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

by Robert Adauto III

  “Not everything was destroyed,” she said, holding a stack of papers.

  “Miss Coyle!” Treece said. “The doctor’s orders were to rest. You need to get back into your bed.”

  “I finished going through what we found, and we need to a proper debrief,” Coyle said, walking inside.

  The men looked at each other. Bolt studied Coyle, his finger tugging the end of his mustache. Poes studied Bolt in turn, and the two glanced at each other, their eyes challenging the other to turn away first. Bolt grunted, looked at his drink and finished it.

  ***

  GEM helped Coyle move a chair and small table to the center of the room. She asked for a Scotch and soda, and the automaton went to the bar. This would be her second since waking up. The first had kept her company in the study where the papers had been taken to dry, as she gleaned everything she could and arranged what was available into something coherent and usable.

  GEM handed her a tumbler, and she took a big gulp, hoping to numb the grotesque evils seeping through her mind. She needed to be sharp if they were to listen to what she’d discovered. No more naive washout walking around the boys; she knew she had to prove her worth tonight, and she was fully confident of her findings.

  She pulled the glass away from her lips as the men made themselves comfortable. GEM freshened their drinks and made sure the fire was adequate. Though she looked like she could use a long day off, all ears waited for her to speak.

  This is my chance. Again.

  “Has anyone ever heard of Project Archangel?” She glanced around the room for answers. Hearing nothing, she continued. “It appears it was initially funded by the Templars. They were trying to forge an unstoppable warrior. Treece? Sound familiar?” All eyes settled on the older man, who suddenly appeared aged and frail. His shoulders slumped and he sighed before speaking.

  “Moreci and I were colleagues. Both of us young and foolish and eager to become notable scientists in our work. I, in engineering and he in biology. We were recruited by the Templars, who were interested in finding a supplemental group of individuals from the nether realm,” Treece said. “I became transfixed with the beauty of their kind and the marvels of their own wonderful engineering. I was too busy with my pride to acknowledge this new program was heading in the wrong direction. By that time, tremendous damage was done to the few individuals we were given to test. We soon learned the government was also involved and wanted fae and vamperion to be used a new, more powerful army. Those from the nether-realm were wary of such an endeavor, citing misuse of trust. I raised my concerns to the Templars and promptly left. Moreci assured us they would put a stop to the project. But, we suspected Moreci continued their work under the guise of merely studying aberrations from those of the nether realm. I should have known he was continuing creating ... monsters. I’m ashamed I didn’t stop this project long before it got out hand. Please Miss Coyle, tell us what you found out,” he answered.

  “During the dinner party at the Baldwin mansion,” Coyle continued, “Dame Graethe mentioned that the fae had begun reaching out to the United States government for assistance. This led to meetings with the military, and Professor Moreci was given full control over the project. It seems the original intention was to create warriors for the fae realm. Instead of complying with previously agreed upon terms, Moreci went rogue, testing fae and vamperion for unique abilities. Through his vile experiments, they were empowered with pharmaceuticals, scientific enhancements and psychological fortitude.

  “This led to multiple failures and setbacks among the test subjects. The numbers of those tested dropped dramatically, and on the surface, the government disavowed any involvement, but kept pushing the project along. Moreci continued working until he created his version of a perfect nightmare.”

  “Fang,” Vonteg said.

  Coyle nodded. “She was conditioned to become a powerful weapon and clandestine operative. Once they discovered the correct formula, more test subjects were successfully completed. Moreci’s project became a smashing success, and the government sent a small group of them all over the world with Fang as the leader,” Coyle answered. She finished her drink and raised the empty glass for another.

  “This is unheard of,” Quolo said. “Are you trying to say that Moreci created a... a group of vampires responsible for assassinations all over the world?”

  “Not all of them were vampires.” Poes thumbed his nose. “They were a mixture of fae and other unknown entities as well.”

  “I found a small note mentioning Alexander II of Russia,” Coyle said, glancing at Poes.

  “He was assassinated in 1881,” Quolo said. “They caught the culprits. Three men were said to have used explosives.”

