So they were finally getting to it. They had urged her to step down before, but for more personal reasons, like settling down and starting a family. The suggestions had increased in regularity after being bonded to Jordan.
“Is that the council’s official position?”
The skin around Caimen’s eyes tightened. “I’m not speaking as the head of the council. I’m speaking as your father.”
“Really? You could have fooled me.”
Dalasini folded her hands tightly. “I don’t know why you have to get so hostile whenever we speak to you about this. We only want what’s best for you.”
Serin’s lips drew down. “You’re contradicting yourself. You just admitted—finally—that it’s not me you’re concerned with, but the island’s heritage.”
She glanced at each in turn. “Giving up my position guarantees another girl from this island will be chosen next, and not some random outsider. At least that’s how it’s always worked in the past. I’m sure the council is concerned the Mother will be unable to honor our peculiar habit of picking our own successor if she’s asleep. But all the signs point to her already slumbering, so it’s quite a gamble to ask me to retire now. In fact, if you wish to guarantee that the next Water Elemental is an islander, we may have to wait another century for her to wake. The more prudent members of the council would agree…unless, of course, they universally decide to condemn me for Jordan’s crime.”
Her mother’s indrawn breath suggested she hadn’t considered those arguments. Her father’s face was stiff with irritation, but she couldn’t tell if it was with her or his wife. “We don’t even know if Jordan was responsible. And early retirement was only a suggestion—ours. Not the council’s.”
His face softened. “You and the other Elementals are the island’s best hope for recovering its artifacts. Until those items are returned, or the people responsible are identified, there is no need to discuss this matter further.”
“I still don’t see why she has to be the one to investigate this now,” her mother protested as her father rose from the table. “Others can handle it. Gia is very capable, for an Earth. Even the brash junior Elementals have proven to be up to the demands of the office, despite their questionable tastes in mates.”
“Dalasini.” Her father’s tone was repressive. Sighing, he turned to back to Serin. “The council’s official position, as you put it, is to let you and the others do their job.”
He threw his wife a pointed glance. “It’s not as if the decision is ours to make in any case. The Mother selected Serin and the others as her servants. We are only here to preserve Her legacy and, by extension, yours.”
There was a long silence. Caimen inclined his head in a formal parting. “I wish you well in your hunt.”
He left the room, leaving a dejected Dalasini staring at her plate.
Serin waited for her mother to speak. Elemental lineages were usually matriarchal in nature, but in this house, Caimen always had final say. That didn’t mean Dalasini didn’t have more arguments up the sleeve of her diaphanous robe. She just needed time to decide on her approach.
It was taking longer than Serin would’ve guessed. “How is your research going? Any progress on that new spell?” she asked, trying to change the subject.
Dalasini had been working on a spell that selectively dulled traumatic memories for years. She didn’t believe bad memories should be removed entirely. A person was shaped by their experiences, even the bad ones. Especially the bad ones.
Her mother had been trying to alter the intensity of such events, without removing them entirely. There were a few practitioners who worked as therapists in the human world who were eagerly following her progress. But her mother didn’t want to discuss her work. She picked up her fork, proceeding to finish her meal in silence.
“Mother, please. Let’s talk.”
Her mother put her fork down before standing. “I’m afraid this isn’t a good time. I’m going to the temple to pray. Please let me know when you’re leaving so I can bid you goodbye. I assume it will be soon.”
She swept out of the room, leaving Serin with a plateful of guilt. Closing her eyes, she rubbed her temples.
Being chosen as an Elemental was an honor, something almost every girl on the island coveted. It was a source of pride to the families as well, but her parents’ reaction had been mixed at best. Dalasini’s especially.
Serin had her ideas why, but it was conjecture on her part. Once she’d been bonded to Jordan, her parents’ attitude shifted. Now that he was gone, they were shifting again.
She moved around the dining room, collecting plates so Joon wouldn’t find them sitting here in the morning.
The sleeves of her gown kept getting in the way. She set the plates down, then wrapped her arms around herself. Like so many things on the island, her dress was about appearances. It was beautiful, but not functional.
Her sisters wore close-fitting tops and a lot of leather in the job. It was a style Serin eschewed out of habit. But those types of clothes were better for fighting. And they certainly made a statement. They said, Don’t fuck with me.
The archive door was shut, presumably to prevent thieves and intruders from entering.
Too little, too late. She pushed it wide, closing it behind her. I wonder who opens it for the archivists. They were all practitioners, of course, but spells for super strength were onerous. Maybe Alec opens it for them. Vampires weren’t as strong as Elementals, but they could manage the door. And Alec was a conscientious man, all things considered.
She found him down in the main reading room, a space he’d claimed as his own. The wooden table was littered with books and scrolls. Some were stacked so high the first things she saw was the top of his head. He was moving fast enough to make his hair flap in the resulting breeze.
Serin couldn’t help but track the vampire’s progress, her senses alert and battle ready.
