Coyle and Fang: Curse of Shadows (Coyle and Fang Adventure Series Book 1)

by Robert Adauto III

  “What are the Templars all about?” Poes asked.

  “Lots and nothing at all,” said Vonteg. “I know this all sounds strange, but there are a lot of dark things out there. I’ve fought against a small army of mummies in Peru, a swarm of tentacles in Lake Okeechobee. The most frightening thing was probably a para-demon in New Mexico. Took eight Templars out before we could banish it.”

  “That was the ‘lots,’” Poes said. “What did you mean about the ‘nothing’?”

  “No one outside of the Templars knows what we do. Not our neighbors, not our families, not our children. All of our work is kept silent, and that’s the way it’s been for thousands of years. We’re of the Unseen Path, the path no one knows about, the path that’s used most by the enemies of mankind. But that’s the rub. So much of our work is quiet, we lose people sometimes. People disappear, and sometimes people die, and people turn against us.”

  “What does he need an investigative attorney for?” Coyle asked. “No offense intended.”

  “None taken,” Poes said. “The Templars operate as their own agency, their own business. And as such, they have need of everything a business needs: phone operators, radio operators, pilots for airships, and the list goes on. I’m needed on this case because apparently an employee had not been truthful with his work schedule and hid potentially valuable information.”

  “Trevin?” Coyle asked.

  Poes nodded.

  She studied his face. His eyes. The pulse of his jugular veins. Something was off about

  the man, but she couldn’t put a finger on it. Or maybe it was something else.

  Overactive imagination.

  “What do you know about Trevin? Was he a Templar?” Coyle asked.

  “Trevin?” Vonteg said. “No, strictly an employee of Dawn’s Industries. As I understand it, he supervised a lot of research and development, but not like Quolo’s work. Trevin worked with a small team that studied problems and resolutions from older cultures. They collected art, books, writings, relics, that sort of thing. They hoped that learning from the past would help create a better Dawn Industries.”

  “Apparently he found something along that kind with this book,” Poes said.

  “So we’re on our way to his offices?” Coyle asked.

  “He moved around, but he did spend a lot of time at Fort Alcatraz,” Vonteg said. “The Union used it for training during the Northern Aggression. Right now, it’s less an army outpost and increasingly more of a jailhouse. But there may be something there to tell us why he was targeted and killed.”

  “I wonder what he was researching out there,” Coyle said. The men glanced at her with blank faces. No one answered because no one had the answer. But finding it was the main purpose of their visit. She rubbed her fingers together at the prospect of discovering fresh clues, new opportunities to make things right.

  “Everyone hold tight,” the driver said.

  “Bumpy roads?” Coyle asked, looking out the window and expecting to be jostled.

  Poes nudged her side with his elbow. “I’ve got you,” he said. Coyle threaded her arm through his and held tight, her heart rate thumping along with the bumpy road and the warmth of him. She was receiving mixed signals. He was challenging but thoughtful. Masked yet disarming.

  Men.

  She would never understand them.

  “No, just getting into the bay,” Vonteg said. He smiled playfully at both of them as the carriage rolled down a steep slope.

  Water splashed against the hull as the carriage drove into the bay, the craft becoming weightless. She glanced outside and saw the wheels fold upon themselves and retract under the chassis. Long tubes protruded from the sides and opened horizontally. Canvas material emerged from the tubes and filled with air until they expanded. Clicks and whirrs came from below their feet until a steady hum vibrated through the cabin. The craft bobbed from side to side but glided through the water without trouble.

  Poes glanced at Coyle, and they both noticed they were grasping each other’s arms. They pulled away and straightened themselves out.

  Vonteg laughed. “You two are the first I’ve seen cling to each other like little kittens when their momma runs off.”

  Coyle turned as far away from the two as possible so they couldn’t see her smile.

  The dock became visible, and the carriage slowed to a stop before the driver tied the line to the cleats. He opened the door, and Coyle got out first, followed by Poes and Vonteg.

