Arriving in a strange city where it seemed everyone spoke another language might have daunted anyone else.

Not Deka. Whatever the doorman yelled at her was probably something like, Hey, sexy, let me get your ride.

No need. She found one. The cab pulled up in front of the portico. How fortuitous she made it into the car first.

The lady wearing too much makeup—to the point it caked in her wrinkles— shook her fist. As if it were Deka’s fault the human was too slow with her walker to jump in.

The driver, a beefy fellow in a turban and a luxurious beard, turned to look at her. He jabbered something. She assumed it was along the lines, of, Hey, pretty lady, where might I take you on this lovely day?

Who needed to learn a second language when she could just decipher expressions and intent?

“Take me to a museum. The big one with lots of old stuff.” Because, according to the manifest she’d borrowed—without permission because a Silvergrace shouldn’t have to ask—a museum was the final destination of the crate she tracked.

The man yelled and gestured some more while the doorman ensured her door was firmly shut and locked by tugging on it. Their combined niceness made her dig into her purse and toss some money over the seat.

“Museum. Pronto.” Which was French for fast. Or was that Italian?

Her driver obviously thought highly of her tip because he threw the car into gear and sped off like a bat out of hell. He didn’t believe in speed limits, gestured at drivers who dared get in the way, and sometimes had to brake on a dime, causing some whiplash. Her kind of driver.

At the speed he was going, she’d make it to her destination in record time because for once, Deka was being responsible and following a clue. As for Babette, Deka had left her snoring in bed, the mimosa she’d fed her cousin knocking her out. Her cousin never could handle champagne and roofies together.

But Deka didn’t mind going off on her own. She preferred it, as a matter of fact, because she didn’t want anyone else homing in on her man when she found him.

The cab whipped to a stop, and the man pointed to the meter. She showered him with more bills and was rewarded with a beaming smile.

Exiting the cab, even her spoiled ass was impressed by the size of the buildings she faced. Bigger than Auntie Zahra’s mansion—which she ensured she noted in her Snapchat story as Deka posed with it in the background—it sported statues of people instead of gargoyles on the roof.

She wondered what the gargoyle guild had to say about that.

The giant glass pyramid in front of the museum proved interesting from an architectural point of view. It also would have looked better with a gargoyle perched at the very top.

Perhaps she’d leave that suggestion in their box.

The ticket to get inside—the nerve charging her an admission—took some more of her cash.

The vastness of the place impressed, although the number of old things on display did make her wrinkle her nose. Would it kill them to modernize some of the older stuff?

Ugly paintings abounded, as did statues missing body parts. The male statues, for the most part, could have used a hand job to make them a little more presentable. Who thought it was a good idea to carve them after having obviously taken a cold shower?

Deka wandered through room after room, posing with the Mona Lisa—ass in the air, twerking to a live Facebook post—cupping a statue with sizeable balls, and even did cartwheels through one long hall.

But she didn’t find a dragon.

Not a single one. Not even a smell hinting at one.

Which was why she finally let the guards catch up to her.

They grabbed her by the arms, but when a dragoness didn’t want to move, nobody, especially not two puny humans, could budge her. Which was why, a moment later, a slender man in a suit sporting a porn-stache appeared, looking most anxious to speak with her.

“Mizz, you haz to go,” he said with an adorable lisp.

“Not until you take me to my dragon.”

The man blinked at her, obviously in awe of her perfect pronunciation.

“Zer iz no dragonz here,” he said, again doing strange things to the English language.

“Zou lie!” she declared, getting into the game.

“Leave, or I will call ze police.”

“Will they use handcuffs?” she asked. “I love a little bondage. But my future mate might not appreciate me dallying before our wedding. So, instead of trying to tempt me, why not tell me where he is?”

“Where who iz?” asked the short man.

“Samael. My future husband. About yay big.” She extended her arms. “Kind of scaly. Looks like a dragon on account he is a dragon.”

Again, he blinked at her. She wondered if perhaps his hearing aid needed new batteries.

She spoke more slowly and made sure he could see her lips. “I know you know about him. Everyone in the world knows about Samael and his brother Remiel. They were on television.”

“Zer iz no dragonz here.”

The rebuttal brought a sigh. “Now listen, I know that a crate containing my fiancé was delivered to your museum. Just tell me where it went, and I’ll leave. Don’t tell me and…” She leaned forward and drew forth enough of her inner beast to make her eyes glow green. “And you will get to meet your first dragon. Did I mention I have a really long tail?” She glanced around the gallery full of fragile vases and glass cases.

His eyes widened, showing proper appreciation. “I know not of zis package, but if madame will come wiz me, we shall check. And zen you will leave, oui?”

“I only want my stud muffin. So, lead the way, little man.” She wrenched her arms free and followed The Suit as he practically jogged in his haste to please her.

Such nice people these French.

Alas, he couldn’t do much to help her. He did locate the shipping receipt for the crate; however, a search for the box proved futile.

“It zeemz to be mizzing.” Frenchie appeared quite perturbed.

She patted his arm. “Don’t take it too hard. I’m sure you’ll find a nice job after they fire you.” Just not with any Silvergrace companies. Really, how hard was it to track a mysterious box—which wasn’t supposed to exist—that had disappeared?

