“I hate your life,” Ross informed the sea dragon prince.
“Console yourself with the thought of how much your profits go up every time I’m here,” Joe replied. “Honestly, I should start charging you a commission.”
“Does this happen a lot?” Rory asked Wystan.
The unicorn shifter let out a long-suffering sigh. “You have no idea.”
Joe looked thoughtfully at the women at the bar, then contemplated the drinks in front of him. “Hmmm. Decisions, decisions…”
With a flourish, he picked up the shot glass. The red-head clutched her friend’s arm so hard, they both nearly fell off their bar stools. Joe saluted her with the glass…and then dropped the whole thing into the beer.
Ross drew in a sharp breath, muscles bunching in outrage. Joe was already lifting the concoction. Never breaking eye-contact with the women, he drained it in long, smooth swallows.
Rory glanced back at the women. They…did not appear to regard the sea dragon’s wordless suggestion at all disfavorably.
He shook his head, caught somewhere between amusement and aggravation. “How do you do that?”
“With panache.” Joe set the empty glass back down on the table. “Thanks for the offer, Rory, but I believe I have just received a better one.”
“You.” Ross barely seemed able to get words out through his clenched teeth. “Shot bombed. My beer.”
“In the pursuit of love, no sacrifice is too great,” Joe declaimed. He patted Ross’s rigid arm, which proved that he was either extraordinarily brave or remarkably stupid. “Now if you’ll excuse me, duty calls.”
A shadow fell over the table. They all looked up into the impassive face of John Doe.
Joe sank back into his seat, grimacing. “Or, apparently, duty wants me to stay exactly where I am.”
“Forgive the intrusion, but I could not help overhearing.” John’s indigo gaze switched from Joe to Rory. “You offer my son a place of honor at your side?”
“Well, he’d have to get through a few months of fire academy first, sir, but he should be able to pass that with ease,” Rory said. He flung Joe a meaningful look. “If he actually tries.”
“I try things,” Joe protested. “I am famed for trying things.”
“I think the word you’re looking for is ‘infamous’,” Wystan murmured.
“You do indeed try things.” John folded his massive arms, light flashing from his bracers. “There was your time with the Seers. Then you decided you had a passion for Smithing, which, if I recall, lasted approximately six months. After that it was the Poets, the Dancers, the Pearl-workers, and a succession of foreign exchange visits with half a dozen different sea-shifter nations.”
“Those were educational.” Joe let out a wistful sigh, gazing at some fond memory. “In the case of the selkies, extremely educational.”
John’s fingers tapped against his armored forearm, snapping his son out of his reverie. “You have dabbled in practically every art under the sea, and none have kept your attention for more than a year. The Pearl Emperor-“
“-Must be devoted to his people,” Joe finished with him, in the weary tones of someone who had heard this lecture a thousand times already. “Strong-willed but subtle, serving with unswerving dedication. But I’m not going to be the Pearl Emperor for a very long time. At least, I sincerely hope I’m not.”
“As do we all,” John said, a touch dryly. “But you are the Emperor-in-Waiting. Enough flitting. It is time to prove yourself.”
Joe stared at his father, his walnut skin going a little gray. “Are you actually serious about this? You want me to be a firefighter?”
“If you prefer, you may join the novices entering their first year of knightly training.” John’s blue eyes glinted. “With your little sister.”
Smirking, Rory clapped Joe on the shoulder. “Welcome to the squad.”
Rory’s next target was simultaneously the easiest to find, and the hardest.
Spotting a telltale shock of copper-red hair through the crowd was the easy part. Rory narrowed his eyes, staring at the back of the man’s head. He had a one in three chance of getting this right…
As if sensing his scrutiny, the man turned. His mouth curved in an easy, brilliant smile.
Well, that improved the odds to fifty-fifty. “Connor?” Rory guessed.