The Dragon Conspiracy

by Lisa Shearin

  “If I may inquire,” Helena Thanos asked once she’d completed the call, “what happened that prompted you to ask?”

  “Sebastian du Beckett was found dead in his office this morning,” Ms. Sagadraco said. “Turned to stone.”

  “That would certainly be a good reason to know the whereabouts of every gorgon in the city. Do you believe it is connected to the theft of the Dragon Eggs last night?”

  “We do.”

  “I read it in the paper and saw it on the news, Agent Fraser,” Helena Thanos explained in response to what must have been my surprised expression. “My reluctance to venture out does not extend to completely cutting myself off from civilization. I enjoy all of the technology this exciting age has to offer.” She indicated the phone she’d just used. “I upgraded my iPhone last week.” With an impish grin, she flipped it over to reveal a phone case featuring a brightly colored Medusa head. “We all are what we are, Agent Fraser. Life goes down a lot easier when we accept it and move on.”

  I smiled at the cover. “I love it.”

  “I do, too. Another benefit of the twenty-first century—online shopping. Who needs to leave home?”

  Ms. Sagadraco proceeded to tell her friend the details of what had happened this morning: Sebastian du Beckett’s death, Ben Sadler’s kidnapping, and the now less-than-twelve-hour window we had to stop the diamonds from being activated.

  “If you have any knowledge that would assist us in locating this individual, as always, I value your wisdom.”

  Helena Thanos gave a mirthless laugh. “You know as well as I that wisdom has nothing to do with it. Living for thousands of years doesn’t make us wise, it simply makes us old. Who donated the harpy statue?”

  Vivienne set her teacup on its saucer. “A Madame Pointe-Cozeur from Nice.”

  “I take it her statue never made it to New York?”

  Vivienne nodded. “It was found in a warehouse outside of Heathrow. The jewel thief—and now kidnapper—arranged his tableau to match, placed it in the real statue’s crate along with the corresponding paperwork. It was put on the flight to JFK as originally scheduled.”

  “So you have a team of thieves as opposed to an individual.”

  “An individual powerful enough to immobilize three harpies in a crate long enough for a transatlantic flight, time in customs, and then sitting in a museum exhibit for six days before it was opened.”

  “Harpies aren’t known for their patience,” Helena noted wryly. “Which probably accounted for their crankiness when they were released from stasis. The mortal authorities are fortunate only the two guards were killed. If the harpies’ orders hadn’t been so precise, there would have been many more deaths. So they can put harpies in stasis, but they need a human gem mage to use what they stole?”

  “Correct. Does that sound like anyone you know?”

  “I wish I could say it did. Not that I would want to know this person but at least if I did, I could be more helpful. How good is the gem mage who was abducted?”

  “Our preliminary testing puts him at the top of the scale for a gem mage—at the very least.”

  “Our folks think he’s a total newbie,” I added.

  Helena Thanos’s lips curled in a smile. “Total newbie?”

  “Sorry, ma’am. He’s just now come into his power and while he’s got a lot of it, he has absolutely zero control.”

  “I believe Bastian knew more about Mr. Sadler but he refused to discuss it over the phone,” Vivienne Sagadraco said.

  “And now he can’t. What about this Madame Pointe-Cozeur?”

  “I sent a pair of investigators from our Paris office to interview her. The statue has been in her family since her great-grandfather brought it back from Cyprus in the 1840s.”

  I got the impression of an eye roll from behind the glamorous sunglasses. “Yet another acquisition from a Grand Tour. Why couldn’t nineteenth-century French and English bring back tacky souvenirs like everyone else? Must they carry off our culture?”

  “The request from the Metropolitan Museum was legitimate,” the boss said. “Madame Pointe-Cozeur has loaned the statue to museums in the past, most recently the Louvre.”

  “One thing I can tell you for certain is that locating and securing the cooperation of three harpies was not done on the spur of the moment. Your jewel thief is much more than a diamond aficionado. They would have a network of contacts in the art world, and possess the intellect and patience to manipulate events behind the scenes. And since your mastermind has retained the specialized services of others, it stands to reason that he or she may not have been the one to release those harpies.” Helena paused. “Have you heard from your sister lately?”

  “She was my very first suspect,” Vivienne said. “I have confirmation from a trusted source that Tiamat is nursing her wounded pride in a cave in Tibet, no doubt planning revenge, but the trouble that landed at our front door last night isn’t her doing.”

  Helena gave a little half smile. “Maybe next week. You’re certain that Viktor Kain is not responsible?”

  “He did not release those harpies. I was close enough to him that I would have felt that much power go out.”

  “And he’s blaming you.”

  “Naturally.”

  Helena raised her teacup. “Just like old times.” She turned her sunglass-covered eyes toward me.

  It took some effort, but I didn’t look down, around, or away.

  “Vivienne tells me that you were close to the harpies when they were awakened.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Tell me what you saw and heard.”

  “I heard moaning coming from the statues just before the harpies reanimated,” I told her.

  “How long until they regained full movement?”

  “Less than thirty seconds. More like ten to fifteen.”

