by Kelly Gay
“You get a picture of her death?” I asked, folding my arms in front of me and trying not to look like I was hugging myself against the drizzle.
Liz angled in the seat to face us, took one more long drink, then: “Just flashes that corresponded to the things she said. Her life force was sucked out of her body. I felt that part. The ring Daya mentioned could be an object of power, the murder weapon possibly, a container for her life force.” Another long drink. “Didn’t get a face. I did get a halo of red. Fiery red. Power. Aura. Can’t say for sure.”
“What about location?” Hank asked.
“A terrace, definitely. Downtown view. Didn’t see the actual building, but the view was downtown. And I didn’t get a sense if it was her apartment or just the place where she was killed. That’s it. I wish it was more.” Another drink. “Oh, and guys? She wasn’t just a mage—she was a Magnus.”
“Perfect,” I muttered. “So our killer is going after high-level mages.”
“If he wants to keep on killing, yes,” Hank said thoughtfully. “Whoever is doing this must be after power. Think about it. The Adonai are the most powerful of all Elysian races, right? They’re top of the food chain. But most all of them have left the city or gone back to Elysia because they prefer light to darkness. So the killer’s pickings are slim.”
I picked up his train of thought. “Right. And next up in the Elysian power chain are sirens and nymphs. Add an Elder or a Magnus-level crafter to their résumé and you’ve got the next best thing in power sources.”
“Exactly. And he had to target a Magnus-level crafter because the Elders are virtually untouchable within the confines of the league.”
“True,” Liz said. “The Elder crafters are like hermits; they never leave the safety of the Mordecai House.”
“Okay,” I began, my thoughts turning. “Well, we have a workable theory. We’ve found our missing Adonai, and we’ve got one powerful nymph sucked dry. Let’s assume, for now, that the others in the warehouse met the same end. We’ve got a killer preying on power, but only Elysian power. He’s not targeting Charbydons, because if he was, he’d be going after the nobles next; they’re just as powerful as the Elysian Adonai.”
“Which tells us one of two things: either the guy’s got something against Elysians of power, or Charbydon power is of no use to him.” Hank snorted. “Or both.”
“Well, he can’t be feeding on all that power alone,” Liz said. “A body, no matter where it’s from, can’t hold that much.”
“So who is powerful enough to kill a bunch of Adonai?” Elliot asked, getting into the spirit of our brainstorming.
Good question.
I glanced around the group, and saw the answer on their faces. Charbydon noble. In Elysia the Adonai were the most powerful, but in Charbydon, the nobles had that distinction. The two races also happened to be enemies since before Man walked this Earth. And most still were despite the peace pact they’d agreed upon when the two worlds had been discovered thirteen years earlier.
“But anyone can rise to power, enough to rival an Adonai or a noble,” I said. “It’d take centuries of study and training, but there could be others in this city capable of taking down an Adonai.”
Hank’s brow lifted in agreement. “And this might be the perfect setup for starting a war.”
The Adonai had recently bowed to government pressure, agreeing to stay quiet about their missing members in the interest of public relations. But once they learned the missing had turned up dead, it was highly doubtful they’d remain quiet. They’d blame the Charbydons.
Elysians versus Charbydons. Heaven and hell at war. Again. Only this time Atlanta would be the battleground.
“Sure hope he’s not a Charbydon,” Liz broke the silence, saying what we were all thinking.
“So we find him,” Hank said in a deep, determined tone. “And shut him down before he fucks up life as we know it.”
“Elliot and I will take care of the bodies.”
“And we’ll talk to the chief,” I said. “See if he can convince the ITF to keep this quiet for as long as they can.”
Liz’s expression turned grave. “I guess you’ll be going to the Grove next.”
I nodded. “We need to find that terrace.”
“Well, good luck. He’s going to want her body. Tell him I’ll have it to him by tomorrow morning and not to storm my morgue.”
Easy for you to say, I thought. Liz wasn’t about to stand in front of the Druid King and tell him one of his Kinfolk had been murdered.