  The air smelled of sea-lion waste and dried seaweed, and she never got used to it. She huffed out a breath and glanced around. A tall, whitewashed lighthouse rested on top of rolling hills and stood tall over the other structures in the distance. Long-fingered succulents with bright purple flowers covered most of the ground. Just as Coyle was wondering if they were even allowed to be on the island, a small group of Army men arrived on horseback, their weathered blue uniforms dulled by the sun and ocean air.

  “Names?” asked a man with a yellow hat, tanned face and grayed mustache.

  “Detective Vonteg, Miss Coyle, and investigative attorney Poes,” Vonteg replied. “We’re here to search a former employee’s quarters and office space.”

  “I’m Sergeant Tanner, US Army. You talking about Trevin? Heavy guy, always wearing white suits?” the man asked.

  “That’s the one,” Vonteg said.

  Tanner spat a line of tobacco juice. “We gathered as much stuff as we could find and set it aside. These gentlemen will escort you to his building. I’ll have to ask for your firearms while you’re on the property.”

  “Oh, sir, we don’t have any...” Coyle’s voice trailed off as Poes and Vonteg pulled handguns from under their coats and handed them over. She pretended to be busy straightening her skirt and wondered when the weapons were handed out. Then again, the weapons were undoubtedly their own. Their line of work would require appropriate means of self-defense when called upon. She wasn’t allowed to carry a firearm as a constable. Most of that was police policy, and some of it was chauvinism. Between the two, she wouldn’t be issued a gun anytime in the near future. Which was fine all the same. She wasn’t even sure she could be a decent shot.

  They followed the soldiers over small hills until they arrived at the mesa that was Fort Alcatraz. Barracks, storehouses, and walls were built in the Spanish mission style. Whitewash over curved natural stone. Coyle noted the lighthouse and some smaller residences were made of wood. Tanner pointed to a house.

  “That’s his place right there,” he said. “We set his belongings out for you to look through.”

  “Thank you kindly,” Vonteg said.

  “How long do you think you’ll need?” Tanner asked.

  “Not long,” Vonteg answered.

  “Listen, we’re not your babysitters. Just don’t go through the other houses or any other buildings and you’ll be fine. Got it?” They nodded, and he and the soldiers left.

  They walked toward a heap sitting in front of the house. Furniture, clothes, cabinets, utensils and everything else between had been tossed into the pile.

  “I’m not sure what to look for,” Coyle said.

  “Paperwork, journals... anything that had to do with his studies and work,” Poes said. He moved into the pile and began sorting through the mess. Coyle and Vonteg followed.

  The air was chilly despite it being the middle of June. Coyle kept herself warm by digging through clothes. Her fingers searched through every pocket, looking for notes or anything worthy to be called evidence. She still wasn’t sure what they would find. She was also aware that the others didn’t know about the bloodstains hidden on Trevin’s pants and shoes. That was Fang’s blood, if she was telling the whole truth. And Coyle had a feeling she was telling the truth, but still—

  “Find anything?” Vonteg asked.

  She frowned at a stack of folders in his hands.

  “A few dollars is all,” she answered. “Looks like you found a few items.” She tried to sound encouraging.
r />   “A few work orders and receipts for things he needed. Hopefully, we can find more,” he said.

  Coyle looked around. “Where’s Poes?”

  “He went into the house a few minutes ago,” he said. “I think we’re done out here, so let’s join him.”

  Tall, thick bushes surrounded the small, one-bedroom, craftsman-style construction. W

  indows with thin drapes were set on either side of the open door. The walls and wooden floors were bare. Coyle walked to the small kitchen out of curiosity and glanced outside the small window above the sink.

  The bold blue of the bay was a stark contrast to the tan bluffs of the island. Foamy wakes from passing ships glimmered in the sun. She looked down at the gas range. It was too clean. He probably never cooked. She opened the oven door and peeked inside, expecting to find a manila folder filled with all the secrets she could hope for. It was empty, of course.

  “Anything in the kitchen?” Vonteg asked her.

  “A nice view is all,” she answered.

