“I have a daughter. Her name is Madelaide.”
“Ah, such a lovely name.”
The dragon closed his eyes as if he were regarding the name. He moved slowly across the museum, as if flying hurt him.
“Let’s get down to it, shall we? I have seen you on television. I’ve watched your speeches. And I’ll be honest, Mr. Grimoire: I don’t like you or your positions.”
Lucan was tired of the dragon tactics. He wanted to turn and leave.
“Then why am I here?”
“Because fortunately for you, I happen to dislike the governor more than I dislike you right now. His recent policy positions have given my daughters some unsettling ideas. Me? I don’t care what he does. I’ll be dead in a thousand years, completely dysfunctional long before then...”
Dragons often lived for three to four thousand years. Lucan did the math; if Moss was alive during Dark’s reign, that put him around two thousand five hundred years, maybe three thousand. Lucan wondered what it would be like to grow old so slowly.
“Tell me: what did your uncle do to make you run for office?”
“Long story,” Lucan said. “And none of your business. But it’s not just my uncle.”
“Ah, yes, the aquifer. There’s that. But, Mr. Grimoire, there has always been the problem of the aquifer. It’s not a problem you’ll be able to solve in your lifetime.”
“It’s about time we start.”
“You’re ahead of your time,” Moss said. “But my, your ancestors have given you quite the handicap, haven’t they? Going off and killing themselves en masse like that. How long before elves can no longer use magic?”
“A few generations at most.”
“The world’s magical supply will be unavailable to your progeny, and no one will be able to cast spells anymore. Won’t that be a pity?”
“Like you care.”
“We dragons do care, Mr. Grimoire. For we cannot live in Abstraction without a society. The environmental disaster will affect us all, I can assure you of that. And I choose to put my support behind a candidate so deeply aligned with the welfare of all dragons in Abstraction.”
“I appreciate your support.”
“I will give my press conference tonight. I am expecting great things from you, the least of which is a new grimoire set for my daughters.”
Lucan started for the door.
“Mr. Grimoire—”
Lucan turned.
“If we ever have a trust issue, I hope you’ll have the goodwill to tell me in advance.”
“Something wrong?” Lucan thought of Old Dark. Yeah, he definitely didn’t want to bring that up. Some things were better left unsaid.
“I know your history. That’s what’s wrong. Do not embarrass me.”
“You got it, Moss.”
XXV
Miri and Earl pulled into an alley behind her apartment building, a narrow street filled with dumpsters and puddles.
She was still in her nightgown and robe; there had been other clothes at Lucan’s penthouse, but to her surprise, what she was wearing was the tamest thing in the wardrobe. She’d have to go a long time before she could push the lingerie images out of her mind.
Earl opened the door and got out. He surveyed the alley, and seeing no one, opened the door for Miri and guarded her as she entered the back door of the three-story building.
There was a restaurant on the first floor. As they hurried through a green hallway with peeling paint, the smell of pizza and fried chicken hit them.
It was familiar. She’d only eaten at the restaurant once, and it had given her food poisoning. With the magic shortage and all the environmental trouble, Miri was the organic food type. More money, better living. But the fried food did remind her of home, and after all she’d been through, she was grateful for the smell.
She led the way up a narrow staircase. Some of the steps had cracks in them. The lighting dimmed as they climbed.
“Watch your step, Earl.”
“Trust me, I’ve been in worse places, Miss.”
They reached the second floor. The sounds of the restaurant were just below—dishes clinking, a loud ceiling fan, an oven beeping, a group of people talking and laughing. The hallway smelled of mildew and old grease.
“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Earl said, “but I thought a professor could afford a better establishment.”
“I’m lucky to afford this,” Miri said. “Most of my pay goes to health insurance and a so-called retirement plan.”
Earl shook his head.
Her door was just down the hall.
They rounded a corner.
First she saw legs, then a torso.
Someone was sitting in front of her apartment.
She startled and reversed, bumping into Earl.
“What’s wrong?” Earl whispered.
Miri peeked her head around the corner.
It was Laner Tonsenberry, senior faculty in the Academy of History and Magical Sciences. A colleague. He was a human with elven blood in his history who had taken an interest in the magical arts. He was the only human on staff, and equal with the other faculty. Salaries were private, but Miri wouldn’t have been surprised if he made more money than her because Dean Rosehill liked his easygoing demeanor.
He had been an enemy at times. But ultimately, he was a friend.
He wore a white button-up shirt that was loosely tucked into brown trousers, and his curly auburn hair was a mess. He rested his head against the door, as if he had been sleeping.
He can’t know where I’ve been, Miri thought.
“Carry me,” Miri said, jumping into Earl’s arms.
“Ma’am, I don’t want to give anyone the wrong impression of our—”
“Trust me.”
She felt his strong hands around her, and she let her head hang limp and tried to remember her college days.
As they approached, Laner woke up and wiped drool from his face. He cocked his head at Earl, but when he saw Miri, he stood up.
“Hey. I’ve been waiting for you all night.”