  “That was not the work of a gorgon, Vivienne. Harpies have thicker skin than humans, and are stronger and more resilient, so there is less chance that they would go into shock from lack of blood flow to their outer layers once that circulation was restored. That being said, it is impossible that a gorgon could have paralyzed a harpy for six days. The maximum length of time before the process is irreversible is twelve hours. Any longer than that and petrification sets in. They would only survive for another few hours at most, long enough for the process to overtake the major organs. The only other option I can think of would be a spell of some kind. Physically, blood flow to the skin and extremity muscles would not be affected. And harpies can put themselves into a state resembling hibernation. In short, they are an ideal choice if one needed to create a living statue capable of reanimating immediately into action.”

  Vivienne Sagadraco shook her head. “I’ve heard of sleep spells that can last for years, but those induce a state resembling a coma. So we’re talking about something else.”

  Helena nodded.

  “If the harpies had been put into suspended animation for six days, how could the spellcaster, for lack of a better description, have made them immediately do a smash-and-grab robbery?” I asked.

  “They would have to be under a compulsion that was implanted in their minds prior to them being put into stasis,” Helena Thanos said.

  “So harpies aren’t big on independent thinking?”

  “It’s fortunate that they are not. Equally fortunate that the number of beings who have the power to influence or control a harpy is very small. Harpies are appallingly efficient, single-minded weapons. They do best with simple and clear instructions.”

  “Smash, grab, and kidnap.”

  “Correct.”

  “What about the gorgon from this morning?” Vivienne Sagadraco asked quietly.

  Helena Thanos’s entire demeanor changed. Her posture became rigid, and I didn’t need to see her eyes to know they were cold.

  “You sai
d the door was locked?” she asked me.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Sebastian du Beckett’s death was a murder,” she said. “It was personal, and he knew his killer.”

  “Because he let them in?” I asked.

  Helena Thanos nodded. “That, and he was seated behind his desk when they struck. That says familiarity. I knew Mr. du Beckett only by professional reputation, but he did not seem to be the careless type. And as he regularly had to deal with people who, shall we say, were on the fringes of legality, he had every reason to exercise caution. When a gorgon kills, the choice of victim is either completely random or highly personal. The majority of our victims are selected by opportunity and ease of disposal, not choice. Sebastian du Beckett was chosen. To my knowledge—and it was certainly true with me—no one has ever been willingly infected with gorgonism. Being forced to kill to survive, condemned to a solitary existence; that is, unless one is fortunate enough to have a friend who is a dragon or other supernatural being who is immune. And during your first century—assuming you can keep your sanity for that long—you cannot even touch another living creature without turning them to stone. I can’t imagine being infected with gorgonism and having no knowledge of the supernatural world and those who would be immune to you who you could reach out to. Without this knowledge, the infected individual would be truly alone. Forget Hell, Agent Fraser. That is eternal damnation.”

  The silence grew. I didn’t know what to say, but I knew what I wanted to ask.

  “Ma’am, I’d really like to ask a question.”

  “From your hesitation, I’m guessing this question is of a personal and presumably indelicate nature.”

  I responded with a single nod.

  “I’m old enough to be past offending, Agent Fraser.”

  “You can call me Makenna, if you’d like, ma’am.”

  “Vivienne tells me your fellow agents call you Mac.”

  “They do. My grandmother calls me Makenna.” I paused. “As does a lady back home. She’s been through a lot in her life, and she’s been kind enough over the years to give me some of the best advice I’ve ever gotten. I think the world of her. She calls me Makenna.”

  “Very well . . . Makenna. Ask your question.” She smiled slowly. “But only if you will call me Helena.”

  I returned the smile. “Miss Helena.”

  “Helena will be fine.”

  I shook my head. “Where I come from, when you address an older lady who you admire, you put ‘Miss’ in front of her name as a courtesy and a sign of respect.”

  Her smile broadened. “Miss Helena it is, then.”

  “How did you do it?”

  “Do what, Makenna?”

  “Get past the anger, the resentment?”

  She gave a bitter little laugh. “Who says I’m past it? I’ve just gotten better at controlling it. When I was first infected, I preyed on the shadows of society, the criminals. At first I had no control. I killed when I had no need, telling myself that since I preyed only on the criminal, I was doing society a service. Trying to buy back my humanity with lives, to kill so many, so often, so as to leave me no time to think on, to admit, what I truly was. A monster.”

  I started to speak, but she held up her hand.

  “If I couldn’t be a part of society, I convinced myself that I could help it. I became a one-woman judge, jury, and executioner. Society would be better off without these creatures who call themselves people, who feed upon humanity’s weakest and most vulnerable. Society would also be better off without me, but I discovered that it’s very difficult to decapitate one’s self, which is one of only two ways to kill a gorgon. If I remained for too long in any one place, or made an effort to be careless in disposing of my victims’ remains, I’m sure the mortal authorities could have eventually caught and executed me; but by then, I’d convinced myself that I was better at their jobs than they were.”

  “You probably were.”

  “Being a vigilante gave me a sense of purpose. To make it through your first century, let alone your first millennium, you must find a purpose for your continued existence. I found mine. I became a self-appointed goddess of vengeance. In the back of my mind was the doubt, the guilt. Who was I to make that decision, to end the lives of others? I was as much of a monster as the men and women I killed.”