4
It was a two-and-a-half-mile drive north from the warehouse district to Tenth Street. Downtown passed by in a quick stream of lights, lights that never went out. The clock on the console read 4:38 P.M. But outside it didn’t matter—it could’ve been predawn or late dusk during one of the darkest thunderstorms you ever saw.
I sighed, staring out the wet window. Some days, it was hard to tell the difference between night and day.
“You pick up a sunlamp yet?” Hank asked.
“Yeah, Rex got two yesterday. Last two at the hardware store. Supposed to be a new shipment coming in tomorrow. You get yours?”
Hank nodded and slowed the car, turning onto Charles Allen Drive. “I hear the schools are going to replace some of their overhead fluorescents with those new sun bulbs Titus is hawking.”
“That’s good. They’re supposed to draw less electricity, too.”
“Well, good thing it’s winter and Mother Nature is in hibernation right now. Hopefully we can figure out how to bring the sun back before spring.”
The time of year was one bright spot, but it had also been unseasonably warm ever since the darkness. Many things continued to grow, trees, shrubs, and grasses keeping their leaves and color. And that color was starting to fade …
Hank parked the car against the curb, turned off the engine, and then proceeded to check his weapons. I did the same. It was a ritual at this point, but sometimes double checking or triple checking could save your life. Plus, it gave us both a moment of quiet time in which to switch gears into work mode.
The drizzle had turned to a fine mist, which did nothing to ease the faint sensations coursing through my body as I stepped onto the sidewalk and walked alongside the black cast-iron fence that enclosed the nymphs’ territory.
It was quiet here, the sounds of the city drifting into the background and the streetlights giving off a dim, hazy glow. We stopped in front of the gate.
Fourteen-foot-tall iron bars spanned eight feet across, attached to enormous stone anchors. Not that a gate would keep out enemies. It was a statement. A line drawn in the sand. Cross it without permission or invitation and all bets were off—you might be risking life and limb.
About five years ago, the nymphs had purchased part of Piedmont Park. Their territory consisted of the eleven-acre Clara Meer Lake and all the land south and southeast—what used to be Oak Hill and the Meadows. Nearly a hundred acres of lake, meadows, and woodlands smack dab in the heart of the city—the perfect home for the only beings from Elysia born with the ability to shape-shift into animal form.
Nymphs had a passionate and devoted relationship with nature, and they, along with the sidhé fae from Elysia and the darkling fae from Charbydon, had been the foundation for much of Celtic mythology when they settled in parts of the British Isles and Europe during the Neolithic Age.
A dark figure appeared on the other side of the gate. Black T, black jeans, black boots. Male. Angular face. Wiry. Lethal.
We flashed our shiny new federal ID badges.
“Hold on.” He drifted back into the mist and darkness, returning a few minutes later to open the gate. The loud whine of the iron hinges made the fine hairs on my body rise. “Follow the path straight ahead to the lake. Don’t stray from the path.”
A thin layer of fog hugged the ground, covering the path, but we didn’t need to see it since the way was lined with tall wooden torches carved with Celtic-style symbols and animals.
I knew from coming here as a child that it was a straight shot to the lake, but now the old pavement had been pulled up and replaced with quarried stone. Asphalt was not favored within Kinfolk territory.
Still, it was a long-ass walk to the lake.
The nymph closed the gate behind us, and then blended into the misty darkness.
“Guess we’re footing it.” Hank shoved his hands into his leather jacket, and started down the path.
“It’s hoofing. We’re hoofing it.” But he was already a few feet ahead of me.
The air was cooler and wetter in the park, reminding me of the lake at Mott Technologies and the unconsecrated Civil War burial grounds—the place where I’d called the darkness. The scents immediately triggered images. Iron dagger. Blood. Mine. Mynogan’s. My daughter’s face. The grass and the night sky shifting to gray.
