“Too late,” came the reply from behind Ysolde.

“You have two sons,” Drake said in a pained tone. “You don’t need any more children.”

“Says the man who has three,” Baltic snapped.

“Two of them are twins! That’s only two births—”

May giggled. Ysolde started lecturing the wyverns to not fight until they reached their destination, which only made the wyverns argue more.

The First Dragon enjoyed the ride at the front of the machine, but he was worried, and he didn’t quite know how to process the emotion. He wanted Charity free from the thief taker, but what then? He couldn’t very well confine her, for that put him in the role of gaoler, and he couldn’t imagine embracing that situation. Nor would Charity appreciate it. No, he had to find a solution that would allow her to live her life as she desired.

He wondered if she missed him. He found himself missing her. He liked the way her eyes lit with humor. He liked the smell and feel of her. And most of all, he liked the way her presence filled the spaces around her.

He liked that she used the name his mother gave him. No one had done that since Maerwyn. No one had cared about his well-being since then, either. No one had sought to enjoy time spent with him once he was alone.

Not until he’d met Charity.

The dragonkin were right. It was time he took another mate.

He just hoped Charity saw it in the same light, and mused on that idea during the ride into town, where the portal stop was located.

“I will talk to the portal operator,” Drake said as soon as the car came to a halt.

“You don’t have to. I will,” Baltic said immediately thereafter.

“I volunteer,” Gabriel said, his voice muffled.

“I’ll go,” both May and Ysolde said at the same time, and to the First Dragon’s surprise, the car more or less exploded with dragonkin. The doors popped open and dragons spilled out all over the pavement, a complicated tangle of arms and legs that was made more awkward by the fact that each dragon attempted to rise at the same time.

The First Dragon stepped over them and entered the portal shop, glancing around with interest at the furnishings. There were a number of cardboard boxes and wooden crates stacked along the walls. The counter was empty, but by the time the wyverns and their mates had pushed into the shop after the First Dragon, a slight, long-haired youth with a wispy goatee emerged from the back room, a half-eaten sandwich in one hand, and a rolled-up newspaper in the other.

“I called earlier,” Drake said, pushing forward at the same time he straightened his shirt, and brushed back a lock of hair that had fallen forward. “About the thief taker Savian Bartholomew.”

“Oh, right,” the man said, nodding. “You’re the dragon who promised big money to stop him. He was here about half an hour ago.”

“You did not let him use the portal?” Drake asked, his brow darkening.

The man froze, then suddenly slammed the newspaper down on the counter. “Damned imps. They’ve gone invisible, which makes it a real bugger to catch them. What was that you said?”

Drake repeated his question with considerably more force.

“Naw, I told him what you said to say—that the portal was out of order, and that he’d have to use another one. It’s not far from the truth—this portal is on its last legs, so to speak, and the shop is closing in the next couple of days. I’m going to Malta. No portals there. I’ll make a fortune.” He slammed the newspaper down again, this time triggering a slight “Eeek-eek” noise, followed by the scampering sound of a small invisible being.

“Excellent,” Drake said, visibly relaxing and turning to the First Dragon. “It will take Bartholomew some two hours to get to Budapest. We can make some calls and have him picked up before he arrives.”

“He’s not going to Budapest,” the portal man said around a mouthful of sandwich. He sucked mustard off his fingers before realizing everyone was staring at him. “New portal shop opened up in Klas. Your friend’s gone there.”

Drake swore profanely. The First Dragon frowned at the portal man. “Where is this place?”

“About fifty kilometers to the west.” The man squinted at a stack of books that perched on the edge of the counter, and slowly lifted his newspaper roll.

“Then we will go there,” the First Dragon said, and quickly snatched out of apparently nothing the small imp that had been scampering unseen across the counter. He gave it a shake, and set it down on the floor. The eeking that followed had a profoundly grateful tone.

“I don’t think we should,” Gabriel said, looking thoughtful. “We wouldn’t get there in time to stop him.”

The others agreed. “He’s going to Paris. Is there any reason we can’t take this portal and beat him there?” Ysolde asked.

The wyverns, to a man, groaned.

“Other than the fact that dragons don’t portal well,” Ysolde amended.

“What is difficult about a portal?” the First Dragon asked, giving a little frown at his children. Did they not see how important this was? Did they not understand that he had to save Charity? That he was obligated by a sense of duty? He had sworn to keep her under his protection, and he could not abandon that oath now.

“Dragonkin ... tend to get a bit ... unsettled by portals,” Drake said slowly.

Gabriel rubbed his face and looked unhappy. “That’s an understatement if I ever heard one.”

“It’s unpleasant as hell,” Baltic agreed.

“Then you do not need to come with me,” the First Dragon said with a bit of acid in his voice. Normally, he did not choose to let the dragonkin sense his unhappiness with them, but this was a desperate situation. He turned to the man who was still noisily chewing his food. “I will take the portal to Paris.”

“OK. That’ll be five hundred euros.”

The First Dragon frowned. He had not dealt in a situation involving currency in many centuries.

Drake moved forward, the martyred look returning to his face while he pulled a wallet from his pocket. “We’ll all take the portal to Paris.”

“Christos,” Baltic muttered, and added a few choice phrases, but stopped when Ysolde told him he could stay behind while the rest of them went off to save Charity.

“Just be aware that Cynthia—that’s what I call the portal—Cynthia has been acting up a bit lately,” the portal man said, leading the way to the portaling room after the payment had been made. “That’s one reason why I’m closing her down. One or two people have reported the loss of minor body parts, but nothing important. Just keep your hands close to your torso.”