Page 21

Monday, April 27, 2167

The Pearl Ward

Dragon Heights, Wyoming

Erik droppedme off in front of a quaint gun shop that had once been a townhome. According to the sign on the door, all purchases were registered and verified in both the local and federal systems, including serial numbers on firearms and the type of ammunition purchased. Barrel markers were likewise registered, which would help law enforcement identify if a weapon had been used as part of a crime.

I stepped inside, wondering how much of a hassle the shop employees would give me for being anonymous. A gun owner’s paradise waited for me, and a variety of gun safes lined the entry as a reminder of how people needed to take care with their firearms. As I would need a safe and an ammunition locker, I started there. On the far end of the shop was a hallway with several doorways and a flight of steps heading to the upper floor.

It took less than five minutes to come to the conclusion that if I wanted to protect my weapons from dragons and their kin, I would need to invest five thousand dollars in the safe and locker.

Heaving a sigh, I headed for the counter, where an older man in a suit worked at checking over his wares. “Good afternoon. I’m going to need my licenses to purchase a firearm and ammunition verified before I buy a safe, locker, and weapon. I’m going to skip the ammunition until I have the safe and locker installed at home.”

The man, with graying hair and dark eyes, glanced up from his work. “I know of you. Where is your carbunclo?”

Why did everyone expect me to have Garnet with me? “Garnet and Tourmaline are on a play date with Mr. and Mrs. Ramons at the moment. They’re shopping for a new table. They decided an outing with a pair of grouchy dragons was more interesting than running errands with me, not that I can blame them.”

“Tourmaline?”

“My hummingbird familiar. A true creation from the last rain,” I explained. “You have the advantage.”

“I am Alastair Duman. I am an iron dragon. Why are you seeking a firearm?”

“I’ve been granted a private investigator license and a license to carry. As I otherwise have the general offensive abilities of a wet noodle, carrying a firearm is wise. I can qualify if you’d like, although I’m a bit rusty.”

“I’ll have you do a few rounds to see what I’m working with. Just give me a few minutes to look you up in the system and evaluate your rating level. Do you have a preference for firearm?”

“I’m open to exploration. I have significant experience with mid-sized handguns. I’ve used automatics, but I have a preference for semi-autos. A derringer might be wise as a second weapon. I’ve used them before but not frequently. I’m not certain what my license here allows.”

Alastair grunted, headed for his computer, and tapped at the keyboard. “Ah. Your registration is already in the system. Excellent. Yes, I can sell you a standard firearm and a derringer. I can also sell you ammunition, but there’s a flag stating you need to sign paperwork before loading your firearm with lethal ammunition outside of a range or evaluation. I assume that’s why you’re hesitant about purchasing ammunition?”

“That’s correct, plus I won’t have ammo in my home without the safe and locker installed.”

“I can have those delivered tomorrow morning, and I can send you home with a locking case sufficient for protecting your firearms until their arrival. We have a model of locker that’s portable that’d suffice as a temporary until your secured locker arrives.”

What was a little extra spent for the sake of safety? Rather than sigh and betray my reluctance to spend even more money, I said, “That works. I’ll need a way to transport a firearm and ammunition later, so that will be convenient. Should we start with the evaluation?”

“Westorin!” Alastair bellowed.

A few moments later, someone thudded down some steps overhead before a young, dark-haired man emerged from the hallway. “Yes, Grandpa?”

“I need to take the lady to the range and evaluate her skills. Keep an eye on the shop.”

“You got it.”

“Come along, then,” Alastair ordered, waving his hand for me to follow him. “While I won’t send you home with lethal ammunition, I have some rounds that you might like and are legal for you to have loaded in your weapons. The rounds will cost you, but if you’re going to be hauling around firearms, I want you in a position to make use of them, especially if you have no offensive capabilities otherwise.”

“I’m rusty on my martial arts,” I confessed. “And by rusty, I doubt I could remember how to punch somebody without breaking my hand in the process.”

“I can recommend a good trainer if you’d like to brush up on your skills. She’s a white dragon, and she loves turning tiny people into fierce people. And if you’re already fierce, she’ll refine your fierceness until every single dragon in the city wants to take you on a date.”

Ew. “I’m not available for such pursuits, but if she can make me fierce enough to compete with a yellow dragon-kin who is larger and stronger than I am, that’d be nice.”

“A Millson? Those are the only yellows I know that enjoy when their women get feisty with them.”

Damn. Well, if Erik had no problems with having an anonymous as his partner, then I would follow his lead. “Yes, he’s a Millson. I’m a better shot than he is—or I was before I became anonymous here. I’d like to retake my status as a better shot than he is.”

