“Good.” Val grinned. “It’ll be great to see you. I’ve missed you.”
“I miss you every moment, darling,” Frode told her.
Val swallowed the lump in her throat. “I know. You can bring Bodil along, too, of course.”
The background clattering stopped.
Frode cleared his throat. “Bodil? If you’d like to see her, I suppose I could ask her if she’s available.”
Val smothered her laugh in a sip of coffee.
“What was that, darling?” Frode asked.
“Nothing, Dad. I’ll see you guys tonight,” Val promised.
She hung up, paid for breakfast, and wandered out to the sidewalk. Light and color filled Avalon Plaza. Brightly colored banners snapped from flagpoles on every building, showing a myriad of crests, logos, and coats of arms. Eight black horses with swan plumes drew a mysterious red carriage across the plaza, trailed by shadows. An orc mother pushed a baby in a stroller down the sidewalk, glowing with happiness. Three teenagers on a magic carpet swooped over her head. She dove to grab her baby from the stroller, then shook her fist at the teenagers as the baby cried.
Val frowned at the teenagers but kept her hand away from her dagger. The giggling pair of elves and the werewolf seemed harmless, but the magic carpet swooped in a curve around the plaza and dove through a world of hazards from flagpoles to lampposts.
Someone spoke near her shoulder. “It’s all good, Miss Stonehold. Our aerial division is on its way.”
Val looked up. A handsome werewolf in a navy uniform strolled toward her with an automatic rifle resting on his back. One hand was covered with metal plates, and its joints sounded hydraulic as he held it out to her.
“Sergeant First Class Blake Early,” he introduced himself.
“Whoa.” Val blinked as she shook his hand, marveling not only at the delicacy of the ironwork but also the presence in which she stood. “You’re Blake Early, hero of the Third Pendragon War.”
“That war had a lot of heroes.” Blake smiled. “I could call you the Hero of Central Park.”
Val flushed. “Paras know about that?”
“I saw you on the news and in every trashy fashion magazine my wife is addicted to,” Blake confessed.
Val laughed, then stopped. “Aren’t you married to Agent Elspeth Feathertouch? The Woodland Fae spy who liberated the Deep?”
“I married up, as you can tell.” Blake hooked his thumbs on the edges of his bulletproof vest. “Ah, there’s the aerial division now.”
Val squinted into the sunlight, then stepped back as dragon wings eclipsed the sun. A few paras looked up with mild interest as a huge white dragon plunged over the plaza. His outstretched claws wrapped around the magic carpet, rolling the three teens in it. Their muffled squawks faded as the dragon flew away, and the banners around the plaza snapped in the wind from his wings.
“He’ll take them to Avalon HQ. I doubt they’ll be charged with anything except their parents finding out how they spent a school morning.” Blake chuckled.
“Were you here to dispatch the aerial forces?” Val asked.
Blake shook his head. “I’m patrolling. Technically, I’m brass now, but...” He shrugged. “I take a hands-on approach.”
Val’s gaze dipped to Blake’s bionic hand. Her cheeks burned as she jerked her eyes back to his face. “Shit. Sorry.”
Blake chuckled. “I thought you were admiring the workmanship.”
“It is amazing. Who did it?” Val asked.
Blake held out his hand and turned it left and right. “It’s a blend of Iron Dwarven work and thaumatech Qtana developed on Julie’s orders.”
“Love it.” Val admired the runes that enabled his fingers to move with the same dexterity as flesh. “I’ll have to pick your brain about it someday.”
“You’re always welcome.” Blake grew sober. “I was one of many paras who lost limbs in the war. The Iron Dwarves and their craftsmanship have given back to us in ways we’ll never be able to repay.”
“I think we’re the ones doing the repaying.” Val smiled.
“You make that jewelry, don’t you?” Blake asked. “The stuff that has self-defense elements?”
“Yeah.” Val grinned. “I’m working on a ring that unfolds into a gauntlet with spiked knuckledusters when needed.”
“Badass. I love it.” Blake beamed.
“Thanks.” Val paused. “It’s an honor talking to you, Sergeant.”
“You too.” Blake paused. “It’s always good to meet an ally who keeps the peace we fought so hard for.”
They shook hands again. Blake’s fingers were cold and smooth but folded delicately around Val’s.
The werewolf went on his way, and Val wandered down the sidewalk, admiring the sights. The nearest bookstore had a liability waiver in the window.
Dusty Tome Bookstore is not responsible for psychic damage, maiming, loss of fingers, and/or amnesia.
Beside the bookstore, behind grimy glass, a crone bent over a cauldron. Rows of potions filled the shelves surrounding her.
“I said to Brenda, I said, ‘You can’t let her treat you that way!’” someone interrupted Val’s thoughts in a nasal tone. “It’s narcissistic and shit.”
