And if she was going to get there before that black-robed weirdo and his gargoyles, she had to get moving. This half of the book had been a complete wash, but there was a possibility the other half might hold the information she needed: how to turn herself fully human and stop this stone-monster nonsense.
Reive brightened. "Yeah, you said you know where the other half of the book is, didn't you? In Italy?"
"That's right. I thought I had all the time in the world to get it. Now I have to hurry."
"I'll go with you," Reive said.
"What? No!" The last thing she wanted was to accidentally scratch him and hurt him. Not to mention put him in danger if the gargoyles really were after her.
"In fact, you shouldn't go at all," he went on. "Just tell me where the book is, and I can go find it. You should stay here where it's safe."
"Where gargoyles and some weirdo in a black robe just attacked my library, and a dragon saved me?"
This time the hysterical laugh did actually burst out of her. She leaned a hand against the wall, laughing helplessly. At least it was better than crying.
"Are you—uh—" Reive looked desperately uncomfortable. "... okay?"
"No!" she gasped between fits of giggles. It wasn't even that funny, it was just that she had to do something with all these emotions. "Did you see that guy? He looked like he escaped from a LARP event. What was that, even?"
Reive's solemn face cracked into a reluctant smile. "LARP?"
"You know, live-action roleplaying? People dress up like elves and vampires, and run around acting it out?"
"I thought he looked more like a cultist."
"We're not supposed to have those either! We're in Indiana!"
And that somehow set her off again. This time Reive laughed a little too. The abrupt relaxing of tension snapped between them like a rubber band, pulling them together, and as her urge to laugh subsided, she found herself more relaxed than she had been since those things burst into the library.
Looking at Reive, wiping tears of laughter out of her eyes, she couldn't help thinking how gorgeous he had been as a dragon, gleaming in the sun like a polished copper kettle. It was strange: she had no idea dragons existed, but as soon as she watched him transform, it was as if something inside her said Yes. Why wouldn't dragons exist, when a monster of stone lived under her skin? There should be amazing, beautiful, magical things in the world to balance out the ones that were twisted and wrong.
And she had never seen such beauty, such power. She could still see the dragon vividly in her mind's eye, the flexing copper-colored length of him, with red racing stripes.
Looking at him now, she still thought she could see echoes of the dragon under his skin, the grace in the way he moved and the copper gleam in his eyes.
There had been something marring his copper perfection, she recalled. Like a darker mottling. It had been on the same side as the hand he wore the glove on. Was his disability reflected in his dragon form too?
None of your business, she told herself firmly.
He smiled a little wider, and she felt herself teetering on the edge of another laughing fit—or falling into his eyes forever. She forced herself to jerk her eyes away. Her gaze fell on the suitcase and she realized it was half full of, mainly, underthings. She hadn't really been paying attention; she had just grabbed handfuls, and now there were panties and bras poking up around the walking flats and a crumpled skirt.
"So," she said, cheeks flaming, and reached out hastily to slam the suitcase. "I'm going to Italy. I'm going to find the other half of that book. You can come if you want. In fact, I—"
—I wish you would, was what she wanted to say, but she broke off on the verge of it, before so much else—so much unwanted truth—spilled out.
You can protect me from monsters and tell me all about dragons and somehow help me talk a reclusive billionaire into giving us a priceless, unique treasure. I want to find out more about you. I want to know what's under that glove.
You can tell me about the magic in the world, the wonderful and the terrible kinds. Maybe you can even tell me what I am.
He was going to say no. That was how this kind of thing always went. She had never wanted something so desperately without having it fall apart on her one way or another.
But he only said simply, "Of course," as if there was no other option.
Her breath caught, a strange tight feeling under her ribs.
"Oh," she said, a tiny sound, and then, trying to stabilize her voice, "Oh. Okay. I, uh—need to finish packing; it won't take long. Do you have any luggage?"
"Backpack." There was a tiny smile, rueful this time. "It's at the library."
Jess's hand flew to her mouth. "Oh, no."
"There's nothing in it I need. Just some shaving stuff, soap, a change of clothes. Everything important, I carry on me—passport and wallet, basically." He shrugged. "I can buy the rest of it in Italy."
Her hand dropped away, and she looked at him with new understanding. The world-weary look, the travel-dusty clothes. Traveling with only a handful of things that mattered so little he didn't even care if he left them behind.
Like her. Never belonging anywhere. She had tried to put down roots here, but as she looked around, she became aware of how sparse her house really was. For a librarian, she hardly even owned that many books; it was mostly used bookstore paperbacks, easy to replace.
Was he an orphan too? Like her?
She drew in a breath and reached for the suitcase. "My car is in the driveway. I usually walk to work, because it's so close—oh, I almost forgot!"
She clapped her hand over her mouth. Her work laptop was still at the library, completely inaccessible; she didn't even want to try going back for it.
But ...
"What?" Reive asked.
"Remember when I said that I'd contacted a university in Oslo about the book? I sent them scans of some of the pages. I ought to have it backed up in the cloud." She looked around one last time, and started for the door. "Which I can check from the airport. Come on, let's go."
Reive
Jess's car was a small blue sedan, older but nicely kept. Reive got into the passenger seat with a strange mix of visceral discomfort and trust. It wasn't that he minded her driving him; it was that it felt very strange to be in a situation that was simultaneously this intimate and out of control. Up until recently, when he had to stop riding the bike, it was motorcycles or flying everywhere. He got himself around on his own two wings or his own wheels. He was never reliant on people to drive him.
And then he'd been thrown into the necessity of taking buses or trains, sometimes hitchhiking, and it was—it was just something he had to deal with, handing over a portion of control the same way he had done for his whole life at the Aerie. He had spent his life being a useful tool for his clan. Having to take a bus wasn't a terrible slight against his pride as a dragon, though he knew some dragons would see it that way. It was just an unpleasant necessity, to be borne like any other unwanted task in his life.
But now there was this. As Jess pulled out of the driveway, he found himself acutely aware of her every little move. The way she held the steering wheel, those capable long-fingered hands curled over its curve. She drove with the same unconscious confidence that she had handled the books in the library. She was sure and strong and capable, and he trusted her instinctively with his life.