“Now that is something I can help you with.” Alastair led me down the hall, pulled out a set of keys, and opened a door, revealing an armory loaded with every type of firearm I could readily imagine, including a few automatic handguns I’d played with while in Miami. “That’s put you as someone from Miami, as the only Millson boy to have any mystery regarding his woman is that young lad working the Diamond Ward. Erik, the youngest of that lot. The rest are quite public about their women and men. Ex-cop?”

Damn. Were the iron dragons the gossips of Dragon Heights? “Something like that.”

“You’d have to be good if you’re besting a Millson at the range, so let’s see what you got.”

“Erik said you had some guns manufactured by local dragons?”

Alastair flashed me a rather toothy grin. “As a matter of fact, yes. They’re pricy.”

“Below ten grand for one?”

“Yes.”

“Then it’s in my budget.”

“Ever work a revolver before?”

“I have.”

Alastair stood on his toes and pulled down a box decorated with battling dragons. “This is the only one of this type I’ve got. It’s a limited edition, and if you treat her well, she’ll treat you well. If you want a more traditional twelve rounder, you want to look at that one.” With his free hand, he pointed at a small gun with a black grip and a silver and gold barrel that’d been polished to a high shine. “For your derringer, you want that one on the bottom shelf with the pink grip and pegasus etchings. Don’t judge her by her appearance. She’s tiny, she’s fierce, and she’ll treat you well.”

Three was more than two, which would be a problem if my license couldn’t handle me having three weapons and I loved all three.

I had a problem with taking home firearms that I loved at the range.

My safe, safely nestled in Miami under my parents’ care, had over twenty guns I’d adopted due to having loved trying them out at the range.

One day, I might learn—but that day would be a long time coming.

I crouched, located the derringer, and giggled over the elegant artwork on the barrels and the ridiculous neon pink on the grip. “I don’t suppose this comes in yellow, does it?”

“It absolutely does. Want it to match your dragon?”

I giggled and nodded. “May as well at this stage. Erik is itching to show me off to his co-workers.” Once I checked the safety and confirmed there were no rounds in the derringer, I placed it beside the black, silver, and gold gun and checked its safety and if it held any rounds, which it didn’t. Once satisfied there was zero chance of accidental discharge, I picked up both weapons and followed after Alastair. “I might get him one, too, but his will need to have a purple grip.”

“I’ve got purple, too, and I am sure I can find his records in the system and register his new firearm. I’ll even hold the weapon for him and start nagging him to come pick up his new friend.”

I smiled at the thought of the shop owner telling Erik he had a gun to pick up. Like me, Erik took care with his firearms, and having a rogue weapon would drive him insane. “Assuming all goes well, that sounds like a great plan.”

“I think you’ll like the derringer. All right, since you’ve never been shooting in Dragon Heights before, our ranges are a little different. They’re magicked to limit possibility of injury. If the cartridge, after it has fired, encounters living matter, it will explode in a cloud of pigments. Think of it as a similar magic to what creates the true rains. It takes the kinetic energy of the round and converts it to a new substance. The cartridge itself has the pigments inside, and the magic takes the exterior metal of the round and converts it to the pigment material. It’s an instantaneous process. The rounds are expensive, but they’re worth it. Iron dragons, like myself, can revive the rounds after they’ve been fired, so they’re reusable unless they hit somebody.” Alastair led me to a single stall firing range suitable for an instructor and a shooter to stand in, and he pointed at the far end of the range, which had a padded wall. “That wall is made with a special foam that catches rounds without damaging them. It also prevents ricochet. The ceiling has the foam, too, and the last twenty feet of the stall has the material along with the walls.”

Nice. “All right, that is very cool. Do law enforcement use these rounds here?”

“They absolutely do; their pigment is designed to permanently stain, and the stains can only be removed by dragons of a certain color and skill. I hope you understand that I can’t tell you more than that.”

“Oh, I understand. Which weapon do you want me to try first?”

“Go with the derringer, as that one will likely accompany you daily.”

I placed the black, silver, and gold firearm on the sill, checked over the derringer for its round size, and checked the ammunition boxes until I found the appropriate one. At 10mm, the weapon would pack sufficient punch if I needed it, although with a two round capacity, I would have to take care with my aim. I loaded a round into each barrel, made certain the safety was engaged, and grabbed the earmuffs off the rack, waiting for the dragon to get ready. I waited for his signal before picking up the weapon, disengaging the safety, and aiming for the heart on the paper.

