Tropical Dragon Diver (Shifting Sands Resort 5)

“I’m not worth it,” Saina said bitterly. “Sirens are never worth their ticket price.”

“You are,” Bastian told her sincerely. “I would take goldshot hangovers for a century to spend one day with you.”

She looked at him in wonder. “You really mean that.”

“Dragons are always honest.”

“Mermaids never are,” she retorted.

“I will always trust you,” Bastian said firmly.

“Then you’re a fool,” Saina said, with her crooked true smile.

Bastian smiled at her, and reached to smooth a lock of hair back from her face. “A glad one.”

She kissed him, then, wriggling between him and the railing to put arms around his neck.

Her lips were healing, chasing the last vestiges of pain from his head.

When he drew back for breath, he had to ask, “Are you sure about this plan?”

“I’m only sure of one thing in this world,” Saina said gravely. “And that’s you.”

Chapter 35

Saina wasn’t sure how this had turned into such a production. The little conference room behind the kitchen was crammed with people and suggestions. Her pink suitcase was open on the table on a plastic trash bag. The goldshot sludge had dried to a brittle crust.

Travis had brought an array of plastering tools and a bucket of gypsum. Chef had bins of flour and sugar.

“I don’t want to kill him if he actually takes it,” Saina said firmly, looking with question at Travis’ bucket. “It just needs to fool him for a little while.”

Laura picked up a crust of goldshot with a gloved hand. Jenny, like a double-image beside her, poked a piece with her pen. “Are you sure it’s safe to touch?”

“It won’t have any effect on you unless you’re a dragon,” Saina promised.

Jenny’s face quirked into a smile. “Well, I don’t think so, but I didn’t know I was an otter for the longest time, so who knows!” She kept her bare hands well away.

Chef boldly plucked a rind of the substance off and held it up to the light. It had a slight iridescent sparkle to it. “How heavy did you say the cakes were?”

“Maybe 3 kilos apiece,” Saina guessed, showing the size with her hands. “Denser than you’d think.”

Half the staff looked at her blankly while the others nodded. “A little more than 6 pounds,” she added for the Americans and English.

“A quarter of a brick of gold,” Breck offered. Saina wasn’t even sure why the waiter was there, or how he knew the weight of a brick of gold.

“Fruitcake,” Graham suggested dryly. Even the dour landscaper had shown up for the meeting Saina hadn’t known she’d called.

Chef looked thoughtful. “I could do a dense cake and we probably have enough here to frost one over with the real stuff.” He crumbled the piece in his hand and tested how well it pressed back together. “I’ll have to make a binder. Sugar, probably. That will match the sparkle and set up nicely.”

“Will he smell the difference?” Tex asked. “I’ve known some drinkers who could tell the watered-down stuff from across the bar. And they were just human.”

“It will be wrapped in plastic, and the suitcase is so saturated with the stuff, I imagine it will mask the weakness of the rest,” Saina guessed. “Bastian should be able to give us an idea of how well it will work.”

“And if he does eat it?” Tex queried. “You don’t offer a shot to a recovering alcoholic.”

Saina had wrestled with the morality of every aspect of their plan. “I am bound not work magic on him, or I could try to sing it out of him. Fortunately, goldshot works itself entirely out of the system within a few weeks of being clean, so all we have to do is see that he doesn’t get a supply for a while.”

“I’m not sure there’s even a full dose here,” Chef said. “It’s enough to frost a brick, and maybe fool him, but I’m not convinced it would actually be a fix.”