Miri rolled her head as if she was drunk. “Looooong night.”
“Who are you?” Laner asked. He gave Earl a look that seemed to say “What’s a human doing carrying an elven woman around?”
“I’m the designated driver, sir,” Earl said. After a pause, Laner nodded. The man did seem to be dressed for it.
“Oh, okay. Listen, Miri—”
Miri held out her hand; a pentagram on the door activated in response and the door opened.
They entered her apartment, a cozy studio. A divider made from rice paper separated her bed from the living room, which had white walls and books everywhere. There were piles and piles of books on anthropology, magic and art.
A gray cat mewed and ran away at the sight of the visitors.
A large bay window overlooked the street, which was empty except for a few parked cars. Earl set Miri on a couch at the base of the bay window. He stood by the door with his arms crossed, staring out the window and ignoring them.
“I never knew you to be a partier,” Laner said.
Miri gripped her head. Pretending to be hungover was surprisingly easy. “After our faculty meeting, I needed a few drinks.”
“Well, are you still sobering up, or have you seen the news?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The Ancestral Bogs. Something happened there last night.”
“So?”
Laner grinned. “But no one knows what happened, Miri. That’s the best part. The government seized the land and has invoked the Magical Lands Act. I know you’re pissed about the faculty meeting yesterday, but thank goodness we decided to endorse the governor, because he appointed Magic Hope University to aid in the investigation.”
Miri wanted to vomit.
“Per the law, the university has to respond within twenty-four hours and appoint a lead on the project, an individual with relevant experience and ability.”
“You’ll do great,” Miri said.
“No, you’ll do great,” Laner said. He produced a sheet of paper. It was a government order with the seal of the Magic Hope Government on top and the governor’s signature at the bottom.
In the effort of expediency, I, Ennius Grimoire, appoint Magic Hope University as a liaison in the investigation at the Ancestral Bogs.
Be it known that Dean Argonne Rosehill has elected Professor Miri Charmwell to lead the investigation and be a resource to government officials at this time.
Miri vomited on the floor. It splattered and hit Laner’s shoe. He jumped back.
“Yikes. You really need some rest.”
“I … I can’t do it today,” Miri said. “I’m sick.”
“This is the opportunity of a lifetime,” Laner said. He searched the kitchen for a mop.
“Behind the fridge,” Miri groaned.
Laner returned with paper towels and a mop. He started working on the pool of filth. “You’re not telling me you’re going to turn it down.”
“Hello,” Miri said. “I’m not in the greatest shape right now.”
“That’s the beauty,” Laner said. “You’ve got twenty-four hours to accept. Start sobering up.”
Laner wasn’t going to take no for an answer. He never did. Normally that was his greatest personality trait in a faculty full of old-timers who insisted on the traditional way of doing things. And in any other circumstance, Miri would have said yes—screamed it as loud as she could, jumped up and down and hugged him.
From the disappointed look in his eyes, she could tell he’d expected that response. A few years ago there had been some chemistry between them, but she found out that he had been divorced and that the details were quite messy, and he just wasn’t the right fit for her.
“Will you at least think about it?” Laner asked softly. “Miri, you can’t possibly say no to this. Dean Rosehill argued for you. The governor hates your guts, and honestly they probably would have picked me instead.”
“Then you should do it,” Miri said.
“You’re the most qualified. You have background in geography, magical sciences, and history. If Rosehill wanted you first, then I’m not going against that.”
“I’ll talk to Rosehill.”
Laner shifted from one foot to the other. “I promised I’d call him when I found you.”
“Not now. Laner, I—”
He patted his pockets and pulled out a worn smartphone. Miri tried to stop him, but he dialed and put Dean Rosehill on speakerphone.
“Miss Charmwell, where have you been?” the dragon asked. His fussy voice came through the phone in full definition, and there was no mistaking that he was annoyed.
She ran a hand through her hair and composed herself.
“Dean Rosehill, please forgive me.”
“You’ve been out partying like the students, I presume? Last day of summer vacation and all.”
“Yes. I’m ill.”
“Have you seen the good news, Miss Charmwell?”
“Yes, it is an honor.”
“Do you accept?”
“I have to think about it. To be honest, sir, I’m under the weather, and I may not be able to give this project the mental clarity that it requires.”
Dean Rosehill growled, and the vibration shook the phone. “Listen, girl. I pleaded with Governor Grimoire to give you this position. I promised to help you get your doctorate back, but you’re not working with me. Do we have a problem, Miss Charmwell?”
Miri gulped. “No, not at all. I—”
“You have until four p.m. to make your final decision. I recommend that you rest and do whatever you need to make yourself correct. Because you will be accepting. This is a glorious day for the University and you will not ruin our prestige. Goodbye, Miss Charmwell.”
The call ended.
“Good thing he didn’t want to do a video call,” Laner said. “You look like hell.”
Miri opened the door. “Laner, I need time to think, please.”
Laner got the message and exhaled dejectedly. “What is there to decide? But okay, whatever.”
He left.
She shut the door behind him and leaned on it. “This is bad.”
