Page 44 of Dark Chains: First Link
Drova put her hands on her hips. "Who decided that?"
"I did. This is my salon, and those are my rules."
"I can leave." Drova leaned down to collect her discarded bags.
"Just let them do the nails," Arezoo pleaded. "You don't have to do the hair or makeup if you don't want to, but Angelica is right about your nails looking bad."
Drova looked down her nose at Frankie. "You really think you can do anything to my nails with these tools? Kra-ell nails are weapons, much harder than human or immortal. They're closer to talons. Your tools will break before my nails do."
A ripple of interest moved through the room. Donya, whose midnight blue nails were drying under a fan, leaned forward. "How much harder? Can you scratch glass?"
"I've never tried to scratch glass with them, but I can probably break it."
Angelica set down the brush and walked over to her supply cabinet. She rummaged for a moment and emerged holding a compact electric device that looked like a combination drill and sander. "This is my heavy-duty buffer. Diamond-coated head, variable speed, designed for acrylic and gel removal. This can handle even Kra-ell nails."
Drova looked at the buffer with skepticism. "The motor will burn out."
"It won't."
"Want to bet?"
Angelica's eyes lit up. "What are the stakes?"
"If your machine survives my nails, I'll let you do my hair."
"And if it doesn't?"
"You owe me a bottle of vodka."
"Deal."
The room erupted in excited chatter.
"I bet the tool will best the nails,” Rana said.
"I'm betting on the nails," Yasmin countered.
Aunt Yasmin always backed the underdog, even when the underdog was a six-foot Kra-ell warrior with talons.
Parisa shrugged and said that she wasn't a betting woman, and Soraya just looked amused.
Donya and Laleh were placing their bets, and Azadeh was taking notes.
"Five dollars on Drova's nails," Donya said.
"Five dollars on the machine," Laleh countered.
"I'll hold the money." Azadeh extended both hands.
Drova straddled the chair at Frankie's station and placed her hands flat on the table, fingers spread. Frankie leaned in to examine the nails, and her eyebrows rose.
"These are thick," Frankie said. "Really thick. They look like regular nails, but the texture is different."
"That's what I said." Drova flexed her fingers. "They're designed for combat, not to be pretty."
Frankie switched on the buffer. It hummed to life with a high-pitched whine, and as she touched it to Drova's thumbnail, the pitch changed, and everyone went quiet. The motor strained,recovered, and then settled into a labored rhythm that was distinctly different from its usual smooth operation.
"It's working," Frankie said.
