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

by Robert Adauto III

  “So, I had to kill Father first, because he certainly wasn’t going to let me find power. He was easy to kill. And then Mother. I opened my mother up and looked. Humph, couldn’t find anything. I was so sure it was there. Baffling and frustrating all at the same time.” His eyes searched the ceiling, the scalpel tapping against his lips.

  “Time went on, and I grew older, wiser. I noticed some women held the same power over a man, but in a different way. Mostly prostitutes or the occasional wanton wife. I knew they had the same power deep inside, and I opened them all up, right down the middle the way I opened up my mother. I still haven’t found their power, so... elusive. Yet I know if I keep searching...”

  He leaned in with his blade, and his fingers slid across her skin. The warmth of his touch brought hope.

  Just for a moment, she knew all of this had to be a joke, and he would stop and untie her and laugh at all the silliness and fright he had given her, and they would hold each other until the sun appeared on the horizon, and everything would be safe and wonderful.

  And then the tip of his blade pierced her skin.

  Coyle jolted awake and grabbed at her chest. She rubbed her face and looked around, but he wasn’t there. Just the nightmare again.

  Where was she? She sat up, caught her breath, and her head flared in pain. She rubbed her head and looked at her palm.

  Blood. My blood.

  She’d fallen. What had happened? She touched a thick lump behind her ear and winced as she stood on shaky legs.

  Was there a fireplace nearby?

  Tendrils of black smoke curled through the ceiling. She leaned against the table. The maps and Edison’s moving-picture box jolted her memory. She remembered she was looking through the rooms for evidence. That meant Poes and Vonteg were somewhere.

  “Poes! Poes, what’s happened?” She stood at the doorway and listened. There was the crackling and popping of a roaring fire nearby, but she didn’t remember a fireplace. She glanced around the corner and cried out. Flames crept along the old timber ceiling and fortifications. The growing heat and smoke forced her to her knees, and she crawled to the room Poes was in. She screamed his name again, but there was no answer. She covered her head as the ceiling collapsed in a shower of flaming debris. Bits of charred papers and folders flew into the hall. Something fell from above and struck her knee. She glanced at a worn leather notebook and grabbed it. Better to take something out of this than nothing.

  The metal grate dug into her bare hands and knees, but it was better than sucking in black, scorching air. She crawled away from the room and looked for the staircase, but couldn’t remember. The smoke was getting darker, thicker. Flames were growing by the moment. Her eyes stung. Her head pounded. She tore her skirt, wrapping it around her mouth and nose. The others must have escaped, but why had they left her? Was this some kind of trap? Did they leave her to die? Was Treece finished with her?

  She crawled to a closed door, reaching for the doorknob. The handle was warm, but hopefully there was no fire inside. She opened it and shut the door behind her. No flames. Clean air. She coughed and wiped the sting out of her eyes. The lights began to flicker, and she was suddenly aware she may be in the dark again.

  The room was spacious, with a long hallway on one side that led to more rooms. She collapsed on the plush, expensive carpets and caught her breath. Oil paintings hung in antique frames, and beautiful furniture pressed against the walls. She stood and limped down the hallway, glancing into the next room—and froze.

  In the uncertain light, her eyes recognized the sight before her, though her brain begged for an alternative answer. Shelves covered the walls. On each shelf were rows of large, glass bottles filled with something horrifyingly familiar.

  Run!

  She didn’t need to know. She was better off without knowing.

  But the detective in her had to know. Had to be sure of the evidence before her. She crept closer the shelf and turned the glass bottle. Revulsion flashed through her mind like the flickering lights above. Her hand pulled back.

  Fluid strands of thin, reddish-brown hair.

  The scoop and curve of a small ear.

  The long, tender curve of a jawline.

  Lips curled, misshapen.

  A mouth hung open, frozen in a scream no one would hear.

  Dull, gray, staring eyes with spots of green.

  Bits of pale flesh pulled away into the broth of proteins and embalming fluid.

