Page 23 of Cash

“I’m sorry things are difficult for you at the moment,” I offered. Why did I care? The sane part of me, the human half, warned me to shut up and mind my own business. I had much larger problems than a red-eyed, pale-faced girl, even if that girl had an important role to play.

She nodded, distracted. “Thank you. I can assure you, this will bear no impact on the quality or efficiency of my work.”

“I wasn’t worried. If you weren’t reliable, you wouldn’t be here.”

“Just the same. I thought you should know that.” She finished filling six tubes, and I bent my arm to hold a small patch of gauze in place. Not that I needed it for long—the tiny pinhole left by the needle would heal almost instantly, thanks to my dragon blood. I removed the gauze, and sure enough, there was no evidence of ever being stuck.

She noticed. A very observant girl. “You’d never know I just did that. I mean, it’s a pinprick, but there’s usually a small mark for at least a little bit.” Her eyes met mine. “Is this normal for you?”

“You could say that,” I replied.

She frowned.

“Yes. It’s normal for me,” I amended. She was quite literal and preferred her communication short and to the point. One of many things I needed to keep in mind if we were going to spend time together.

Which reminded me. “Have you any idea how long this might take? I mean, when can I go home?”

She frowned again. It seemed like her expression for the day. “When I’m finished, of course. I need to run tests on you in order to complete the formula for the antidote—and, honestly, it would be best for me to observe the longevity of the antidote, too. I can’t inject you and assume the results will be permanent. What happens if they’re not?”

“Och. I hadn’t thought of that.” It was enough to plant my ass on the stool.

“Och?”

I smiled distractedly. “Sometimes my Scottish comes out. The rest of my family have managed to water down their speech to the point where you’d never know where we came from.”

“So, you’re from Scotland?” She raised an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t have guessed.”

“Why? Because I don’t wear a kilt or carry bagpipes?”

She chuckled, and her cheeks flushed. The only color on her chalk-white face. “How long have you been here?”

What would she say if I told her exactly how long it had been? I’d likely have to pick her up off the floor and place her beneath a cold shower. The dragon grunted in approval of the notion. Wetting her down, enjoying the sight of her body as the clothing clung to it…

“Much of my life,” I ventured. Would she press the subject? She didn’t seem inclined to. Too wrapped up in whatever was plaguing her.

“Is it a problem?”

“Is what a problem?”

“Staying here.” Her eyes met mine and held them. There was so much happening in her head.

I wished for a way to break through it, get to what was really bothering her and make it right. She seemed to have aged ten years overnight. At least. Her teeth sank into her lower lip as she waited for my reply.

“No problem at all.”

Nothing in the world could’ve dragged me away.

---