The Dragon King and I (5 page)

I didn’t really expect it to work, but to my pleased shock someone pulled the angry man off of me, and hauled me to my feet. I half expected to look into the eyes of a concerned (and ruggedly handsome) young man, whom, coincidently enough, would fall madly in love with me over the span of two to three weeks. It’s how it usually worked in trashy romance novels. But keeping in theme with my night, it wasn’t a dashing knight in theoretical armor. Instead it was the stripper I’d first spoken with.

She had her g-string slung around the back of her neck as if it were a feather boa, and she towered a good foot over me thanks to her bend-me-over-a-desk-and-fuck-me heels. She was coated in a fine sheen of sweat from her number and her blond hair was plastered to her cheeks and bare chest. I had no idea how she’d moved that bouncer. I had no idea how she’d lifted me up like I was no heavier than a sack of flour.

I suspected that it had something to do with the fact that, unlike every other dancer I’d spoken with, this one was spewing energy like nobody’s business. Now that I knew what to look for, and most importantly,
how
to look for it, it was hard to stop seeing. From the corner of my eye I saw the man who’d taken me down, get to his feet, only to wander off in a daze.

I swallowed, and met the curiosity in those green eyes with a nod of gratitude.

“Thanks.”

She grinned, “No biggie. What else are Fairy Godmothers for?”

I felt myself blanch and the realization that followed left me cold and distinctly unhappy.

“Seraphim.” It was more statement than question and she nodded and bit her lip in glee, her hands gripping mine in a shake enthusiastic enough to make all of her parts bounce.

“In the flesh.” Seraphim grinned and the devilment in her expression, along with the flash of too-sharp teeth, marked her as a troublemaker. And maybe a bit of a carnivore.

* * * *

“You want a coke or something?”

I eyed the dressing room dubiously and shook my head as I took a seat.

Seraphim shrugged and continued with her post performance ministrations. Most of which consisted of wiping her body down with a towel and redressing in her street clothes. I checked the time and was shocked to find that it was about ten minutes till midnight.

“Why does your shift end so early?”

She smiled at me from over her shoulder as she buttoned her shorts and slipped her feet into a plain pair of black flats. “After everything you’ve seen,
that’s
the first question that pops out of your mouth?”

It was my turn to shrug. What could I say? It made sense that the later it grew the more people would be wandering into the club. Following that thought process; it
didn’t
make sense for her to leave before the crowds came. But she seemed distinctly unconcerned by the amount of money she was most likely missing out on.

The woman needed a manager or something.

Seraphim shook her head at me and finished buttoning her loose fitting blouse. “A manger to a stripper is as a pimp to a hooker.”

I gasped with such outrage, she may as well have just spit in my face.

“You can read my mind, too?”

Super-strength and mind-reading capabilities. Plus, the glitter on her skin didn’t wash off.

She was an X-Man.

Her lip curled, “You’re an idiot.”

Strangely enough, the accusation didn’t offend me. “On occasion, yes.”

She laughed at that and pulled a chair over so that she could sit next to me. “I knew there was a reason I was assigned to you. So,” and here she crossed one leg over the other and leaned back in her seat. “How did it go?”

“How did what go?” I asked hesitantly.

She waved an impatient hand. “The session.” I kept my face blank. “With Clarabell?” My poker face knew no bounds and she finally scowled, reached forward, and grabbed my hand.

“What are you doing?” I jerked away. Or at least tried to but she still had that super strength thing going on for her.

Hissing an irritable, “Shh.” She closed her eyes and folded my hand in both of hers. Her grip was wicked strong but surprisingly gentle. Finally I settled down and let her do whatever witchy business she was currently about.

It took all of thirty seconds before she pushed me away from her with a curse. She rose from her chair with such speed that it slid across the concrete floor. Pacing, hands folded at the small of her back she cursed me yet again. She made three quick circuits around the room before she was finally able to take a deep breath and bring her temper under control. Seraphim sat across from me once again, and her manner was decidedly unfriendly.

“You didn’t go.”

I cleared my throat nervously.

“No. I didn’t”

Why did I suddenly feel as if I were trapped in a room with my mother during one of her fits? My eyes darted nervously to the air vents in the corner before I firmly reminded myself that as a Fairy Godmother, Seraphim didn’t need to resort to things like knock-out gas or snipers. She could just squash me like a bug with a wave of her magic wand. I stifled an almost hysterical giggle at the mental image, correctly assuming that Seraphim wouldn’t find it as amusing.

Speaking of the devil, she cracked her knuckles and her eyes narrowed down to slits. “It took me years to set up an agreement with that itchy twitchy witch. I’ve been trying ever since those disgusting little maggots cornered you in the locker room. The problem is that her help was contingent upon you actually
wanting
to be helped.”

