She pulled away, whispering, “Let’s go, then. I’m ready to be pierced. Gently.”
Someone knocked on a door. She looked around, but no one was there. The knocking persisted.
Coyle shot up and grabbed her chest, panting, her eyes wide with terror. The pillows and comforter were scattered on the bed and floor, and sun poured in from the windows. Her hair was a tangled mess.
Where am I?
Another knock on the door.
“Yes?” she asked.
“Miss Coyle?” a girl asked from the other side of the door. “You’re needed immediately. Please get dressed as soon as you can.”
“Yes, of course. What time is it, please?” She rubbed her face.
“It’s two in the afternoon, miss,” the girl answered.
Two in the afternoon. She’d been asleep for over twelve hours. And now they wanted her immediately.
What have I gotten into?
Chapter 6
WIRE projection facility
Potrero Point
San Francisco
Thou hast begun a new work in me and canst alone continue and complete it.
Amen.
Coyle was handed a small bag marked with her name and ushered outside to a large carriage. It was painted glossy black with gold accents. Six large, knobby tires were affixed to the sides, and a curious steam engine quietly chugged at the rear.
“Everyone is waiting inside, miss,” the butler said, motioning to the carriage’s double doors. There were no horses to draw the transit, but she skipped the questions and stepped inside.
She joined six gentlemen on a plush leather bench. The interior was spacious and luxurious, with room for at least five more. An older gentleman tapped a metal-tipped cane on the cabin wall. A shrill whistle and hiss of steam announced their departure. She noticed the Templar ring on his finger.
“I do apologize for the abrupt start, Miss Coyle,” he said, adjusting small-framed glasses over inquisitive brown eyes. Thick, steel-gray hair surrounded his pink face. “We were caught between letting you sleep most of the day or waking you up earlier to get started. I voted the former, and since this is my operation, my vote counts.” His smile was cheerful. “But we do have an investigation to consider, and we must get moving. The bag is a picnic lunch to eat at your leisure.”
“Thank you so much,” Coyle said, stuffing the bag next to her. She wasn’t going to eat in front of strangers. “And I apologize for sleeping so soundly.”
“Not to worry, Miss Coyle,” he responded. “I believe you are the strongest of our group and thus the most important. I wanted to make sure you were well rested.”
Heat bloomed into her cheeks, and she gave a polite smile. She darted a glance at the other passengers, instinctively focusing on their body language, tone of voice, and eye contact for hints about their personas.
And whether I can trust them.
“Ah, where are my manners?” he said. “Let me introduce who we are. My name is Adrian Treece, and I am your humble host.”
“Treece? You own Dawn Industries,” she said. “The technology company.”
“I also lead the North American division of a worldwide secret organization,” he added. “Templars of the Unseen Path. We keep the denizens of Hell at bay so innocent people can sleep at night. Now, I’m confident in telling you all this because of your marvelous work a few weeks ago. Very impressive, I must add. We are in a bit of a bind. Our other detective has disappeared, leaving an opening for a formidable replacement. We only take in the best, and your remarkable work during the test scenarios was brought to our attention.”
“What if I don’t want to join these ... Templars?”
“Well, if you do, I’m sure we can help you achieve your personal goals.”
She glanced out the windows before answering. “This is another test, isn’t it? To see if I’m good enough for your group.”
“Sharp as a razor, she is!” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “Let me introduce you to your teammates.” He extended his hand. “This is Professor Peter Quolo, emancipated slave and expert in ancient languages. Earned two master’s degrees at Yale. He’s head of Research and Development.”
She smiled and studied him. Quolo had an honest smile and kind eyes that held stories that would put all of theirs to shame. His handsome, boyish face hid great wisdom and intelligence.
“I believe you’ve met detectives Louis Vonteg and Kade Duone,” he said.
She nodded at them. Their boots, their accent and the scruff on their rugged, tanned faces spoke of experience chasing outlaws through deserts.
