Wings of Exile

by JD Monroe

  He tilted his head. “What’s that?”

  “Huh?”

  He darted toward her. Natalie instinctively backed away as he reached for her. His fingers grazed her arm. His touch was hot, like she’d bumped her arm against her curling iron. “The book.”

  As he said the word, she realized she was still clutching Thea’s journal under her arm. “This is her journal.”

  “Let me see it.”

  “It’s personal.” Never mind that she’d been thumbing through it only minutes earlier.

  “Do you want me to find Thea or not?”

  “I want to call the police,” Natalie replied. He scowled. “What the hell is going on?”

  He lunged and grabbed the book before she could react. The metallic magnet clip reflected a tiny bright spot onto his cheek as he skimmed the page Natalie had been reading earlier. “Interesting.”

  “You can read it?”

  “Yes,” he said. “I need to take this with me.”

  “But—"

  “Can you read this?” he asked. She shook her head. “Then you don’t need it.”

  He looked around the room again, then took a deep breath. His brow furrowed, and the pinched expression on his face reminded her of someone who’d caught a whiff of something rotten and was trying to find the source. Her heart thumped as she watched him. Nothing about Erevan alleviated the feeling that her world had turned upside down. He only seemed to confirm that something was amiss.

  Then he shook himself from a daze. “I’ll be in touch,” he said, stacking the two notebooks together. “If you hear anything from her, call me immediately.”

  He brushed past her. She chased him down the hallway. “That’s it?”

  “That’s it,” he said.

  Perry was sitting on the couch checking his phone. Some protection he’d been. He looked up as Natalie walked in, hot on Erevan’s trail.

  “Aren’t you going to answer my questions? What language is that? Why did Thea tell me to call you? What does that book say?”

  He just raised his eyebrows, his mouth a grim line.

  “Seriously?” He didn’t flinch. The long lashes framing his dark eyes—which she might have appreciated if she wasn’t so irritated—didn’t flutter. “You have to tell me something.”

  “I am not obligated to you in any way.”

  “Well, you were a lot of help,” she said. “I guess I’ll call the real police like I should have done to begin with.”

  Erevan’s eyes narrowed as he took a step toward her. There was a palpable sense of menace around him, a physical heat that radiated off him. She had to look straight up to see his face. “You will not.” He touched her shoulder. “Do not call the police.”

  “Hey!” Perry exclaimed. “Don’t touch her.” He lunged off the couch, folding his arms over his chest as he glared.

  The churning feeling from before rolled through her gut like stormy waters rocking a tiny boat. “Don’t touch me,” she said, jerking away from his warm, familiar touch.

  As his hand fell to his side, the corner of his mouth pulled up into a grimace. “I’m serious. You’ll only make things worse,” he said. “If you care about Thea’s safety, then don’t involve anyone else.” He pointed to Perry. “Please don’t call. Let me do my job.”

  Perry’s aggressive stance relaxed, his big fists falling to his sides. His face was solemn as he nodded. “Okay. We won’t.”

  And without another word, he let himself out and shut the front door behind him. He didn’t even look back on his way down the driveway. He climbed into a modest black car and drove off.

  “I think he’ll handle it,” Perry said calmly.

  She turned to gape at him. “Seriously? Thirty minutes ago, you were telling me to keep the gun close so I could shoot him.”

  “I feel like you can trust him,” he said.

  Had he been snorting protein powder? What the hell was wrong with him? “Well, I don’t. And I’m taking your earlier advice. I’m calling the police.”

  “I never pegged you for the purple type.”

  Ruana’s voice jolted Erevan from his intense focus on Thea’s journal. He glanced up to see Ruana peering over his shoulder at his notepad. “Doesn’t it suit my eyes?”

  “Everything suits your eyes, pretty boy. What is it?”

  “I got a call from one of our Wanderers earlier. Well, her roommate, I suppose.” The roommate had been a strange one. He’d liked her for about fifteen seconds, in that brief stretch where he could appreciate her figure and warm brown eyes. Then she’d opened her mouth and tried to obstruct him at every turn. Stubborn didn’t even begin to describe it. Verendh all azheri, his mother would have said. As unyielding as the stone of the mountain. “This is her journal. Looking for clues.”

