Shadow Flare (The Ruby Callaway Trilogy Book 2)

by D. N. Erikson

  Declan offered me a plastic grin. “This is a wonderful surprise.”

  I wiggled my phone back and forth. “Wonders of modern technology.”

  “No one’s ever been this excited to meet me before.” He coughed into the sleeve of his jacket, embarrassed by the admission. “I mean, there have been a few women.”

  “I just couldn’t believe it,” I said. “A man as smart as you, living in the same city. You’ve been hiding right under my nose. I love archaeology.”

  This time, Declan didn’t act nervous. His chest puffed out, taking the bait hook, line and sinker. “Well, your knight is here.”

  He offered me his arm, and I hooked mine inside. “I hope you know a good place. Because I’m looking to drink.”

  I felt him tense slightly as he connected the dots, all the way back to his apartment. Then he cleared his throat and said, “I know just the place, beautiful.”

  The word sounded wrong coming from his mouth. Some guys just couldn’t pull it off.

  But I pretended like he could as I said, “Well then lead the way. And tell me all you know about the historical monuments in Phoenix.”

  15

  Declan Burrows’s Apartment

  15 minutes ago

  A long night of drinking led to the inevitable nightcap at Declan’s apartment. To be clear, Declan did most of the drinking. After last night’s hangover, I wasn’t eager to get sloshed.

  Plus, I wouldn’t be much of a secret agent—or whatever the hell I was playing at—if I was tanked.

  Declan pawed at my jacket like a deranged bear, eager to get at the goods within. This wasn’t unusual, drunk or not—men always acted like they had a flight to catch, or a nuclear payload to defuse beneath your bra. Someone must’ve given them all the same erroneous memo that they got extra points for speed.

  Not so, but I wasn’t about to give Declan a lecture on how to treat a lady. Instead, I slipped from his grasp and headed for the liquor cabinet. His apartment was more upscale than mine, the residence of someone who had done well for himself in the private sector.

  Which, these days, meant MagiTekk.

  “So,” I said, picking up the thread of a conversation started hours before, “archaeology, is it?”

  “I’d like to excavate something,” he said, slurring his words as he tried the line on for size. I laughed, forcing my lips upward to pretend I enjoyed his stupid joke.

  “You need to behave yourself, Mister Burrows.” I poured a heavy fingerful of whiskey into a tumbler, realizing that I was more buzzed than I thought. Always good to enter situations like this with a plan.

  I wasn’t scared of Declan. Worst case scenario, I could stab him in the neck and flee. Granted, that wasn’t optimal, but it wasn’t like the portly fuck was a black belt in disguise. Scholarship had made him soft and weak.

  “But that wouldn’t be nearly as much fun.” I felt his teeth bite into my neck like I was an apple.

  I dropped the tumbler to the ground, and it shattered on the teakwood.

  “Oh my God,” I said, immediately slipping from his grasp. “I am so sorry.”

  “Leave it.”

  “You don’t know what this does to wood?” I gave him a serious look. “You’ll have to replace the whole floor.”

  Declan was looking like he gave no fucks, and would’ve let the whole building burn down if it meant getting into my pants. While his dedication was flattering, it was crimping the real purpose of this mission.

  To find out anything of utility regarding the Cathedral of St. Peter—and how it related back to the Crusaders of Paradisum. And MagiTekk. Any information about what it was hiding would be good.

  The first step was getting a current employee to open up.

  “It can wait,” he said, voice hopeful.

  “I don’t want you waking up and bitching at me.”

  “I would never do that.”

  “I’ve met enough men in my life to know that’s a lie.” I pointed toward the kitchen, and Declan dutifully grabbed a roll of paper towels. When he returned, he hiked up his pants, ready to get down on his knees. “No, I’ll clean it.”

  “But you’re a guest.”

  “Make a drink,” I said. “It won’t be long.” I tore off a row of paper and rubbed it through the whiskey extra slow. I raised my eyebrow at him, like I was playing sexy maid or some nonsense, but really I was stalling.