  “There’s nothing in the house except a few built-in bookshelves,” Vonteg said. “Poes, what are you looking at?”

  Coyle walked into the bedroom. Poes stared at something in the closet, silent. They followed his gaze at a blank wall. She looked back at him. He wasn’t looking at the wall, but something else entirely.

  “Poes?” she asked. He blinked and looked at the floor.

  “Sorry, just ruminating,” Poes replied. “There’s nothing here.”

  Coyle wiped her finger along the wall and looked at the dust on her fingertip. She glanced at each of the four walls and said, “Doesn’t look like he hung any pictures or paintings. He hardly used the stove. It’s like he didn’t really live here.”

  “Well, he’s got a yard full of belongings out front,” Vonteg said. “Someone must’ve lived here. May as well be him.”

  “You’re right, of course,” she said. “I guess I’m thinking about how a person makes a place their home. Pictures, plants, things they enjoy. Wouldn’t all these things be in a place you live? And not a single one of those are in the yard outside.”

  “What’s that tapping sound?” Vonteg said. They stepped back into the living room and found Poes tapping the floorboards. “What are you looking for? Buried treasure?”

  Poes didn’t answer as his foot tapped different parts of the room. Coyle guessed what he was looking for and tapped the floor in the hallway.

  “Both of you think he’s got a trap door here? They’re usually hidden under a rug, but there’s no hiding anything on this floor,” Vonteg said. He shook his head at the idea, but Coyle noticed he walked into the kitchen to explore cabinets.

  Vonteg was right about this particular floor. There weren’t any perpendicular lines across the wood boards. She walked to the built-in bookshelf and checked for openings, cracks, anything that would give away a possible trap door. Finding nothing useful, she stepped back and stared down at the lighted floor. Tiny bits of dust swirled around her dress and glowed in the sunlight. When she was a child, she used to imagine the dust particles were angels. Thousands and millions of angels dancing in the air. And now they danced around her dress.

  Are they not all ministering spirits sent forth to minister for them who shall be heirs of salvation?

  As she grew older, wiser, she knew the truth. It was just dust. Not angels. But even dust has its purpose. She frowned at the dust, dancing at the edges of her dress—she had an idea. She scraped her hand along the wall, gathering dust and dropping it in front of the bookshelf. The dust settled gently to the floor and she waited. Nothing happened.

  She walked into the living room where the other two bookshelves were and found Poes also scooping dust into his hand and dropping it. He had thought of the same thing. Vonteg stepped into the room.

  And then it happened.

  All three watched as a steady puff of air blew dust away from behind the bookshelf.

  “There, see it?” Poes said. He pointed at something along the floor. “There’s an arc here, just barely etched into the surface. This is the door.”

  “To where? And why?” Vonteg asked. No one had the answers yet. Poes checked each of the shelves for a mechanism of some kind, but nothing happened. Then he tried lifting the book case and a dull crack echoed through the room as the bookshelf glided open. All three of them stared into a dark, narrow staircase.

  Coyle’s heart froze.

  It was a simple staircase that led down. Yet it was a dark void drawing her nearer to death. How could such a simple point of access be so threatening? And here she was, barely able to move, let alone take a step into her worst fears. She backed away.

  “I guess smoking cigars has its benefits,” Vonteg said as he lit a small lighter. “You always have a light.” The flame seemed weak and insignificant compared to the vastness of dark waiting to swallow her.

  “Maybe... maybe we could wait for some more help.” Coyle gulped. “Or a brighter light.”

  “Well, this is our investigation, Coyle,” Vonteg said. “And I’m fairly certain the Army doesn’t know about this.”

  “We’ll be fine,” Poes said. “Between the three of us, we’ll take care of whatever we run into.”

  “But we have no weapons,” Coyle said. She squeezed her dress with trembling fingers. “How are we going to take care of anything with no weapons?”

  The men looked at each other and shrugged. Vonteg said, “We should get down there before it gets dark. No telling how far or how big this is going to get.” He stepped down into the abyss with his tiny light. Poes followed.

