“How long have you been on this earth?” Dark asked.
“Forty years,” they said simultaneously.
“Ah,” Dark said. “How seasoned you both are.”
“Ha. Ha.” Orion unplugged the television and began to push it out of the room. “Soon as we feed you, you can crack jokes all you want.”
Gus’s hands glowed and Dark braced himself.
The blast hit him immediately and every muscle in his body seized. He yelled, but even his throat muscles locked up and cut him off mid-scream.
Gus and Orion unlocked the cage and entered. They refreshed the buckets of meat with new ones and set out a giant trough full of fresh water.
A trough! What was he, a pig?
Dark narrowed his eyes in anger as they took off his muzzle.
“No offense,” Gus said. “We’re just doing our jobs.”
You have the wrong jobs, Dark thought. When I skewer you between my claws, you’ll wish you had worked elsewhere.
The men exited the cage and locked it, taking the muzzle with them.
Orion tossed the two pieces of the iron muzzle from hand to hand. “We’ll be sure to clean this up for ya. Enjoy your dinner.”
He walked over to a metal box on the wall and flipped several switches, turning the lights off.
The box controlled the lights in the room...
He didn’t know if it was useful, but he filed it away.
As the men shut the double doors behind them, he heard a metal clicking sound.
His mind was reeling.
Dark regarded the trough and the meat. They fed him like an animal, tossed it on the floor.
But he wasn’t an animal.
He wasn’t an animal!
Frog would understand. Frog would rescue him! But the boy was so impossibly far away. And there was no way to communicate.
Dark smashed the floor, then slapped the bars with his tail. He raised his head to the ceiling and roared, shaking the room. Extending his claws, he swiped the meat, sending it everywhere.
He held the two men’s faces in his mind’s eye. He replayed their every move and licked his lips.
It was their blood he was hungry for.
But for now, he had to eat.
He lay down and ate, hating every bite.
XXXIV
Miri rushed through the halls of the History and Magical Sciences Building. The colonnaded lobby rose up around her, and she pulled her purse closer as the air-conditioned breeze hit her.
She passed an oblong pond filled with blue koi that nipped at the surface of the water as an automatic feeder dispensed brown pellets for them to eat. The pond usually calmed her, but it wasn’t working today.
She was back. Just yesterday she had been sitting in her office on the verge of a migraine. Now she was on the verge of the greatest study ever done by a historian.
She wanted to be back with Old Dark, not here. To hell with Rosehill and his demanding ways!
But Lucan had convinced her otherwise.
If she wanted to continue studying Old Dark, she didn’t have a choice. If the governor unraveled their secrets, he would dismantle everything. Lucan and his business. Her career. Her chance of learning from Dark.
As Earl drove her back to the university, she didn’t speak, out of shame. She had turned into the kind of person she had always ridiculed.
Do what you mean and mean what you do, she had always told her students in Magical Ethics.
She hated that class.
What would her students think of her now? How would this dilemma be discussed in a circle of sophomores and juniors? Not favorably, she imagined.
Could she come to terms with this, this double-agent madness?
She didn’t know. She tried not to think about it, but as with everything she tried to ignore, it was the only thing she could think about.
It was time to start thinking about herself.
For ten years she had given her life to the university. It was time to start getting something back.
She was alone in the lobby, and enjoyed the solitude. It gave her time to think.
Fenroot was painted on every wall, and the silver dragon seemed to mock her from his heavenly position in the clouds. Miri wondered how Old Dark would respond to the paintings if he saw them. He wouldn’t be happy.
She smelled the familiar smell of old carpet and oak-paneled walls as she jogged up the spiral staircase to the third floor.
She glanced at her watch.
3:58 p.m.
Two minutes before she had to be in Dean Rosehill’s office. Two minutes before he exploded.
She could make it.
Laner Tonsenberry was waiting for her at the top of the stairs. He had tucked in his white shirt, and she could smell his cologne from twenty feet away. His auburn hair, normally unruly and unkempt, was brushed, and his bangs hung in front of his eyes, slicked with pomade.
“You made it,” he said.
“I wouldn’t miss it,” Miri said, out of breath.
“That’s not what you said this morning.”
“I feel much better now.”
Laner smiled at her, and then an awkward moment passed between them. She knew that he wished for old times, when they were a team, both as professors and lovers.
“How mad is Dean Rosehill?” Miri asked.
“He’s surprisingly calm,” Laner said, checking his watch. “We’ve got about one minute left, and quite frankly, I don’t want to see him any other way today.”
They hurried down the hall toward a large, frosted glass door. It was egg-shaped, and at least three times taller than the other doors in the hallway—made to accommodate a dragon. The door was cracked, and the dean greeted them as they approached.
“Come in, Professors Charmwell and Tonsenberry.”
Miri pushed gently against the frosted glass and peeked inside.
Dean Rosehill’s office was enormous, and the Crafter dragon sat coiled up in the center of the room. Along the walls were thousands of books, neatly arranged by color, giving the room a dull, rainbow-like glow. There were several large curved windows that were as tall as the door, stretching from floor to ceiling. Outside, the sun was beginning to set across the football fields.
