“Welcome back, Mason,” he says and pops his gum. “How’s small town life?”
“Quiet.” I shrug and fiddle with my hands. “You know, apart from the occasional uprising, disappearances, and shootings.”
“Right. Just another day at the office, eh?”
“Something like that.”
His eyes drop to my hands that I’m twisting endlessly over each other. “You look nervous,” he says.
I shrug again. “Usually when the director wants to see me, I’m in trouble.”
“Hmm,” is all he says in response, which doesn’t help my nerves. Is that that “hmm” a good sign or a bad sign?
The lift eventually trembles to a stop and Bernie the faun gives me a great big smile at the bottom. I haven’t seen him in ages and wouldn’t mind hearing how he’s been. However, Agent Snow gives him a look to stop any questions or greeting Bernie might give and the faun remains silent, the smile on his face dimming as I’m marched past. I mouth “sorry” to the faun before Agent Snow guides me out of sight. I expect to be led through the middle of Merchant Square but the agent avoids the square altogether, and turns left, following the edge of Underground past the market and living quarters until headquarters looms on our left. Instead of making for it, we enter a door in the massive cement wall that encases Underground with a warning branded on the front that says “IMS AGENT USE ONLY.”
Just inside a centaur, unicorn, and two active gargoyles stand guard. The sight gives me another spike in my blood pressure. The centaur and unicorn are wearing mesh armor reinforced by metal plates. The dappled unicorn even has a diamond tipped cap on its horn. The gargoyles, guardians animated by magic, don’t need any armor of their own since they’re made of stone. Their flaky wings flex over their gorilla like bodies as they march back and forth across the room. I halt, surprised, and Agent Snow tugs on my arm. The gargoyles stop pacing and stand sentinel at the next massive door. A blue sheen ripples across the surface—a dragon’s barrier. Agent Snow pulls me over to a tall white counter on the left behind which the centaur stands. The unicorn paces on the other side of the room, tossing me suspicious glances.
“Agent Snow and Junior Agent Mason, per the director’s request,” Agent Snow announces to the centaur. I can’t even see the centaur’s face which is obscured behind a helmet. He taps at a computer and then nods mutely. Agent Snow continues to pull me about towards the door. The dragon’s barrier vanishes and the door swings open.
We enter a white walled hallway that is almost too pristine and illuminated by sterile lights that reflect off the glossy walls and floor. Doors line the hall in each direction which splits off into even more hallways. Each door glimmers with the pale blue light of a magical barrier.
“These are the penitent cells,” I say out loud, my voice seemingly too loud in the empty, echoing hall.
“Yup,” Agent Snow says casually and leads the way to the right.
My breathing hitches and my heart races. Now I’m terrified. Why on earth am I here? The only reason I’d be here is if they want to throw me in a cell. I glance over my shoulder to the door we just came through only to see it’s blocked off by a dragon’s barrier again. Oh, crap. I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all.
We turn down one hallway then the next, each and every one the same apart from large bold numbers on the wall in blue to let us know where we are. Out of a survival instinct, I try to memorize them. I almost run into the agent when he finally stops and holds open a door for me. At least this one doesn’t have a barrier.
I step very slowly inside to find a long oval table at which four people are already seated. Director Knox sits closest to me in a sharp suit, his bald head reflecting the bright overhead lights. Next is Witty in his wheelchair, his black hair neatly combed, and he gives me a warm smile. Across from them is a heavily built man in reinforced mesh armor like the centaur and unicorn at the entrance. A huge jaw, shortly cut hair, and a scar down one side of his face, he looks like a war hero. His face is set in a scowl.
And standing at the head of the table opposite me is a man I’ve only seen twice before. Tall, slim, and upright with a gaze that could cut through steel. Right now his eyes are hidden in shadow beneath his ruffled brown hair. He tugs on the cuff of his peculiar all black suit and then that piercing gaze of his meets mine.
“Hello, Phoenix. It’s been too long.”