  “Vodka?”

  “You remembered,” I said a half-octave higher than usual.

  Declan puffed his chest out, like he was some sort of big player.

  Keep stoking that fire, Ruby. You got this.

  “I always wanted to learn about archeology.”

  “We can travel the world together. The pyramids.” I heard the carafe clink against the edge of the glass as Declan squinted his way through the pour. “My goodness, the Great Wall.”

  “You’ve been?”

  “I have.” He lowered the vodka to my level, and I gave him a thankful wink. His head almost exploded at the possibilities. Here Declan had been tucking in for a night of boring study, and instead he’d met me via a dating app.

  Unfortunately for him.

  “I never had the money,” I said. “Maybe one day, but…” I stopped pushing the towels along the floor, acting like I’d remembered something terrible.

  “What is it?” Declan took a big swig for courage and placed a hand on my back. “You can tell me. Anything.”

  “It’s so embarrassing.”

  “You can trust me.”

  “That’s what the last one said.”

  I felt his hand tense a little. Oh yeah—any more of these sweet nothings and he’d be proposing marriage.

  Or I was overconfident. That was always a possibility.

  “I’m not like the others,” Declan said.

  I had to stifle a giggle. Not that men were so predictable—that bullshit, faux-feminist, all dudes are evil sacks of shit mantra wasn’t my bag. More that people were all like little machines. Infinitely complex, but each possessing the same set of buttons.

  Everyone wanted love.

  Everyone wanted to feel special.

  No one wanted to be alone.

  Man, woman, vampire, it didn’t matter all that much: if some semblance of humanity coursed through those veins, it was only a matter of pushing hard enough. It felt a little unsporting, but I deserved an easy win given how the day had gone.

  “Of course you’re not like the others,” I said, with what was my best pained smile. “I—well, I don’t make much because…because I work in Old Phoenix.”

  There was a slight pause as Declan processed this fact. In the old world, I might as well have admitted to being a panhandler. But nothing could stop Declan’s thrumming heart now, as he’d already committed to being my shining knight.

  “Where?”

  I racked my brain for a second, almost cutting my hand on a piece of glass. Then it came to me. “Serenity Cole’s clinic.”

  “A Good Samaritan.” The heavy, awkward petting resumed. “I should’ve guessed.”

  “There’s a few of us around,” I said. “Like at the cathedral.”

  Declan snorted. “The Cathedral of St. Peter?”

  “I don’t really know what it’s called.” I ducked my head away shyly. “I’m lapsed.”

  “Everyone lapsed a long time ago. Supernatural critters made sure of that.” At least he didn’t call them freaks, like most mortals. Although freak was one of the more mild words for us that I’d encountered since trotting around in the wild.

  MagiTekk had done a damn good job of making everyone fear the supernatural. Far beyond Propaganda 101.

  “I thought the—the Cathedral of St. Peter was a sanctuary.” It took all my effort and buzzed concentration to make the words sound naïve and doe-eyed. I heard Declan top off his glass.

  “Want to know a secret?” Declan bent over and whispered in my ear.

  “I’d love to.”

  “I work ther
e.” He backed up slightly, and gave me a confident nod. “And let me tell you, girl, there aren’t any nuns saving the day.”

  “Then what happens there?”

  “Research.” He grinned wide, drunk. “The kind the government don’t want you to know about.”

  “It sounds exciting.”

  “Playing both sides…MagiTekk are some real bastards.”

  Just like Roark had told me that morning: You need two sides for a war.

  Declan swayed slightly, laughing at his own bravado. The whiskey was taking its cumulative toll. Another glass, and it’d be night-night. That would save me an unfortunate roll in the hay. Not that it was likely to be the worst one ever, or even hit the top 5.

  You live this long, you come across some real losers.

  I gathered the final pieces of the whiskey glass, running my hand along the fine wood. I’d stretched this little mishap to its absolute breaking point. With a dainty push, I got to my feet.

  “Have a wastebasket?”

