Coyle and Fang: Curse of Shadows (Coyle and Fang Adventure Series Book 1)
Page 26
“Aww, there you are. Such a nice duo. Coyle and Fang has such a nice ring to it, doesn’t it? I say, it’s better than Coyle and Moriarty, though our love for each other eclipses your friendship with this pitiful vampire,” Ronan said.
Coyle glanced down at Fang’s still form. The vampire she never wanted to trust or help, let alone be near was now in her arms. Defenseless, helpless, close to death if not there by now. And yet, despite all that Coyle leaned in and squeezed her friend. If they would die, then they would go together.
And that’s when she saw it.
Coyle pulled out Fang’s baton and pointed it at the monster. She flicked her wrist, cable spun out and wrapped itself around the misshapen, glass-studded arm. The creature held up its arm, inspecting the tangle of wire.
“Oh my goodness,” he said. “Sweet cakes? You must have thought this was a weapon of some sort. And here I thought you were more powerful. All this work, only to end up here in the sky. And now you’ll never why I did all this. Ah, then. Time to die.”
“You first.” With a flick of her wrist, the baton shot a cable out its other end and into the propeller.
“Oh,” Ronan’s voice crackled.
She let go before the monstrous form zipped by into the spinning blades and exploded. Bones and flesh and glowing blood splashed the glass-domed roof. The propellers shattered. And then the ship lurched, shuddered and fell.
Chapter 36
Two weeks later
The Treece mansion
Sausalito
Coyle stirred another cube of sugar into her cup of tea. She stared at the dark liquid spinning inside the white porcelain and caught her purple eye in the reflection. She shrank back and looked outside. Lace curtains curled in the light breeze, but she could see the rise of green hills across the bay. The streets of San Francisco were busy with people going about their day, running errands, gathering their shopping, holding hands or walking alone. All of them carrying on with their lives as if she hadn’t helped save thousands from being Turned.
It had been more than two weeks since the Dawn’s Point fell out of the sky and crashed into the plains of Iowa. The ship was low enough to the earth so that almost all of the two hundred passengers aboard the rescue ship walked away without too much injury. The Dawn’s Edge turned into a strange twisted ball of steel and purple lightning before it disappeared in a ball of chaos. Newspapers had a field day with the witness reports of strange lightning in the sky, blaming everything on the nether realm.
The corpses of the Turned had been collected and shipped back to San Francisco under the strict control of the Templars where they would studied before being buried in a mass, undisclosed grave.
A quiet knock on the door gave her the opportunity to focus on something else. Gibby, the train attendant, opened the door with her usual demure smile.
Gibby glanced behind her before signing,
Coyle looked down at her fingers, before signing,
Coyle stared at the mirror across the room, catching just the top of her head. It was just as well. She didn’t really want to see herself all bandaged up and bruised. Her body felt as though she had been dragged by a carriage. It was lucky she had been covered in bruises instead of having every bone in her body broken. And what of Fang? She had disappeared in midst of the carnage. And now she was gone without a trace.
But, where?
The why was understandable; almost everyone wanted her dead. Everyone except Coyle. They had formed a quick friendship since that jail cell so long ago. Both of them broken in their own way, and yet they complimented each so well bringing the villainous Moreci to an end.
Together.
Another knock on the door. But, this wasn’t Gibby’s uncertain, sheepish knock.
“Come in,” Coyle said.
Treece opened the door. His face fraught with concern, yet doing his best to smile. She sat up.
“No, no. Don’t worry. You need to rest as much as you can.” He pulled a chair close. “Can we talk?”
“Yes.”
“I feel we, or rather I, owe you an explanation. The past month has been quite remarkable, and I’m not sure where to start.”
“Why not at the beginning?”
He cleared his throat. “You deserve that. Ronan James Moriarty was one of our own—a top detective, in fact. But Ronan had many issues, and we discovered he had been hiding things. At first we believed he was suffering from mania, which is common in our line of work when dealing with strange phenomena. But then evidence arrived that he was absolutely disturbed. He vanished without a trace before we could bring him in.” Treece straightened his tie and smoothed wrinkles from his coat.
“We looked for him for quite some time. There was word he had... fallen in love with a young woman, but we weren’t sure who or where she was.”
Coyle frowned.
“We heard a rumor she was a sleuth of sorts. And when you successfully completed the detective tryouts—”
“You used me as bait.”
Treece studied his fingertips, sparing her only the slightest glance. He sighed and stood, buttoning his coat.
“We had to draw him out, find out anything we could,” he said. “And you were stellar.” He pulled out a small box and handed it to her.
She held it in her hands, hefted its weight. She knew what it was and set it aside. Her eyes settled on staring at her feet.
“You worked very hard for that. What’s more, you deserve it.”
“I feel as though I’m being paid off.”
“Detective Coyle, you’ll need a front if you’re going to become a Templar. Working for a local police department is perfect. You’ll be a detective for them and for us.”
“And why would I want to join the Templars?”
“Because we know where he was hiding. And we want you to find him for us—and for you. It will take some time, but we’re confident you can find him.”
