The gym was a short walk. I drove anyway, preferring not to look like a madwoman running through the streets. Parking at the curb with a loud screech of tires—in baggy sweatpants, unlaced combat boots, and an oversized t-shirt—I grabbed my sidearm and flew out of the jeep. The front door was locked. There were no signs of forced entry. The intruder either picked the lock or came through the back.
With a silent turn of the key, I slipped inside.
The entry lights, and those overhead on the gym floor, were dark. Moving farther in, the murk was lessened by a slender beam escaping from my partially open office door. Weaving through the equipment, using it as cover, I crept closer. Again, the lock was intact.
There was no way I left it unlocked and the light on.
Weapon ready, I kicked the door open wide. It was a small room. I knew immediately I was alone. Nothing was out of order. Sal’s old laptop was still on my desk. The vault was closed. But it must have been opened, or the third alarm wouldn’t have sounded as I was driving.
There was no damage, no indication of tampering. Hacking the keypad would leave no visible evidence, but it implied whoever broke in knew the vault was here and came ready for it. A simpler solution was they had the code to open the door but were unaware of my recent decision to upgrade the security.
Only one person besides me knew the vault existed. One person had keys to the building and had watched me type in the code multiple times.
I lowered my weapon and sniffed the air for confirmation. Human.
“Dammit, Casey. What the fuck are you doing?”
I tapped in the code and yanked open the steel door. Within the walls of the tight space, the fractured pieces of the exit to Drimera rotated slowly as they hung, suspended in a mesmerizing silence; mocking my mood. I couldn’t believe Evans was foolish enough to go through any exit alone. Going at night, through this one, after my warnings about what nested in the Dead City was crazy and irresponsible. Whatever the man’s explanation, it wouldn’t be good enough.
I dropped my phone and keys on the desk and stepped into the exit.
The torn, ethereal fabric dragged on my body, slowing my steps as I arrived on the other side. There was no light. The haphazard piles of debris were too high and close to let the moons in. I’d placed them that way on purpose, to protect against discovery and infiltration. From the outside, the mound blended with the other ruins, making the concealed, makeshift door near impossible to spot. As a bonus, the deadly nageun (the only inhabitants of the long-deserted city) lacked the dexterity to open it.
Cringing at the slow squeak of rusted metal, I stepped out into the night. The air was warm, like summertime in the Sentinel. Two half-moons sat crisp and bright, high in the navy, star-lit sky. Their combined light still wasn’t enough to erase the deep shadows painting the vacant structures. Persistent blackness oozed from their dark depths. Silence did as well, broken by the blustery wind as it whistled through the fallen remains and empty streets. As a gust rustled the hair off my face, I breathed deep, inhaling the odors it carried: dust, decay, and the unmistakable musk of nageun. Overlapping the unpleasantness, was the faraway, cloying scent of nether blossoms blowing in from outside the city walls.
I’d been home many times in the last few months in our search for Marnie Evans. The smells of Drimera were less shocking than they once were. Yet, my anxiety level had yet to wane. I was a wanted fugitive. A trespasser. And Naalish had no tolerance for me.
As the wind died, I noted a trace of human-scent. The partial imprint of a single set of shoes led away from the barrier. I stared at them, my worry and anger at war with each other. It was procedure to erase our tracks or lay a false trail. On the rare chance someone entered the city, I wanted no reason for them to examine the heap of debris hiding the exit.
Evans knew nothing good would happen if Naalish discovered I had unfettered access to Drimera. And yet he’d left clear marks in the dust for anyone to see—and follow.
So I did, for a good three hundred feet. When I reached an open space, the trail vanished. Here, the wind blew unhindered over what was once a square or promenade. Streets led away from the clearing in all directions, out into a city that covered several square miles. Evans didn’t have much of a lead on me, but the wind had dispersed his tracks. And with the tumbled-down structures, and hundreds of multi-story buildings, it could take all night to find him. If he’s even still here. To search for Marnie, he’d need to venture out into Drimera.
From this location, he had multiple options for leaving the city.