He’s the only majestic class dragon I’ve ever met.
Draco.
Chapter 5
Agent Snow shuts the door behind me, leaving me alone with the four men in the room. I don’t know what I’m supposed to say or do. My legs don’t seem to work anymore and I stare at Draco. It’s probably a rude thing to do but my eyes are drawn to him like a magnet. His expression doesn’t betray any emotion as he studies me.
“Have a seat, Mason,” Director Knox says, breaking the spell. He nudges out the chair opposite him with his foot.
I slowly sink into it and manage to get out a single word. “Sir.”
The director clasps his hands in front of him and gives me his full attention. “I’m sure you’re wondering why I called you down here.” I nod mutely. “I know Junior Agent Wallowitz has been sending you updates concerning the interrogation of Dasc.” At the mention of his name, Witty ducks his head. “I am also aware that a friend of Agent Barnes has been feeding him dated recordings of the interrogations.”
I swallow past the lump in my throat. “Am I in trouble?”
He allows himself a small smirk. “For once, no.”
If I’m not in trouble for sneaking a glimpse of the interrogations I’m not supposed to be privy to, then why are we talking about Dasc? I clench my sweaty palms together under the menacing black table. Has he told them about me? No, he wouldn’t. Why would he? I’m sure he would want to keep my ability a secret as much as I do. My power could destroy his, but maybe being held prisoner changed his mind.
“As I’m sure you are aware, our interrogations have been fruitless,” the director continues. I nod again. “He’s refusing to give any information as to the whereabouts of the missing residents from Moose Lake and other cities, or the location of Agent Smith whom the shapeshifter you encountered impersonated. We’ve attempted to crack down on Mr. Webster and the shapeshifter but they have also refused to speak.”
That surprises me. I know Mr. Webster originally took the fall as Dasc’s patsy before we uncovered Dasc as the real culprit. For some reason I think that would make Mr. Webster angry and want to rat out his boss. I guess not. This still isn’t making any sense. Do they want me to explain something more about what happened in Moose Lake? I already put everything—apart from my ability—into my reports. There’s nothing left to tell.
“However,” the director continues, “yesterday evening Dasc agreed to speak and give us whatever information we want.”
“That’s great!” I say, the words bursting out of me before I can restrain myself. This is what we’ve been waiting for. We’ll finally have a lead on Jefferson’s daughter, Deputy Graham’s sister, and all the others.
The director holds up a hand for my silence and looks resigned. “There is a condition for this information.”
At that I almost balk. “You can’t give him a deal or immunity. He can’t walk.”
“That’s not what he asked for.”
Draco finally speaks up again. “He’ll only talk to one person.”
“What?” I say, caught off guard.
His dark eyes cut through me. “You.”
I wait for someone to laugh and say they’re joking, but every face in the room is stone cold sober. Words escape me as I try to sort my confusion and revulsion. My face burns and I swallow a few times.
In the silence I leave open, Director Knox continues speaking. “That’s why I instructed your brother and Agent Barnes to stay behind. I don’t want your brother anywhere near this. I’ve been keeping as many of the werewolves as I can out of Underground until we know just how far D
asc’s influence goes. And as much as I hate to admit it, I can’t trust Agent Barnes to be here. He’s too close to this and has acted out before. Putting Agent Barnes anywhere near Dasc is asking for trouble.”
“You’re worried about Jefferson?” I finally manage to say and jab a thumb at my chest. “He killed my parents. I am the one that emptied a clip into Dasc. You should be worried about me.”
“I realize the situation isn’t ideal,” the director says. “If there was another way I’d take it. Trust me.”
I run a hand over the top of my head, trying to hide the fact that I’m shaking. “What about the penitent cells?”
“He’s been sitting in one every day but he seems strangely immune to their effect.”
