Jildarin glared balefully at the man.
Anywhere except in the city of Tranquility, a human would have quailed under a dragon’s glare and the irritated power that Jildarin radiated, even while shifted into a more benign form, but the man knew he was safe here. He straightened his coat, lifted his chin, and said, “If you are not able to pay it in full by next month, including interest for all the delays, I will bring the golems and have you evicted.”
“The Golden Whisk is in a week.”
“The Golden what?”
“It is an annual culinary competition hosted at the old arena on an overlook of Luminous Lake.” Jildarin pointed toward the north end of the city. “I will be able to come current with the rent after winning the prize money.”
The man—the landlord—scoffed. “You’re a business owner. You’re supposed to be able to pay your rent based on what you earn from your business.”
Voice cold, Jildarin leaned forward and said, “I will acquire the funds.”
Even from a distance, Rylana could sense his power—and she well remembered the heat of the flames that had almost scorched her. She wouldn’t push a dragon, even in Tranquility. There was no magical ribbon that could keep a dragon from changing into his native—and extremely deadly—form, and Jildarin might well decide the diner wasn’t worth the trouble and roast the landlord. Maybe he would torch Rylana as well before flying out of the city to return to his homeland.
What was he doing here anyway? Dragons weren’t chefs. She’d never even heard of one that cooked its meat. They usually killed and devoured their prey raw. They certainly didn’t make soup that had strange side effects on those who consumed it.
The landlord took a step back, looking like he might have realized he was being overly assertive, given the nature of the being with whom he spoke. That didn’t keep him from saying, “If you don’t have your rent money, including what’s overdue, in two weeks, I will start the eviction process.”
“That is acceptable and expected, but I will have the funds by then.” Jildarin opened the door and stalked inside. Before it closed behind him, his voice was audible, roaring, “There will be no coitus in my diner. This is a place of eating! Get out!”
The couple that Rylana had seen earlier ran through the doorway, the woman’s dress half off her shoulder and the man struggling to pull his trousers up while sprinting away at top speed.
Rylana scratched her jaw, bewildered.
“I knew this city was quirky, but I’m finding our visit more fascinating than I expected.” Sylin sipped the last of her free sample.
“Was it fascinating when that dragon nearly incinerated me?” Rylana asked.
“No, that was merely entertaining.”
“I trust the only reason you didn’t try to save me was that the tranquility ribbon tied your knife case shut. It had nothing to do with a barista wandering over to tempt you with samples.”
Sylin grinned. “It was one of the owners, and she didn’t come out until after the golems showed up. Even the most entrepreneurial of business owners don’t peddle their wares while a fearsome dragon is on a rampage.”
Telling herself it would be wise to have nothing more to do with Jildarin or his diner, Rylana started past it, but the fleeing patrons had left the door ajar, and the lingering bacon scents made her pause. That smelled so wonderful. Could he really work in the kitchen, cooking over a hot stove to feed humans? It was so incongruous with all things dragon. Usually, if they interacted with humans or any of the non-elven species at all, it was to drive them out of their lands. The occasional hedonistic dragon visited villages and towns and expected offerings of meat from the orcs, goblins, or humans that lived there, but Rylana had traveled all over the world, and she’d never seen anything like this.
“It does smell good in there, doesn’t it?” Sylin said. “What a wonderful combination of aromas. But, why, do you suppose, is he making a soup that turns people libidinous if he doesn’t want them to have sex in his diner?”
“I have no idea.”
“Perhaps the workers in that fine establishment across the street can illuminate the mystery, should we care enough to inquire.” Sylin pointed to the coffee shop, a woman with a tray still out front, handing out the last of her samples to passersby. “No doubt if we buy beverages, they will be more inclined to share details.”
“No doubt,” Rylana murmured, following her comrade toward the shop, but she couldn’t help but look back and wonder about that dragon.
~
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