  “Finding anything?”

  “Not yet.” The whole encounter would have been easier if she’d responded to his attempt at compulsion. With a pretty smile and a soothing voice, Ruana was much better at compelling humans, but Erevan could handle it if he had to. He’d had a few occasions where the first push didn’t take, but never twice. “Ru, have you ever had a human resist you completely?”

  “Don’t tell me you were trying to bed the roommate,” Ruana said.

  He rolled his eyes. “Don’t be crass. I tried to compel her to stay out of my way, and to give me the book.”

  She gestured toward his desk. “But you got the book. What’s the problem?”

  “She wouldn’t hand it over, so I snatched it from her,” he said. “It was like nothing happened when I compelled her.” He pounded his fist into his open palm. “Hit a wall.”

  “All dragons have trouble with it from time to time.” She smirked at him.

  “I’m serious, Ru.”

  He’d persuaded Natalie’s meathead friend not to call the cops, so his ability was working. The whole house smelled like dragon, but he was certain that was from Thea, not Natalie. He’d have noticed if she was a dragon.

  “And she was human?”

  “I thought so.” It was possible that she was Edra or maybe a hybrid, but why wouldn’t she have said something?

  His partner smiled. “It’s not a big deal. If she really didn’t want to do it, then she can resist you,” Ruana said. “Maybe she just feels very strongly about the notebook. Or maybe she’s a hybrid.”

  “Maybe.” A thread of unease stitched through his gut. If Natalie was a hybrid, she was playing games with him. He bent back the journal to make it lie flat. Ruana’s gaze shifted over his shoulder to the clock on the wall behind him. “It’s late. You don’t have to stick around with me.”

  “I’ll wait with you,” she said. “Kahl is coming to meet me here anyway.”

  “Oh.” He hoped his surprise didn’t register on his face. “What’s that, four dates now? A new record for you.”

  “Actually, it’s seven, you fool of a dragon,” she said primly. “Let’s work on this until he arrives.”

  Erevan scanned her. Despite her feigned irritation with him, Ruana’s lips were pulled into a barely concealed smile at the mention of her new paramour. He had no right to be jealous. After all, he’d been the one to tell her it was physical, nothing more, and they’d be wise to keep it that way. When he sensed the first delicate tendrils of connection trying to take root in him, he’d cut it off. Scorched the earth and left it barren.

  But there was no denying the sharp pang in his gut at the thought of another man with her. Making her laugh, touching her skin, being on the receiving end of that full, toothy smile. Fool of a dragon indeed.

  “I pulled her file.” Erevan pushed the folder across the desk toward Ruana.

  Thea was short for Alythea Tidesinger, a Kadirai Wanderer who had been living here in the human realm for eight years. She was a dragon of the Ashflight, though not of a notable family. Each of the nations of dragons back in Ascavar called themselves a flight, sort of a large collective clan with sovereignty. Most of the Wanderers living here had come from the St
ormflight and the Ashflight. While there were several larger flights, they didn’t officially allow Wandering. The rare arrival from those flights were better classified as runaways and fugitives.

  At the end of seven years, Wanderers were required to choose their permanent home. If they returned to Ascavar, they would be allowed to resume life as if they hadn’t left, with no stigma or loss of station. If they stayed in the human realm, they renounced their right to go home.

  Most Wanderers returned home before their seven years expired, finding that the grass was no greener on this side of the interdimensional portal. But in the three decades Erevan had served the Skywatch, it seemed that more dragons each year chose to stay here. He didn’t keep up with the tumultuous politics of Ascavar, but he’d heard enough to know that the tenuous peace among their warlike people was nearing an end.

  Once Thea chose to stay and sent official word back to her family, she was no longer a Wanderer. She was part of the Exiles, the dragonflight that resided in the human world.