  She turned away and screamed with her hands to her mouth. The faulty lights cast a macabre lightning storm across the shelves of decapitated heads. She turned away, crying out for Poes, but no answer came. She was alone, and there was no one to help her.

  And she was going to die alone.

  She shook her head at the lie she didn’t want to believe. She was dizzy, her legs weak, but her desire to live was more powerful. She was a survivor, and she would find a way.

  Like I did that night.

  She opened her eyes to the silent audience and bumped into something low to the ground. A table full of paperwork. Ledgers. Notebooks. Scattered papers. Pencils. She scooped them up, shoved them into a leather briefcase leaning against the wall, and pulled the strap over her head.

  There was a loud crack. A quick glance at the front door told her there was no going back.

  The fire had broken through.

  She kept her eyes down, heart pounding in her ears, and turned the corner to a small bedroom. A rifle leaned in the corner, and she slung it over her shoulder. Her eyes searched every inch for escape. She glanced across the hall into a bathroom with a toilet and bath but nothing more. No more doors. No more windows.

  She was trapped.

  Hot air spread above, and fire crackled louder. She covered her mouth and nose. Time was running out. A loud pop made her peek around the corner. Fire covered one of the shelves. There was another loud crash, and she ducked behind the doorframe as flaming shards of glass sprayed the hallway.

  “Oh, my God,” Coyle said in terror. Formaldehyde was flammable. And the whole room was full of it. Another crash sent flaming shards of glass everywhere, each piece alighting the floor.

  She shut the bedroom door and pulled aside the drawers, the chest. Nothing. She pulled up the rug.

  A trap door!

  She yanked the handle. Darkness and cold, salted air slapped her face. She looked into the black pit and froze. Her skin crawled, and her stomach rolled.

  Anything but this.

  The walls shook, and her hands groped down, finding metal rungs. She stepped inside the blackness, sinking into the void, closing her eyes as madness greeted her. And then was she stopped. Something was caught. She pulled, but couldn’t go lower. What was happening?

  The rifle lay across the opening, preventing her escape. Glass exploded, and the heat became unbearable. She fumbled with the rifle strap, trying to untangle herself.

  She yelled and grunted, but the leather strap wouldn’t give. She slipped between the straps as the room erupted. The trap door slammed shut, throwing her down the tunnel. Her hands reached out, scraping rough stone she couldn’t see. Then her scream was cut short as she plunged into freezing seawater as dark as the fears that haunted her.

  ***

  Thick, black smoke marred the blue sky. The flames reached to other wooden structures, creating a tremendous challenge for the fire suppression team. Soldiers escorted them away from danger and back to the safety of their transit.

  “I can’t wait to get back and go over what we’ve learned with everyone,” she said. “I want all of us there in the same room.”

  So I can slit your throats.

  “Well, we certainly need a wash-up first,” Vonteg said. “Aren’t you the least bit harried by this ordeal?”

  “Of course I am, sir.” Her eyes shifted between the two. “And I’m forever grateful to the both of you for protecting me, especially you.” She patted Poes on the shoulder.

  He glanced at his shoulder. “For?”


  She turned and met his gaze with teasing eyes. “Maybe that’s something we can talk about later.”

  Poes blinked.

  The driver helped each of them inside, mentioning a series of safety checks to go through before they could leave. The assassin sat comfortably and pretended to be interested in Treece’s water-borne carriage. She had much more pressing engagements, though and her daggers itched to be used.

  Veiul looked around. “Charming, isn’t it?” She had a bright smile and sparkle in her eye. “When do we leave?”

  “In a couple of minutes,” Vonteg said. He glanced at her. “Say, you feeling healthy? Head in good shape? There was a lot of smoke back there.”

  “Perfectly fine, I say,” she said. “I guess I’m just eager to get back and share with everyone what we’ve learned. All together as a team, and all in the same room would be nice.”

  “You sure make it a point to have us all in the same room,” Poes said, squinting at the woman who smiled back.

