Piers’ stomach flip-flopped, the scent of whatever incense burned over a low fire making his head spin. Colors blended and merged. He fought the urge to say, “Oh, wow, man!” Something else made him feel like this once. Mushrooms, maybe? Or maybe some club drug someone snuck into his drink.
George should have been there. He would’ve broken whoever had the nerve in half. George. George who? He seemed important. Had there been an elf?
A man with long, white hair, muscles rippling under his skin as they writhed on the ceiling. The ceiling? How could anyone writhe—
“How are you feeling?” a sugary-sweet voice asked.
A cloud passed before the sun, cutting off the light streaming through the window for a fraction of a second. After a moment, the shadow passed again. Clouds didn’t move so fast, did they? Piers didn’t know anything right now. He lifted his hand. The damned thing weighed a ton. At least he wasn’t paralyzed anymore. Why couldn’t he wriggle his fingers, though?
“Dragon!” someone shrieked from a million miles away.
A dragon? Here? Now? Sweet. “I wanna pet the draagggonnnnn!” he wailed.
Shuffling. Movement. The damned chanting finally stopped. Using all his effort, Piers turned his head to the side. A sleek, black dragon’s snout poked through the window. Oh, damn. Awesome! The magnificent creature couldn’t seem to wriggle the long spikes on its head through the opening. Colors danced off its dark scales like an oil slick.
Piers once drew such a dragon. Jess wore an inked version on her back.
“Heeeeey, dragon!” Piers tried to wave. “Purday dragon.”
“Stop them!” Radre screamed. Some of the robed figures surged forward. A spout of flame from the dragon stopped them. How cool! Where was Piers’ phone? The video would soooo go viral!
Four shapes climbed over the dragon’s head into the room, two with long white hair and one with a somewhat windblown turquoise mass. “Jess?” If Jess was here, who was at home, taking care of the cat? They had a cat, didn’t they?
The first three figures resembled a biker gang on steroids. Black leather, with spikes at the seams. Piers wanted the dude’s jacket.
On second thought, he wanted the dude.
An old man shook out his purple robe, then stalked straight for Radre, hands raised. The white-haired hottie who’d danced with Piers at the club snarled, “Let him go!” That couldn’t be right. Piers never danced with customers. And go where?
Visions appeared in Piers’ mind; he and this man, naked, joined, flying around a hotel room. Flying. Fucking. His boss often told people to take a flying fuck. Piers giggled. “I took a flying fuck!”
“What’s wrong with him?” Jess hollered, using a wall sconce for a baseball bat. She hit a mage homerun.
“And it’s out of the park!” Piers shouted in his best announcer’s voice.
The white-haired man from Piers’ dreams stared at him. Piers blinked hard a few times. His eyes still showed him weird shit. “What the fuck are you wearing?” Leather. A sword. Cosplay night at the club again? Would the fairy come back? She left damned good tips. Piers focused on the ultimate one-night stand—or tried to. Oh! A whole lot of badass, sexy sorcerer hunk.
Rowrrrr…
“Hello, hottie.” Recalling the man’s name, Piers asked, “Hey, Wicked, wanna fuck?”
“Shh… not in front of my sister,” Wicked hissed, then added, “hold that thought.”
Sister. Right. Saris. “Hello, your queeness.” Piers tried to wave and got distracted by his fingers.
A mage raised his hand.
“No, you fool!” Radre screamed. “With all the artifacts and potions in this room, you’ll kill us all.”
Saris helped the mage to the floor with a fire poker to the head. She looked so badass in black leather. “Her Royal Highness Queen Badass!” Piers announced to no one in particular. The outfit couldn’t be comfortable to fight in, though. Chafing. Ouch.
“I know who you are, Sorceress Nyanda. I killed you once, and I can do so again,” the old man roared.
“Kill me, and you kill Radre Bertillian.”
Sorceress Nyanda? Piers squinted, trying to make sense of the melee. “Mom?” Was his mother his lover’s brother?
So messed up. Maybe no one would find out back home. Max would tease him relentlessly about everything being “relative.”