With the museum leading to a dead end, Deka had to reevaluate. Thinking was hard work that required a box full of croissants, a baguette, and a bottle of red wine. She dumped them on Babette, who woke with a snort and a line of drool hanging from the corner of her mouth.

“Whazzup?” she asked blearily.

“Holy shit, Babette. One night here and you’re speaking like a native.”

A shove propelled Babette to a sitting position, and the bottle of wine rolled precariously close to the edge of the bed. Good thing it was empty. Deka had found herself thirsty after those two hours of hard searching.

Scrubbing her face, Babette managed to focus her gaze. “Where have you been?”

“Chasing down my fiancé.”

“You’re engaged? I take it you found him, then?”

“Not exactly. But it’s only a matter of time, and when I do, I’m sure he won’t want a long engagement.”

Babette blinked, much like Louis—the little man in the suit—had, and Deka had to wonder if there was something in the air that made people incapable of comprehending simple logic.

“Did you find any clues as to his whereabouts?” Babette asked finally.

“Nope. But I did bring you breakfast.”

Babette leaned over and opened the box of croissants. Six flavors inside. “Why is there a bite gone from each one?”

“I was testing them, of course.” Deka rolled her eyes. “You’ll be glad to know they’re delicious.”

“So, what’s next?” Babette asked, stuffing her face with flaky goodness.

“I don’t know. Louie said he’d call me if he got any news on the box.”

“Louie being?”

“My new friend at the museum. You should hear his nickname for me. Ze crazy bitch. The accent is adorable. I might get him to record it for me as the ringtone for the family.”

“Where are we searching next?”

“Next, we are going to pay a visit to our long-lost family.”

“They aren’t exactly lost, given we have an address.”

“Whatever. Dress to impress as Auntie would say, because I hear the French side of the Silver Sept is snooty.”

The French cousins were also less than impressed with the American cousins who showed up on their doorstep wearing designer jeans, ripped up both legs to the crotch; corsets that displayed their natural bosoms; and high-top sneakers.

Utterly jealous of our style. Deka held her head high. Aunt J held hers higher.

Aunt Josephine also looked down her aquiline nose at Deka when she said, “Have you seen a box with my fiancé inside?”

That got her a sniff, which translated to a snooty no.

“What about some psycho being with glowing red eyes from another dimension—”

“We don’t know if it’s from another dimension,” Babette interrupted in a whisper.

“It body-snatched Anastasia. Of course, it came from elsewhere,” Deka said with a roll of her eyes.

“Aunt Zahra said we shouldn’t talk about it.”

“Holy shit, you’re right. For all we know, Aunt J here is a body snatcher, too.” A razor-sharp stare failed to crack her stoic demeanor. “I’m gonna have to check you over.”

Aunt J didn’t appreciate Deka’s determination to discover whether she was real or not—good news, the face didn’t peel off like a mask. Bad news? Much like other Sept parties, Deka and Babette were tossed on the street, whereupon, Deka shouted, “If you see a box with a dragon inside, or see my fiancé period, give me a ring. I’m at the hotel.” And then, just in case Aunt J didn’t know the address, she recited it loudly. Twice.

Slam. The door held up splendidly.

“And that’s that,” Deka said with a satisfied grin. “We have now done our familial duty. Not our fault we didn’t get along.”

“Leaving us free to do whatever we like.” Babette giggled. “You are devious, heifer. So devious.”

“I know.” It was a gift.

No one accosted them on the way back to the hotel, even though they went through some pretty dark alleys.

Paris wasn’t as fun as expected and not for lack of trying.

Deka spent the next few days visiting more museums, popping by to see Louis, who aimed a crossbow at her—the man did love to play, although if he were going to shoot arrows, he really should learn to catch them when she tossed them back.

Everywhere Deka went, she asked loudly about her missing dragon and ensured she gave everyone she met her contact info.

If it weren’t for the fact that Deka couldn’t find Samael, she would have called her vacation in Paris a success. She got banned from the Eiffel Tower for taking a selfie on it—topless. Kicked out of all kinds of restaurants because, apparently, patrons did not want to share their meal with her so she could make up her mind. Even the hotel sent her an ultimatum to stop calling the kitchen to ask if they had King Albert in the can.

With every lead and corner she peeked in coming up empty, she almost began to wonder if she’d fail. A first, and not an achievement she wanted to start a collection of.

Given her shenanigans weren’t exactly discreet, Auntie Zahra heard of her exploits and, jealous because she couldn’t join Deka on her vacation, ordered her home.

I can’t go home. Not until I find him.

Time was running out, and there were still so many bars she’d yet to get thrown out of.

But, finally, all her work bore fruit.

As she staggered out of a tavern, which served the most delicious sidecars, into the alley where someone had smashed all the lights, she noticed a distinct lack of smell.

Which usually would be a good thing in a garbage-stinking alley, except she was looking right at a rabble of men and women. Tough-looking wyverns wearing leather and chains.

“You the woman looking for Samael?” asked the big bald dude at the head of them.

Excitement bubbled inside. “Indeed, I am.”

“You need to come with us.”

“I’d be delighted,” she exclaimed, her smile wide and welcoming. “I was wondering what a gal had to do to get abducted around here.” She held out her hands. “Take me to your leader.”

Hold on, stuff muffin. I’m on my way.