A shop worker hurries over to the front windows to see what’s going on, and some of the patrons drop the clothes they were looking at and start to leave. I just keep repeating “Dragons!” and “Everyone hide!” until I whip up an appropriate amount of panic. Meanwhile, my gaze is spinning as I assess what clothes I can quickly grab and slip into.
I almost groan when I realize I’ve stumbled into what looks like a high-end store. Everything is the structured, overexaggerated, stiff crap favored by Arcs with too much money and not enough sense. Nothing looks practical. It’s either straps that barely cover anything or square shoulders with other geometrically shaped sleeves, and bottoms that flare out wider than I am tall.
Finally I spot a light gray sleeveless top with a cowl big enough that I could pull it over my hair, and I yank it from a hanger. A matching skirt is on display just below the tops, and I waste no time grabbing it too. I slink toward the dressing rooms, but a worker is hurrying everyone out of the individual stalls. I debate just grabbing the clothes and making a run for it, but I need to actually be wearing them if they’re going to work as effective camouflage.
The other shop employee is frantically shutting and locking the display cases around the register, and it takes me half a second to decidefuck it. I duck down, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible and kick my stolen shoes off before scrambling to get out of my pants. I tug the skirt on and then rip off my top just as someone comes sprinting down the aisle. She almost trips over me but luckily catches herself and continues to dash for the door, fear encouraging her to focus on getting out of here and not on the weirdo stripping in the middle of the store.
I pull the top on, straightening as I kick my discarded clothes and footwear under a table. My eyes rapidly search for replacement footwear as another customer rushes by, and I tug my new clothes in place. The top is tight and shorter than it looked, cutting off above my waist. The skirt sits low on my hips and doesn’t leave much to the imagination, but it at least drops to just above my knees, and there’s give to the fabric so I can move in it.
I just spot a wall of fancy heels and shoes when someone slams into me from behind. I catch myself on a display and turn to find the worker who was clearing out the dressing rooms.
“What are you doing?” she snaps.
At first, I think she’s referring to the stealing that’s currently going down, but she’s flushed with fear, and her eyes keep darting to the windows at the front of the store and then back toward a door that’s markedEmployees Only.
“You can’t stay here. You have to get out,” she continues, confirming that she just wants me gone so she can go too.
“I can’t find my shoes,” I whine, a little too dramatically, but she’s thankfully unfazed by my crap acting.
She takes one look at my bare feet and grabs a pair of black boots from a display, chucking them at me. “Those should work. Now leave!”
Well okay then. Don’t need to tell me twice.
I speedily buckle the boots on and grab a pair of sunglasses from a rack, slipping them on as I race for the front door. The worker standing there doesn’t say shit to me as she frantically waves me out, pulling the door shut behind me and promptly locking it. I’d be offended by the way they just threw me out if it wasn’t exactly what I needed to happen.
The commotion on the street seems to have calmed slightly, so I keep my pace brisk but not urgent. I smoothly pull the cowl of my newly acquired top over my head, making sure all my bright hair is tucked back and hidden. I round a corner and then another, breathing easier with each block I put between me and the shop and the bar.
I’m tempted to try to find somewhere I can hide and hole up until the mayhem passes, but my gut is telling me that’s not a good idea. I’m up against a skilled tracker, judging by how quickly The Horde found me at that bar. I thought I’d given myself a bigger lead, but I need to be even faster. Maybe I can—
“Oof,” I grunt as I slam into what feels like a hard wall.
Hands catch my shoulders as I stumble back, but I’m quick to slap them away as I catch my footing.
“Watch where you’re going,” I warn whoever just bodychecked me.
“With all due respect, you ran into me,” a deep, amiable voice counters.
Warning pits my stomach, and I look up…and up…and up before landing on the probing stare of thebrick wallI just crashed into.
Oak brown eyes sweep over me, set in a face that’s too pretty to belong to the monster standing in my way. A faint breeze plays with a few strands of his sun-bleached blond hair, and I don’t need to see his dragon mark to know he’s the one controlling the element that’s suddenly teasing around us. I also don’t miss how he’s using that same ability to pull in a good whiff of me.
His brown eyebrows furrow with curiosity when he doesn’t seem to smell what he expects, and he tilts his head like he’s perplexed.
“What are you? I’ve not come across your scent before.”
I will my heart to beat steadily in my chest, and keep my breathing even, calling on every ounce of training and experience I have in getting out of sticky situations. This drake is a Channeler not a Thrasher. There’s still hope I can walk away from this.
“Frilled Lizard,” I answer, stepping to go around him and doing everything in my power not to groan and roll my eyes at myself.
Frilled Lizard? Really, Ever?
Of all the options I’ve rehearsed and used, I had to go with the one that was only supposed to be a running joke between me and my Flight.
“Frilled Lizard?” the drake repeats, stepping in my way again so I can’t move past him.
His scale armor looks black in the shadows of the small side street we’re on, but I suspect it’s really some dark shade of green or blue, as Channelers typically sport armor in one shade or the other. I don’t see any evidence of weapons strapped to him or tucked anywhere on his body, not that he needs them when heisone big, giant weapon.
Another drake appears from a side alley less than two dozen feet away. He’s, of course, just as big as the one in front of me, but this one has long red hair that’s pulled back in battle braids. His gray eyes are shrewd as he looks around. They must be canvasing blocks one by one.