Immune? That’s not possible. No one is immune to the penitent cells. They’re infused with the magic of fauns and cause their captives to relive the terrifying emotions of their victims until they repent for what they’ve done. I can’t even imagine the force of the magic exerted upon Dasc for the countless number of victims I’m sure he’s created. My entire family for starters. He would be reliving their last moments of fear and pain over and over again, feeling them as his own. The penitent cells are meant to make criminals truly realize what they’ve done so they don’t do it again. Fauns and a lot of the legendary community think it’s a better idea than criminals just sitting in cells with their own thoughts all the time.
I shake my head and knead my knuckles into my thighs. And to think I had been worried all this was going to be about my potential ability. I think I might have actually handled that better.
“Why? Why me?” I ask desperately.
“He won’t say,” Draco answers, “but Dasc always has a reason for everything he does.”
The dragon’s eyes narrow and he averts his gaze to the black tabletop. What I still don’t get is why Draco is even here. Yeah, so Dasc is the alpha werewolf, but what’s that to a dragon? Draco must have better things to do than watch pointless interrogations go round. He could watch recordings later if he really wanted.
“I understand your hesitation and confusion,” Director Knox says in the kindest voice he’s ever used with me. “But we need your help, Mason.”
I close my eyes and press the heels of my palms against them. Each breath I take is ragged and I hate feeling this distressed. Dasc shouldn’t affect me like this. I can’t let him. I won’t let him. It takes an effort to level out my breathing, compose myself, and set my hands on the table.
“What do you need me to do?” I ask.
“We’ll put him in the interrogation room. Major Lynch will stand guard inside with you.” The director nods to the bulky warrior guy on my right. “Junior Agent Wallowitz, Draco, and I will watch through a one-way mirror. We’ll guide you through an earpiece if that will make you more comfortable.”
More comfortable. Right. As if a lousy little piece of plastic in my ear is going to make this any easier. Then I think of Jefferson. I think of Hawk. I think of my parents. Now’s not the time to be a coward. I force myself to take a deep breath and tuck my anxiety deep down, trying to replace it with sterner stuff.
“Okay. I’ll do it,” I say.
Draco is already sweeping out of the room and his voice booms, “Then we’ll start immediately.”
The director and major rise. Witty rolls over in his wheelchair and we exit together. I haven’t seen him in what feels like ages. It’s nice to see a friendly face in the middle of this mess at least.
“Hey,” Witty says. “It’s good to see you.”
“Yeah. Right. Hi, Witty.”
“I’m sorry this got sprung on you,” he says, hands pumping the wheels of his chair in well-timed, methodical motions.
“And here I thought my biggest worry lately was going to be a selkie holding a grudge against me.”
“The one that gave you that shiner?” he asks and grins.
I grimace. “It’s that noticeable, huh?”
“A bit, yeah.”
He looks away and we follow Draco’s lead down the hall behind the director and the major. It feels like I’m being lead to the gallows. I move a little closer to Witty and lower my voice.
“So how come you’re a part of this anyway?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I’ve been working the surveillance feeds, all the tech.”
“You’re not even a bona fide agent yet.”
“I was motivated to help with this in any way I could,” he says and gives me a quick sideways glance before staring straight ahead, his ears going red. “And so they let me. I’m qualified to, you know.”
“I don’t doubt it.” I sigh and shake the tension down my arms. “Thanks, Witty. It’s good to know I have a friend close by at least.”
“And it’s fascinating,” he says offhand.
“What is?”
“Oh, I mean, umm—” He purses his lips and clams up.
“Witty.”
“Dasc. He’s fascinating.” His expression changes to one of horror when I glare at him. “I mean his abilities. His recovery from those wolfsbane rounds is a thing unheard of. His healing capabilities are far beyond the norm.”
“Great,” I say flatly. “I’ll be sure to shoot him twice as much the next time I feel like killing him then, just to make sure.”
Director Knox gives me a cold look over his shoulder so I decide now’s a good time to shut up. Next thing I know, Draco has vanished and the director stops me outside a door sealed with a dragon’s barrier. From the pocket of his suit Director Knox pulls out an earbud and puts it in the palm of my hand.
