Light Dragons 03 - Sparks Fly

imminent slothdom.
    “Just the normal-my life going to hell in a sloth’s handbasket.”
    After that failed attempt at garnering help, my chat with Ludovic while driving into London was confined to unextraordinary subjects, since Baltic’s trust-like that of Bastian-went only so far. It had been an uphill battle to get Baltic to accept the offer of Ludovic’s services, due to Baltic’s steadfast insistence that the day would never dawn when a light dragon would need help from another sept. He gave in only when I pointed out that Pavel and he were the only adult males in the sept.
    The Merchant of Venus wasn’t what I thought of as a sex shop (small, dark, and filled with both unidentifiable stains and sleazy men in trench coats) and instead could have passed for any brightly lit, clean, modern boutique in a trendy part of SoHo.
    “Wow,” I said to no one in particular as I entered the store. Facing me was a freestanding wall with black-and-white arty photographs, and a half-moon table bearing a reproduction of The Lovers statue. I peered closer at the photos, blinking when I realized the couples and groups in them were not all human.
    “Welcome to the Merchant of Venus,” a soft, cultured voice said. “I’m Dido. Can I be of assistance?”
    The woman who stood at the end of the barrier wall looked perfectly ordinary; she had short blond hair and was wearing a pair of black pants, a red shirt, and a black leather waist cincher.
    I realized I was staring and made an embarrassed gesture of apology. “I’m ... sorry. You look so normal.”
    She smiled and inclined her head toward the pictures. “Are you interested in poltergeist erotica? If so, we have a large collection of both books and videos.”
    “That’s ... uh ... what’s in the pictures?” I fought the urge to look closer, feeling it was better if I didn’t know. “Thank you, but I’m here for some ... er ... toys.”
    “Ah.” Dido gestured toward the wall. “Perhaps you will come into the shop proper, and I can help you select something that would be suitable for”-she touched my shoulder, rubbing her fingers together-“someone who has relations with a dragon.”
    I followed her around the wall, blinking slightly at the bright overhead track lighting, the shelves full of colorful packages, a row of mannequins modeling a number of risqué leather outfits, and the number of people strolling up and down the aisles with shopping baskets on their arms.
    “Toys for him, toys for her, toys for the ethereal, or toys for shape-shifters?” Dido asked politely.
    “Ethereal?” I asked, surprised. “You mean like ghosts and such?”
    “Of course,” she said with a little shrug of her thin shoulders. “Spirits have sexual needs, too, you know.”
    “How do they-no, never mind. It’s not important. Why don’t we start with leather wrist cuffs? A couple of them, and if you have the ones with sheep skin on the inside, that would be awesome.”
    “Restraints are in aisle D,” she said, leading me to the correct aisle, and giving me a basket before leaving me with a murmur promising more help if I needed it. I spent a fascinating ten minutes picking out a pair of over-the-door wrist restraints to use on Baltic, adding two more sets of regular cuffs to replace Pavel’s, which had been destroyed with the house, and after a few moments’ thought, tossed one of the under-the-bed restraint systems into the basket for Pavel, as well. “I have no idea if he had one, but he’ll probably like it,” I murmured to myself. The next forty-five minutes were eye-opening, if not fascinating, as I strolled up and down the aisles, my brain boggling at all the items available. I had stopped to consider something called a vibrating nipple teaser, wondering if Baltic would enjoy it, when I heard a familiar-sounding voice asking where the spectral whips were kept.
    I put the nipple teaser back and moved cautiously to the end of the aisle, but I didn’t see anyone in this section of the store but a sales clerk.
    “Ethereal items can be found in the blue room,” the clerk said, gesturing to a blue door at the back of the store. “A demonstration model is available. Do you need assistance with it?”
    “Do I look like the sort who doesn’t know how to use a spectral whip?” a voice asked out of nowhere.
    “You are incorporeal, sir, so I can’t say what you look like at all,” the clerk pointed out.
    “Faugh. I’m just saving my energy. Tell Marsella