Compared to her sisters Diana and Gia, Serin had always been viewed as the tolerant one. Being senior to Logan, most of the high-level vampire cases were thrown her way. She’d spent enough time around members of the major covens to be comfortable around vampires…after a fashion.
Nothing could ever prepare someone for the way vamps moved when they thought they were alone. Alec was darting all over the places, pausing intermittently to examine whatever scroll or paper he’d crossed the room to find. A human eye wouldn’t have been able to track him at all, but she could see the faint traces of moisture most beings possessed streaking across the room, like a comet’s trail.
She blinked, and the vampire was seated in one of the leather chairs situated between two large stacks of ledgers. His attention was fixed on the volume in front of him.
“Alec.”
Blinking, he glanced up before breaking into a warm smile. Fire from the torches hit his fangs, making them gleam disconcertingly in the light. “Serin! I was hoping you would stop by. Diana said you were eager for a fresh lead.”
Serin cocked her head at him, her mood lightening. “And you have something.”
He nodded, standing in his seat to reach for a notepad he’d left atop a pile of scrolls. “The archivists and I have begun a list of the missing objects. I’m sure you’ve heard through the grapevine about the more concerning ones.”
She nodded. “Yes, the gossip is everywhere.”
The island was a fishbowl. People couldn’t keep secrets here, so the news of which major artifacts had gone missing was known to all, even the island’s children. Unfortunately, most of the objects were dark, imbued with an innate self-protection magic. Despite the fact most burned magic like shooting stars, they weren’t trackable unless the tracker was very close.
Serin rubbed her face. “So which of the world-ending cursed objects do I have to worry about?”
The light in Alec’s eyes was a little manic. “None.”
She raised an eyebrow.
He beamed, waving a piece of parchment in the air. “Some of the
items on the list are inert, meaning they don’t possess magical properties. Given their age or the materials they were made of, I’ve surmised they were stolen for profit.”
“Weren’t all the artifacts stolen for profit?”
Alec’s gaze softened. “Err…yes and no. Obviously, every item in this archive is priceless to a scholar like me and to the island’s community at large, but to an outside observer, their value would be subjective.”
He picked up the sketch of Feng Po Po’s staff, the missing artifact that had caused Logan so much grief a few months ago. “Take this for example. It was the staff of a legendary Air Elemental, as well as a vicious weapon in the right hands. But what if a human had come across it?”
He broke off, flashing back to the table, then returned and handed her a familiar weapon.
Serin breathed out slowly. The Sai, a handheld trident weapon, felt like an extension of her hand. It was one of a pair, and part of the archive collection she’d personally collected herself. Out of everything Alec could have used to demonstrate, that he’d chosen this…
“Only one of the Sai was taken. I think the thief dropped the other one.”
“Really?” Why would the thief have taken only one?
He nodded. “To a human, the staff and trident would still have had value because of their age and workmanship. Either would command a high price to the right buyer.”
“So you think this was about…money?” As her bonded mate, Jordan had no need for that. The Mother supplied whatever they needed—jewels and precious metals, whatever was on hand in the soil beneath their feet.
Alec expelled a breath with a little too much force. “I can’t speak to the thief’s motive. But after compiling the list, I noticed a pattern. Yes, some powerful artifacts are missing. To the right practitioner or gifted Supernatural, they can do a lot of damage. But both Gia and Logan have their ear to the ground. Aside from the staff, there is no hint of them. No doubt the thief or thieves are laying low after the recovery of the staff of Feng Po Po. However, I have my own sources and they extend beyond the Supernatural community.”
Serin was beginning to understand. “By that, you mean your background in archeology.”
Alec was a known collector of rare artifacts.
He beamed at her like a professor rewarding a prize pupil. “According to Noomi, these objects aren’t magical. Some of them are common, too—which, according to her definition, simply means they aren’t one of a kind. Doesn’t mean they aren’t rare or expensive. Take this piece for example.”
He dropped the pad for a ledger, pointing to the sketch. It was a figurine, a squat and ugly thing that vaguely resembled a toad. “The body is made entirely of jade. This indentation here is where the jewel is embedded. It’s a diamond.”
“A jade figurine could fetch a nice price, but jade isn’t that precious. Diamonds are also common enough these days. They can even grow them in labs.”
“Yes, but one this color and clarity is still beyond the scope of the current technology. It’s red. A dark and clear red. And this stone is bigger than the Hope Diamond, the latter which is supposedly cursed by the way.”
He shifted his weight, staring musingly at the ceiling. “I’ve never had the opportunity to test whether it was true, but there were some tantalizing hints. You see, the Hope Diamond has a very interesting history…”
Serin hadn’t spent all that much time with the vampire, but she recognized the start of a lengthy lecture when she heard one.
“Alec,” she interrupted. “Focus.”
His lips pressed together before he shrugged haplessly. “Right, of course. I surmised this artifact and the others on this list, the ones we consider innocuous, would be easier to trace than those imbued with magic. So I put out feelers to show interest in buying some of them—carefully. I didn’t describe these objects exactly, just gave loose descriptions of similar artifacts, things that wouldn’t be out of place in a collection as large as mine or the museums I’m a known patron of.”
