The Fly House (The UtopYA Collection) by Misty Provencher Page A

come," Diem said with a sly smile.  He knew Plutians didn't understand sarcasm, just like they didn't understand archaic slang.  Phuck proved it once again by returning a humble nod in response to Diem's compliment.
    "Thank you," Phuck said.  "So you will consider moving the hens to another dragon's hoarde?"
    "Nope." Diem shook his head.  The only dragons available were each of the other Rha's dragons, that were used to guard their individual Houses as well as the harvests of dragons that the humans cycled back to the Plutians.  If Phuck was dealing with one of the other Rhas, which was likely, moving the hoarde would mean giving away leverage.  "Why do you want access to the dragons, other than to take them without paying me first?" 
    Phuck fell silent, possibly sucking in his bottom lip.  It was impossible to tell from the face, but it was obvious to Diem that the alien was searching wildly for a suitable lie.
    "If anything were to happen to you, the hens couldn't be recovered."
    "Nothing will happen to me, unless you make it happen," Diem countered, although Span crossed his mind.  He kept his mouth shut.  He certainly didn't need to gift wrap a solid alibi for his death.
    "But if something did happen..."
    "My dragon guards those hens."  Diem's hands curled into fists.  "I train the hens and give them to you in return for extra portions for the Fly House.  That is our deal.  If something happens to me, then Forge will continue to raise the dragons."
    "But the hens are not chained!"
    "Exactly," Diem said.  "If something happens to me, then there are going to be loose dragons flying around and one of the other overseers is bound to notice that.  That's what makes our arrangement perfect, exactly how it is.  It keeps me healthy."
    "The gorne satisfies every need of the human body, to maintain its health," Phuck corrected.  "Hoarding dragons keeps you alive."
    "Semantics," Diem said.  Phuck visibly bit the outer edge of his own lip.  Diem was sure the Plutian just realized he'd told Diem the truth, and that was the last thing he had ever meant to do.

     
    CHAPTER SEVEN
    7 Days Post Second Waking
     
     
    Maeve was totally comfortable not speaking with Steven.  If Steven Burtman was the last man standing on Earth, he was going to stay that way until he keeled over.  She wasn't about to do one damn thing with him that might risk creating mutant offspring that were one-half utterly dazzling, awe-inspiring, superheroes and one-half utter fuckwads.  She learned to listen for him and head in the other direction.
    Maeve had taken over the dusty suite that had her name posted on the door like a rock star's dressing room.  Her parent's suite was at the opposite end of the hall.  She'd swung open the door and looked in on the palatial digs.  It seemed fitting that they would've been in a room so far from hers, that it would've been nicer than all the others.  She closed the door. 
    Her own suite was really just a hotel room, without running water and a toilet that had a slide-mechanism instead of a flush, so waste just dropped into an abyss.  She kept it shut.  The bathroom door had a thick seal around the edge.  It had to be there for a reason.
    There was a bed in the center of the room, a dresser with a mirror, an empty armoire in the corner, a useless TV suspended on the wall, overhead lights and lamps on the bedside tables that were all illuminated by a hand crank, just like the one in Supply. 
    Maeve went about making her suite a home with the things she found while exploring the Archive.  She dragged back books from the library, which wasn't as huge as the brochures claimed; she rolled back a heap of clothing, from the Archive's wardrobe 'pantry', on an office chair.  She hadn't discovered the room with the lock boxes yet, but she was sure she would.  She wanted her old, buckled boots back and her jewelry. She was sure that one glance at her septum ring, with the diamond hanging like a door