And just as quickly as they came, the memories were gone, gone without having altered the rhythmic brush and scrape of our boots against the stone, but it did leave my heart knocking fast against my rib cage. I blinked hard and regulated my breathing, focusing on the tall skyscrapers that edged one side of the park like a mountain range of steel and lights.
My gaze traveled down and left, where the land rose, giving me a glimpse through the trees of the enormous gray monoliths of the nymphs’ stone circle, a Stonehenge in the heart of the city. But unlike that dead, crumbling circle, this one was alive with power. A slow, pulsating beat that resonated so low it wasn’t heard but felt.
Going into the Grove was like stepping back in time. Any minute I expected a naked nymph to go skipping by with her signature dark hair flying out behind her, calling herself Titania, Queen of the Fairies.
But no such creature appeared.
“You ever meet him?” I asked Hank, feeling the need to break the quiet and inject some humanity into the space.
“The Druid?” He shrugged. “Once or twice.”
“And?” Leadership of the Atlanta Kinfolk had changed hands last year just before my little brush with death. I’d yet to meet Pendaran, the new Druid King, in the flesh, but I’d heard stories. Hank, however, was a bit more submersed in the off-world community than I was, so I wasn’t surprised that he’d met the guy before.
“Let’s just put it this way: if you put him and Grigori Tennin in the ring and let them pound each other, no powers involved, I’m not sure who would win.”
“That’s comforting.” Grigori Tennin was the jinn tribe boss here in Atlanta. Think mob boss on steroids and you get the general idea. The jinn were a warrior culture where both males and females were the color of smoke and gunmetal and built like linebackers with glowing violet eyes. Some held positions as bodyguards to the Charbydon nobles.
The nymphs’ temple by Clara Meer had been built with huge oak columns and timber beams, nearly every inch carved with symbols and scenes of battles, heroes, beasts, and idyllic landscapes. It was a sprawling complex, all one level and large enough to support the entire Kinfolk of Atlanta. The buildings meandered through the woods, incorporating the trees into the structure.
Through the columns and courtyards, I could see some of the city lights blinking off the smooth, dark surface of the lake. I’d been here before, and had been just as awed then as I was now. There was a distinct serenity to the place that existed alongside the majestic structures and the trees, which had grown to incredible sizes since the nymphs had taken over the park.
Some sort of enhancement on the nymphs’ part, no doubt.
The entrance to the main temple was a two-story, open-air colonnade of oak poles supporting a peaked roof. It led straight out over the lake, where a dock had been built. In fact, there were several docks and rooms built over the water. Nymphs, like most Elysians, had an affinity for water. A fire burned in the very center of the temple and to the left and right were the two main altars of the Mother and Father, two gigantic wooden carvings with their bases acting as altars, which held fruits and vegetables, votive candles, handmade jewelry, and small, gem-encrusted weapons.
A figure appeared from one of the many halls that spread out from this centralized area.
She was slim, dark haired. The Titania I’d expected a few moments ago, though this one was clothed in a light blue gossamer dress. Her hair had been left down, long and wavy and dark. She had a lovely oval face with large olive-green eyes, pert nose, and pale mouth. In other words, your typical nymph. “This way, please.”
We followed her down several hallways before coming to a massive set of wooden doors. Once they opened, a sense of trepidation gripped me. Everything here made me feel small, like I was in the hall of the gods and humans were trivial in the scheme of the universe.
“This is the Druid’s private hall,” she said. “Come.”
The end of the hall was open to the lake and once we stepped outside again, I realized that it stretched over the water and we were far from the main temple in a secluded spot.
The nymph stopped and waved us toward the long walkway extending out over the lake. Poles supported the dock, rising through the platform about seven feet high and topped with burning torches. We stopped at the end, nothing before us but the mirror-like surface of the lake and the outline of downtown’s skyline hovering over the park.
“So what now?” I scanned the area, resting my right hand on the hilt of my hip weapon, and casting a glance back at the nymph.
“Federal agents!” Hank called out. “We have news about one of your Kinfolk!” He lowered his voice. “There. That should do it.”