“My name is Rafael Boltuego,” a thick-necked, barrel-chested man said out of turn. “Call me Bolt. My specialties are engineering and head cracking.” There was a dangerous gleam in his eye, something dark and malicious. He flexed his hands and flashed his smile.
She ignored his wink and nodded at Treece.
A slender, handsome man spoke. “Chance Poes, investigating attorney. Pleasure.” He refused to look away until she did. His face was unreadable. Plain, yet polite and professional. But nothing further. The mark of a good attorney.
“My name is Sherlyn Coyle,” she said with a polite smile. “I am—I was—a constable with the San Francisco Police.”
“And we’re on a tight schedule to visit one of our gnome facilities,” Treece said. “You remember the WIRE projector during your scenario?”
Coyle nodded. “The World Image Reconstruction Evaluator.” She felt heat in her cheeks and turned away for a moment, trying to forget the embarrassment altogether.
“Well, we’re going to visit another crime scene at the Baldwin mansion,” Treece said. “The WIRE projection has a shelf life of less than eight months, and we’re a few hours away from losing any shred of evidence.”
Coyle frowned. “Baldwin mansion?”
“Seems there was a dinner party, followed by a massacre. An ancient book called the Curse of Shadows was taken from the residence,” Duone said with a gentle Texas drawl.
“I had arranged the meeting between fae and humans,” Treece said. “It was a political endeavor between the two peoples. I was in France when it was scheduled. When I heard of the tragedy, I rushed back as quickly as I could. Some of them were my close friends. Given the circumstances, I believed this was a case for the Templars. The book that was taken is quite dangerous, and we must do everything we can to get it back.”
Coyle nodded. All of that sounded horrible and tragic and absolutely interesting all at once. And, of course, it was exactly what Fang had mentioned.
She wasn’t lying, then.
The men discussed small details, and she caught and studied every word. Important visiting fae dignitaries had brought fae relics as a sign of openness and trust. But a mysterious group of people had slaughtered everyone and stolen the book of curses.
The idea of impressing Treece turned into a bright opportunity. Another chance at solving a difficult riddle? Another chance of becoming a detective, albeit with a secret organization? Her fingers twitched. Yes. All of this was possible.
Possibly.
She glanced outside. The rolling hills of Sausalito were thinning out, and she squinted.
“Are we approaching the shoreline?” she asked, gripping her seat.
“Miss Coyle, this carriage is equipped to transit land.” Treece smiled as pebbles crunched beneath the wheels. A shrill whistle sounded, followed by mechanical clunks and locks and switches. “And water.”
Her mouth dropped open as bay water lapped against the carriage. The floor vibrated.
“The wheels turn into propellers, Miss Coyle,” Treece said. “The cabin is double-walled, providing adequate floatation, and a small rudder unfolds to provide steerage.”
Strange hums and clanks came from behind and below. She pressed herself back into the seat and tried not to look nervous. A flock of terns scooted away as their carriage navigated the water, hugging the coast. A cargo ship lumbered close, and Coyle not
iced most of the crew squinting, pointing and shooting curious stares. The air was chill off the dark water, and Coyle pulled her collar around her neck.
Finally, the carriage pulled up onto a launch ramp near a shipyard. Men, ogrek and a few gnomes carrying tools and lumber turned and looked, their jaws slack. But most didn’t give the strange carriage a second glance as they continued their tasks. A sign on a weathered building read Pacific Rolling Mill.
Coyle mumbled to herself, “We’re at Potrero Point.”
“Yes, I own a few of the warehouses in this district,” Treece said. “We should arrive in a few minutes.”
The carriage stopped, and the carriage pilot opened the double doors.
“Here we are,” Treece said. “Ladies first.”
Coyle smiled and stepped out onto the street. The carriage pilot connected a water hose to the building and began rinsing off the underside of the carriage. A few passersby gave curious glances as the group collected themselves and walked into the warehouse.