Dean Rosehill, a brown serpentine dragon with faded scales that reminded Miri of a python, was reading a book, straining through his horn-rimmed glasses. He glanced down at Miri, smiled with his yellow teeth, and said, “Professor Charmwell, I knew I would have your support.”
Several cameras descended from the ceiling and took photos of Miri and Laner. They hovered in the air, the telltale sign of a magical spell.
“Forgive my ebullience, but this is a milestone in the history of our school. I want to capture every moment. This one: the meeting of the minds!”
“Thank you for your enthusiasm,” Miri said, “but it’s unnecessary.”
“Oh, I doubt that,” said a gruff voice.
Ennius Grimoire had been standing in front of one of the windows. Miri hadn’t seen him.
He stood facing away from them, his hands clasped behind his back, looking out over the campus. He turned around and gave Miri a fake smile. “Miss Charmwell, we meet again.”
Crap. She didn’t regret her outburst at the governor at Gavlin’s, but she wished he weren’t here right now.
“Mr. Governor.”
“Mr. Governor!” Laner exclaimed. He strode across the room and shook Ennius’s hand. “You’re in capable hands, sir. We can’t thank you enough. Miri’s awfully humble, but she’s going to kick some serious you-know-what, isn’t that right, Miri?”
She wanted to punch him.
Shut up, Laner!
Ennius tapped Laner on the back. “I’ve heard that you are quite capable, too, Professor Tonsenberry. But I’m short on time and we need to start this meeting.”
Ennius snapped his fingers, and two elven women in suits entered the room carrying tall piles of manila envelopes. They set them on a desk and waited
for the governor’s approval. Ennius walked around the desk, surveying the stacks of papers, and then he waved them out. He waited for them to shut the door before turning to Miri.
“Now listen up. What happens in this room stays in this room, and if I find out any of you have been talking, we’re going to have a big problem. Am I clear?”
Laner gulped.
“Clear indeed, Mr. Governor,” Dean Rosehill said.
Ennius stared at Miri, as if waiting for a response.
He was going to be hard on her. She knew it.
Just take it, Miri. Don’t say anything stupid.
“Yes, Mr. Governor,” she said finally.
Ennius continued staring at her with his intense gaze, and then he grabbed a manila envelope.
“Take an envelope, each of you.”
Miri grabbed an envelope; inside was a dossier that outlined the investigation so far. There were black and white photos of the aerial view of the bog, maps of the area, and the names and phone numbers of several witnesses.
He paced around the room and came uncomfortably close to Miri. She felt the governor’s hot breath as he spoke.
“I need two things from you,” Ennius said. “The first thing is a quick, accurate investigation. I want to know what the hell happened, when the hell it happened, who the hell did it, and I want them on national television repenting for this.”
“How do you know that this wasn’t a natural phenomenon?” Miri asked.
“I have my theories,” Ennius said. “But you want to know something, Miss Charmwell? I don’t give a Magic Eater’s ass if it was a natural ‘phenomenon.’ I want a conviction. And you’re going to give it to me before the debates.”
“The debates are in two weeks!” Miri cried. “You can’t possibly expect—”
“The second thing I want,” Ennius said, “is a reason to believe in this place.”
He held out his hands and gestured around Dean Rosehill’s library. “For five years I’ve put off a national referendum on the university. I’ve got an entire staff ready to take it over.”
“But what about our prestige?” Laner asked. “We’ve got history, Governor.”
“Landfills have history,” Ennius said. “But let’s be honest. Aside from schmoozing for money and a few significant publications, what have you all done with your lives?”
Miri turned and began pacing the room.
He’s pushing your buttons. Don’t let him.
“I’ve got millions of taxpayer dollars tied up in grants to Magic Hope University. That’s money that can go to conservation. You all know that. And if I win re-election, it’ll be my last term, so I’ll do whatever the hell I want, and the Governance won’t be able to stop me.”
He was right. During a governor’s third term, the public favorability ratings tended to go up, and voters supported the governor’s initiatives in hopes of a lasting contribution to society. It wasn’t uncommon for a governor to use a referendum during his last term to cash in on that goodwill. Not even the members of the Governance would stop him for fear of losing their own re-elections next term. If Governor Grimoire wanted to close the university to save tax dollars, he could do it. A third term was the closest thing to tyranny Miri could think of.
“But I’m not unreasonable,” Ennius said. “Do me a good job and I’ll defer a referendum to the next governor, if that’s something they even want to address.”
“And how do we know you won’t renege on your promise in two years when it’s convenient?” Miri asked.
Ennius smirked. “Our conversation is off the record, Miss Charmwell. The results of our negotiation will not be. I’m a man of my word. The question is whether you will be a woman of yours.”
The governor reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a pair of glasses. “I’m glad we all understand each other. In these folders you will find copies of all of the records from the Department of Natural Resources for the last thirty years. Every magical incident. I need you to go through them before tomorrow morning. I’m one phone call away from getting the Magical Crimes Unit on the case, but I don’t have grounds yet. You are going to give me what I need so I can make that phone call.”
