The Dragon of Falconer Taylen Carver (ereader iphone .txt) 📖

sat on tiles, with a proper heat shield on the wall behind it. And Bohdan was right—there was plenty of fuel to hand.

The warmth would be welcome. Since she had emerged from her change, just over a year ago, Harley had not enjoyed cold of any variety. So, of course, she had to take a job in the foothills of the Canadian Rockies, in December. Not that she’d had any choice. As an official non-person, she couldn’t legally work in Canada anymore, but Akicita Frazier hadn’t given a shit about that. So here Harley was, fighting to stay alert in a building that didn’t want to warm up.

The two constables worked together to scrape out decades-old ash, break up one of the shelves and peel off the laminate, then break up the inner chipboard and load the stove. Old newspapers underneath. There was even a stack of short logs against the wall they could add once the fire got going.

Neither of them could start it though.

Harley bit the inside of her cheeks as the two swore at the stove and at each other, as the tiny flame flickered out once more. Bohdan straightened and brushed off his hands and turned to her.

“You wouldn’t want to...you know, do your thing? Get it going for us?”

Her amusement evaporated. “Excuse me?”

“What the fuck, dude?” Mojag breathed, sounding as shocked as her.

The front door opened, and the little bell over the top tinkled. It was a real bell, not an electronic warble, but Harley barely noticed it. Her heart thudded and her belly swooped sickly as she stared at Bohdan. Had he really said what he’d just said?

Akicita Frazier stepped quietly into the store. Her gaze flickered around the room, sizing up the tension. She was just over five feet tall, but Harley tended to overlook her diminutive stature because she was a force of nature. She had the same long black hair as Mojag, strongly arching brows, a square face and strong chin. She looked like a gorgeous twenty-year-old, but had to be a lot older than that. She’d been mayor of Falconer for nearly ten years. She wore a sheepskin coat and heavy boots and took off her gloves as she assessed the room.

Bohdan swung his gaze to Mojag and back to Harley. His smile faded. “Well…isn’t that something you can do? Light fires? You’re a firebird.”

Mojag’s lips thinned as he glanced at Harley. She saw an apology in his gaze.

“I see you’re blundering around in your size twelve boots again, Bohdan Kask,” Akicita said, her tone crisp.

Bohdan let his gaze shift from one disapproving face to another. “What’s wrong with asking that?”

“For a start,” Mojag said, “it’s dragons who can make fire.”

“They don’t make fire,” Harley said crisply. “They bellow fireballs, and only when they’ve shifted to full dragon, and a full dragon couldn’t fit in here. Even a dragon couldn’t help you get the stove going.”

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Bohdan said, genuinely aghast at his error.

“Don’t worry about it,” Harley said. She turned to Akicita. “Mayor Frazier. What can I do for you?”

“It’s Akicita,” the Mayor said, not for the first time. “I just got a call from one of Falconer’s business people. He tends to keep to himself out on the edges of the town, so he didn’t know we had a police force and a police chief, yet. He wanted to report a dead body.”

Harley straightened, as all the standard questions and procedures rose in her mind. “An accident?”

“Campbell says,” Akicita replied.

“Campbell von Havre?” Mojag clarified.

Von. Harley cleared her throat. “He’s…one of the old races?” she asked delicately, for it was always possible that he was of German descent and had acquired the last name the human way. Only, “Havre” was French, and was most likely a reference to Havre in Montana… Her heart thudded harder.

“He’s a dragon,” Bohdan said flatly. His voice held a note of distaste. It was the first time she’d caught any hint of prejudice against the old races from him and it didn’t match with his touch of flirting this morning.

She would have to deal with that later. She turned to Akicita. “I’ll stop by and find out what happened. We’ll probably have to refer it to the RCMP in Sundre, so the body can be officially processed.”

“Unless it’s one of the old races, too,” Akicita pointed out.

That made Harley pause. She kept forgetting Falconer’s unique characteristics, which Akicita had spelled out for her when she had asked Harley to set up a police station in her town.

Akicita had stopped by the homeless shelter in the heart of Edmonton just after Canadian Thanksgiving and squatted down next to Harley’s ripped sleeping bag. “I’ve spent nearly a month tracking you down, Harley Bernard.”

Harley couldn’t bring herself to stir, let alone sit up. She raised her cheek off her elbow to look at Akicita and hooked her thumb over her shoulder, to point at her wings. “It’s Harley von Canmore, now.”

Akicita nodded. “You kept your human name, and your hometown. That tells me you still care. You’re a decorated Royal Canadian Mounted Police officer, a Staff Sergeant. You really want twenty years with the RCMP, your entire honorable career to just dry up on this sleeping bag?”

Harley closed her eyes and put her cheek back on her elbow. “Tell that to the Canadian government. I’m a non-person now.”

“I don’t give a shit what your status is,” Akicita replied, her tone a whiplash. “It’s a symbol. Wordspeak. I do care what you can do for my town.”

Harley didn’t respond. She kept her eyes closed.

“I’m the Mayor of Falconer,” she said. “Akicita Frazier.”

“Meetcha,” Harley murmured.

“Falconer has just over one thousand people, Harley,” Akicita said, apparently not at all discouraged by her lack of enthusiasm. “And unlike the rest of Canada, every single one of them contracted the Tutu virus.” She paused. “Including me.”

Harley couldn’t help it. She opened her eyes. “Everyone?”

“I guess we got lucky.” Akicita’s tone was dry.

Harley lifted her head. “How many have transmuted so far?”

“Three