Jack’s were larger and sharper. He wondered if Glashtin tasted like horse.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re tough. Move on, kid, no one wants to talk to you today.”

Joe’s foot came down on Jack’s before Jack could reply. “His Highness requires a few moments of the Court’s time.”

A narrow-eyed gaze flicked between them. “The Court’s busy, short stuff.”

One of the Court ate a sweet potato fry.

“You want these guys out of here, El?” Two of the young men in the next booth stood and moved to stand behind Jack. Jack wasn’t small, dragon heritage aside, none of the Gales were short, but the Court’s hounds were both taller and broader. A massive hand closed on Jack’s shoulder and tightened to the threat of pain. It wasn’t much of a threat, but they couldn’t know that.

With the scent of the Court hanging heavy over the scent of fries and grilled cheese, his change was instinctive. The Court couldn’t be trusted. The Court treated weakness like opportunity. He heard a scream, smelled burning pork, and held back his strike at the last moment, his claws shredding the air in front of cloth and flesh. As his dragon form dissolved in fire, the humans stampeded out of the diner, a faint scent of urine lingering behind. The teenaged girl peered over the edge of the counter, more intrigued than afraid.

“You’re kidding me.” The Glashtin’s heavy brows drew in to touch over his nose, attitude negated by the white-knuckled grip on the edge of the table and the faint sheen of sweat covering all exposed skin. “You did that in here?”

Jack shrugged to settle his shape and checked to make sure he’d remembered to replace all his clothing. “He shouldn’t have grabbed me.”

“You must be a fucking joy when it’s standing room on the C. Some poor working dick loses his balance and Godzilla takes transit.”

“He shouldn’t have grabbed me,” Jack repeated, hoping this time he sounded more defiant than defensive. He’d half expected the mass exodus to bring Charlie into the diner singing the “Ride of the Valkyries,” but she clearly trusted him to get this done. “Not when you three . . .” A nod toward the only booth still occupied. “. . . smell so much like food.”

“Fortunately, given who those particular humans interact with day to day, they’ve been spelled to ignore what they don’t understand.” Joe sounded calm. He didn’t smell calm, but the Glashtin’s nose was crap, so hopefully Jack was the only one getting the whiff of burning peat that told him Joe was grasping at straws. “By now I’m sure they’ve forgotten why they left so hurriedly and believe they have other things to do.”

If Joe was wrong, the police were on their way, and Allie was going to kill him.

“And the burned hand?”