The governor was doing the briefing. Miri hadn’t expected that. She had expected one of his staff to do it.
“I don’t need to brief you about the details of this event, except that we don’t know anything other than the date and time. I wanted to meet with you first to set my expectations. I have assembled a team from my most experienced staff at the Department of Natural Resources. Jasmine White is the lead, and you’ll find her extremely capable, pleasant, and knowledgeable in all things archaeology and government policy. She and the team will meet you at six a.m. tomorrow morning, and I’ve told them that you’re in charge, Miss Charmwell. Anything you need, you just ask. If you need money, come to me. I want a report every other day. I prefer a written document, and you will send that to my assistant twenty-four hours prior to our meeting. It’ll be public record in a year so be sure to watch your typos. And for what it’s worth, I like bullet points.”
God! What else did he want? He wouldn’t have treated Laner this way. Or any other professor.
“Why don’t we meet every day?” Miri asked.
Her comment interrupted Ennius and surprised him. Dean Rosehill’s face hardened.
“If you want a written report every other day and a verbal report every other day, why don’t we just meet every day?”
“Because I’m giving you this opportunity, that’s why.” Ennius’s face reddened.
“You want me to do field work, I’ll do field work. But I can’t do field work if I’m tied up with paperwork, Mr. Governor.”
“This isn’t a negotiation class,” Ennius said. “I’ve stated my terms.”
“Yes, he has,” Dean Rosehill growled. “Mr. Governor, we appreciate this opportunity and we will not let you down.”
“I know you won’t,” Ennius said.
What was that supposed to mean?
“Get a good night’s rest,” Ennius said, standing at the door. “Because it’s the last one you’ll get until this investigation is over.”
“We will show you the glory of this school, Mr. Governor,” Dean Rosehill said.
An entourage met the governor, and Miri watched as he walked downstairs and out of the building.
The door to Rosehill’s office slammed.
The dragon hissed. “Miss Charmwell, if you have any frustrations, name them now.”
“I have none.”
“Then why do you insist on antagonizing the governor?”
“He was being unreasonable and you know it.”
Dean Rosehill coughed in a fit, and his body glowed blue and then flashed transparent for a moment. He sounded sick, and his coughs made Miri jump.
“You okay?” Laner asked.
“I’ve been better,” Dean Rosehill said.
Strange. Miri didn’t know dragons to get sick.
“As our prestige wanes in the national eye, so does my health. If we fail this mission, the governor will seize the school, and I will die.”
The dragon coughed again and swallowed hard. Miri had never seen him like this. He must have been hiding his sickness from her.
“Surely there is some way to extricate you from the school, isn’t there?” Miri asked.
Dean Rosehill shook his head. He uncoiled and circled the room, sighing with relief as he flapped his wings. “No, Miss Charmwell. That is the downside to Abstraction. An old dragon like me was going to die anyway. Being here has prolonged my life. But I am indeed at the mercy of society. Without an abstraction to fill, I will cease to exist.”
Dean Rosehill no longer owned magic. Dragons were normally tied to the aquifer. When their section depleted, so did their strength. When they went through Abstraction, magical engineers simply changed the magical tie, linking them to society. In most cases, dragons filled their niche and enhanced society. But some did not.
It was a gamble, but Miri understood dragons in Abstraction—if the aquifer perished, they would survive it, ensuring the survival of their species. It also incentivized them to contribute to conservation efforts, for if the aquifer was saved, they could restore their link someday.
Now she understood why the dean had been so cranky lately.
Her conscience nagged her. How could she conduct an investigation now? Things just kept getting worse, and she still could not figure out what to do.
Dean Rosehill had fought for her career, as cranky as he was lately. Did he have her best interest at heart? She thought so.
She should have been thrilled to get this assignment, but she felt ashamed.
“I believe in you both,” Dean Rosehill said. “I have never asked you for any favors. This is my one and only.”
“What do you think?” Laner asked as they walked down the hallway. They had split the Manila folders in half, and they carried them in paper bags.
“What?” Miri asked. She wasn’t paying attention.
“Today’s not your day, is it?”
“I’m fine.”
“I was thinking we could either set up camp at my place or yours, and go through this. Should we order dinner? Gavlin’s restaurant does delivery now.” His voice was soft, insistent.
He had that glimmer again in his brown eyes, that sweet crinkle above his left eyebrow that said he wanted her.
She had thought about old times, too, when she’d spend the night in his tiny apartment in the Half Eight and then run to class. How many times had she drunk wine and sat in his bay window with her feet on his lap, talking about philosophy and magic?
That would have been great, especially the wine.
Laner was nice, and maybe she could have seen a future with him. But she couldn’t figure out why he just didn’t suit her.
Love’s like a puzzle piece, a poet had once written, if it doesn’t fit right, you’re in for trouble.
“Thanks, Laner, but I actually planned on studying these by myself.”
“Oh.”
She put her hand on his shoulder. “I just need some space, okay?”
“It’s not something I said, is it? I don’t want our past to come between us.”
Old Dark (The Last Dragon Lord Book 1) Page 18
