The Spark of the Dragon's Heart: A Reverse Harem Paranormal Fantasy Romance (Harem of Fire Book 1) Read online

  “What changed his mind?” Alisha asked, pressing a button on her key fob to unlock her car.

  “He got caught in an endless automated loop a few weeks back because the system didn’t recognize the rotary dial. It was the last straw.”

  I used a worn metal key to open the driver-side door of my ancient, butter-colored Cadillac. “Still can’t convince him to get a cell phone though. Says they’ll give him brain cancer or something.”

  “What a Luddite,” Alisha said.

  “Oh god, don’t get him started on Luddites,” I warned. “Not unless you’re writing your thesis on them, because then he’s your man.”

  Max had a fondness for history, mostly because he’d lived through it and knew most of the key players — if not personally, at least peripherally.

  As I climbed into my beast of a car, Zoe called out to me over the top of her spunky little hybrid. “When are you going to set that boat adrift already?”

  “Ask me that next weekend, when you all want to carpool from party to party in my sweet ride,” I said through the driver’s side window as I backed out of my spot. “Oh, and you’d better bring a twenty for the cover charge because I’m going to turn this baby into a rolling nightclub.”

  I cranked the radio, which they knew only received one station — La Ranchera 96.7 — and waggled my fingers as the behemoth lumbered out of the parking lot. They could tease me all they liked. This was my first car and I loved it. I especially loved that Max and Shirley had given it to me, free and clear.

  The office was locked when I arrived about twenty minutes later. Odd, as Max usually opened up no later than nine, but it was already closing in on eleven and the place was completely dark. Fishing out my key, I opened the door.

  “Uncle Max?” I called, not really expecting an answer.

  I set my backpack on my desk and started my standard opening procedure. Once all the lights were on, I knocked on his office door and peeked in. Nothing. Taped to the keyboard of his favorite Selectric II typewriter sat a folded note with “Party Favor” scrawled on it.

  I loved my uncle’s nickname for me. He insisted I was something called a dragon keeper — a human who was sort of a consigliere or advisor to his or her dragon. Par’tia was an honorific for dragon keepers, but the first time he’d called me Par’tia Favor, I’d thought he said “Party Favor.” Much to my delight, the nickname had stuck.

  Favor,

  Have to go help out an old friend up in Big Bear whose house was broken into last night. Not sure how long I’ll be gone. I want you to take the lead on the Enoch Trinkas case. You have an interview with his brother Bertram tomorrow morning. I’ll touch base when I can.

  Max

  A surge of adrenaline shot through my system. My first case! I picked up a thin folder sitting next to the typewriter. Normally, I set up the files for new cases, but I’d never seen this one before. It contained a single piece of paper with a few scribbled notes about the case and a couple of photos of a rather skinny, scraggly-looking guy. A dragon in Max’s weir had gone missing and his brother had hired Max to track him down. The phone number and address of the brother were listed, but little else.

  It seemed strange that Max would dump the case on me so he could investigate a simple break-in, but I couldn’t deny the pride I felt that he trusted me. I’d grown so used to the mundane tasks he normally gave me, such as filing papers and typing up reports, I sometimes forgot he was teaching me to follow in his footsteps.

  Without hesitating for a moment, I re-read the sparse Trinkas file and started prepping for the interview with Bertram. I didn’t want to let down Max or myself.

  Chapter Two

  An acoustic guitar plucked out a mournful tune as a woman’s husky voice sang a song of sadness and loss. I had no idea what the words meant — something about a sad flower, if my high school Spanish hadn’t failed me — but the emotion in her voice brought me to tears. It was either that or the fact I was being baked alive as I sat in bumper-to-bumper traffic. Highway 10 had been pretty clear when I left for my interview with Bertram Trinkas, but as usual, the 405 was a parking lot.

  In desperation, I flicked on my air conditioner and winced as it screeched to life, only to blow a puff of warm dust at me. If the car had been moving more than three miles an hour, it might have eventually cooled the air, but I knew when I was beat. I flicked it off and closed my eyes, willing the cars in front of me to pull to the side to let me through.