I somehow gathered that the phrase ‘itchy twitchy’ was not an endearment.

“Oh,” I said rather weakly. “So…she
is
a witch?”

Seraphim sniffed, “Of course. Psychics can’t break curses. Only witches can do that.”

I knew it.

Alex: 1

Rachel: 0

“But it doesn’t matter now, does it?” Seraphim continued acidly. “Because
someone
—” I felt a curious prickle along the back of my neck and the hair along my arms stood on end. This, admittedly, was alarming given my company. “—decided to watch Grey’s Anatomy instead.”

“It’s a good show.”

She snarled at me and the sparkles in her skin flashed blood red. Her eyes pooled black and her teeth glinted like knives. That prickle on the back of my neck suddenly felt like a brand and I screamed as the room suddenly filled with the stink of burnt flesh. The pained noise must have gotten through to her somehow because Seraphim jerked herself back under control with an almost audible snap. One second she was Xena: Warrior Princess ala The Exorcist, and the next she was Glenda the Good Witch, smiling magnanimously at me, silver speckled skin once again shining like an untouched diamond.

The change happened so quickly that it was even more frightening than her loss of control had been.

I touched the back of my neck with a shaking hand and hissed out a pained breath as I felt the bubbled tissue that signified a serious burn.

“Oh, dear.” Seraphim placed a delicate hand against her lips in horror and I felt the muscle in my eyelid begin to twitch spasmodically. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me. Here.” She waved a careless hand and I couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief as the throbbing pain disappeared. When I next touched the back of my neck it was to find the skin once again smooth and undamaged.

The hand that I lowered slowly back into my lap shook as violently as the rest of me. Seraphim, thankfully, didn’t seem to notice. Instead she was too caught up in her new courteous persona.

“Now, I’m not sure how you found me my dear. Our laws are very strict when it comes to discretion. If things had gone as they were meant to, you and I never would have passed each other on the streets let alone spoken face to face.”

“Flo—”

There was a momentary crack in her new veneer, but she held it together. “Ah. Florence. That would explain things wouldn’t it?” She settled more comfortably in her seat and cocked her head to one side. “Tell me, love. What exactly did ‘Flo’ say to you?”

I licked painfully dry lips, “She uh, she didn’t really tell me anything. Just that Madam Clara couldn’t help me anymore. And that you were my last hope.”

Seemingly oblivious to the note of doubt that had crept into my voice, Seraphim tapped her chin with a single French tipped fingernail. “Last hope, huh?”

I nodded, eyeing her warily the entire time and wondering if I could make it out of the room if it looked as if she were going to flip out again.

“Well,” she clapped her hands together once. Obviously pleased with whatever conclusion she’d reached. “I like the sound of that.”

“Excuse me?”

“Florence, nosy little wretch that she may be, actually came through for us both. She’s found a way to help you. Or rather, for you to help yourself.”

“How so?” I was curious despite my better judgment. After all, this is what I’d come to her in the first place for.

Her voice was still as pleasant as homemade pie when she replied. “It’s called a Knight-errant in some circles, an Odyssey in others. I’m fond of ‘last ditch effort’ myself.”

“Now if that isn’t a boost to my confidence, I don’t know what is.”

Seraphim laughed, and for the first time since she’d fried me, I relaxed. Maybe personal injury was just how magical beings introduced themselves.

“What does this…knight-errant consist of exactly? How does it help me?”

“It’s a Quest. You’ll need to go on a journey, fight a few monsters, collect a few items, throw them in a pot, spout some magical drivel, and Badda Bing Badda Boom, you’re cured.”

That phrase again.

“What do you mean by ‘fighting monsters’?” This was the part that concerned me the most. Seraphim opened her mouth to answer, only to gasp in surprise.

“Crap. It’s nearly Twelve.”

I glanced at the clock in the corner and saw that it was a minute to Midnight.

“So?”

“The magic lives from 12 to 12. Twixt and Twain and back again.”

“…I’m not sure what part of that sentence to examine first.”

Seraphim ignored me in favor or searching furiously through each of the vanities. Finally she pulled out a tube of lipstick, glanced around helplessly for a moment, before her eyes finally settled on a wall of mirrors with a little ‘ah’ of satisfaction.

“What are you—” my voice trailed off as I watched her, because ‘what’ she was doing soon became all too obvious.

Ingredients

- A lock of fairy’s hair

- An item bought from the goblin’s market

- A mirror (preferably magic)

- A genie’s tongue

- The final breath of an honest man

- A dragon’s heart

“Absolutely not.”

“It’s the only way, pup.” she twirled away from the mirrors, a small tornado of barely contained energy. She gathered her purse and the outfit she’d worn on stage. I watched her consider the lipstick she’d found with a jaundiced eye before she pocketed it.