Page 65 of Nobody Told Me Thrift Shops Sell Stolen Dragon Heirlooms

There was something in her expression that made me think I’d stepped onto unstable ground. Like she’d encountered a door she was used to keeping shut, and I’d brushed too close to the handle.

“For the record,” she said lightly, though the lightness in her tone was too careful now, “my necessities usually involve a MetroCard and telling Max not to lick subway poles.”

“Does he lick subway poles often?”

“No, because I am an excellent mother.”

I let myself smile again. Her gaze caught on it, and the atmosphere in the car altered again. Clearing my throat, I set the tumbler into its holder.

“You should know,” I said, “the director may be difficult to approach. Her schedule is public only in the broadest sense, and she appears to prefer conversation in settings where she can evacuate.”

“Smart, if you dislike being cornered by people asking for things.”

“Obstructive, if you’re the person asking.”

The car slowed again as we pulled up to the hotel, its awning lit in warm gold, a small cluster of guests stepping from town cars and hired SUVs. The interruption arrived precisely when it should’ve, before the conversation could become something neither of us could easily fold back into professional shape.

Quinn glanced out the window, then at me and Max. The nervousness returned, but it had been joined by something else now. Resolve. Curiosity.

“Well,” she said, smoothing one hand over her skirt. “Time to be charming.”

10

RAFE

EVERY CROWDED ROOM HAS AN AUNTIE

As the driver pulled to the curb and the door opened onto music and voices, I found myself looking forward to the machinery of society.

The hotel had been built to impress people who were difficult to impress. It occupied a corner lot near Central Park, all pale stone and tall windows, the entrance framed by black awnings and planters large enough to fit a dragon.

The lobby was a combination of marble, brass, soft cream walls, and arrangements of white flowers that alone had likely cost more than Quinn’s yearly salary. Staff moved through the space quietly, intercepting guests before anyone had to wonder where to go. The entire building had been designed to remove friction from wealth.

I’ve been to hundreds of places exactly like this. Usually, they made me feel exhausted before anyone took my coat.

Quinn, though, stopped just past the entrance and looked up.

She didn’t gape. She didn’t shrink into herself. She simply took it all in, eyes moving from the chandelier to the carved ceiling, then down to the mirrored wall behind the reception desk where the room’s light multiplied itself. Her hand remained loose on Max’s leash. Max, to his credit, inspected the lobby with far less enthusiasm than she did, though the plum tie at his collar earned two immediate glances from passing guests.

“I can’t believe this is a hotel.” Quinn said under her breath.

“It’s pretty outlandish.”

“I’ve only stayed in hotels where the ice machine sounded like it was being murdered by a tractor.”

I shot her a disbelieving look.

She kept her gaze on the ceiling. “This one has a chandelier that looks like it has a trust fund.”

“It’s Venetian glass.”

“Right.”

I found myself looking back at the chandelier, trying to see what she saw, but all I saw was glass.

We checked in at the charity desk, where a woman in black accepted our names, confirmed Max’s inclusion on the guest list, then paused long enough to look at him properly.

“He’s very handsome,” she said.