I squeezed the trigger, grunting at the startling amount of recoil, then reset, and fired the second shot. To my relief, I’d hit my target both times in the kill zone. I placed the gun back on the sill, took off the earmuffs, and waited for Alastair to do the same before saying, “That’s a nice little gun.”

“She is. Nice enough for you to be buying two?”

“Yep,” I confirmed. “The recoil was more than I expected but well within what I can handle.”

“Good. Give the Flamerunner a try.”

Only a dragon would name a gun model Flamerunner. Rather amused over the name, and that there were flame etchings in the barrel, I picked up the weapon, examined it, selected the appropriate ammunition, and filled the magazine. “Empty the magazine?”

“Yes, please.”

Thirteen consecutive rounds would be a good test of my basic skill and accuracy, which I assumed Alastair wished to test. After putting the earmuffs back on, I checked the weapon a final time. As I had no idea how much recoil the Flamerunner packed, I braced, took my time with my aim, and squeezed the trigger. In good news, I didn’t punch myself in the face with the firearm. In bad news, the recoil packed enough of a punch I might give myself a black eye if I didn’t take care with her.

Thirteen shots tested my strength enough I’d need to get in a lot of practice doing some lifting if I wanted to put her to serious use. While a few of the shots were wide, most were in the kill zone, and the others were close enough I accepted the inaccuracy with a shrug.

Once I took off my earmuffs, Alastair said, “Decent aim for someone who is rusty. Good adjustments after the recoil, but you’re going to have to work on your arm strength for her. Still, you did well enough, and arm strength can be improved with time and work. The next gun is a bit gentler than the Flamerunner, so you won’t have to work quite as hard.”

“Well, that’s good, because if she’s rougher than the Flamerunner, I’d have to pass after one round.”

The dragon chuckled. “It is good to know your limits.”

He opened the case, revealing a dark iron beauty of a weapon with a matching motif to the case. I whistled, admiring the artwork on the long-barreled revolver. “She’s a beauty.”

“She’s made by the same manufacturer of the Flamerunner, which is a joint operation between some iron, mercury, and gold dragons. The gold dragons can’t help themselves when it comes to making beautiful things, even weapons. The iron and mercury dragons had wanted the gold dragons to help with the financial elements, but it turns out the golds they brought in are as fixated on art as they are on accumulating wealth. They call this line Blazewing mostly due to the stylization of the art. Most of their lines start with Flame; they’re dragons and like fire, after all. But they got all artsy with these, not that I can blame them.”

“Isn’t the love of art more of a copper dragon thing?”

Alastair snickered. “The gold dragons have more than a little copper blood running in their veins, but yes, you’re right. These gold dragons tend to view anything beautiful as possessing great value, which plays well with their color’s tendencies. That means each one of these weapons is a piece of art, and each one is unique. They use the same design concept, but they’re all handcrafted based on the whim of the gold dragon doing the etching work.”

I foresaw the weapon costing me at least six or seven thousand dollars; considering the artwork, I expected to pay the full ten thousand for her. After putting the earmuffs back on, I braced for the recoil and the damage to my wallet, loaded the revolver, and fired.

While technically among the easiest of weapons to use, revolvers had a reputation of also being the hardest to aim. The gun delivered, and I adjusted my aim with each shot until I hit my mark by the last round. I’d need to work with her often until satisfied with my accuracy, but I’d be taking her home with me—and I’d dig out my old bank card if necessary to make it happen.

I checked to make certain I’d fired all rounds before setting her on the sill and taking off the earmuffs. “I’m going to have to take that gun home with me, Alastair.”

“You’ll have to put in the work to be good with her, but you did fine for being rusty. She comes with her case, and she’ll cost you nine thousand.”

I wouldn’t like it, but I could afford the nine thousand. “And the derringer and the Flamerunner?”

“The Flamerunner costs three thousand, and the derringer is five hundred.”

Goodbye, money. Once the gun was safely back into her box, I dug out my phone, used the bank app Cedrick had helped me install, and confirmed I had the money in the account. I’d need to pillage from my other bank account to make up for the loss, but I’d be able to pay my bills, feed myself and my pets, and do all those little things in life that needed to be done. “I’m going to need the best safe you have under three thousand that can hold up to twenty firearms, and I’m going to need a secure ammunition locker. I have a carbunclo, and I do not need nor want her playing with my firearms or ammo.”

“The safe will cost you a thousand, and the ammunition locker will cost two hundred. I can install both tomorrow.”