A pug-nosed ogrek greeted them at the door. Most were intimidating due to their sheer size, and this one was no different. His massive muscles bulged under a simple gray shirt. Tribal tattoos stretched across his green skin and past his shirt collar. He nodded, gave the politest, yet awkward smile his oversized jaw could offer, and took their coats and hats before escorting them through a network of hallways filled with small offices.
He led them out of a large door and into a very busy warehouse where the air was filled with pungent ozone, hissing steam and incessant hammering. Thick-muscled ogreks held huge pieces of iron and waited as goggled, short gnomes welded them together, spraying gold sparks across the floor. Most of the ogreks were hairless, as opposed to the gnomes, who wore stylized, colorfully dyed beards and pointed mustaches.
“Gnomes are always a busy bunch,” Treece said. “I have most of them working for my company. Pleasant to work with and quite loyal. I do pay them handsomely, too.”
“Don’t listen to him,” said a gnome with a bright red beard. “We don’t care as much about money as we do about getting new materials to work with.”
“Ah.” Treece laughed. “And here’s Mr. Sullywether, manager of all of my warehouses in San Francisco. Can you take us to the WIRE projection room, please?”
“Right this way, folks!” Sullywether waved and plodded ahead of them. He was adorable in his blue sweater and overalls, but Coyle kept her mouth shut.
Vonteg leaned in. “I don’t think they’d do too well on horses,” he whispered. Coyle smirked.
“We do have excellent hearing, though.” Sullywether turned and winked. Coyle and Vonteg glanced at each other.
Sullywether turned a few corners before opening another set of wide doors, leading them into a three-story warehouse. Tall WIRE projectors stood high above the floor in each corner, pointing their lenses at the empty center. Catwalks connected the projectors together, and Coyle could see small silhouettes working, making small adjustments on their respective projector devices. Everyone seemed to have a specific job and purpose, and they were doing their job well.
Coyle looked down at her fingernails, heart slamming against her ribs. She squeezed her trembling hands into fists.
***
High above the rafters of the same warehouse, a different kind of opportunity was coming together. Veiul slipped between the metal sheets of the roof and melted into the darkness. She froze and waited, eyes scanning for threats and potential threats. Her body was merely a shadow amongst shadows.
No one saw her.
Her muscles tensed as she scanned the busyness of the warehouse. Automatons clunked back and forth, gnomes crawled over everything, ogreks lifted heavy machinery. All of them were too busy to see her rail-thin, dark-clad form crawl into the massive projection room. Her strong fingers gripped thick cables and her legs wrapped around rafters, shifting and sliding until the gnome projectionists were beneath her. Four of them were double-checking their equipment, making sure everything would go right.
Veiul was there to make sure things went wrong.
She shimmied to a far corner, quick and quiet as a spider. Gnomes did have excellent hearing, but Veiul was a professional, and she wasn’t going to let one of them ruin her objective.
She removed a thin, iron-silk cable from a pouch and tied it around the rafter. Lowering herself with one hand and with a dark blade with the other, she sank closer to her prey.
The gnome working this projector stood and yawned for the last time. Her knife slipped into his neck, and her other hand covered his mouth, just in case. He twitched once and was still. She lay his small body on the catwalk, stuffing his wound with combat gauze to keep his blood from spilling below. She tugged away the leather covering her pink, shapeless face, took another look around, and pulled out a small device with a blue glowing switch. She inserted it into the projector and waited.
***
“You ready?” Sullywether asked, and looked at a pocket watch with multiple faces. “We have less than three hours before the image degrades and becomes useless.”
“We’re ready, sir,” Treece said. “I will stand by here, and the five of you need to find as many clues as you can. Apparently in less than three hours.” His eyes rested on Coyle.
Coyle smiled. The burden of finding everything herself made her knees shake. She took a long, cleansing breath and flexed her hands. Treece was the most powerful, influential man in her sphere, and he was watching like a hawk.
That didn’t work for relaxing, now did it?