“I’ll join, but only if it’s the two of us.”
The look in his eye became defiant. “Coyle. She’s a loose cannon.”
“And yet the pair of us managed to survive against insurmountable odds, and together we defeated the villain.”
Treece huffed and crossed his arms.
“Fang’s not meant to be controlled, you found that out the hard way. She’s meant to be part of a team, meant to be respected the way any other creature in God’s green earth deserves.”
Treece stepped to the window and pushed aside the curtains.
“We made a deal,” Coyle said. “I help her find Moreci and she helps me find Ronan. I can’t find him without her. And I won’t.”
He stepped away from the window and sighed. “A seasoned professional, such as Agent Fang, and a novice, such as yourself did manage to pull off a frightful event. I’ll speak to the Templar Committee on your behalf and ensure she won’t be harmed. But I do warn you, Coyle, she is quite dangerous and there’s no telling how far you can trust her.”
He gave her a small nod and left.
She stared at the box before glancing outside the window. The green hills disappeared into plumes of fog. Bells of a passing ship rang in the distance. If she squinted, she would be able to see people milling about through the streets, ogreks working on the docks, gnomes with insane amounts of colored hair, busy as bees. People enjoying what they did best.
She pushed herself up and reached for the box.
The End
Epilogue
May, 1893
The locomotive Pegasus, en route to Chicago
Coyle sat in one of the lounge cars, studying a small herd of wild horses as they galloped along the flat scrub of Wyoming, their wild manes flying. Sunlight glimmered off their shoulders. Coyle wondered where they were heade
d. Did they run out of necessity? Were they pushed away by predators? Or were they running just because they could? God designed them that way of course.
And was she hurtling toward Chicago, the last known location of Ronan because God designed her this way? All this time, she wasn’t sure if He was even listening. And yet, she made it out alive and stopped Moreci—with the help of Fang. She couldn’t deny the prayers of a righteous person were effective. But, she wasn’t righteous. Or was she? Was chasing Ronan out of duty to the Templars, her own sense of justice, or something else?
Her eyes refocused. The window glass reflected the outline of someone behind her. Female, tall, thin. Poised.
“Good afternoon, Fang,” Coyle said. “Lovely outside.”
There was a pause as if the vampire were considering the truth of the suggestion. “Suppose so,” Fang said. “Mind if I join you?”
“Please,” Coyle said. “Tea?”
“Coffee for me.”
Coyle signed to Gibby, who was seated nearby and the girl went to find a fresh pot. Fang sat without a sound. Both set their eyes to the passing scenery. The train clicked its rhythmic strokes as they sat in comfortable silence.
After a few moments, Gibby arrived with a cup and saucer and poured coffee. Coyle glanced at her and smiled. The young woman smiled back.
Fang frowned at Coyle.
“She said she wants to stay by my side and be my assistant,” Coyle said. “It’s very nice of her.”
“First it was GEM, and now it’s this girl that wants to stay with you.”
“No,” Coyle smiled. “You were first, remember?”
A ghost of a smile crossed Fang’s lips.
“Cream or sugar?” Coyle motioned to the small pots.
“I like my coffee like my dreams,” Fang said. “Black and full of bitterness.” There was a pause before they both laughed.
“I take it you’re fully recovered?” Fang asked.
“Muscles are still quite sore. I take it you’re fully recovered?”
Fang answered with a slow nod.
“Bodies kept piling up in the streets.” Coyle lowered her voice to just above a whisper. “I was worried there was another... of your kind, until we checked their records. All of them were wanted murderers and rapists. The police paid it no mind, but the Templars began to suspect you.”
“I’m always a suspect,” Fang said. She blew on her coffee and kept her eyes outside. Silence settled between them. The train tracks clicked and clacked.
The vampire turned and met Coyle’s eyes. “There is something refreshing about you.”
“Trust?” Coyle said.
She nodded. “Trust. Professionalism. The persistence of a bloodhound.” They shared a smile. “Admirable qualities.”
“I could say the same about you, Fang,” Coyle said. “And I could add a few more. I would much rather be working with you than against you.”
“Same,” Fang said.
“I’ve never worked with a vampire. Never even known one. You were remarkable through our whole ordeal. You wanted to do the right thing, and you succeeded.”
“I know who I am, but I still have a heart, Coyle,” Fang said.
“And that was my fault for being judgmental. I find it both a blessing and a curse, my talent for making assumptions within a few seconds of meeting people.”
Fang shrugged. “We all have our issues, don’t we?”
Coyle nodded and sipped her tea. “You enjoy stabbing people,” she said.
Fang nodded. “And you enjoy marking people before you know them.”
Coyle shrugged. “I’m right.” She took another sip. “Most of the time.”
“And I only stab the bad ones.” Fang sipped her coffee. “You handle confrontation fairly well,” Fang said. Her smile faded, and she stared at Coyle. “How did you survive the man who cut you open?”
Coyle faced the window, but her eyes turned to meet Fang’s.
“He was my fiancé,” she said. “He cut me open but let me live. Said I was his nemesis and challenged me to catch him. And that’s what I intend to do.”