  “So we were led to believe,” Coyle said. “There were also notes involving the Tonkin War, the Aceh War, and the Mahdist War.”

  “This group Moreci created would have been older children. Didn’t anyone think this was unusual?” Quolo asked.

  “Think of it,” Coyle said. “They were a highly trained group of weapons masters and experts at artful subterfuge. They could have scooped ice cream and overthrown a small country in the same afternoon, and no one would have been the wiser.”

  “And Trevin?” Treece asked. “How was he involved in all this?”

  “He used his expertise to help Moreci with his creations. In fact, he seems to have been key to the transformation of Fang, and they made certain she’s not the garden variety vampire. Garlic, sunlight, holy water, crucifixes, running water: none of those hinder Fang. And I know, because they tried everything through their experiments.” She closed her eyes and thought of all the test subjects who didn’t succeed, ending up instead in a jar on Trevin’s shelves. How many died so they could create the perfect weapon?

  Coyle’s hands were moving slower. Her mind had trouble keeping up with the words she wanted to use. She wasn’t sure whether to feel ashamed or glad. Why not both? This was her opportunity to show just how smart, how brilliant she was. They would all see how much she deserved to be a detective.

  So there.

  “Sounds like a nightmare,” Quolo said. “I can’t think of anything worse.”

  “It gets worse,” Coyle said. She shuffled through the paperwork. “The government supplied Moreci with people from asylums and prisons all over the country, and he created more and more preternatural creatures. Until, eventually there were problems within the original group itself and possibly with Fang. The government officially declared the project finished. In fact, here’s a memo, dated more than two years ago regarding the status of the project, ‘Project Archangel is set for full termination, and all working for the project will be under quaerite et conteret status.’”.

  “Seek and destroy,” Poes translated the Latin phrase. “They were going to destroy and kill everything and everyone involved.”

  “Since the program created aberrations, the Templars took it upon themselves to roll up their sleeves and finish what Moreci started. I should have remained with Moreci, to keep him in line. This was my mistake and I won’t forgive myself for what happened,” Treece said.

  “Professor Moreci was supposedly killed years ago. Shot in his lab. Four plugs in his chest.” Vonteg said.

  “Obviously he lived,” Coyle said. “He was right in front of me a couple of days ago.”

  “And apparently Fang broke free and killed all the other creatures before taking the Curse of Shadows,” Bolt said. “Now she’s bent on revenge, with the perfect motive: kill them before they kill her. Makes perfect sense.”

  “She’s unstoppable,” Duone said.

  “Except for aurorium,” Coyle said.

  “Aurorium? The mineral that creates its own energy?” Quolo asked.

  “Yes. Apparently a defect was purposely embedded into Fang’s genetic build. Some felt she was made too powerful and wanted a fail-safe so she could be killed when necessary.” Coyle swallowed her drink and caught the automaton’s attention for another.

  �
�Easy now, Coyle,” Vonteg said. “That’s a lot of alcohol.”

  “Please. I’ve had quite the day,” she retorted, ignoring the strands of hair covering her eyes. The liquid courage kept her tongue loose, and the chance to think out loud for a change felt freeing. And brave. Mostly brave. And smart.

  Very smart.

  Yes. She would show them how her mind worked, show them just how capable she was, just how important she was to the team.

  Coyle stared at the far wall that tilted sideways, trying to keep her thoughts straight and orderly.

  “We’re going to have to make a list of people working against us,” she said.

  “Fang, of course,” Bolt said. “Coyle, aren’t you paying attention?” He motioned to the others. “I thought she was a smart detective.”

  “No. Fang’s not against us, see? She’s the one who killed Trevin, the head collector,” she said. “Ugh! Trevin was a horrible, horrible man. Kept heads in glass jars. Why? Why did I go into that room?” She slurped from the glass. The walls kept trying to turn sideways.

  Duone shook his head. “Those drinks are gettin’ to ya, friend.”

  “See, Fang killed Trevin because... Hmm. They... Well, see, let’s try this instead. He stole the book with the impostor, and they—” She stopped and covered her mouth in shock.

