Dragons Luck
stow it. We, well,
you
have got problems, George.”
    “I always have problems.”
    “And I bet you bring each and every one down on yourself,” Debbie said.
    George looked at the time. It was a little past midnight, and he had been planning on an early night. The hotel room he was staying in had next to no luxuries. It did have a coffeepot, though, and something in his teammate’s tone sent him over to it.
    “So what did I do now?” he asked. “Everyone over there falling apart because ol’ George isn’t there to beat down the big scaly baddies?”
    “There is no need to be snooty. You’ve trained some excellent hunters on staff, and those of us in auxiliary service have never needed
you
to hold our hands.”
    “No flirtation, no bribery, no hand-holding. God, when did this bureaucracy turn into no fun at all?”
    “Again, stow it. I got a call from your latest client today.”
    George held the phone away for a few moments and reined himself in. The first things he thought about saying were counterproductive.
    “If that supercilious bastard wants a refund, you can kindly inform our ‘client’ that he, too, can be turned into a set of matched luggage.”
    “Hmm, do we have a record of his preferred dragon form on record? He doesn’t strike me as a type to stick to the traditional scales and leather motif. Anyway, he asked for just that, but it was by way of an opening gambit. Claimed that since McCandles is unharmed and still breathing, you owe him another pass.”
    “To which you replied that our contracts specify one pass, and he did not pay for a guaranteed kill, only a direct confrontation,” said George.
    “Yes, I did, so he tried renegotiating for a direct-kill contract, at a discount of course,” Debbie said.
    George watched drips fall into the coffeepot. Idly he put his thumb against the hot plate. The sting of it gave him a reason for groaning.
    “That’s it, we never deal with anyone from California. Ever, ever again. Make a bylaw.”
    “We’d get busted for discrimination. Besides, good money out of that part of the country. Come on, George. Focus a bit, won’t you? Vacation or not, you are slacking,” Debbie said.
    He had been focusing. Obviously, Flynn was unsatisfied with his own attempts to “test” young McCandles and wanted some serious pressure put on. Or maybe Griffen was just getting under Flynn’s skin enough that he was ready for murder. That thought alone made George like the kid a little.
    Mostly, though, George was thinking about his little “vacation” here. He had intended to cause Flynn some trouble, and so far hadn’t done much but monitor. That and a bit of indirect contact with McCandles, just for kicks. Maybe it was time to take things up a step.
    “And what did you tell him, Debbie?”
    “That you were on another assignment. He, like most of our clients, doesn’t know he is dealing with a team of hunters, so he didn’t ask for another agent. I did give him a referral to another hitter. A human, solo act but good contacts, someone we wouldn’t mind seeing disappear from the face of the earth.”
    “Any chance of dropping a dragon?” George asked. Human or not, he was always keeping his ears open for new talent.
    “Unlikely; if Flynn goes that way, it will be mostly a scare tactic. Though a few shots from the right type of rifle will put the kid in the hospital. From your report, he hasn’t learned regeneration yet.”
    “I haven’t seen any sign of it, and it seems more his sister’s kind of talent anyway.”
    George paused, thinking things through for a moment.
    “Debbie, I need a favor.”
    “No.”
    “Debbie, this is me. I need you to track this hitter you referred Flynn to. If he comes to New Orleans, I want to know, and I want to know everything else about his movements when he is here.”
    “George, this is a noncontract. You have no business using company resources because you have decided to keep a pet. He’s a dragon, George! A scaly,

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