Page 38 of Saving the Last Heir
Ilanded on top of the skyscraper and quickly shifted before I climbed down to hide in the shadows near the heating and air units that sat atop the building. I tried not to let my nerves get to me. So much was riding on this. If we didn’t succeed, my sister was as good as dead, and with her, a lot of the hopes and dreams of the last of the winged dragons. Icouldn’tfail.
As I waited, some doubts began to creep into my mind. What if this Dusty guy didn’t have the right upholstery? What if it took too long for me to find it? What would happen if she couldn’t keep him occupied long enough?
After five minutes of those intrusive thoughts trying to sour my mood, my phone buzzed with a text message.
Shyanne:He’s here. GO!
I jammed the phone into my pocket and sprinted across the rooftop, angling west. Taking the last few yards at a full run, I leaped and shifted, giving my wings a single powerful stroke, lifting my body above the safety fence that ringed the roof. Myskin turned dark black, melting into the colors of the slowly darkening night.
Flying high, I waited until I was directly above the garage, tilted my head down, and then folded my wings onto my back, pointing my tail, and tucking my arms and legs in, turning my body into a bullet. Spearing the night sky, I streaked downward like an arrow fired from a bow. Wind roared around me. My dragon reveled in the delight of such speed and growled with pleasure deep in the back of my mind.
I waited until I was only two hundred feet above the building before throwing my wings wide. The powerful muscles of my back and chest that operated the appendages screamed in protest as the membranous wings filled with air, slowing me with the rapid and violent force of a parachute.
At ten feet, I shifted back and landed on the ceiling, tucking and rolling to absorb the last of the force. I leapt to my feet and ran to the edge to see if anyone had heard or seen anything. In the distance, at the far end of the parking lot, I saw Shyanne speaking with a blond guy. That had to be this Dusty person.
Ten minutes. That’s all I could give myself. Glancing at my watch, I set a timer, and watched the seconds tick away: 9:59…9:58…9:57…
Glancing around the roof, I tried to find some sort of rooftop access like the Torrence garage had, but I was out of luck. It had had nothing but a few HVAC units and tarred roofing.
Staying low, I ran to the opposite edge of the roof and found a fire escape ladder that probably doubled as the maintenance access. Grabbing the rails on either side, I wedged my feet on the outer edge of the ladder and relaxed my grip. Rather thanclimbing down slowly, I slid like I was on a fireman’s pole until my boots struck the macadam. I looked at my watch again: 8:49…8:48…
“Piss,” I whispered. Peeking around the corner of the building, I spotted Shyanne and the owner, then made for the rear of the building.
There was a door, but it was locked. I couldn’t break through it because they might hear it, and this place was bound to have an alarm. The last thing I needed was a blaring claxon going off and bringing every cop in the area down on us.
I went around the next corner and spotted a small window about eight feet up, a light was on inside. Leaping up, I grabbed the ledge with my fingertips and pulled myself up until I was eye level with the glass. The window looked in on an office of sorts. For a moment, I hesitated, said a brief prayer to whatever god or gods might be looking down on us, and pushed the glass forward.
It swung inward soundlessly, and I nearly shouted in relief. Once it was open, I hauled myself in until I was balanced on my belly. The office smelled of old cigar smoke, the sweet hint of cured leather, and cheap cologne. A quick scan told me there was no one around, and I rolled forward, dragging my legs in behind me. Twisting and using my enhanced reflexes, I landed in a crouch, and froze, listening for any sounds.
When I was sure I was completely alone in the shop, I closed the window to be safe. As I turned to leave, I glanced at the wall beside the desk and grimaced in disgust. A calendar was pinned above a small refrigerator. On it, instead of a beach scene or kittens playing with yarn, a woman with the biggest breasts I’d ever seen in my life was bent over a pool table. A man wholooked like a steroid-abusing bodybuilder stood behind her, his face contorted in some kind of agonized pleasure. Both were frozen in place, caught mid-thrust by the photographer.
“Gross,” I muttered. I didn’t want to meet the kind of person who had so little shame as to put something likethatup in full view in a place of business.
Leaving the disgusting office, I eased out onto the work floor, and was momentarily taken aback. After the office, I assumed I’d be walking into one big filthy grease pit, but the place was immaculate. Polished concrete floors gleamed under the subdued light of the emergency exit. The walls, rather than bare or painted cinder block, were covered in sound-dampening mats that had pictures printed of dozens of different types of car interiors. Along with that, the tools and workstations looked like they’d all been spit-shined. Where Shyanne’s garage had the look and feel of hard work and fun, this was rather antiseptic and cold. Sure, it was cleaner, but it had less character. Lesslife.
The place was also fucking gigantic. Doing a fast circuit around the main shop floor, I found other doors leading to separate workrooms. One had a massive industrial sewing machine for custom pieces with different types of leathers. The next room was lined with shelves full of electrical equipment, speakers, small touch screens, and spools of wire. In the center were a few worktables as well as a Honda Civic that looked like it had at least five-thousand dollars’ worth of aftermarket audio-visual equipment in it.
5:21…5:20…5:19…
I had to hurry. Time was moving faster than seemed possible, like sand draining through my fingers in a downpour.
Passing a set of bathrooms, another office, a cleaning supply room, as well as a room that looked designed to do custom plastic molding, Ifinallycame to a room labeled: UPHOLSTERY STORAGE.
When I opened the door, my eyes went wide in shock.
“Holy shit,” I muttered.
The room was roughly the size of Shyanne’s entire garage, and it was lined with shelves and hanging racks. Dozens and dozens of colors, like a rainbow, flashed at me as I scanned the items. There were cut seat pieces hanging from formed molds to keep their shape, as well as rolled and vacuum-sealed packages that had yet to be cut. The former looked like gigantic plastic cigars on each shelf.
3:07…3:06…3:05…
I ran down the three rows of shelves, scanning the hundreds of items, hoping I would see the right color and style, but nothing jumped out. The plastic wrapping was so thick I couldn’t make out a damn thing even when I was right next to it. The faint colors were evident within, but not the texture. Therehadto be some sort of catalog to tell what was where.
I wished I could flip on the overhead fluorescents because squinting in this dim lighting wasn’t working. I made it halfway around the room, when a sound from the outer work area sent a cold wave of terror through me. A toilet flushing. Had I not had enhanced hearing, I never would have heard it. Rushing to the door, I pushed it open an inch and peered out. To my horror, the bathroom door swung open, and a heavy-set man came out, buckling his pants.
Fuck.I walked right past that damn door.
The realization sent a shiver of fear down my spine. I’d assumed everyone was gone. Meanwhile, this guy had been taking a dump. I could only imagine what would have happened if I’d been louder in my search or decided to open the door to check inside.