  After a massive, bloody war rocked Ascavar over a hundred years ago, many of his people had chosen to leave and break the cycle of war. Unlike the Wanderers, they had no intention of returning. Traveling through one of the gates into the untouched wilderness of the human world, they named their new lands Zaridahl, “land of the exiles.” Thanks to the persuasive gifts of their people, the early Exiles had secured a large piece of land in what would become the Nantahala National Forest. They’d eventually built a sprawling palace called Skyward Rest in the dense forest, concealed from prying eyes by powerful magic. The community had grown as more self-proclaimed Exiles arrived and raised children here. There were smaller communities all over the world, but Skyward Rest was the official seat of power, and Asheville claimed the largest community of dragons outside of Ascavar.

  The pedantic among his people bickered about the differences between those who were born here and those who’d chosen to come. They would draw yet another line between those who had chosen to stay after Wandering but went their own way instead of assimilating into the fold of Skyward Rest. It was an unnecessary headache. A dragon was a dragon. They were all kin, and there were laws they all obeyed. It was that simple.

  “Do you think she’s actually missing? Or did she just not tell the human where she went?” Ruana asked.

  He shook his head. “I’m not sure. She owns a house, runs a business…doesn’t seem like she would disappear without a word.”

  “It is festival season. She might be sleeping it off somewhere. With someone.” She raised an eyebrow. “You know what I mean.”

  In Ascavar, his people celebrated an annual Festival of the Sun to worship their goddess, the Skymother. It was a joyful celebration of life with music, endless wine, and plenty of opportunities for sex for those who were looking. It was still celebrated on a much smaller scale here in the human realm. “Maybe. I want to check something out tonight. Will you do me a favor before you leave?”

  “Sure.”

  “Ask Elfeli to send me any other missing reports from the last six months or so.”

  “And am I looking for something specific?”

  “Just the reports.” He held up the purple notebook. “I’ll take it from there.”

  Thumbing through Thea’s journal had given him a lot of information, though there was no obvious clue to her whereabouts. It wasn’t as if she was going to write disappear thoroughly in her daily agenda. She was organized and driven, judging by the hours she put in working at the gym. Her social calendar was also busy. One name appeared on her calendar nearly every Wednesday for the last six months.

  At 7:00 on each Wednesday, she had neatly written Alteri in Kadirai runes. It meant “Island,” the name of a social group of Kadirai expatriates in town that practiced traditional music and dance from their homeland. He’d referred several Wanderers their way for friendship and a taste of home. Deviating from her usual routine, Thea had written the Island on the last three days of her schedule. He wasn’t sure it meant anything, but it was the first hint he could act on.

  While he had a perfectly good car, Erevan instead called for a ride to the small meeting space, allowing him to continue looking through the notebook while he rode along. Thankfully, his driver kept the music up and the conversation non-existent.

  The Island met in a small retail space in a strip mall. A plain sign outside read Oracle Consulting. Despite the hour, there was a light on inside, and he could see the silhouette of a man sitting at a reception desk. The location looked like a small low-rent office, not the meeting place of dragons isolated from their home world.

  Even at night, the summer heat still broiled him. Summers here made him wish he’d been born with an affinity for ice instead of fire. Erevan tucked the notebook under his arm and walked into the building. A cool breeze rushed out as he crossed the threshold. The man at the desk looked up and smiled. “Can I help you?” he asked in flawless English.

  He replied in Kadirai. “I’m with the Skywatch. I’m looking for someone.”

  The man’s welcoming smile smoothed into a neutral, stony mask. He responded in Kadirai. “I can try to help. I’m the only one here at the moment. No meetings or rehearsals tonight.”

  “That’s fine. You mind if I look around?”

  The man hesitated, teeth grazing his lower lip as he wrestled with the decision. Finally, he nodded. “Sure.”

  Compliance was a wise choice. The Skywatch didn’t have the same rules as human police. Technically Erevan served the Queen and King of Zaridahl. Regardless of how other dragons identified themselves and chose to distance themselves from Skyward Rest, they were still subject to the rule of the throne. Dragons did not believe in warrants or probable cause. Erevan chose to ask permission out of politeness, but he did not have to wait for it to be granted.