It was her turn to smile. “And you received an offer.”
“Not exactly. It was a message from another collector, one I’ve competed with in the past. The man wanted to gloat about snagging a piece right out from under me.”
He handed her a piece of paper, showing the aforementioned piece and an address. “Here are his details.”
5
Daniel pulled his chair in to get a closer look at the footage. It was too grainy to be sure, but the female kicking the collective butt of an entire motorcycle gang did resemble his ghost—the woman who’d disappeared from the Reaper’s compound.
He’d been searching for her ever since. Until today, he’d had nothing. Not until Ray had waved him over to watch some old security footage.
“Where the hell did you find this?” Daniel asked his partner.
“In the archives. It was part of an earlier investigation. The Devil’s Hand was a motorcycle gang operating out of Detroit.”
“Was?”
“Yup, was. They’re defunct now. While they were operating, they were a nasty bunch—drugs, illegal gun sales, racketeering with a body count. We got wind of them three or four years ago. The FBI actually kicked their prelim case over to us. The group was originally flagged by their Behavioral Analysis Unit because of the bodies they were turning up. There were weird ritualistic aspects to the deaths.”
Daniel rubbed his chin as the tiny figure on the screen head-butted a man three times her size. Then she tossed him over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
“Damn.” Ray whistled. “Did you see that?”
Daniel resisted the urge to grab the screen to bring it up to his face. “We can’t zoom this in?”
“Footage is from a liquor store down the street. It’s aimed at their back-alley entrance. This is as good as it gets.”
Daniel leaned back in his chair. “It’s a start.”
Ray sniffed. “You don’t really think it’s the same girl?”
“I do. Don’t you?” Why else was his partner showing him the footage if he didn’t agree?
“I just pulled it because Campbell said the suspect resembled the sketch you’ve been passing around. The entire office is aware of your hard-on for the woman in the white bikini. She pulled a Houdini under the noses of over two dozen law enforcement personnel. Her description is common knowledge around here. But, no, I don’t think this is the same person. The girl we saw was way too soft for something like this. She was just window dressing for a drug dealer, nothing more.”
The fight was over. Bikers littered the alley. The female was the last man standing, as it were.
Daniel squinted at the screen as the woman melted into the shadows at the far end of the alley. She didn’t reappear. He reached over to rewind the footage, pausing on a frontal shot—the clearest picture he could get of her.
“I disagree,” he said after a minute. “The woman on this video has been trained and trained well. I saw her use techniques from at least three different schools of martial arts in that fight. That kind of expertise doesn’t come cheap. Someone invested a lot to turn this girl into a killing machine. I think we’re dealing with a specialist.”
“Seriously?” Ray asked skeptically. “Are you sure you’re not reading too much into this?”
Daniel scowled. “Did we just watch the same video?”
“Of course we did. But you’re jumping to the conclusion that the woman who did a vanishing act at the Reaper’s is the same one here.” Ray swiveled to face him. “I’m not convinced. Far from it. The woman in the white bikini was probably some hooker. The circumstances of her disappearance aren’t a big mystery. She took advantage of someone’s inattention to slip away—that’s all. My guess is a local uni took a piss break and is too afraid to own up to it.”
Daniel didn’t buy that. He’d questioned every shield at the scene multiple times. As an experienced interrogator, he knew when someone was hiding something from him. None of the men present at the
raid had even twitched. The woman had excused herself to go to the bathroom and then poof! She’d vanished, leaving the tap of the bathroom sink running.
“I’m going to search for more on the Devil’s Hand,” he said after a moment. “Maybe there’s a list of their rivals in the files. The fighter’s name, or at least her affiliation, might be there.”
Ray shrugged. “Suit yourself, but I’d keep it on the down low. If you go off track now, you’re gonna lose steam. We both know you want the D.C. job opening under Dallas Munroe next year.”
The post in the nation’s capital was Daniel’s dream job. He had been lobbying for it for the better part of the year, ever since he’d heard the current department head was taking early retirement due to a health issue. The superstar Agent Dallas Munroe would be taking over, and Daniel was on the shortlist for Munroe’s old spot.
He had a decent shot at it, but the competition was heavy. The shortlist was a who’s who of the agency’s rising stars. He was only one of many.
“You’d be better off fielding more grounders,” Ray pointed out. “Keep that closure rate climbing. It’s a numbers game.”
“It’s a not just a numbers game, and you know it. It’s the big cases that make or break a career.”
His partner snickered. “I know you pride yourself in sniffing out crime like some damn McGruff wannabe, but this girl isn’t going to be a big score. She didn’t even kill anyone in that alley. All of those guys are alive and doing hard time. They’re scattered in various supermax prisons across the country.”
Daniel picked up his sketch. “Which one is the closest?”
Tiny, a three-hundred-pound biker, was a former member of the Devil’s Hand. He sneered at the sketch from the other side of the smeared bulletproof plastic.
Water: The Elementals Book Three Page 4
