Breaking Ties by Vaughn R. Demont

in the Italian Alps for protection, though it’d mean living in a gilded cage. Cale tried doing that, and it nearly drove him insane. Besides, I doubt I could get decent French fries in a cave.
    A few years ago I might’ve gone along with that, but a long series of near-death experiences tends to temper one’s resolve. “Or, you could remember who the Ra’keth is. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to be late for work. I’m sure you can understand the desire to fulfill obligations and responsibilities.” I glance toward the Snow Dragon. “Parry, I’d like to return to the City now, please.”
    With nothing more, I leave the hangar, many voices speaking up the moment I’m out the door. Honestly, I should care about this, but I really don’t. A dragon protector is only going to attract attention and make the big neon sign over my head, pointing me out as a sorcerer, all the brighter.
    Unfortunately, Parry doesn’t follow me out, leaving me alone with his car, and while I can certainly hop in and work a little technomancy to start it (a car’s VIN is unique enough to function as a true Name and thus make it receptive to commands), that would still be grand-theft auto, and I hardly want the council holding that over my head as leverage.
    I wait a few more minutes, and no one exits, likely knowing that I’m not going anywhere without a ride. Teleportation is far too big of a working for me to do without my sanctum (which is not a storage locker, whatever Spencer says).
    Truly, I’m left with few options. Call Ozzie and wait for him to pick me up while he’s getting his door fixed and maybe trying to smooth things out with his dad. Call Hannah, one of the girls at the diner who’s a werelion, but more importantly has a car, though I don’t have the money to cover gas, and thanks to Spencer never paying her back for some road trip, she doesn’t do pickups on credit anymore. Or, I can turn myself into a dragon and just fly back to the City, considering I’m at a place where I’ll be seen as a single-prop taking off.
    What the hell, I need the practice anyway.
    I return to the draconic form and head toward the nearest runway.

Chapter Five
    Spencer
    December 19, 8:01 am
    I know I worked to get this internship. I know it was competitive, and that it could lead to legal swindling and get me making enough money to have an opinion about the capital gains tax. But honestly? It feels good right now to stand in Victory Square, look up at the tower, double-barrel the fingers and go hail a cab.
    The whole point of being a Coyote is to move people’s stories into dynamism, change, get on the road less traveled and see where it takes you, indulge some wanderlust. Y’know, hippy kind of stuff, but I have no problems with any philosophy that promotes free love. Emphasis on free , since us ’Yotes don’t pay for it.
    So, I figure, why not do a little change for myself? My boss the bro is probably still waiting for his coffee.
    â€œCrain. Where are you going for my coffee, Colombia?”
    Or he’s standing right behind me. Fuck you back, Fate.
    I turn to face him, narrow my eyes. “Screw this. Find someone else to get singles for your three-martini lunches at Spicy.” (Their motto? Spicy, where the customer is king and clothing is optional! )
    For that, I’m shoved backward. “You get your skinny ass back up there or you’re fired.”
    I have to blink. “You really don’t get it, do you?” I also don’t like being shoved, and after the morning I’ve had, I could use a bit of release. I curl my fingers into a fist. “Allow me to punctuate my notice of resignation.”
    If this were TV? “Take This Job and Shove It” would start playing as I take a swing at my boss’s throat.
    Unfortunately for me he catches my wrist and puts me into an armbar rather quickly, pushing me