  “What’s your name?” Erevan asked as he walked past the reception desk and down a narrow hallway. From the front windows it would appear to be a normal office space, with non-descript white walls and dark gray carpet. The first door on his left stood ajar. It was a small office that appeared mundane, with a desk, a computer, and half a dozen framed pictures. The only giveaway about the occupant’s true nature was a large mural with silver-painted Kadirai runes on the far wall.

  “Zenyr,” the man replied.

  Past that door was another small room, this one floored with dark hardwood. It was more in line with what he expected from a Kadirai gathering place. A small stone altar was set up against one wall, its surface cluttered with the familiar blue ritual candles of the Skymother. Tiny rolled slips of colorful paper were scattered across its surface, each inscribed with a secret wish held in the heart of its scribe.

  “Zenyr, do you know Thea Leska?”

  He smiled in recognition. “Yes, she’s very active with the group. Beautiful dancer.”

  “Have you seen her?”

  “I saw her last night.”

  Erevan poked his head into the next room. The large room was strewn with huge floor cushions covered in jewel-toned silk. He recognized the smell of Kadirai tea, bitter and pungent, and the lingering hint of smoke from a candle that had been blown out. Large plastic bins of colorful fabric and glittering jewelry sat in the middle of the room. “What’s this?”

  “Festival. The group performed the last two nights,” Zenyr said with a shrug. “That’s where I saw Thea. We had a Bedrock dragon loan us this incredible farm. Tons of open space. People even came up from out of state to join us.” His face split open with a grin of pride.

  A Bedrock dragon was one who had come from Ascavar in the first wave of Exiles, forming the foundation of the young flight. Many had become wealthy by using their psychic compulsion to get ahead in the business world. They were a source of history and knowledge, but they could also be sanctimonious and rigid. Erevan’s maternal grandparents had been part of the group, but his living family had all been born here.

  He left the room and surveyed the hall. There was another dark o
ffice and a supply closet, neither of which interested him. He turned to walk back to the front with Zenyr in tow. “So, you saw Thea at the celebration?”

  Zenyr nodded. “Yes, she was there to dance the isin-dakari.”

  “And did you see her leave?”

  “I…uh…” His cheeks reddened. “I had a lot to drink. Someone had to drive me home.”

  “Have you heard from her since?”

  Zenyr shook his head. As if he’d only just figured out why Erevan was asking questions, his expression slipped. “Did something happen to her?”

  “I don’t know,” Erevan replied. “She didn’t go home, and her friends can’t get in touch.”

  “Oh.” He frowned. “Can I help?”

  “Yeah, two things.” Erevan leaned on the reception desk and pointed to the computer. “I need a list of your active members.”

  “Uh…sir, that’s sort of a private matter, and—"

  “I’m not requesting,” Erevan interrupted. “I need that list. You have a database or something?”

  Zenyr’s lips pressed into a tight expression as he began typing. “I would appreciate if you would respect our privacy more.”

  “No one’s disrespecting your privacy,” Erevan said. “I’m trying to find one of your friends.”

  Zenyr huffed. “Do you have an email? I’ll send it to you if you insist.”

  Erevan smiled and rattled it off for him. “I also need you to contact your other members and find out if they’ve heard from her. Will there be a celebration again tonight?” Traditionally, festival was celebrated for a week, but some of the celebrations were shorter to keep the expense down.

  Zenyr shook his head. “Sort of. Last night was the final big gathering. The hosts are having a small feast for their guests. It’s not open to the community.”

  “How about a location?”

  The other man rifled through a stack of papers on the desk and produced a photocopied flyer on white paper. A map with arrows and stars took up half the page, with an address below it. “This is what we gave everyone.”

  “Thanks,” Erevan said, tucking it into the front cover of the purple notebook. He scrawled his phone number on a scrap of paper and slid it across the desk to Zenyr. “Call me if you hear anything.”