  “Forget that.”

  “Wouldn’t want anyone to cut themselves,” I said with a sultry wink. “Things could get exciting.”

  This was enough for Declan to let me get into the kitchen. It was too bad I didn’t have the total amoral fiber to spike his drink with bleach and watch the inevitable consequences play out. Declan seemed like an overpaid academic who had bumbled his way into a lucrative gig. But he didn’t understand the forces he was playing with.

  I dumped the contents in the trash and called back, “Stop staring at my ass.”

  There was a sputtering cough. “I—I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  Turning around slowly, hips gyrating just a tad, I gave him a stern look. “You’re a bad liar.”

  Declan downed the rest of his drink and stared at me through the counter cut-out, torn between his usual meek personality and whatever hold the whiskey had on his mind. Finally, he decided on grabbing another drink.

  As I walked back toward the living room, I heard an angry squeak.

  “What the fuck was that?” I wasn’t acting. Handling the archaeologist was one thing, but company was another matter.

  “Oh, don’t mind that.” Declan’s confidence abandoned him, nerves returning in force.

  “You have a dog?”

  “Um, no.” Declan stretched his arms, whiskey sloshing on to the floor. He didn’t notice. “I think this might’ve been a mistake.”

  Fuck. I’d been so busy patting myself on the back about being a master seductress that I hadn’t actually made sure everything was running smoothly. In bailout mode, I put my hands on his shoulders and kneaded.

  “Don’t say that, Deck.”

  Declan shrugged me off as another squeak came from the second bedroom. “You really have to go.”

  His face was ash white. Impressive, given how much whiskey he’d slugged down.

  “Just have another drink.”

  He did, but it didn’t calm his objections. “I have to wake up early.”

  “What’d I do?” This time, the squeak turned into what was unmistakably a clipped roar. The wisps, dulled by the night of drinking, drunkenly swirled toward the spare bedroom. But I didn’t need their help to recognize that Declan had something far more dangerous than me up in his expensive apartment.

  A certain archaeologist was smuggling supernatural creatures. Perhaps abusing certain clearances afforded to him by MagiTekk.

  “Nothing. You’re great,” Declan said. “Just, uh, too much work. I’m an important man, you know.”

  But at the rate he was drinking, he wasn’t gonna get any work done.

  I grabbed his hand and tried to lead him toward the master bedroom. He dug into the floor like a dog going to the vet, despite my feverish tugging.

  Finally, out of exasperation, I said, “I don’t even make this much effort for guys I want to fuck.”

  Now it was Declan’s turn to drop the glass. His eyes were wide, rough face contorted in an expression of confused hurt.

  “Oh my god. This is a sting, right? You work for MagiTekk.” The words were slurred, the thoughts messy.

  I could’ve gone on and on about how I swear I didn’t mean it. But this con was already blown.

  So I did the only thing I could.

  I punched Declan Burrows right in his plastic chin, sending him through the antique Victorian coffee table. The wood splintered with a sizable crack, and whatever creature was hanging out in the other room let out a muted roar in response.

  The light in Declan’s eyes went out, a bruise forming across his jaw.

  “Could’ve gotten laid, buddy.” I stepped over him, thankful he’d taken this road instead, and began my investigation of the apartment. Declan might not have told me much, but he had confirmed that Hiro wasn’t giving me shitty information.

  Something big was going on at the Cathedral of St. Peter.

  And both MagiTekk and the FBI were in on it.

  The main question was how the Crusaders of Paradisum were connected.

  I headed over to the computer in the corner of the study and touched the screen. The surface rippled with a tactile response, bringing up a login screen requiring a biometric voiceprint to access.

  That was out of the question, since Declan wouldn’t be awake for a few hours.

  I ransacked the desk, finding nothing but old letters from the 19th century and some trinkets from his travels. He hadn’t been feeding me a line about the Great Wall: there were a couple faded photographs featuring him and his colleagues.

  I was about to put them back when I noticed a familiar face.