  The carriage hummed, and they heard a series of gears turning before the machine rattled to life.

  Poes shifted in his seat and studied Coyle for a few moments.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Do you like puzzles?”

  “Sure, they can be fun.”

  “Fun?”

  She nodded, her smile tight.

  Vonteg frowned. “You two want to tell me what’s so interesting about puzzles?”

  “Go ahead, Coyle. What’s so fun about puzzles?”

  “I’ll let you share. It was your question, after all,” the woman answered.

  Poes and Veiul studied each other.

  “The thing about puzzles is that you won’t know the piece fits until it falls into place,” Poes said.

  “What are you talking about?” Vonteg said.

  “He’s saying I’m not right for the team,” she said, pulling out a pistol.

  “What the hell?” said Vonteg.

  Poes knocked the gun away and slammed his fist into her face. Veiul kicked once, crashing Poes into the wall, and kicked again, knocking Vonteg out cold.

  Veiul shifted in her seat, grabbed Poes’s arm, and shoved her boot into his neck. He punched her knee, but she held fast. Poes’s face reddened, his veins bulging.

  “Not,” Poes gasped, “Coyle.”

  “No,” Veiul dropped her guise, shifting into a formless face. “She’s dead, and you will be too.”

  “No.” Poes struggled to breathe. “Not. Dead.”

  Water splashed, and a woman called for help. Veiul glanced outside. The real Coyle was swimming toward them. The driver shouted.

  Veiul turned to Poes, sneering, and then she glanced down. He pointed the pistol at her and squeezed the trigger. Her dress tore open, spilling blood. She screamed, released her grip and evaporated in blue smoke and light. Poes clutched his throat, gasping and coughing.

  The carriage leaned to one side as the driver helped Coyle into the cabin. She climbed in, splashing water and sputtering, and plopped onto the bench in a sopping heap. She leaned into the corner, breathing hard. Her eyes met Poes’s, and they both shook their heads, words escaping them.

  Vonteg stirred and opened his eyes. Blinking at Coyle, he hopped up and clenched his fists. Coyle shrank back. Poes stopped him before anything else could happen, and he spent the rest of the journey explaining the situation to both of them.

  ***

  Nearby, a sloop skimmed through the surface of the bay. Its crew busy with lines and sails, though one member kept a steady eye on Treece’s curious water carriage.

  “Status report,” chimed the radioed voice.

  The agent set the spyglass aside and held his fist in the air for the skipper: stop.

  “Yes, sir.” He cleared his throat. “Veiul had an altercation with Mr. Poes on—.”

  “Tell me about Coyle.”

  “Of course, sir. I’m unsure how this happened, but she ended up swimming from the shore before she was rescued.”

  “By whom?”

  “Mr. Poes and Mr. Vonteg. From the, uh, water carriage, sir.”

  “Then she found the sea-cave exit from Trevin’s underground lair. Interesting. I do hope she’s not too badly put out by Veiul’s assault. I also hope she found the materials I left for her. Goodness, the mystery of not knowing if she found my clues is almost more unbearable than the mystery itself.”

  “Well, she was carrying the satchel you left, and she swam about twelve meters, proving she was strong and healthy.”

  “Good news, then, on both queries. I expressly told Veiul not to kill her, so it looks like she didn’t have trouble following orders. Have you ever asked a trained killer not to kill someone? I tell you, it’s like herding cats.”

  “I can’t say I have, sir.”

  “Speaking of trained killers, did you spot Fang?”

  The spy cleared his throat. “No sign of her, sir.”

  “Goodness, she is keeping a low profile. She’s doing exactly what she was trained to do, and I don’t like it one bit.”

  “It’s worrisome, sir.”

  “While on her side, I was quite happy to have her as an operative. But now we’re on the business end, as it were, and I’m afraid it’s unnerving to be hunted by a weaponized vampire with a righteous motive for revenge. Has there been any word from our contacts on the streets? Any criminals drained of blood turning up?”

  “No word on the street, and our contact at the morgue says it’s been business as usual, sir.”

