Sam, still only a novice magician and uncomfortable with power, tumbled back into his body, retreating to the mundane senses that had served him so well. Across the restaurant, a suave, dark-haired man dined undisturbed with his lady friend.

Hadn’t there been enough dragons in his life already?

He didn’t know what to do next, but one thing was certain. He was in far over his head.

45

He had seen it before, but today the sight struck Dodger as odd. The feared and renowned street samurai Ghost Maker, known to closer associates as Ghost Who Walks Inside, was making soykaf in the pitiful strip that served as the squat’s kitchen. Maybe it was something about the slight awkwardness in the Indian’s movements or the way he continually cocked his head as though listening for an anticipated signal. Something was out of place. As Ghost left the counter with a mug in each hand, Dodger saw a third mug lying on its side by the pot. That was it. In the past, Ghost had only prepared the brew for Sally, leaving the Elf to take care of himself.

“Thanks,” Dodger said, taking the offered mug.

Ghost lowered himself to sit cross-legged on the floor. For several minutes, they sat quietly, sipping the steaming soykaf. Then Ghost said, “Whatever else he is, he’s brave.” Ghost shook his head. “Wants to haul a Dragon to court for murder.”

“You sound like you’re not so sure anymore. You wanting to bail out?”

Ghost looked at him bleakly. “Wanting has nothing to do with it.”

That’s a lie, Dodger thought. There is a wanting that has an awful lot to do with it. Dodger wasn’t going to be the first to say it out loud. “Sam would understand. The situation is not what it seemed when you agreed to help him take down Drake.”

“And where would that leave me, Elf? I gave my word before witnesses. I don’t care that a lot of punks and cheap street hoods who call themselves samurai think the latest chrome and a bad attitude are all they need. There’s a lot more to it than that. The old Japanese understood the difference almost as well as my ancestors. A warrior must be a man of honor. He keeps his word and is stronger than others, especially in his heart.”

“Though you may only be a samurai of the streets, Ghost Who Walks Inside, you are a man of honor and a warrior.”

“Am I?”

“Even the old samurai were men first.”

The Indian quietly put down his cup. One of his hand razors slid from its ecto-myelin sheath. He scraped the sparkling needle of carbide steel against the tile of the floor, leaving tiny curls of plastic in its wake.

“What about you, Elf? Why haven’t you run for the trees?”

“Honor is not the exclusive property of samurai, street or otherwise,” Dodger said in what he hoped was a sufficiently injured tone.

“Hasn’t ever been your real worry, either.”

Ghost knew him too well. He could claim he was doing it for the thrill, as he had in the past. Ghost wouldn’t believe that, either. Dodger could hardly admit that he wasn’t really sure of all his reasons for doing it.

Ghost unfolded his legs and rose from the floor. “They’re coming,” he said. He moved to face the window, leaning against the wall with studied nonchalance.

Ghost was right. After a moment, laughter drifted up from the alley. Sally clambered through the window first. Though dressed in a glittery jumpsuit that was a far haul from her regular armor-lined running rig, she had her cross-belted holster and scabbard snugged across her hips. The magesword caught on the sill, but Sam reached quickly to free it. A moment later, he climbed through. When he reached for Sally, she side-stepped his arm, only letting his lips brush her cheek. Not till then did Sam realize Dodger and Ghost were in the room. He greeted them with a sheepish smile.

Dodger smiled back. Only politeness would keep things civil. Ghost ignored Sam and spoke to Sally.

“Have you come to help?”

“Help with what? Do you need help with the cooking?” Sally asked with a bright smile.

“He needs help,” Ghost snapped, indicating Sam with a jerk of his head.

“Oh, no.” She blew Sam a kiss, then sauntered across the room to throw herself down on the sleeping pad. She leaned on one elbow and stroked the magesword in its scabbard. “I think he’s doing just fine.”

Ghost’s nostrils distended. “Hasn’t he told you what he found out?”

She tossed her head to flip her braid down her back. “What do you want me to do about it?”

Dodger watched Sam look back and forth between the two of them, baffled by the subtext of their exchange. He looked ready to speak, but Ghost’s next outburst kept him from doing so.

“What you do is your own fragging business. It doesn’t affect me. But if you do nothing, it will affect him. It’ll probably kill him. This run ain’t against no two-bit Mr. Johnson anymore.”

“What makes you think I can make any difference?” she shouted back.

“You’ve got the magic he can’t control yet. Drek, woman! There’re Dragons in this now.”

“There were Dragons in it before.”

‘We can’t face Dragons without magic.”

“Missile’s as good as a fireball.”

“Kham’s taking your lead. You could bring him in, and then we’d have a chance.”

“Kham’s acting like an adult, unlike some people. He’s a big boy and can make his own choices.”

Ghost bit down on a reply and stalked toward the window. Dodger thought the Indian intended to keep on going, but then Ghost pulled up and turned. When he spoke, his tone was quieter, his voice taking on a note of appeal.

“You know the three of us don’t have enough jazz to take on Haesslich. Whether or not his plant in Renraku is a rogue operation, the Dragon is still head of United Oil Security in Seattle. That’ll give him a fragging lot of resources.”

“But that would expose him to his superiors,” Sam objected, ready to talk now that the subject was unequivocally business.

“Not necessarily,” Sally said. “He’s a canny old worm, He could come up with some way to make it look like you were after UniOil assets and then justify use of the Company’s forces.”

“Even without UniOil security teams, there’s the other Dragon and Hart,” Ghost pointed out.

“If they’re still working for him,” Sam said.

“Any reason to believe they’re not?” Sally asked.

“Greerson,” he said. “If Haesslich still had Hart and Tessien, why would he send Greerson after me?”