  “Coyle, I believe you’ve had enough drinks. It has been a long day for you,” Treece said. “The doctor said—”

  “No, no! The Baldwin mansion. Hear me out. The Baldwin mansion.” She snapped her fingers. “Treece, you said the woman who attacked me was probably fae and could probably impersonate other women, right? Tell me I’m right. Yes? Good. Of course I’m right, I’m a detective. Of sorts.

  “Listen, listen. The impostor fae woman-thing impersonates Fang. Fang! She slaughters the dinner party. They want her to... They frame her. Right? Yes! Why? Because she’s the best operative Moreci created, his shining example of what he could accomplish, and how did they thank him? The Templars tried to kill him. But he’s alive—somehow. So many mysteries here.” She chewed her bottom lip, her mind slipping through different possibilities of how Moreci had survived and who could have helped him.

  “Doesn’t it make sense? Do I have to explain everything? I mean, come on, isn’t obvious? But, no, they don’t want a lady detective working with them, really.”

  “Miss Coyle,” Treece said.

  She ignored him. “Moreci wants to get back at the Templars, at the people, at everyone who betrayed him! That’s why he took the book and framed Fang. For revenge.”

  “And then?” Bolt asked.

  She snapped her fingers and pointed at Poes. “And then the real Fang found out about their plan, I don’t know how, perhaps because she’s an amazing... person at what she does, right? She’s amazing. And she hunted down Trevin at the pub. Boom!” Coyle used her hands to tell the story. “She shot him with the amazing gadget that only Treece could have designed for her. Did you see it? No. Did you find it? No. I did. But never mind, they don’t want a lady detective. Heaven forbid they solve more crimes.”

  A few shot glances toward Treece, before he said, “Yes, Dawn’s Industries designed the special weapons meant for Templars. It appears Moreci supplied her for his own purposes, but let me assure you: Fang has never been, nor will she ever be a Templar. She is a vile monster, and besides, one can never trust a vampire.”

  “Unn-unn,” Coyle said. “Never say never, silly.” She wagged her finger at Treece and steadied herself.

  “She’s completely smashed,” Duone said.

  “Amusing, though,” Poes said. “And it is a great hypothesis.”

  “They took the book! Moreci and—what was her name, the one who attacked us? Veiul or Veil or something—they took it. They’re working together, you know?” she stammered.

  “Veiul? How did you know her name was Veiul?” Bolt asked.

  “Fang told me, but that’s not important now,” she said. “They didn’t like the way they were treated, Moreci and Veiul and the others. After all their hard work, see? What was that thing, that saying, Poes?”

  “Quaerite et conteret.” He smiled.

  “Quote and concert. That one,” she said, and smiled at him. “Seek and destroy. You know Latin. I like that. Latin’s a nice word, isn’t it? But, as I was saying, they wanted revenge for being betrayed. Just like me.” Her fingers reached up to the buttons on her blouse. It would make more sense if they all knew about the scar and Ronan the Ripper.

  Right?

  “Miss Coyle,” Treece said, rising from his seat. “Let’s retire for the night, shall we?”

  “Not before the airships,” she said, dropping her hands to her sides.

  “What?” Treece asked.

  “I found the papers, big papers for this many airships. Down underground. Trevin’s big papers,” Coyle said, holding up three fingers.

  “She found blueprints for airships,” Poes said.

  Coyle tried to stare at Bolt as she named each one, but his chair kept moving around. Or maybe it was her head. Or maybe it was her eyes.

  “The Starlighter, the Aurora and the Dawn’s Edge. Which one—which one of these is in the air tonight?” She pointed at Bolt but looked around the spinning, tilting, maddening room for Poes. She grinned when she found him. Why was she looking for him? Oh, that’s right. There was something she wanted everyone to know. It was about him, about her. About them.

  Bolt frowned before answering. “The Dawn’s Edge is the flagship of Dawn Industries. It left port this morning. It’s en route to Chicago.”

  “For?” Coyle hunched her shoulders.

  “To participate in the dedication ceremonies for the World’s Columbian Exposition, set a year before it opens,” Treece said.

