wouldn’t like it.”
“So you did.” He slam-dunked the Slurpee. “Apparently you will be watching the tapes for someone with no taste.”
“This shouldn’t take long. Thank the Powers for fast-forward,” Rune said. He swiped up a few of the Twizzlers packets, winking at Dragos. “Since you don’t like them,” he said, and left.
Dragos went back to work, but his concentration had splintered for other matters. He kept three wide-screens on the opposite wall on different news channels. His other three assistants came and went. The ticker tape headlines of one channel caught his attention and he turned the volume up. The preliminary cost estimate for the property damage he caused that afternoon was already in the tens of millions.
The news crew conducted interviews of pedestrians. One woman said tearfully, “Forget about property damage. I heard that sound earlier today and I’m going to be in therapy for the rest of my life. I want to know if Cuelebre is going to pay for that!”
He pushed the mute button. It was turning out to be one expensive damn penny.
Outside the wall-sized windows, early evening fell into full night. Then Rune came loping back into his office, paper in his hands.
“I’ve got it, got her ,” his First exclaimed. “Lots of people bought lots of crap, but only one woman bought only Twizzlers and a Slurpee. What are the odds?”
Dragos leaned back in his chair. He felt a pulse of dark anticipation as Rune handed him the paper. He shuffled through all of the photos. They were of a fixed scene of the 7-Eleven’s registers and the glass front doors. Rune threw his large frame into a chair and watched as, with an impatient shove, Dragos wiped clear the large expanse of his desk and began to lay the photos out one by one.
Rune had printed several sequential eight-by-elevens. As Dragos laid out the grainy black-and-whites he could almost imagine the woman in the photos moving. He couldn’t wait to see the footage and watch her move for real.
There she was, opening the door. She moved to the left and disappeared from the camera. There she was again, reappearing, holding a packet of Twizzlers and a Slurpee drink in slender hands. She paid, gave the cashier a smile. The last photo was of her pushing out the front door.
He went over them again with more care.
The angle of the shots made it difficult to say for sure, but she seemed a normal height for a tallish human woman. She was whippet graceful with long bones and delicate curves. The camera caught the dip and hollow of her collarbones. She wore her thick hair in a ponytail that was somewhat disheveled, and it was either white or some other light color. He was betting on some shade of blonde. Her triangular face was far too young for it to be gray.
The slash of Dragos’s dark brows lowered over his blade-straight nose. The woman looked tired, preoccupied. No, she looked more than tired—she looked haunted. The smile she gave the cashier was courteous, even kind, but sad. She wasn’t what he expected, but he knew in his old wicked bones that this was his thief.
He traced a finger down the silhouette of her figure as she walked out the 7-Eleven door. It was the only one of her walking away. He didn’t like this picture. He slammed his flattened hand down on it and crumpled it in his fist.
“I’ve got you,” he said.
“I have just one question for you,” Rune said. The gryphon’s long legs were spread out, his eyes curious. “How did you know to send me there and what to look for?”
Dragos looked up with a flash of secretive jealousy. “Never mind how. We’ve found her and your part in this is done. You can go back to your regular duties.”
Rune nodded at the photos. “What about her?”
“I’ll take care of her.” Dragos bared his teeth. “I’m hunting this one. Alone.”
He sent Rune away, climbed to his penthouse bedroom and opened the French doors. The late-spring air licked into the room. He stood in the
“So you did.” He slam-dunked the Slurpee. “Apparently you will be watching the tapes for someone with no taste.”
“This shouldn’t take long. Thank the Powers for fast-forward,” Rune said. He swiped up a few of the Twizzlers packets, winking at Dragos. “Since you don’t like them,” he said, and left.
Dragos went back to work, but his concentration had splintered for other matters. He kept three wide-screens on the opposite wall on different news channels. His other three assistants came and went. The ticker tape headlines of one channel caught his attention and he turned the volume up. The preliminary cost estimate for the property damage he caused that afternoon was already in the tens of millions.
The news crew conducted interviews of pedestrians. One woman said tearfully, “Forget about property damage. I heard that sound earlier today and I’m going to be in therapy for the rest of my life. I want to know if Cuelebre is going to pay for that!”
He pushed the mute button. It was turning out to be one expensive damn penny.
Outside the wall-sized windows, early evening fell into full night. Then Rune came loping back into his office, paper in his hands.
“I’ve got it, got her ,” his First exclaimed. “Lots of people bought lots of crap, but only one woman bought only Twizzlers and a Slurpee. What are the odds?”
Dragos leaned back in his chair. He felt a pulse of dark anticipation as Rune handed him the paper. He shuffled through all of the photos. They were of a fixed scene of the 7-Eleven’s registers and the glass front doors. Rune threw his large frame into a chair and watched as, with an impatient shove, Dragos wiped clear the large expanse of his desk and began to lay the photos out one by one.
Rune had printed several sequential eight-by-elevens. As Dragos laid out the grainy black-and-whites he could almost imagine the woman in the photos moving. He couldn’t wait to see the footage and watch her move for real.
There she was, opening the door. She moved to the left and disappeared from the camera. There she was again, reappearing, holding a packet of Twizzlers and a Slurpee drink in slender hands. She paid, gave the cashier a smile. The last photo was of her pushing out the front door.
He went over them again with more care.
The angle of the shots made it difficult to say for sure, but she seemed a normal height for a tallish human woman. She was whippet graceful with long bones and delicate curves. The camera caught the dip and hollow of her collarbones. She wore her thick hair in a ponytail that was somewhat disheveled, and it was either white or some other light color. He was betting on some shade of blonde. Her triangular face was far too young for it to be gray.
The slash of Dragos’s dark brows lowered over his blade-straight nose. The woman looked tired, preoccupied. No, she looked more than tired—she looked haunted. The smile she gave the cashier was courteous, even kind, but sad. She wasn’t what he expected, but he knew in his old wicked bones that this was his thief.
He traced a finger down the silhouette of her figure as she walked out the 7-Eleven door. It was the only one of her walking away. He didn’t like this picture. He slammed his flattened hand down on it and crumpled it in his fist.
“I’ve got you,” he said.
“I have just one question for you,” Rune said. The gryphon’s long legs were spread out, his eyes curious. “How did you know to send me there and what to look for?”
Dragos looked up with a flash of secretive jealousy. “Never mind how. We’ve found her and your part in this is done. You can go back to your regular duties.”
Rune nodded at the photos. “What about her?”
“I’ll take care of her.” Dragos bared his teeth. “I’m hunting this one. Alone.”
He sent Rune away, climbed to his penthouse bedroom and opened the French doors. The late-spring air licked into the room. He stood in the
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