  “But you continued to do it.”

  “I did. Until one day I no longer felt the ache in my joints, the pain of the hardness beginning to grow inside of me that had always signaled the need to find a life to take, to make the pain recede for a while until it came again. But it never came again. While I no longer have to kill, the curse remains.”

  I didn’t know how to respond, so I went with how I felt. “I’m so sorry, Miss Helena.”

  “As am I, Makenna. But thanks to friends like Vivienne, I am beginning to learn to venture out. After so long a solitary existence, it is not easy. She has provided me with modern technology to enable me to see the world without having to step outside the security of my home.”

  “You’re making excellent progress,” Ms. Sagadraco assured her.

  “Small steps. In the meantime, my interior gardens bring me great comfort. Vivienne found artists and a landscaper who have transformed this space into a lovely home.”

  “You are most welcome, dear Helena.”

  I raised my hand a little. “Miss Helena, I have another possibly insensitive question. I’m only asking because it’d be a good thing to know if we run into Mr. du Beckett’s killer.”

  “I’m sure it’s not insensitive coming from you, Makenna. What is it?”

  “What’s the second way to kill a gorgon?”

  “It’s a way that you should be eternally grateful you cannot use. An older gorgon can turn a younger gorgon to stone. I am not proud to say that I have used this more than a few times. Gorgons are territorial by necessity. Newly infected gorgons tend not to be very selective in their choice of victims, and where they feed can draw unwanted attention to an older gorgon’s territory. Once I decided that I wanted to live, I wasn’t about to have youngsters with poor table manners attract people with axes.”

  “Understood.”

  “What will be even less pleasant to hear is that since a gorgon was not responsible for the harpies at the museum, there’s a good possibility that Bastian’s murder may be unrelated to either the robbery or the kidnapping. The gorgon could very well have been connected to one of his other clients—a very dissatisfied client.”

  “I know. We’re concentrating our efforts on the Dragon Eggs, since we have it on better than good authority that whatever the thief intends to use the stones to do, they’ll be doing it at midnight tonight.” Vivienne gave Helena a brief summary of what we knew about the diamonds.

  The boss’s phone rang from her purse.

  “Forgive me, Helena. It’s Alain. He would not call unless it was urgent.”

  Helena and I sat quietly while Vivienne Sagadraco was on the phone. She mostly listened while Alain Moreau spoke, her lips a thin, tense line. She asked a few questions, none of which gave me any clear indication of what had hit the fan at headquarters.

  “Tell Dr. Riley to keep me posted,” the boss said. She pressed the hang-up button on her phone and put it back in her purse. “Dr. Riley was able to estimate the time of Bastian’s death at eight o’clock this morning.”

  A time when Helena Thanos had an airtight alibi, soon to be confirmed by the Dakota’s security footage.

  However, it was forty minutes after Rake Danescu said he’d left—with no confirmation, either by a witness or security footage.

  “Dr. Riley said that Bastian’s remains were softer on the inside than at the surface of his skin,” Vivienne Sagadraco said. “The interior of his torso, where his major organs were located, was more of the consistency of ash. Does this tell you any—”

&n
bsp; “That Sebastian du Beckett’s killer is a very young gorgon,” Helena said. “One that was turned less than a year ago, probably less than six months. A gorgon gains strength with each victim, and after the first year of the disease, they will cause the internal organs of their victims to petrify as solidly as the rest of the body. This gorgon will need to feed again soon, within the next few hours. A powdery consistency to the internal organs indicates less than optimal . . . I’m sorry, but ‘digestion’ is the only word that’s truly accurate. A gorgon this young is still learning to feed properly. The more solid the remains, the more satisfying the feeding and the longer the gorgon can last until they have to kill again. Some youngsters are careless when they’re this hungry.”

  “So our killer will make a mistake?” I asked.

  “Some youngsters, Makenna. This one gained entrance to Sebastian du Beckett’s home and struck him down where he sat, leaving behind nothing but a locked door. This gorgon was an accomplished murderer already. He or she won’t make mistakes; they’ll make more victims—and soon.”

  14

  TO crack a case, you connect the facts.

  We didn’t have enough facts to fill a shot glass.

  We were really hoping Ian’s black market art dealer contact could help change that.

  Denton Sykes was waiting for us in a coffeehouse on Fifty-ninth Street across from Central Park. It was closing in on five o’clock on Halloween. The place was almost empty. People would be getting off work and going home to get ready for the night ahead. For the not-clued-in humans, that meant makeup and costumes, many going to parties as supernatural creatures. Supernaturals could simply drop their glamours and do the “come as you are” thing, though they might have to do some quick thinking to explain to their friends and coworkers why their makeup looked so realistic.

  The coffeehouse was almost empty. After the morning rush and the early afternoon caffeine fix, there was a lull until the night crowd started coming in. Considering that tonight was Halloween, that bunch was gonna look a heck of a lot different from the T-shirt-and-jeans-clad guy slouched over his laptop in a faded, overstuffed chair in the far corner.