  Her hair was brown, but the jet black eyes remained the same. There was one difference, though: Emma Jansen was smiling in the corner of the frame, accompanied by a half dozen other archaeologists.

  “Well isn’t that interesting.” I folded the picture and slid it inside my pocket.

  There was a roar in the other room that made all the others sound like coughs. Afraid of being caught, I decided to finally check on the commotion. Gripping the hilt of my blade, I headed toward the second bedroom and peeked inside. Declan had blacked out the windows with tape, making it eerily dark.

  “Hello?”

  A heavy breathing answered—that of a cornered, caged animal.

  Satisfied that no monsters were loose, I stared into the abyss. As my vision adjusted, I saw two slitted amber eyes glowing in the darkness back at me. A low, feral rumbling growl came from the room.

  “You don’t scare me.” I flicked on the blade’s electricity for light. But I almost dropped it when I saw the creature staring back.

  An elf dragon.

  16

  The elf dragon’s snout was clamped shut, probably to prevent it from burning the entire place down. It’d been decades since I’d seen one—since the last time I’d been to the Elven Cliffs. Hell, I figured they were probably extinct. Its pointy ears twitched back and forth like a dog’s as its eyes angrily surveyed me.

  The cage itself was spacious enough to house a large Great Dane.

  That made for tight quarters.

  “I’m not animal control,” I said, looking into the elf dragon’s eyes. “I don’t know what you want.”

  It snorted as best it could, a faint trail of smoke pouring from its nostrils. The cage had a large biometric padlock—but this one was activated by a finger.

  I stared at the beast for a moment.

  Maybe Declan was right.

  Maybe I was a Good Samaritan.

  Contemplating the strangeness of finding such a creature here of all places, I headed back into the living room. Declan was still out cold.

  That worked for me.

  I switched the electricity off the blade and then relieved him of his thumb. Declan awoke with a massive shriek, loud enough to wake the entire mile-high building. I stuffed my hand over his mouth as I finished, and he soon passed out from the whiskey and pain.

  Toting the bloody, dripping thumb across the apartment, I reentered the ro
om, staring at the elf dragon. Its wings flapped against the sides of the cage in nervous anticipation.

  “Here’s the deal,” I said, holding up the thumb. “I let you go, you don’t cook me.”

  It growled. I squinted to read the wisps. They indicated that the elf dragon understood.

  The dismembered thumb worked better than I expected. The lock disengaged instantly. I took a step back, waiting for the dragon to charge out.

  Instead, it walked out meekly, looking at me funny. Its amber eyes were filled with suspicion and curiosity. Maybe a little thanks, too.

  It shook its head, futilely trying to get the clamp off.

  “Damn, you’re needy.” I reached for its neck and it backed away, snorting. Smoke covered my ankle boots. “Well, fine, do it yourself.”

  After a few minutes of wasted effort, it let out a whine and, ears low, shuffled over. It jerked slightly when I grabbed its muzzle, but it didn’t light me on fire, so I considered that a win for us both.

  Up close, from his markings and build, I could the beast was male.

  A little wiggling and prying from the blade—which freaked him out at first—and the elf dragon was free. I knew because a stream of blue-orange flame shot past my shoulder, almost lighting my hair ablaze.

  I put my hands on my hips and said, “That’s not a thank you.”

  The elf dragon raised his eyebrow—or where an eyebrow would be—and then charged through the window, shattering the glass. Up this high, the wind whistled loudly. Light streamed in from the neon advertisements below as he vanished into the night.

  Happy to have completed my good deed for the day, I slid the knife back into its scabbard and headed into the living room. I stopped and scratched my head.

  Declan was gone, a thin trail of blood marking his escape.

  “Hello, Ruby.” A bald man clad in simple robes stood at the apartment’s entrance. “It has been too long, has it not?”

  Lacking a snappy response, I just glared at him. My con had worked better than I’d thought.

  Because Declan had led me right to the head of the snake. The Crusading Prophet himself.

  Donovan Martin.

  17