“Let ’er rip!” Sullywether shouted. Loud cracks and snaps filled the air before a hazy shimmer of light flashed. Coyle covered her eyes as tendrils of bright, gold light wrapped around each other. Bursts of heat rushed past, her hair flying with each powerful pulse. She brushed her hair back and sniffed, then squinted and looked down at Sullywether.
“I know, I know: toast,” Sullywether said. “Believe me, it’s better than smelling four and half million units of boomwatts. Bleh.”
The air vibrated in steady, rhythmic waves until a large mansion appeared in front of them. Opalescent colors shifted on different parts of the structure until the palette settled into browns and tans.
“Markers?” Sullywether pointed to each projectionist. One by one, they gave Sullywether a thumbs-up. The one in the far corner gave a slack wave of his hand.
“It’s a go, Treece,” he said. “Once the time has passed, the image will fade. No harm to your team, just loss of evidence.”
“I know you will do your very best,” Treece said to them, but he gazed at Coyle. “The reenacted image you are walking into is situated roughly thirty minutes after the crime occurred.”
Coyle’s heart raced as they stepped through the projection. He was depending on her skills. She rolled her eyes. On one hand, this was an excellent chance to dig herself out of the proverbial grave. On the other hand, she was pressed into a performance of substantial consequence.
An abrupt change in the air grabbed her attention. The rapid drop in temperature slapped her skin, and she dug her hands into her pockets. White curls of breath rose from their mouths as they approached the front door.
“Why can’t these incidents occur in the warm sun?” Poes said next to her.
“I’d take creosote bush, baked dirt and bright sun any day of the week,” Vonteg agreed.
***
They stepped through the front door and into the parlor. As soon as the door closed behind them, Veiul pressed the switch on the molecular transference device, making it hum.
“They’re on the timer,” she said, pressing the transceiver switch in her ear. “Twenty minutes until they’re killed.”
“Excellent,” said a deep, mechanical voice.
Chapter 7
A deep breath brought the familiar scent of fresh bread, smoked meat and steamed vegetables. Candles rested in wall sconces and on tables throughout the rooms. But the silence was eerie.
Unnatural.
&nbs
p; They walked closer to the dining hall, and Coyle caught a single note of lilac perfume amidst the pungent cigar fumes. Duone and Vonteg saw the mess before anyone else.
“Good God Almighty,” Duone said as the rest stepped carefully into the large room. The scene was shocking to behold. Blood spattered the sunshine-yellow wallpaper. Dark-red spots peppered the crystal chandelier. The wounds were fresh, yet the volume of spilled blood littered the air with a heavy, sweet, bile odor. The second time in as many days and Coyle would never get used to it. Removing her handkerchief, Coyle covered her nose and studied the eight bodies that lay in various poses. Two gentlemen, six women. Throats slashed. Eyes frozen in terror. Coyle turned away.
“It’s a lot to take in,” Poes said.
“I suppose I’m more used to bodies lying in a similar state due to the consequences of criminal activity,” she said. “But these people were just having supper.”
Poes nodded.
“I’ve seen massacres out in the flatlands of Nebraska,” Duone said. “Between Paloma and Army, mostly. Both sides usually warriors. But Coyle’s right. This is beyond savage.”
“Fae dignitaries,” Vonteg said. “They were meeting with our side, trying to work something out. A mutual benefit of sorts.”
Coyle focused on a nearby display of simple-looking objects: a small statue, a mirror, jars of clear, luminescent liquid. Poes followed her gaze.
“Those are the fae relics,” he said. “They brought them over as a token of trust between the two species.”
“What’s missing is the book.” Quolo had joined them. “Cuanteff Eme Burlsekwa, loosely translated as Curse of Shadows.”
Coyle’s mind shot back to Fang’s plea.
“Do we know anything else about this book?” Coyle asked.
“Not without fae,” Quolo answered. “And the fae have sealed their gates until we get this incident sorted out.”
“Miss Coyle,” Bolt said. “Isn’t your specialty digging around dead bodies? Maybe you should be over here.”
Coyle and Fang: Curse of Shadows (Coyle and Fang Adventure Series Book 1) Page 7
