Knowing that she was going to regret this, Ronnie sighed. “Vent, he ain’t lyin’,” she said. She was unsure about getting involved, but she also knew her initial assessment of the situation was flawed. “I think I smell a setup. Besides, when have you ever seen a grek get caught this easy?” 

Vent stopped, turning to her with his narrowed yellow eyes. “And I suppose you’re an expert now?”

“Don’t play. You know I am, or you woulda found someone else for this job.” There was also the fact he broke his word to call in this marker, but there was no need to point that out right now. 

Vent’s eyes flashed molten gold with power. “Think carefully, girl. Someone waltzed in and took something very precious to me. I assume you remember how I feel about such things.”

Oh, she knew. Twenty years later and she was still working off her debt. The fact that this was supposed to be the last time, and she’d gone and blown part of her soul trapping and stripping a mark that wasn’t even the guilty party? It took everything Ronnie had to not let the anger swelling under her skin to the surface. It was getting harder to control that serpentine feeling coiling in her stomach—every time she used a bit of her magic, she slipped toward that threshold where she’d stop giving a shit about limits, and start doing really awful shit. 

But if she just let innocents get slaughtered when she could step in, then maybe she’d already lost too much of her soul. 

“Yeah, I fucking know. And I know killing someone who has nothing to do with it ain’t going to solve anything, which means my debt still stands until I strip the mark who is actually responsible. Even though this,” she said, thrusting a finger at the expelled runes charred into the asphalt, “was supposed to be my last cast.”

Vent shrugged. “That’s hardly my problem, darling,” the dragon drawled, tapping his long dark nails against his cane. “He stole from me… do you mean you’re willing to place his debt in your mark? Works for me—I’m more than happy to keep you en my employ a little longer.” 

“No,” Ronnie spat, trying not to grind her teeth, “I’m just gonna deliver the asshole you’re actually looking for. And,” she said forcefully, “you can help me get back a bit of my soul if I do it.”

In a flash, he was in front of her, flooding her nostrils with a mix of ozone and brimstone. “You’re hardly in a position to make demands.” 

Fighting back the primal urge to flinch, Ronnie stared him in the eye and didn’t back down. “Seems to me you’ve got an intel problem, and it seems to me I’d be doing you the favor of solving it. So yeah, I think you’d owe me a bit of my soul.”

The dragon masquerading as a man didn’t so much as twitch, nothing betraying his mental state as he ran the calculus of their little conversation. Part of her wanted to scream at him - Vent was the fucking eternal conduit to this plane, to Earth, the source of the planar tear. He was also the gatekeeper to any being wanting to cross the line, and the traffic never slowed below rush hour.

It was a well-known fact that the fucker could afford to give her back enough of her soul to stop her humanity from slipping, and it would cost him nothing. A sliver of a human soul was a penny compared to the power of a dragon, a grain of sand compared to the proverbial beach of soul energy he’d gained from her twenty years of service. Giving her enough back to stay human? The effort on his part would be trivial. The part of her that didn’t want to scream wanted to fall on her knees and beg with the dragon for his mercy, but Ronnie knew neither would matter.

Instead, she waited, like everyone and everything in creation waited when a dragon considered a bargain.

Looking down at his nails, the dragon hummed softly. “You’re lucky I find you amusing, darling... I’d have eaten anyone else without a second thought.” She drew in a ragged breath, but Vent continued before she could protest. “But... you just might prove useful- everyone seems to underestimate the human, after all.” To her surprise, the dragon casually reached into his pocket, pulling out a coin and blowing on it. For a second, the silver metal turned bright purple, then faded to a silver-blue hue. “Consider this your meter,” Vent purred, flicking the coin in her direction. “It has been eons since someone has entertained me as much as you... maybe this fruitless hunt will prove interesting as well.” 

Then he turned to Frenchie, stabbing the grek in the shoulder with a long nail- the creature let out an unearthly howl. “You’ll serve as her bridge,” he said menacingly. “Because if she doesn’t find out who has my totem... I’m taking it out on you.”

Vent disappeared in another puff. His innate magic pulled the remains of the spell with him, leaving only Frenchie’s blood mixing with the dusty ground. Even the grekelhind’s glamor was intact again, although he still had a hole in his shoulder. Whirling to face her, his enormous eyes stared at Ronnie. “What have you gotten me into?” 