  “I have places to be, people!” I shouted at my windshield.

  “So do I,” replied a random man’s voice from somewhere close by.

  “Me too,” said another. Then a horn blew, followed by more.

  Normally, traffic didn’t bother me much. I’d learned through painful experience there were worse fates than sitting in relative comfort for a little while. But every minute spent in traffic was another minute I’d be late for my appointment.

  Bertram Trinkas wasn’t just my first official client, he also happened to live in Bel Air. That Bel Air, home to some of the richest and most famous people in the world. And I was going to drive up in what no doubt would be the crappiest car he’d ever seen.

  Late.

  Needless to say, my stress level was through the rust-speckled roof, and it only shot higher when I finally eased my beast into the fancy neighborhood and wealth took on new meaning. The streets turned into the sort of hedge maze rich folks loved.

  Short stone walls, tall shrubbery, thick trees, and lots and lots of solid gates kept prying eyes from peering into massive estates. Only the ones with bar gates allowed a peek at what lay behind them, and it was impressive. Huge homes with Rolls-Royces and Jaguars spilled out of massive garages. Opulent was the only word to describe them.

  I passed a picturesque villa that looked as if someone had plucked it right out of a postcard from Tuscany, complete with cedar trees lining the driveway. Across the street from it sat a modern, minimalist manor with walls of glass and a small helicopter sitting on a landing pad in the yard. Just ahead was a Victorian manor straight out of a Dickens novel. The neighborhood was so beautiful and insane and over-the-top, I could barely believe it wasn’t a movie studio set.

  My phone announced I’d arrived at my destination, but all I could see in either direction was foliage. Lots and lots of foliage. I parked and climbed out of my car, hoping some security guard wouldn’t burst out of the hedge and arrest me for not having a solid gold credit card. Just past where I stopped, the greenery jogged in a bit, which is where I found an intercom attached to a post. The gate leading to the property was obscured by a heavy layer of ivy. Pressing the button on the box, I stepped back far enough for the security camera to see my face.

  “Yes?” asked a brusque voice coming through the crackly speaker.

  “Hi, um…I’m Favor Fiske? From Maximus Investigations? I have an, um, appointment with Mr. Trinkas?”

  I hated the hesitation in my voice, as if I was asking the speaker box if I really was who I claimed to be, but my nerves were frazzled. I couldn’t mess this up or Max might never trust me again.

  The box hissed for a few moments, then a loud click came from the gate and it started to swing open slowly. I ran back to my car and pulled through just as it started to swing closed.

  Phew!

  The cobblestone driveway led to a roundabout encircling a bubbling fountain. Just beyond it sat a stunning Tudor-style mansion straight out of a fairy tale. Unfortunately, I felt like Cinderella before her fairy godmother gave her a killer makeover. As I approached the huge mahogany door, it opened and a well-dressed man in his late forties stepped out.

  I smiled brightly and asked, “Mr. Trinkas?”

  He arched an eyebrow at me and shook his head. Without a word, he spun on his polished heel and retreated inside, leaving the door open behind him. My smile faded as I followed him.

  As he led me down a long red-carpeted hallway that was as lavish as I’d expected, I realized he had to be the butler. He op
ened a door on the right, but didn’t follow after I stepped inside. When the door snapped shut behind me, a chill rippled up my spine, as if I’d just been entombed in a mausoleum.

  Actually, it was a library, judging by the built-in shelves filled to overflowing with books. Beautiful antiques decorated the room, including a tasteful sofa and some cozy reading chairs sitting in front of a crackling fireplace. An intricate — and no doubt antique — Persian rug tied the room together.

  But what drew my attention and wouldn’t let go was the painting that hung over the mantel. It looked old, older than any painting I’d seen in any museum. The edges were darkened and cracked, but the two central figures remained crisp and clear.

  A rather androgynous human that looked like a cross between a Knight Templar and an angel — complete with a faded halo and wings — held a shield and a vicious sword. He stood on the neck of an injured dragon, ready to run it through.