They remained silent for a time and sipped their drinks.
“What do you think will happen when we find him?” Fang asked.
“What do you suppose Embeth would want?”
Fang looked outside and shook her head. “She’s gone. I haven’t seen her since ... our time on the ship. There’s been nothing. Not even a whisper. And now the whole ordeal has made me wonder; was she there with me or not? Either way, I don’t know what I would do without her.” Fang bit her lip, her shoulders trembled. She raised a hand to her eyes. Gibby brought her a handkerchief. Coyle got out of her seat and scooted next to Fang, pulling her close, but said nothing. Coyle was always good with words, but right now there were no words to console Fang. The vampire shook gently and dapped her eyes.
“I’m a wreck,” Fang said, sniffling.
“We’re both wrecks.” Coyle squeezed Fang’s hand. “And together, we’ll be beautiful wrecks.”
Fang dabbed her eyes. “Thank you, Coyle. I know I wouldn’t have survived without your help.”
“Same.”
After a few long minutes, Coyle returned to her seat and smiled. “You know, we’ve never properly introduced ourselves, so let’s do this the right way.” She stretched across the table. “My full name is Sherlyn Rebecca Holmes. My sisters called me Sherlock, just because, right? And Coyle is my mother’s maiden name.”
Fang accepted the handshake. “My Christian name was Charlotte Ann Watson.”
“I promised myself I would never use my surname. It reminds me too much of my father, so I’m just Sherlyn R. Coyle.”
“And I’m just Fang, for obvious reasons.”
They chuckled as bushes and hills and horses passed and the train tracks clicked away. Coyle stared outside, a delightful warmth filled her soul. Fang looked down at her wrist and scratched at the curious dark streaks that had spread from Veiul’s auroium-tipped blade.
***
The locomotive Griffin, en route to Chicago
On different train, heading in the same direction, another pair were conspiring. Two men were having a discussion regarding the proper elements of hunting.
“The most important thing you need is prey,” said one gentleman. His English accent was mild, though his tone was condescending. The small, round frames of his glasses reflected the light from the window, giving his eyes a strange white light. A white scar ran lengthwise from the top of his head, down past his small chin. He took a puff from his cigar before continuing. “Prey for the hunt is the perfect matter, especially at hand.”
The other shook his head and scratched the thin, neatly trimmed beard of his thick jaw. “You don’t understand hunting,” he said in a thick Dutch accent. “I do. I’ve been hunting much longer than you. And the hunting we’re up to will need the right weapons. Besides, lab coats and Bunsen burners are more your style. Leave the weapons of the hunt to me.”
Their discussion continued until finally they were interrupted. A tall, slender woman arrived at their table and cleared her throat.
“Excuse me, may I have this seat?” the woman asked. Her reddish-brown curls lay stacked in perfect mounds on her shoulders and framed a mildly attractive, although sharp features. Her dark eyes darted around and caught everything, much the way a hawk would. Her dress was finely crafted silk from the latest designers in Paris. The shape of her commanded attention and most every eye turned her way.
“But of course,” said the one with his English accent.
She sat, and her personal attendant offered her a cigarette from a solid gold case. The woman pulled one out, and the attendant lit the cigarette with a solid gold lighter before taking his place behind her. She took a long drag and exhaled.
“Doctors, you understand we are heading for Chicago during the grand opening of the World’s Columbi
an Exposition. It will be quite the scene, as they say. Do keep in mind we are also heading there, not for sight-seeing, but for the successful apprehension of one Ronan James Moriarty.”
Both men nodded, and she smiled. She took a long drag and let the smoke drift lazily from her full, red lips.
“Good to hear. And you also know she is on the Pegasus. Just made an appearance, as a matter of fact.”
“We do,” said the one with the Dutch accent. “I tracked her movements and suspected she would contact detective Coyle in due time.” He side-eyed his acquaintance. “And, although we have a difference as to the execution of our plan, we believe it work, Miss Maycroft.”
“That’s what I like to hear,” she said, nodding to each. “I don’t hire people to give me their best attempt. And my dearest younger sister, Sherlyn is at stake here. Then, Dr. Van Helsing and Dr. Jeckyll, let’s go over this plan on how to kill an unkillable vampire. And since I enjoy games more than anyone, our only rule is: no aurorium.”
The men smiled and shared their plan.
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Coming May 28th, 2021
Coyle and Fang: Prey for the Hunt
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Acknowledgements
This book wouldn’t be the same without giving proper thanks.
My first thanks go to my wife of 30 years, Katie. My head is full of ideas and I barely make a dent moving forward with them. When I told her I wanted to write a book, she nodded and smiled the way she always did when she heard my crazy ideas. She gave me plenty of space and time to tap away at the keyboard until I was ready to let her read. She became my proof-reader and always gave me positive feedback with a critical eye. Thank you so much for the time you gave me!
A wonderful set of colleagues in the Historical Fiction Writer’s Group has been a great help with the small details and questions I hadn’t thought of before. Tons of laughs, helpful tips and brutally honest feedback (“She didn’t really think that, did she?”) were key to shaping this story.