Ronnie shrugged casually. “Me? You’re the one who somehow pissed off Vent! If you didn’t, then I wouldn’t be here in the first place! So, how about you share what you know, hmm? And do me a favor and skip the ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about dance’. That meter won’t last forever.” 

Frenchie licked his lips. “Fine, but can you at least patch my shoulder up first?”

“I’ll have to pull from the meter,” Ronnie said, crossing her arms. “And you know what happens if it runs out.” 

Frenchie rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, but that’s why the bastard connected me to it. Don’t worry, it’ll pull from my soul, not yours, until time’s up. Still really don’t understand why you humans are so hung up on not using your souls, anyway.” 

Ronnie rolled her eyes, holding the coin in one hand as she sketched a rune over Frenchie’s shoulder with the other. “Maybe because human souls don’t grow back? It’s not like blood or something. We don’t make more of it.” 

As the wound slowly stitched closed, the grekelhind sighed, squinting down at her and shaking his head. “Real shame, that. Guess it’s why your magic work is so much stronger, even when you’re yanking from my soul.” Her rune popped out with a hiss and the scent of ozone. “Healing this would have taken me the entire day.” He rotated his arms, sympathy crossing his features, ghostly scales playing under his skin in a pastel orange. “No wonder Vent wants to keep you under his thumb as long as he can.” 

All the sympathy Ronnie had for the grekelhind instantly evaporated. “I want to hear what you know about this pinched totem, not your fucking human magic theories, get me?”

“Just sayin’,” Frenchie grumbled, rolling his shoulder and grunting. “Don’t snap my head off for tryin’ to be sociable, Rainmaker.” 

Ronnie stared at him and frowned. “What are you talking about, grek?” 

Frenchie just glared at her. “First of all, I have a name- it’s Earnest. Grek is an insult, you know. Second of all, I’m talking about you- everyone knows that you bring thunder wherever you go.” He gestured to the ground, where the last of the salt was washing away. “Those runes of yours are kinda powerful, kid.”

Ronnie closed her eyes, willing the adrenaline of the encounter to stop dumping into her bloodstream now that it was all over. The grek — Earnest — had a point, and it looked like they were stuck together for a while. She surveyed the black scorch marks that remained. “Don’t call me kid.” 

“You prefer Rainmaker?” 

Ronnie glared. “Not really.” 

Earnest gave her a look that reminded her of pity. “Mighta heard something about a crew, bragging they had the score of the century lined up.”

“Go on,” Ronnie said, tucking the coin into her bra. 

“There’s a group of trolls took up under that pass by that statue all those tourists go see. They panhandle over there and make kids pay them for selfies.” 

“Down in Fremont?”

 “Yeah.” 

Ronnie frowned. “Okay, but trolls don’t leave their bridges. They can’t once they pass a certain age- how’s this useful?” 

“Not without powerful magic. Really powerful magic,” Frenchie said. 

“Like a dragon’s totem,” Ronnie muttered, understanding creeping into her thoughts. “Okay, but they obviously can’t run the heist themselves. So, who are they working with?”

“Obviously, another grekelhind,” Earnest said witheringly, looking at Ronnie as if she were stupid. “We’re conduits, remember?” He tried to hide the burn mark on his apron, then scowled as he tossed it on the ground. “Fucking dragons,” he muttered. “Never could be bothered to tell the difference- I swear, to them, we all smell the same.” 

Ronnie winced, feeling a little sorry for the man. By now all his scales had disappeared, but his eyes were still shifting colors with every mood- now they were stormy and grey, no doubt a mirror of his irritation. “If it helps, Vent has always been lazy,” she offered, ignoring the glare coming from Earnest. “Not shocked he went for the easiest answer- you were trying to pass, after all.”

“Yeah, well, I was trying to have a life that didn’t involve me being dick-deep in planar travel and dragon posturing. Sue a guy.” 

Ronnie looked over his shoulder at the remains of the diner and huffed out a sigh. She couldn’t stay angry at the grek — Earnest…shit, she was going to have to remember that — for wanting the same fucking thing she did. “Well, you’re the local. Lead the way. Sooner we get this done, the sooner we’re both free of Vent.” She hooked a thumb toward her car. “I got wheels.” She pulled out her sidepiece and made a show of checking it was loaded. “And I got this. Little old school, but no soul exchange required.” 

Earnest winced. “Whatever you say, Rainmaker.”