The piglet tippy-toed a little circle, then sat with its back against the seat, facing forward. It made a squeaky sound.
“I take it that’s a no?”
The dragonoinked.
“Good dragon.” I dug in my purse and pulled out a broken screwdriver. I dangled it in front of its little nose, and the dragon pig slurped it down like a tasty noodle. “We’ve had enough of demons for one day, haven’t we?”
It grumbled a little and I decided we were on the same page. With one last pat on the dragon pig’s head, I rolled away from the ugly fish mailbox and headed toward the casino.
Chapter Three
The casino was nestledin a valley surrounded by hills covered in evergreen trees. The parking lot was dotted with deciduous trees and bushes that created shady spots in the summer and flashes of colorful leaves in the fall.
I maneuvered the Jeep to the far side of the parking lot and gave the dragon pig one more pat. “You’re going to stay right here while I pick up the mail.”
The dragon pigoinked.
“You’re not going to eat any of the vehicles, signs, or poles, right?”
Another enthusiasticoink.
“That means no nibbling on my Jeep. No buttons, no visors, no mirrors will be missing when I return.”
Theoinkwas a little quieter.
“No floor mats or soft stuff either.”
The dragon pig wrinkled its nose, and a puff of smoke came out of its nostrils. It flopped dejectedly down on the seat, soft ears flipping to the side. It grunted.
I grinned. “Good. I’ll get you some nice scrap metal once we get back to town. Maybe even a rusty old golf cart.”
It sighed, though at the mention of the golf cart it perked up a little.
I rolled down the windows, even though the dragon pig liked hot cars—the hotter the better—locked the Jeep, and strolled across the parking lot.
It was a mild day for mid-October, almost warm with only a few clouds streaking the blue sky. A light wind pushed and tugged just enough to stir the remaining leaves and send a random piece of dry grass scooting across the pavement.
The group of four lingering by the door were gray haired and laughing as one of the women went on about a breakfast incident involving beans and a grandchild.
I smiled and excused my way past them and through the sliding doors.
Music—soft and folksy—lingered just behind the murmur of voices and the sweet chimes of machines. Someone cheered, an applause followed, and I threaded my way to the cashier waiting behind the counter.
“Hey there, Delaney. Mail run?” Walt was human, a heavy guy with a really impressive set of curly sideburns and a pompadour hairstyle. Whether on purpose or not (I’d never gotten a straight answer out of him), he looked like an Elvis impersonator who just happened to be slumming in Oregon.
The mail was delivered to the casino in two ways: either a large envelope addressed and postage paid with smaller, simply addressed letters inside, or individual letters, which to the sight of humans were addressed and stamped correctly.
“Every Thursday,” I said, “Thanks, Walt.” I handed over the key. “How are things?”
He walked back through the open door to the safe where mail for the deities was deposited. It used to be delivered to a little gas station near here, but when the big casino came in a couple decades ago, it seemed like a better drop point.
“Still above ground,” he said, “so I ain’t complaining.” He disappeared from sight then came back, tapping a single envelope in his hand. He set it on the counter, the key on top. It looked like a regular letter to humans, but to me there was no stamp, no return address, and the only deliverable address was a single name:Bathinand the town:Ordinary, Oregon.
Interesting. I’d never picked up an envelope for Bathin before.
“Emily still excited about college?” I asked.
He rolled his eyes. “She can’t wait. I think she just likes the idea of having her own car and a bedroom she doesn’t have to share with her sister.”
