Great. More dragons. Just what he needed. “They are welcome to take over—” he started to say, but Bee interrupted him.
“I told you that the dragons are limited in what they can do. The First Dragon made it very clear that the person who could help us was mortal.”
“Mortal born,” Constantine corrected.
“Same difference. That’s why we’re having to rely on you to do the hard work, Rowan. But Constantine said that this silver dragon feels he can help support you somehow, and frankly, I figured you would welcome the help.”
From a dragon? Just how much help was he likely to receive? Not much, given the dragonkin’s view of him. “I very much do welcome any and all help.” He stifled a yawn. “Is there anything else?”
“Not right now. Just get that ring!”
“Do my best.”
“I know you will. Love you, kiddo.”
“Love you, too. I’ll let you know what I find.”
He ended the video call, and sat numbly while his brain tossed around the new bit of information that Bee had kept from him.
The First Dragon was involved, even if peripherally. The demigod progenitor of all dragonkin was not a person whom you soon forgot, and Rowan had painfully sharp memories of the times he’d met the First Dragon, especially the last contact.
Worse yet, fate had driven Rowan from his comfortable hiding spot just at the time when the First Dragon would be calling in the debt of danegeld, and Rowan had absolutely no way to pay it.
Until now.
“This had better do the job,” he told himself. “Because if saving the world from destruction doesn’t pay off the debt, there won’t be anything of me left to worry about.”
On that less-than-cheerful thought, he managed to set an alarm on his phone and remove his shoes before falling onto the bed in an exhausted heap.
He had a very bad feeling about his upcoming burglary, and fell asleep practicing a not-very-believable explanation of just what he was doing if he should be caught.
Three
“Is your man going to take us to dinner?”
I sighed and watched as Mrs. P cleaned out a small basket of seashell-shaped soaps, dropping them into her suitcase alongside the tiny shampoo samples, two washcloths, and a stack of notepaper from the zebra-striped desk that dominated the Oriental Suite. “Rowan isn’t my man, and no, so far as I know, he won’t be joining us for dinner.”
“I like him.” She gave a complacent nod, then patted her suitcase. “He will serve us both well, I think.”
I waited until she padded into the bathroom in search of more things to take before removing the towels from her suitcase. “Serve us well? You mean in helping us get taxis and things? Just because we’re at the same hotel doesn’t mean we can count on him for help getting to the airport tomorrow.”
“Serve us well helping us get me to my beau, of course,” she answered with a placidness that was disarming. She looked like she could have been anyone’s grandmother, and yet there she was trying to stuff a rubber shower mat into her suitcase.
“I think perhaps you’re a little confused about a couple of things,” I said as gently as I could. “You remember that we’re on our way out to Egypt where you’re going to take a trip down the Nile, right?”
“You are going to help me across the Duat to find my beau. You and your man,” she answered, nodding before glancing around the room for anything else that looked likely. She eyed a lampshade, then gave a little shake of her head.
“I just don’t… what exactly is a Duat… boy, I wish I hadn’t left behind that piece of paper with your grandson’s phone number on it. What was his name? I think he needs to know that you’re a bit… confused.”
“I am not confused,” she answered, straightening her back and giving me a look that made me feel like a big meanie for picking on a little old lady. “I know more about what’s going on than you do if you don’t think your young man will help us.”
I gave up trying to reason with her and decided that it was probably better to humor her than point out the obvious. So I nodded, and made a conciliatory gesture. “Are you hungry, or would you like to have a little nap? Or perhaps take a little stroll around the neighborhood?”
She let her eyelids drop halfway. “I had a nap on the plane.”
“I suppose we could have dinner early—”
“No.” Mrs. P eyed me, her lips pursing at what she saw. “You need to be lithe to cross the Duat.”
“Hey, no judgments,” I said, tugging down my t-shirt. “I am entirely comfortable with myself and don’t allow people to body shame me. Yes, I could lose a few pounds, and yes, I stopped swimming because there was an outbreak of chlamydia at my local pool, but that’s no reason to look at me as if I was Sophea the Hippopotamus.”