Page 35 of Kidnapped By The Messy Dragon

He grabs my hand and closes the passenger door behind me. Then he pulls me up onto the sidewalk.

There’s a HELP WANTED sign taped inside the diner window, sun-faded down to pink. Whoever they’re looking for, they’ve been looking a while.

“You hungry?” he asks, and he gets to the diner door first and holds it open.

I walk in looking around. The booths are worn red vinyl, a couple of them patched with silver tape, and the long counter has a glass pie case at one end. The whole place smells like coffee and griddle butter. A ceiling fan turns slow overhead.

Then I pause. There’s a gargoyle statue sitting next to the jukebox, wings folded, big as a refrigerator.

“That’s just my buddy Soren,” Jalen says. “Probably looking out for Devon. He guards the dishwasher during the day.”

He waves at Soren. Then he takes my hand and pulls me toward the counter.

“Wait.” I look back over my shoulder. “He’s real?”

“The stone will give out by sundown,” Jalen says. “He’ll find us.”

I sit down at the counter, and my brain goes to mush somewhere between the door and the stool. I’m in a town full of supernaturals. I slept in a dragon’s bed last night, and a gargoyle is over there listening to everything we say.

Jalen settles onto the stool beside me and fills the quiet with small talk. He ranks Andy’s pies for me and points out the best booth for eavesdropping.

A waitress comes over with a pot of coffee and a name tag that reads SHELLY. “What are y’all having?”

“I’ll have eggs and grits,” I say. Doctor’s orders are doctor’s orders.

Behind the cook station, a big cook is working the flat-top with a serious frown. That must be Lamar. I cough instead of laughing.

Then the cook looks up and spots Jalen. He slams his spatula down and shoves through the swinging doors. He plants himself behind the counter right across from us. He crosses his arms and glares.

He’s big through the shoulders, with a kitchen towel draped on one side and flour down the front of his apron. His beard line is squared off sharp, and his name tag, sure enough, reads LAMAR.

Jalen keeps reading his menu and doesn’t give him one glance.

I wrap both hands around my mug and get comfortable.

“I know you aren’t coming in here for a fucking statement,” Lamar says.

Jalen snorts and turns a menu page.

I duck behind my mug to hide my face. I’m enjoying the show, and I’m curious besides. Journalists catch hell for telling the truth, and I want to see how he wears it. Truth cost me plenty in my old life.

Jalen closes his menu. “Your tin can of a truck rolling through Shadow Wolf Creek is statement enough for me.” He finally looks up at Lamar. “Still making passes at women who don’t belong to you? Here’s a tip. Go to Shadow Bar. The shifters scoop up the fated ones quick, so you can be sure whatever’s left isn’t taken.”

“You and your shitty podcast,” Lamar says.

Jalen sneezes. Smoke shoots out of his nose and both ear points.

“Ohhh.” Shelly points her pen at him. “I heard about the shifters. You been messing with that soap, huh?”

Jalen turns to her slow. “I don’t need to do a podcast at all. Looks like the whole town knows already.”

Shelly sets her pad down and fills a mug with hot water. She spoons in dried herbs from a mason jar by the register and drops a honey stick in after. She slides the mug over to him.

“Oh no,” she says. “The ones who only come down for weekly stocking for their villages don’t.”

Jalen wraps one hand around the mug. Then he puts his focus back on Lamar. When he speaks again, it’s the podcast voice. I heard it this morning through his speakers, and it’s scarier in person.

“Lamar. I know what you left on Miss Odette’s porch in February, and I know why her husband let you live. I know Sable folded your truck over one church smile at his mate’s window, and you walked in here today wearing that same smile. So go easy on my podcast, buddy. My files on you are thicker than Andy’s menu, and slow news weeks happen to the best of us.”