  “So, so Dawn’s Edge is headed for a big city.” Coyle shifted her feet. “Big city with a lot of people with a bad book.”

  “For a major event,” Quolo whispered.

  “Sounds like a perfectly grand opportunity to murder a plethora of innocents,” GEM said. All eyes stared at him. “What? Am I wrong?”

  “I have what’s called a Tesla-Vine gate. We use the gates to transport ourselves throughout the world, and I included one on the Dawn’s Edge,” Treece said.

  “We need to stop that ship,” she said, turning to Treece, but her eyes hovered on Poes, or tried to anyway. “We need to stop that ship. Bad book on big airship thing.”

  “Then let’s get aboard,” Vonteg said.

  Treece led them through a labyrinth of hallways. Poes wrapped Coyle’s arm around his shoulders and helped her walk.

  There was something she wanted to say to him. To whisper in his ear. Something about the size of his shoulders, something about the smell of his cologne and his strong, steady gait as they walked. But the words weren’t there. She remained content with keeping her eyes on him, but the moving floors and her tumbling stomach weren’t helping. They turned a corner and stopped.

  “There’s a strange smell coming from the Gate room,” Treece said and walked down the halls ahead of them.

  “Burning metal and wires. Keep an eye on that one.” Bolt pointed at Coyle.

  “She won’t leave my side, I promise you that,” Poes said.

  “She’ll won’t leave by my side, promise me,” Coyle slurred, a wide grin across her face, her gaze searching for Poes.

  The smell of hot metal overwhelmed her, and she stopped at the doorway, leaned against the wall, and got sick. Poes handed her a handkerchief and held her hair away from her face as she coughed out the rest of her guts.

  “Oh no, Miss Coyle is ill,” GEM said. “I’ll retrieve a pail and mop for someone else to clean up.”

  “What’s happened?” Bolt asked.

  Coyle wiped her mouth with Poes’s handkerchief, trying to look into the Gate room. A smoldering arch sat in the middle of a wide room. Bits of flame covered the wood-and-metal construction, and burning wires jutted in all directions. Coyle turned away, leaning against
the doorframe.

  “It’s destroyed,” Vonteg said.

  “Who did this?” Treece said. “Someone... someone sabotaged the gate, destroying our only chance of stopping them.”

  “Well, who was alone? I’ll give you three guesses,” Bolt said.

  “We can’t assume it was her,” Quolo said. “She’s obviously trying to make sense of the—”

  “She’s obviously drunk! Anyone with half a brain can see what she’s trying to do: sabotage our efforts at finding the culprits,” Bolt said. The men added their opinions, each trying to shout the other down.

  Coyle mumbled something nonsensical. She was weightless in Poes’s firm grip. He was so strong. She leaned closer to tell him a secret, something only he would enjoy, something only she knew about him. She looked into his eyes, and he met her gaze.

  Those eyes!

  She smiled, opened her mouth to tell him, but fell to giggling instead. The secret was so ridiculously, incredibly preposterous. Poes shook his head and turned away.

  “Do we have another means of stopping the airship?” Poes asked.

  “Besides our transceiver system?” Treece said. “Yes. As a matter of fact, a train leaves in the morning that uses a similar route as the Dawn’s Edge. We can find another way from there.”

  Coyle closed her eyes as severed heads in glass jars strobed to life in her mind. She was a mess. Tonight hadn’t gone the way she’d hoped. But it was fine. As long as Poes knew the secret, then everything...

  She dropped to her knees, leaned into Poes’s legs, and passed out.

  ***

  “Is she well?”

  “She’s fine, Embeth,” Fang answered.

  “Is she sick?”

  “Tomorrow, for certain. But right now, she’s just sleepy. Very sleepy.”

  “She had a hard day?” Embeth looked in the mirror and fixed the hair that kept falling in her eyes.

  “She had a hard day,” Fang agreed.

  “Will she help you get the book?”

  “Yes. Yes, she will. In fact, she’s helped so much already.”

  “Then, maybe she’s your friend?” Embeth hopped up and down on one leg.