  Coyle’s breath shrank away to nothing, her shoes slipping backward, away from the mortal dangers and creeping tendrils of the eerie. She glanced outside. She made out shapes of horseback riders in the distance. Three armed men in all the daylight. She glanced at the front door.

  “Coyle?” Poes asked, and she turned to him.

  Terror crossed her face.

  “The dark isn’t one of your favorite colors, is it?” Poes smiled and offered his hand. She looked outside but reached for his hand, grasping it tightly. He was the anchor amidst the rising storm in her soul.

  ***

  Over fifty yards away, Sergeant Tanner was joking with his perimeter patrol when someone caught his attention.

  “Say, who’s that?” he asked.

  “Where, Sarge?” one of them asked.

  “Looks like a female over there,” he answered. “Kinda looks like that pretty lady who arrived earlier... What was her name?”

  “Miss Coyle, Sarge.”

  “And how did Miss Coyle end up over here? I thought I told her to stay around the residences.”

  “I don’t know, Sarge.”

  “I have no idea why Captain Sievers allows citizens on this property, but if they looked this nice, well I’d let them come all day.”

  “Sir, she’s getting within hearing range.”

  She walked up to them and squinted in the sun.

  “Miss Coyle?” asked Sergeant Tanner. “How in the world did you get away from your group?” He looked behind him and then at her.

  “Yes, silly me. I got bored and went looking at the sights.” Veiul’s eyes narrowed at the soldiers. “Can you point me in the direction of my friends? I seem to have gotten a little lost.”

  Chapter 11

  Coyle counted the steps to keep her mind busy. Logic, prayers and anything useful were washed away in the midst of gnawing panic, but she had to grasp onto what was real and the grated metal beneath her boots fit the bill. She focused on Vonteg’s tiny light, trying hard to remember Scripture about the light of God and trying harder not to imagine what was waiting in the horrible dark.

  She counted two landings and two more flights of steps. Sixteen for each flight, thirty-two total. She barely felt Poes’s hand in hers, but she was thankful she wasn’t alone. The doctors said it was nyctophobia, a severe fear of the dark. But she knew it was all in her mind. The same mind where thousands of pos
sibilities spun into compelling deductions and applicable calculations. The same mind that hid sinister fears in the spaces between logic and reason. When triggered, these fears grew chaotic, and she spun out of control like she was sliding on an icy lake toward an open hole to nowhere.

  She breathed in through her nose, out through her mouth. In and out. Counting the steps one by one until they stopped at a wide, flat landing.

  “This is the floor level,” Vonteg said, and stepped to the side. “There’s got to be a switch here somewhere.”

  Coyle winced at a loud snap, and electric lights flickered. Most of them stayed on. She released herself from Poes’s grasp, nodded to him, and stopped chewing her bottom lip. She shook the nervousness from her hands and took notice of her new surroundings.

  They were in a wide hall with rooms and hallways veering off in every direction. It smelled of damp earth and seawater. Large, rough-hewn timber logs braced the ceiling and corners.

  “This was made during the Civil War,” Vonteg said, tapping a log. “Union soldiers cut their timber like this for their fortifications.”

  “What would the purpose of this place be?” Coyle’s voice cracked.

  “Reckon we’ll find out,” Vonteg said. “The lights should hold. Good thing Edison picked San Francisco to introduce his electric lights. Looks like the Union took advantage of it, like they did everything else.”

  “There are a lot of rooms,” Poes said. “As long as there are lights, it may be a good idea for us to separate. We can cover more area. Sound good?” He looked at Coyle, and she nodded without thinking it through. She shivered and picked a room.

  Coyle found herself in a workshop. Perfect. She would use discovery as a distraction from the fact that she was holed up in an underground tunnel system built twenty years ago.

  A large table rested in the center, papers scattered across its surface. Large scrolls lay strewn and stacked throughout the small room. She took a deep breath and busied herself by unrolling them one by one. They were all blueprints of airships. None she recognized. But she logged each of the ships’ names into her mind for future use. She searched through other papers: memos, notes, journals. The lights flicked off.