A faint splash made us turn. The water rippled.
A figure floated forward from a shadowed area of the lake, arms hugging a small blow-up raft. The torchlight bounced off the edge of the plastic, but the being relaxing in the water remained hidden. The left hand and forearm, however, caught some of the light. Strong. Tan. Covered in inky Celtic-style symbols.
Nymphs had a hierarchy just like most races from both worlds, but their leaders were chosen not by birthright, or council, or vote. Druid was a title earned, taken only by those capable of leadership and judgment. The Druid of the Kinfolk was king and high priest simply because he was the most powerful, biggest, badass nymph in the city.
“You may go, Grainne,” a rumbling voice said.
The nymph lurking behind us bowed her head and moved swiftly down the dock and back through the private temple. I cocked one hip, hand still resting on my weapon and quite frankly a little nervous. Hank and I pulled our badges at the same time.
“What news do you speak of?” Pendaran, the Druid King, asked from the shadows once Grainne was gone.
Why did I have a feeling this was going to be bad? I drew in a deep breath, really not liking this whole pins and needles thing. “I’m sorry to inform you that a female nymph by the name of Daya Machanna was found dead a short time ago.”
His hands slid back over the curve of the raft, disappearing beneath the lake. I stood a little straighter. My grip on the weapon and badge tightened.
“Great,” Hank muttered, releasing an unpleasant sigh. “Should’ve brought a fucking umbrella.”
As the last word came out of his mouth, a plume of water shot up from the lake and, with it, a beast straight out of myth and lore.
“Jesus!” I scrambled back several steps, heart in my throat, wanting desperately to aim my weapon just for some measure of protection. It was halfway up when Hank’s hand pressed it back down.
“No, Charlie.”
Wings the size of a jetliner shot out. The trees around the lake rustled in the sudden wind. A black chest puffed up, and a long, corded neck stretched to the sky. Huge jaws opened and let out a piercing, angry shriek that shook the dock, the temple, every bone in my body, and probably much of downtown Atlanta.
Droplets of water began to fall. Shit. There was only time to turn my shoulder before the deluge fell upon us and flattened my hair to my face.
As the roar died down, I whirled on Hank, threads of water streaming down my face, pulse t
humping with adrenaline and disbelief. “Dragon?! He’s a goddamn dragon !”
5
Another roar rent the air and shook the boards at my feet, making my legs wobble. I wiped the water from my eyes and then tilted my head back.
Well, no wonder he was the Druid King.
Torchlight glistened against black reptilian skin. The underside of his wings shimmered with blues and greens, like an abalone shell. My mouth had gone completely dry despite much of my top half being drenched with lake water. At least the treated suede of my jacket kept the wetness from sinking all the way through. I wanted to take another step back, but held my ground, really hoping this wasn’t going to be a case of “kill the messenger.”
Hank, on the other hand, seemed unfazed by the show. He swiped a hand down his face, readjusted his shirt, and then dragged his fingers through his wet hair, looking part bored and part annoyed. Business as usual.
The dragon lifted its head to the sky once more and let out a sad moan that reminded me of a whale call, before sinking down into the lake.
Once he was gone, I wiped my forehead with the sleeve of my jacket and then rested my hand back on the hilt of my weapon. “You could’ve warned me.”
Hank shrugged, his gaze on the lake. “Where’s the fun in that?”
Ten seconds later, Pendaran slapped his big hands on the edge of the dock, pulled his hulking body out of the water, straightened, and strode past us buck-ass naked. “Follow me.”
What was left of my breath whooshed from my lungs as I turned slowly on my heel, watching him go, his tanned, wet skin practically glowing from the reflection of the torchlights. The entire left side of his body was covered in swirling black tattoos. The ends of his black hair stuck to his neck. Water dripped down his back.
“Close your mouth, Charlie.” Hank’s unamused tone barely registered over my sudden state of distraction as he brushed passed me and followed the Druid King down the dock and into his private sanctuary.