The front gate was dead ahead, but it was damaged long ago, during the ancient war that destroyed the city. The main entrance had been blocked by a massive, vine-smothered building since before I was born. The same battle had compromised the towering perimeter wall in various places, leaving splits in the fortification, and enough rubble on both sides to climb. Evans and I made use of several such gaps on our prior visits. But which one had he used tonight? And where was he going? Our last new lead was two weeks ago. Why would Evans be so stupid as to risk looking for Marnie without intel or direction—or me?
Getting my bearings, I headed toward the nearest breach in the wall. Checking them all would take a while, but I couldn’t call out for him. Already, eyes were shining inside the dark, vacant structures. The nageun who called the Dead City home were skittish. Patient. Watchful. They preferred carrion over confrontation. If the creatures believed engaging me posed too great a risk, they might never leave their cover to attack.
Might wasn’t going to cut it.
I’d been at the mercy of the nageun, with their razor-teeth and their hallucinatory venom flooding my veins. When motivated, they could strip a body to bone faster than one of Evans’s toxic piranhas. They could also take their time, savoring every bite.
Nope. Might was definitely not going to cut it.
I raised a flicker of fire into my hand. The flame was small, but large enough to warn the nageun back, and for Evans to notice if he was nearby. The downside: others might see it, too. In my day, lyrriken patrols rarely ventured this way. But Queen Naalish had grown more aggressive and paranoid in recent years. Who knew what protocols she had in place now?
Finding no flap of wings or distinct shapes against the night sky, I finished my sweep of the south end and moved on. At each breach, I tucked my gun and my flame away, climbed the stones, and looked for some sign of Evans. I was on number four when I spotted a conspicuous silhouette, high atop the stones. The shadow moved, shifting position, and became man-like in shape. It was a good seventy feet up to where the figure was sitting. He was facing out, unable to see me or my fire. The height was nothing for one of my kind to fly. But there was no notion of wings or a tail on the mysterious figure.
I breathed deeply into the wind. Evans.
Studying the fallen stones, I determined the best way up, and started climbing. Guilt tugged at my steps. My earlier assessment was unfair. Evans was far from stupid. But his recklessness had put us both in jeopardy. If I let him off the hook, he might try it again.
I was nearly at the top when my boot slipped. Pebbles bounced, as I struggled for another foothold. A larger piece of rock dislodged, and the shape whirled around. I saw the weapon in his hand before his face. “Relax,” I said. “It’s me.”
Evans lowered the muzzle with a sharp, “What the hell? I almost killed you.”
“You should have. If it was any other lyrriken sneaking up on you, you’d already be dead When you’re off-world you don’t hesitate. You know that.”
Shoving his sidearm in the holster on his belt, Evans turned back around to stare out into the night. “I don’t need to hear this right now.”
“Be more careful, and I won’t have to say it.”
“If you came here to lecture me—”
“It’s better than any reason you have for being here.”
Evans said nothing, and his silence frustrated me. I wanted to hear his excuses, so I could shoot them all do
wn. I wanted to slap him—then hug him and drag him back to the Sentinel before something ate us both. But the dark ghost of trauma wrapping around him changed my mind. Sorrow seeped from his body in great, aching waves, slumping his shoulders and draining away the justification for my anger.
Re-thinking my approach, I sat beside Evans on the edge of the wall. An open field of white-grass stretched out in front of us. Moonlight set the thick blades to shimmering in the breeze. I watched them wave, observing the moment of serenity, yet feeling none of it. I would have once, I thought. But my life on Drimera was so long ago now, the peace I once felt here was barely a notion.
“You know how dangerous it is here,” I said. “The risks we face every time we step through the exit. It’s why we plan. We bring supplies. Weapons. Erase our tracks. We take precautions. What do you have? One gun?”
He shrugged.
“Are you kidding me? You put both our lives on the line with this stunt, and you have nothing to say? I was just starting to believe you had a handle on this, that I didn’t have to worry every second you were out of sight. If I hadn’t alarmed the vault door, you could’ve died here, and I would never have known.” I struggled to soften my tone. “I’m your friend, Casey, and you took advantage of my trust. For that, I deserve more than silence. I deserve to know what the hell is going on.”