  “And we haven’t seen her since she visited Coyle in the jail cell, correct?”

  “That’s correct, sir.”

  “She’s somewhere close, and we have no idea where. Humph. Makes for a frightful situation. Especially considering I’m the one who put her in the iron cage and I’m the one who broke her out.”

  “I’m sure you’re safe, sir.”

  “Am I? Are you? Such good questions to ask oneself. Thrilling, actually.”

  The agent glanced to the sides. The crew was busy tying lines and affixing the rigging. No one paid him any attention, which is exactly what they were paid to do.

  “Well, that’s enough conjecture for now. I’ll remain in radio silence until our parties get airborne on the ship. Over and out.”

  The agent twirled his finger in the air, prompting the captain to resume sailing. He glanced at the crew one more time before rubbing his throat and raising the spyglass to his eye.

  Chapter 12

  The Treece mansion

  Sausalito

  Treece and the others lounged in the main hall, sipping drinks and discussing the incident. Vonteg pushed a small pack of ice against his swollen lip. Poes’s complexion was this side of ashen, his trembling hands rubbing his bruised neck. The rest of the group argued civilly about what had transpired and what had happened to Coyle.

  “Why was she targeted?” Bolt asked.

  “Why not?” Poes answered. “She was by herself when it happened. It was just a matter of opportunity.”

  “Opportunity for what?” Duone asked.

  “Disguise,” Poes said. “I’m not sure what that creature is.”

  “I suspect she’s fae,” Treece said. “And I suspect she’s a mimic of some kind. I’ll have to do some investigating with my contacts. But, you say she disappeared when you shot her?”

  “There was a flash of blue light—and poof! She was gone.”

  “It could have been a molecular-transference device, the same kind used on Miss Coyle,” GEM added.

  The room sat in silence. Each man ruminating about the past events. There were more questions being raised than answers given, and it would take some time to discover what they found. But, each knew they didn’t have much time.

  “We could have been walking around with this thing since the beginning.” Bolt gently tugged on his waxed mustache. “I knew there was something about her.”

  “There is something about her,” GEM chimed in. “She wants to help a g
roup of men who haven’t found a way to trust her yet. Not yet, anyway.”

  Bolt side-glanced the automaton.

  “I’m not wrong, am I?” GEM asked.

  “It could have been any of us,” Duone said. “Right?”

  “No, I believe this fae can only mimic other females,” Treece answered. “But I do wonder how long this has been happening.”

  “Not too long,” Poes said. “Coyle had left me to find some papers, and when this impostor returned, things took a wrong turn.”

  “But how did you know it was... this thing and not the real Coyle?” Bolt asked.

  “It was little details,” Poes said.

  “So the devil’s in the details, is it?” Bolt cracked his knuckles. “And it fooled Vonteg, but not you?”

  “What made you change your mind about this one, Poes?” Duone asked.

  He took a few moments before shrugging. “It was a hunch.”

  “Well, we can’t continue with this kind of work based on hunches, Poes,” Bolt said.

  “And yet I did.” Poes set his drink down. “And it looks like my hunch paid off.”

  Bolt walked around the room and huffed. “This changes things, though, doesn’t it? This really changes things.”

  “Such as?” Duone asked.

  Bolt turned to them. “What if there are more of these impostors? How do we know Coyle and this fae weren’t conspiring together? And how do we know one of us isn’t going to be next because of Poes’s hunches? What if he offs me next?”

  “You’re not making any sense,” Poes answered.

  “But you said it yourself.” Bolt snorted. “All of you were separated for a time. That means any of you could have been taken by this creature.”

  “I’m not interested in your baseless accusations, Bolt,” Poes said. “I’m interested in finding the truth, not distorting it.”

  “She had to have started the fire,” Duone said. “Set the whole place ablaze. Burned away any evidence we needed.”

  “Not everything,” Coyle said.

  They all turned to the doorway. Coyle leaned against the doorframe with a bandage wrapped around her head.