Sophia nodded and looked down the busy street in downtown Baton Rouge—the capital of Louisiana. To say that the two dragonriders looked out of place with all the mortals striding by in business suits was a gigantic understatement.
The long black cloak that Sophia wore did little to hide the fact that she was wearing light armor, knee-high boots and a sword. Evan was less conspicuous in his usual getup of a gray armored top and matching leather pants—his trusty axe strapped to his back.
After receiving a series of curious and cautious expressions, Sophia considered glamouring their appearances. However, Hiker hadn’t encouraged this approach, wanting the Dragon Elite to be visible when out in public. It was just that mortals weren’t used to seeing dragonriders carrying ancient weapons in city centers yet. It all made Sophia feel like she’d stepped out of a time machine and she was the medieval warrior bumbling around in the modern world.
“Do you get the impression that you’ve got spinach in your teeth or a booger hanging out of your nose?” Evan asked in a low voice at Sophia’s shoulder.
She laughed. “Maybe you do. I feel more like an actor from a Renaissance fair that’s lost their way.”
“Are Renaissance fairs a thing?” Evan asked, surprised.
She nodded. “Yeah, people dress up and eat turkey legs and watch men joust.”
“Just shows the past always seems more appealing than it really was,” Evan related.
Sophia laughed. “You’re not old enough to remember the Renaissance era.”
He pressed his hand to his chest. “I, Pink Princess, am timeless. But no, I’m still a youngun’. Hiker would be close to that time period, but still a wee lad then. Quiet would have had a good romp during the Renaissance though. Your friend Rudolf, too.”
Sophia nodded. “Yeah, I’ve got some old friends, it seems. I guess it will come in handy if I need to do a history project for college or something.”
Evan shook his head. “Your mom goes to college.”
“Shush it,” she warned and tried to get her bearings. “Dr. Freud’s office is that way.”
“I hope she’s pretty.” Evan strode after her. “I don’t want to marry no Miranda.”
“Her name is Tiffannee,” Sophia stated. “With two fs, two ns and two es.”
“She sounds high maintenance as f—”
“Watch your mouth,” Sophia interrupted.
“As fancy tea with the queen,” Evan corrected. “Gosh, what did you think I was going to say?”
“Your references are weird,” Sophia offered.
“You’re weird,” he countered. “And for your information, a Miranda isn’t real easy on the eyes, if you know what I mean.”
“I think I do,” Sophia stated. “You’ve been chatting with Lee from the Crying Cat Bakery, haven’t you? She doesn’t like Mirandas either.”
“It’s not an us thing,” Evan stated. “It’s a them thing. We can’t help it if we just collectively noticed that they are all a bunch of—”
“I think we need to go up there.” Sophia pointed to the lobby of a skyscraper.
“All right, but how do I look?” Evan tilted his head and gave her a very debonair expression.
“I only mildly want to throw up.”
He nodded proudly. “That will do.”
Chapter Forty-Seven
The air conditioning in the building with shiny marble floors and banks of polished windows was a welcome relief.
Evan mopped his forehead when they were in the elevator, and flicked the sweat on the floor.
“Classy,” Sophia muttered as the elevator traveled up to one of the top floors. It was taking its time and the mortals that were crammed in next to them didn’t at all appear relaxed about having to share the space with them.
“Well, someone didn’t tell me about the weather in this place on the other side of hell, and I didn’t dress appropriately,” Evan quipped, which earned a rude stare from a woman with a pinched expression and who wore too much red lipstick. He pretended to smile at her. “I meant other side of paradise. Do you know a good real estate agent? I’m thinking of getting a summer place here. I’m really into the, ‘feels like I’m wearing a wet, hot blanket’ climate.”
“Please ignore him,” Sophia stated. “I’m taking him to see a psychiatrist right now because you know…”
The woman nodded curtly because obviously she did know.
Evan rolled his eyes and looked around at the mortals wearing starched dark suits and carrying briefcases. After a short stop at the tenth floor, he cleared his throat. “Well, thank you all for joining me here today. I’ve got some exciting news—”
Sophia slapped him across the chest and interrupted him. All eyes whipped around to look at them. “Would you shush it? I get that you’re starved for attention, but now isn’t the time.” She smiled politely at the many curious stares. “Sorry, he’s off his meds.”
Many of the mortals glanced at the axe on Evan’s back, and horrified expressions sprang to their eyes.
“He’s still totally safe though,” Sophia said in a rush, realizing her mistake.
“Depends on who you are,” Evan amended. “I messed up a gang of deranged gargoyles the other day. They wouldn’t allow me access to this building, so their heads had to go.”
Sophia leaned in close to Evan and whispered, “I’m trying to make the mortals feel safer in our presence, not like running wildly from the elevator.”
Evan scoffed. “You all know the Dragon Elite is the bees knees and you can rely on us to keep you safe and the globe spinning on its axis, right?”
“What they can’t rely on is for you to make a reference from this century,” Sophia joked.
When the elevator opened on the next floor, whether it was all the mortals’ destination or not, they rushed off, pushing each other to get out of the compartment and away from the dragonriders.
The doors bounced shut and Evan smiled. “Well, that went nicely.”
“Never go into the hospitality industry,” Sophia warned.
“Right, because if this dragonrider thing didn’t pan out, my goal was to become a concierge at some posh hotel,” Evan joked.
“With you, I never know,” Sophia stated, as the elevator stopped on their floor.
It was time to demand a mortal marry Evan and fix the Protector of Weapons so that they could enhance their chances of defeating an unknown danger.
I freaking love my job, Sophia thought. Never a dull moment.
Chapter Forty-Eight
In the waiting room to Dr. Tiffannee Freud’s psychiatrist’s office, there were many strange characters who sought to make Sophia and Evan look normal.
Sitting on the floor and counting the pages of a magazine as she flipped them was a woman with carroty orange hair and a face full of freckles. She was probably in her forties, but had the demeanor of a child.
In the corner was an older man with a comb-over who was mumbling to himself and playing with a red stapler.
And sitting next to the only two open seats was a mostly normal looking woman wearing a pencil skirt and a smart blazer.