  I hated it. On a cellular level, the mere sight of it filled me with rage. Goosebumps pebbled my skin as I stared at it, wishing I could reach through the painting and punch the asshole knight right in the face.

  “St. Michael the Archangel and the Dragon,” said a man from behind me.

  I jumped — and maybe squeaked — in surprise and spun around to face him. The man was older and better dressed than the butler. He had a long, square face and salt-and-pepper hair that was erring on the side of salt. Bertram Trinkas, I presumed.

  “Late fourteenth century, Italian artist. What do you think? I’m always interested in strangers’ first impressions.”

  “I think St. Michael was a real d-bag,” I said bluntly, still riled by my protective streak where dragons were concerned.

  I expected him to act insulted, but he broke into a satisfied smile instead. “I think I rather agree, Miss…”

  “Fiske. Favor Fiske.”

  I stuck my hand out to shake, but he turned toward the painting as if he hadn’t noticed and clasped his hands behind his back. “May I ask what you’re doing here, Miss Fiske?”

  My mouth opened and closed a few times, like a dying fish, before I could find my words. “We… I thought we had an appointment to discuss your brother. I’m with Maximus Investigations. Didn’t your butler tell you?”

  “Do you mean Hobbs? He told me, but my appointment was with Maximus Novak, not some…”

  He trailed off, not saying the word, but his slight grimace spoke volumes. Blood heated my cheeks at his snobbery.

  “Human?” I finished for him, trying to sound calmer than I felt.

  He had the grace to glance back at me in surprise. At least he didn’t bother denying it. Between the lavish estate and his pretentiousness, I quickly realized losing my patience was currently the biggest threat to my job.

  “Max was called out of town on another case,” I explained through clenched teeth. “I’m his assistant and he asked me to come in his place. I apologize no one called to inform you ahead of time.”

  Bertram returned his gaze to the horrific painting. “I have no interest in dealing with a subordinate. Especially a human one.”

  I counted to five and tried to ignore the fact he’d basically just called me a dirty, filthy peasant. I plastered a concerned look on my face and tried again.

  “Mr. Trinkas, Max wouldn’t have sent me if he didn’t trust me implicitly.” I lowered my voice so the butler wouldn’t overhear, just in case he didn’t know the truth about his boss. “I know what you are, sir. There’s no need to be afraid.”

  Bad move. Bertram bristled and spun around to glare at me. “Young lady, dragons are afraid of nothing! For example, I’m not afraid of sending Maximus Novak’s underling away. You may go.”

  He brushed past me and was halfway to the door by the time I spoke. “Max sent me because he knows every minute counts in a missing persons…er, missing dragons case. I thought you wanted to find your brother, Mr. Trinkas.”

  “Enoch is probably hiding under some very unsavory rock, as usual,” he said as he held the door open for me. “He’ll slither out from under it when he inevitably runs out of money again and comes running to me to resupply his coffers.”

  His words and tone were stone cold, but I sensed they belied his true concern for his brother. I didn’t feel the same kind of connection I had with Max — where I could tell when he was lying — but it was enough for me to know he cared more than he was letting on. Not that I had a chance to call him on it.

  “I trust you can see yourself out,” he said, then walked out of the room.

  It wasn’t until I was once again sitting at a standstill on the 405 freeway that the severity of the situation hit me. I dropped my forehead to the steering wheel and choked back a sob. I’d just screwed up the first client Max had entrusted me with. And I’d lost him.

  A car horn blared behind me.

  “Don’t blame yourself, dear.” Aunt Shirley patted my shoulder as I munched on the grilled cheese sandwich she’d made for me after another interminable drive home. It was the ultimate comfort food, and I really needed some comfort. “Some of the older dragon families are just a bit…”

  “Arrogant? Elitist? Asshole-ish?”

  She smiled as she sat down across from me and sipped her cup of herbal tea. “They can be, yes. They have a certain…let’s call it hesitation about discussing dragon business with humans, other than their keepers, of course.”

  I snorted. “Maybe I should have tracked down Bertram’s keeper so he could talk some sense into the guy.”