Evans was quiet a moment more. When he finally spoke, it was hushed and subdued in a way I wasn’t used to. “When someone goes missing,” he said, starting slow, “their loved one always insist they can feel them out there. It’s how they never lose faith, how they never stop believing. It’s how they know the person they lost is still alive. I can’t do that. I can’t feel Marnie at home. When I’m here, on this world, it’s the only time—the only place—I can still feel her.”
“This isn’t your first time, is it? You’ve come here without me before. Before I alarmed the door. How many times?”
“I know I screwed up,” he said, using regret to avoid my question. “But when I’m here, I know my sister is alive. When I’m not, when I’m home in our apartment, her things are there, her voice is on the answering machine, but she’s not there, Dahlia. I can’t feel any trace of her. Not in our apartment. Not anywhere in the city. I don’t know she’s alive. I don’t believe it. I don’t have faith or hope. I don’t have anything.”
Sorrow clogged my throat. I put my arm around him and dropped my empathic guard. I let his emotions flow in. Grief. Loneliness. Guilt. Anger. Worry. I siphoned a little off the top of each and let it sink inside.
It wasn’t my first time, either.
Temporarily pulling in the trauma of strangers to weaponize it or help solve a murder, were worthy uses for my ability. Permanently absorbing the trauma of my best friend, to ease his pain for a little while, was equally important.
“I know how much you miss her,” I said. “How hard this is on you. And with every lead that doesn’t pan out, it gets harder. But—”
“It’s not,” Evans broke in. “That’s just it. It’s not hard. At least, not all the time, and not like it should be.”
“What do you mean?”
“I should be a wreck. My little sister was kidnapped by a fucking dragon. At best, she’s in danger. At worst…” Evans shook his head. “I’m worried. And I miss her. But not like I did at first. Not like I should. And when I’m home, and I can’t feel her, it’s worse. It’s like she’s been gone years, not months. It’s like, I’ve already moved on, and my life is back to normal. I’m going to work, hunting with you. Sometimes I’m sad, but mostly I feel…fine. And that’s not right.”
“It is, because you know we’ll get her back. And what good would it do Marnie if you fell apart? What good would it do your parents if you stop calling or laughing with them on the phone? You’re reacting to this the only way you can. With optimism, logic, and determination.”
“Then why does it feel like I’m betraying her?”
I dropped my arm. The action made me look guilty, but Evans wouldn’t put those pieces together. He’d never imagine I was the reason he was holding up so well. That I’d moderated his suffering, making life without Marnie, not merely livable, but at times enjoyable.
Yet, as deeply as I cared for Evans, my motive wasn’t purely to stem his sadness. He had to keep up appearances—at all costs. And I didn’t trust him to do it himself. If anyone got an inkling Marnie was missing, it would call into question the scenarios Oren created to explain the whereabouts of all the missing dancers. Having Evans moping around, showing signs of grief, threatened the entire ruse. It was a fact Oren reminded me of often.
“Pretending not to grieve is messing with your head,” I told him. “You’ll feel better once we find her. I promise. Now, let’s get you home.”
“Wait.” Evans put a hand on my arm. “What’s that?” He pointed at the lowlands outside the wall. “Something’s moving.”
I shifted my eyes and scanned the dark field. “I don’t see—”
A blast of orange broke the night. Tearing down like a comet to set the grass ablaze, fire illuminated a blue-skinned, blue-haired form leaping to avoid the strike. Above, outlined by the fading glow, were the shapes of three lyrriken. Wings extended as they circled, the three dropped into a sudden dive. They dipped low, taunting the female humanoid as she ran in an awkward lope toward the wall.
Evans drew his gun. “We need to get down there.”
I didn’t move. Giving aid meant openly interfering with Guild business on Drimeran soil. It was a dangerous line for me to cross, and she might die anyway.
Watching her dodge another strike, confusion quickened Evans’s words. “Why doesn’t she fight back?”