“We’ll be watching the whole time and will guide you with the questions,” he says. “Just try to relax and get the truth from him if you can. You’ll be safe. He’s restrained and Major Lynch will stay with you in the room.”
“I have no idea how to do this,” I confess. Some part of me hopes the director will change his mind and let me go. The intelligent part of me knows that’s not going to happen.
“Maybe that’s what we need,” he says. “All the trained interrogators have failed. Perhaps it’s time for some unusual methods.”
That’s really not at all comforting.
He pats me awkwardly on the shoulder and slides away to the observation room with Witty. Major Lynch waits for me to put the earbud in and then the dragon barrier dissolves on its own. The major presses the door open and lets me in.
A small white table sits in the middle of the room, and a pair of chains leading to handcuffs are locked to the center. And shackled in those cuffs, sitting in an equally sterile white chair, is the last person I want to see. When his bright blue eyes find me in the doorway, they widen and he gives me that familiar crooked smile. He’s in the same white prison garb from the surveillance feeds Jefferson has been watching, and his black hair is as wild as ever.
The terror that has been building in me leading up to this moment snaps. I’m back at that night squeezing the trigger of my mother’s gun, my arm slung around my brother to protect him, Jefferson fighting for his life in the background. Everything becomes so perfectly clear again. There was a reason I put bullet after bullet into Dasc. He’s a monster. I stopped him. Now it’s time for me to finish the job others couldn’t.
I don’t take my eyes off him as I walk to the empty chair opposite him and sit down. Major Lynch stands at attention beside the closed door and the dragon’s barrier flashes back into place over the entrance. There’s silence for a long time and none of us move. Dasc and I just stare at each other, that stupid smile of his never leaving his face.
“Phoenix Mason,” are the first words Dasc says, savoring every syllable of my name. It makes me want to cringe. “The girl who tried to kill me.”
I don’t respond. I don’t know what he wants from me but he’s not going to get it. I’ll be the one getting the information here. A voice comes softly through the link in my ear. It’s the director. “Take charge, Mason. Don’t let him control this conversation. Don’t let him ask any que
stions. Drill him. He wanted you here so get what you can out of—”
The director feeds me some more advice while I glare at the monster in front of me. Dasc sighs and rolls his head around his shoulders, his eyes locking onto the piece in my ear. “I thought I was going to be talking to Phoenix, not you, Director Knox.”
I start and automatically look to the one-way mirror behind me, then to the major who doesn’t look impressed, just angry.
“I said I’d only talk to Phoenix,” Dasc says and leans over the table, head tucked down so he’s looking up through his eyebrows to the mirror over my shoulder. He’s deranged, but he also knows what happened to Jefferson’s daughter, Deputy Graham’s sister, and all the others. I hold onto that thought. It’ll get me through.
The director starts to say something else through the earpiece but I pull it out and hold it out for Dasc to see. Then I tuck it into my pocket and lean back in my chair, crossing my arms over my chest.
“I thought I made my feelings about you pretty clear, or did shooting you not get my message across?” I say, trying not to grit my teeth. “Why am I here?”
“You know, up until that point I thought we were getting along rather well.”
“Let me make something clear. I’ll bury your body in the woods where no one will find you when this is all over,” I say, calmer than I thought I could be at this point. “You know what you’ve taken from me. You know what I’m capable of. You know what I want. So here I am. Talk.”
His smile never waivers. I want him to flinch. I want him to tremble. I want him to show he’s vulnerable, but he doesn’t.
“How about you answer one of my questions and I’ll answer one of yours,” he says.
“That’s not how this is going to work.”
“Isn’t it?” The muscles in his face tighten and the monster hidden inside him shows through. His eyes flash yellow. “The IMS needs me. They already brought you here at my request. I’m the one holding all the cards.”
The Bite of Winter (International Monster Slayers Book 2) Page 7