  “Oh, heavens no. Hobbs is just as prickly as Bertram, I’m afraid. Birds of a feather, those two.”

  I gaped at her, a bite of grilled cheese falling back to my plate. “Hobbs? You mean the butler is also his keeper?”

  “That shouldn’t surprise you, Party Favor,” she said with a wink. “After all, you’re Max’s assistant, as well as—“

  I held up a hand to stop her. “Max says I won’t know for a while yet if I’m his keeper.”

  “Whatever you say.” She shrugged, unconcerned with such trivialities. “What you need to do is to go back there with a dragon at your side. It would give you clout and he might respect you more.”

  “I guess I could ask Rufus. Maybe his size would intimidate Bertram into talking.”

  Rufus was Max’s last remaining investigator. Enforcer was more like it, considering the man’s mountainesque stature.

  Aunt Shirley winced. “Rufus is a fine dragon, but I’m afraid he wouldn’t impress Bertram. You’ll need someone a bit closer to Max’s position in the weir.”

  Instead of a day of triumph, it had turned into a day of failure and frustration. Even Shirley’s suggested solution was no good. I slumped in my seat, defeated.

  “I don’t know anyone that high up, Aunt Shirley.”

  “Actually,” she replied, her eyes sparkling with mischief, “you know five. And they just so happen to be private eyes themselves.”

  I swallowed hard, unable to process what I was hearing. “Surely, you can’t mean Max’s great-nephews.”

  “I can. And don’t call me…oh, right.” She winked again, then gave me a satisfied smile.

  Giving her a scowl, I ignored her favorite joke. It came from an old movie called Airplane, and she just loved to pull it out as often as she could.

  “You know how Max feels about them. They stabbed him in the back and went to work for his biggest competitor!”

  Max had raised all five of his nephews and trained them in the family business. But about five years earlier, they’d had some kind of falling out and the boys went to work for Lazlo Aurelia at Drakonis Security Systems. It had broken Max’s heart into a million pieces, and I hated them for the pain they’d caused him.

  “Pish!” Shirley said, flapping a hand dismissively. “Max loves his grudges. Trust me, my boys are simply wonderful. You’ll love them, I just know it.”

  I wasn’t as sure. As a dragon keeper myself, I was very protective of Max. I also didn’t want him to think I’d
betrayed him too.

  “If you’re worried about what Max will think, I’ll take the blame. Don’t worry, dear. It’ll all work out fine.”

  She had me over a barrel. I didn’t want to disappoint Max, but what would be more disappointing to him — losing a long-term client or asking his outcast nephews for help? There really was only one right answer.

  Dammit.

  I’d seen Max’s nephews once from a distance, not long after I’d moved to Los Angeles, but I had never spoken to them, or even been in the same room with them. At the time, they were the most handsome men I’d ever seen, but I’d also been a teenager, full of raging hormones. Over the years, I decided they couldn’t have been nearly as drool-worthy as I remembered.

  I guess you’re about to find out.

  Chapter Three

  Shifting nervously in my seat, I kept my gaze locked on the front door of the coffee shop. My stomach flipped upside down and inside out every time the damn thing opened, expecting to meet those piercing blue eyes I remembered from five years earlier.

  Aunt Shirley had arranged a meeting later in the day with Kellum Novak, Uncle Max’s oldest nephew. Great-nephew, to be precise, not that it mattered. What did matter was that Kellum, his brothers, and twin cousins had betrayed Max and broken his heart. That’s all I needed to know to hate them all and consider them traitors, no matter what Shirley said.

  “My boys are sweethearts,” she’d said after speaking with Kellum. She went on and on about how wonderful they were, and how the dust-up between them and Max was a little more complicated than her dear husband let on. “You’ll just love them,” she’d insisted for the millionth time.

  I pretended to consider her opinion, but deep down, I knew this Kellum guy would be a tool, just as I expected him to be. Unfortunately, I had no choice but to ask for his help. I needed him to make any headway at all on the Trinkas case. Of course, he could very easily refuse to help me, in which case I’d be screwed.