“She’s a ciguapa. Her kind are more inclined to hide than fight.”
“Then she’s harmless? She didn’t do anything wrong?”
“I didn’t say that.” Ciguapa weren’t powerless or innocent, but they had no real fighting skills. If I did nothing, she’d be dead in a matter of minutes.
The outcome would be the same if I took too long to debate the issue.
“Dahlia?” Evans’s eager gaze bore into mine. “She’s outnumbered. They’re going to kill her. What do we do?”
I kicked off my boots and handed him my weapon. “We save her.”
Seven
Muscles swelled beneath my crimson plates. Wings and tail emerged. I tore away the scraps of my sweatpants and t-shirt and turned to Evans. It was hard not to smile at his awestruck expression. He’d seen me fully shifted several times now, but clearly it never got old.
“I’ll handle the patrol,” I said. “You keep the ciguapa safe. Fire at anything that comes near you. Don’t hold her gaze. And don’t let her kiss you.”
“Why would I—?” A sharp intake of air ended his words, as I pulled Evans off the wall and swooped down. The creature’s path had brought her closer. In mere seconds, we were over her position. A few more, and we were low enough for me to safely release him.
His whoop, as Evans fell, was inappropriate for an impromptu rescue operation, but I let it go when he nailed the landing; dropping into a crouch in the thick grass five feet from the target. Hovering above, I watched the creature come to a frightened, stumbling halt. Her lengthy mane whipped side to side, as she glanced around, unsure where to run. Risking a look at Evans, she stilled, and the strands settled, revealing a face that was startlingly human. Except for the eyes. The ciguapa’s frightened gaze—day-glow yellow, with sockets wide as a mug, and round as spotlights—leapt from him, to me, over to the approaching lyrriken patrol, then back to Evans.
“It’s okay,” he said. “We’re here to help.”
But if the creature understood, or even spoke a common language, she had no reason to trust us. I had to give her one.
Sending a fiery blast into the air, I struck one of the lyrriken hovering above. Thrown off balance by a burning wing, he knocked into the operative alongside him, and they both spiraled into a freefall. I was hoping the str
ike might earn us points with our new blue friend, but I didn’t stick around to find out. Soaring, I searched the grass and located the two lyrriken, lying still and smoldering a good thirty feet away.
The third dove in front of me. Deep blue scales shining under the twin moons, she released a burst of ice crystals at my chest. As they hurled across the short distance, I banked left, out of reach. My opponent conveyed her impatience with a protracted snarl and came around again. I met her second, hasty shot with one of my own. Fire and ice fled our hands and collided with a flash of light and the sharp hiss of vapor.
She pushed her attack out harder.
I pushed back.
Steam gathered around us, but she didn’t budge.
Neither did I.
Getting nowhere, I withdrew, and the smirk of victory spread across my adversary’s plated face. Misinterpreting my retreat for injury, she advanced. I didn’t correct her. As her clawed hand reached for me, I stilled my wings and dropped. Grabbing her ankle, I hauled the protesting operative down with me in a rapid fall.
The ground rushed up to meet us. She struggled, clawing at me.
I lobbed a rapid sphere of fire into her face—and threw her down.
Softening my own landing with a swift flap of wings, I watched her lyrriken form bump and roll across the ground. Impact had smothered the flames. She flailed in the grass, crispy and moaning.
I walked over and took the knife from her belt. My inclination was to slit her throat, but it wasn’t enough. Unless I destroyed her heart, she’d eventually heal. She’d return to the Citadel to deliver her report. Naalish would pull the information from her mind, see me, and know I attacked a Guild operative without provocation. Whatever action the queen took against me, then, would be justified in the eyes of Drimeran law—and fatal.
I placed a palm on the female lyrriken’s chest. Staring down at her battered form, it was easy to think how, at one time, it could have been me lying on the ground. It was me; defending Drimera from outside incursion, dispensing justice by the Guild’s command, killing without thought or remorse. It was all she knew. But ignorance didn’t erase her deeds. Or mine.
Smoke & Mirrors Page 8