Earl, who had been standing like a sentry in the kitchen, relaxed and started walking around the apartment, inspecting it. “Yes, Miss, I’d say you’ve got a problem.”
“I need to talk to Lucan.”
“He’s got engagements all morning.”
“What about Celesse?”
“Where he goes, she goes.”
Miri walked behind the divider in the room. She changed into a rose-colored blouse, a baby blue blazer jacket and denim jeans. As she dressed, she sensed Earl’s discomfort, even though he couldn’t see her.
“What’s next, Earl?” she asked, putting on a pearl necklace as she rejoined him.
“We stay here until the boss gives his speech.” Earl tapped his watch. “Fortunately, it’s in ten minutes.”
“Then what?”
“I’m under orders to take you through every back road in the city in a circuitous route.”
“What? Why?”
“In case anyone’s followin’. Because after, I was told to take you to Old Dark.”
Miri grinned. “Then what are we waiting for?”
XXVI
Lucan and Celesse walked quickly through the rear courtyard of the Hall of Governance. The massive building, with hundreds of spires and an exterior that resembled the rock wall of a cavern, rose majestically in front of them. The courtyard was spare, with freshly watered grass and rows of flowers rimming the perimeter.
Years ago, the gardens had been one of the most beautiful places in the city; visitors came simply to relax and enjoy marbled sculptures, hedge mazes and fragrant floral displays that inspired perfumes.
But Governor Grimoire believed in slashing budgets, and when he took office, the first thing to go was the extravagance of the Hall’s grounds. He insisted on perennial plants that would grow back without the need of magic or a gardener, he sold the statues to the museum (causing a firestorm), and he had the hedge mazes torn down and the gardening staff laid off. The grounds were still attractive, but not what they used to be.
Now few people visited anymore except politicians, the media, and anyone who had business there.
Lucan always found it funny how the media said the governor did these things to save money. Lucan knew how much money the gardens cost. It was an infinitesimal fraction of the overall budget, but the public never paid attention to the real numbers even though they were always available. Lucan knew that stripping down the courtyard was the governor’s way of distancing himself from the people so he could rule them better.
As they walked, Celesse worked on her tablet. She had the news on mute in one window and email in another. She tapped furiously, the digital keyboard clicking with every stroke. Celesse never took her eyes off her tablet, yet still managed to keep up with his quick stride. They had both been to the Hall so many times that she could have navigated the place blindfolded.
Lucan stared up at his former home. Deep within the Hall was the governor’s residence, where he had grown up, almost like a prince. He thought of his father. When he had been governor, he had taken care of the building like a man takes care of his own house—all half million square feet of it. He had been a true elven elder until cancer took him.
Lucan shifted his thoughts back to the Hall. He hadn’t been to the residence in over seven years.
His uncle had probably taken care of it, no doubt. Spotless floors, anti-dust spells, and probably more domestic workers on staff because his uncle and aunt hated domestic work, with their ten children still living in the Hall.
But he couldn’t help but wonder what it was like on the breakfast terrace right now, dining with the entire city waking up below. Or to walk through the halls with the paintings of former governors on the walls.
“This has to be qui
ck,” Celesse said, not looking up.
“You think I want to be here?” Lucan asked as they climbed a long staircase toward two large bronze doors.
He didn’t want to be here. He wanted to figure out what to do with Old Dark. But his long list of appointments kept him away from the dragon, and it would be late before he would be able to return to the factory.
After his appointment with Moss, Lucan had ducked into the limo and told Celesse how everything went. His phone rang, and he recognized the number—the Hall of Governance. When he’d answered, a secretary told him to hold for the governor.
His uncle came on the line. “I want you in my office. Now.”
Lucan had cracked a joke about them not being on speaking terms, and the governor had responded that if he wasn’t in the Hall of Governance in an hour, his security detail would come find him. Whatever it was, it couldn’t wait, and the governor refused to say any more and promptly disconnected the call.
He hadn’t wanted to go, but he couldn’t refuse the meeting. He needed to know if his uncle knew anything that could hurt him.
They entered the lobby with its checkered floors and chandeliers that hung like stalactites. After speaking with a secretary, she ushered them to a private elevator that took them to the fifth floor—the governor’s wing.
The place smelled slightly of varnish. The walls were gray and filled with pictures of the governor posing with famous people around the city.
In one he held a massive hot dog, pretending to eat it. On the other end, a little girl held the hot dog up, laughing.
In another, he stood with a signed bill in his hand, the entire Governance behind him. The Magical Lands Act.
In another, he posed with several dragons who glowed in the image as if they were animated. The dragons had severe countenances, and like they were about to burst out of the photo and attack at any moment.
In the next room, another secretary sat at a desk in front of a silver door.
“The governor is waiting for you,” the secretary said. She pressed a button under the desk.
A few seconds later, the door flew open and Ennius Grimoire stood in the doorway. The man was almost taller than the doorframe, his bald head barely missing the top.
Old Dark (The Last Dragon Lord Book 1) Page 13