“I’ll make sure someone is there to let you in. The safe will need to go into my bedroom, and the locker can go into the hallway closet. It can either go on a shelf or onto the floor.”

“Can I bolt it to the shelf?”

“You sure can.”

“Excellent. Gather up the Flamerunner and the derringer, and I’ll get you the right colors of derringer out and get you a new Flamerunner. I’ll have you out of here within an hour, so just be a little patient while we get all the paperwork sorted.”

* * *

Monday, April 27, 2167

The Pearl Ward

Dragon Heights, Wyoming

As Alastair couldn’t handlethe thought of me heading off without my new yellow derringer being loaded with something, he gave me two rounds similar to the blanks used in the range. However, instead of exploding into a cloud of color, the rounds would expel the magical equivalent of pepper spray. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t have used my cleavage to store a gun, but Alastair had special holsters designed for use with women of the appropriate bust size.

In a mix of horror and glee, I stashed the little gun between my breasts, and the holster was designed to prevent accidental misfire. I’d have to knock off the sleeve, turn off the safety, and then fire, but if I needed to access the weapon, I could.

The holster could also be converted to be worn just about anywhere I wanted, with the sleeve helping to prevent accidental misfire.

I loved the safety precautions, and after I had my ammunition locker installed, I’d be buying an entire box of the pepper spray bullets for self-defense purposes.

On my way out the door, my phone pinged, and I discovered a text from my mother. Upon reading her request for an update, I decided to give her a call rather than try to tap out a long message. I picked a nearby bench, placed the duffel bag I’d borrowed from Alastair between my feet, and dialed her number.

“Everything okay?” my mother asked.

“Erik took me to a gun shop and set me loose without adult supervision.”

My mother snorted. “How much did you spend?”

“The one gun was nine thousand on its own. I was able to afford it all, but I may need help figuring out how to transfer money out of my other account.”

“You’re registered with the bank. Just transfer from bank to bank.”

I sighed.

“You have no idea how to do that, do you?”

“Cedrick had to help me set up mobile banking, Mom. I’m a dunce with this. It’s a miracle I figured out how to use my tablet, laptop, and camera. I’m not ashamed to admit I might need some help with this. I spent more than I’m comfortable with, especially after buying Garnet so many stones. How are my children doing?”

“Your children are taking a nap. Your father is carrying them, and he’s happy to be serving as their mule. We have found you a table and some other things to help make your apartment more of a home. We’re having an alarm system installed. Also, I have decided that we’re sprucing up your entire street. The level of poverty there is unacceptable.”

“Are you where others can hear you?” I asked.

“Not particularly. And if they do, would anyone believe we might actually have a child?”

“Considering a random dragon identified I am an ex-cop from Miami today and that I have to be Erik’s woman, I’m willing to believe anything.”

“Ah. Who caught you?”

“Alastair Duman. I think he runs the gun shop.”

“I know of him. He’s a good sort, so don’t worry even if he does recognize that you’re a beautiful version of your father. It’ll be fine. Tell me what you bought.”

“He sold me a pair of derringers, one with a yellow grip for me, one with a purple grip for Erik. Erik’s is in Alastair’s possession, and he’s going to give Erik a hard time about leaving his derringer around.”

My mother laughed. “Good. What ammo do you have in it?”

“Pepper spray. I don’t have a locker or safe yet. Those are getting installed tomorrow.”

“As you are likely going to be busy tomorrow, we’ll make sure we’re home to have them all safely installed. What else did you buy? Derringers are not that expensive, even the nice models.”

“I got a Flamerunner.”

“Good choice, but that’s not nine thousand dollars expensive. If you paid more than four for a Flamerunner, you overpaid.”

“I paid three thousand for it.”

“That’s a fair price. The last one?”

“A Blazewing.”

My mother made a sound rather like my kitten’s purr. “Now that is a firearm worthy of my child. Where are you? We’ll pick you up. In fact, go back to Alastair’s shop, tell him I need a Flamerunner the match of yours, and that your father could use a navy derringer. I’ll pay for my indulgences when I arrive.”

“Perhaps you should get a red derringer and Dad should also get a Flamerunner. That way, we all match. Dad’ll be overcome with sadness if he can’t match.”

“Your dad is shit with firearms.”

“Take him to the range until he isn’t shit with firearms. If we’re going to take leave of our senses, we will do so sensibly and with style,” I informed her in my haughtiest tone.

“Just go back to the gun shop and wait for us to get there, please. Let’s not have you be kidnapped while carrying around a fortune in weaponry.”

As arguing with my mother would land me in hot water, I agreed, gathered my things, and returned to the store to wait.