“It won’t,” Miri said. “We are going to make headlines.”
If only she believed it.
Laner laughed. “Yeah? Maybe. Well, see you.”
They parted in the lobby. She watched Laner walk down the street and catch a bus.
The air on the streets was muggy and Miri began to sweat. She pushed through the heat and traveled several blocks to a parking lot of an apartment complex.
A black car was parked under a carport. The driver side door opened and Earl stepped out. He opened the passenger door for her, motioning for her to give him the bags.
Miri hurried her pace and waved.
XXXV
Lucan sipped a gin and tonic in a fine dining restaurant located on the top floor of a downtown skyscraper. As the sunset filled the sky, he watched the city lights flicker on.
His jaw had been clenched shut for so long, it ached as he opened his mouth to drink. He downed his glass and flagged a waitress. A woman with blonde hair and wearing a black vest and tie made her way gracefully to him.
“Yes, Mr. Grimoire?”
Lucan held up his glass, and the ice and lime wedge inside jangled. “Gimme another, will ya, babe?”
The waitress grabbed the glass with one hand and gave him a warm smile.
Lucan glanced around the room. Dinner was in full swing, and all the tables were set with white tablecloths and black dishes that made a bold statement when they had food on them.
Two men in tuxedos played a piano and a guitar from a raised stage in the center of the room. The soft, mellifluous jazz standard reminded Lucan of the beach.
He ate at this restaurant once a week. The staff knew his schedule and always had gin and tonics and crab cakes ready for him. If Celesse was with him, they’d have a bottle of rosé waiting on ice. He preferred a corner seat facing the door, not because he was paranoid, but because Celesse loved to watch the sunset.
Tonight, the sun was like an effervescent tablet dropped into a glass of purple water; the horizon was furious and full of fire—Lucan’s kind of night. He had been burning inside all day waiting for this evening meeting.
The waitress returned with a fresh gin and tonic in a highball glass.
“The usual tonight?” she asked. Her eyes drifted down to the table, which was set for four.
“I’m entertaining,” he said. “Bring me two bottles of brandy, some crab cakes, your signature charcuterie collection, lox and capers, those fantastic marinated olives, duck crostini, and...”
He picked up a single-faced, leather menu. “What’s the chef’s special?”
“Freshwater salmon marinated in our private label white wine, with a pea and horseradish purée, fire-roasted beets and toasted almonds. For dessert, a banana flan with ice cream and cherry sauce.”
“Yep. Four of each, please. And did I order drinks?”
“You ordered two bottles of brandy, sir.”
“Make it four.”
His phone rang. As his hand went to his pocket, he realized he was supposed to pick up his daughter for the weekend.
He had promised her that he wouldn’t miss a weekend during campaign season.
He pulled his phone out, and her photo blinked on the screen, long blue hair and a missing top tooth.
She wanted to do a video chat.
He felt guilty for talking to her in a restaurant. He usually took her out for pizza.
He checked his watch. Maybe there was still time, maybe not.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he said.
“Daddy, where are you?”
Madelaide was sitting on a couch with a backpack in her lap. She had been waiting for him, and she had even worn the new white dress that he had bought her.
What did he promise her last weekend?
Right, the zoo. Or was it ice cream? Or a hike? With that dress, it must have been to take her somewhere nice.
“I’m at a meeting,” he said. “It’s an important dinner.”
“With who?” she asked. “You promised to take me out to eat.”
“I’ll make it up,” Lucan said, crossing his fingers. He slanted his eyes as he smiled. “I think I’ll have room for magic pretzels, won’t you?”
Madelaide pouted.
“Hey now, I told you I’m running a campaign...”
“You promised!”
“I know.”
“Mommy says you aren’t going to be able to keep your promises.”
Lucan raised an eyebrow. “What did I tell you about bringing the seven-legged monster into this?”
“Mommy doesn’t have seven legs.”
“Not during the day.”
“You really shouldn’t be so mean. She never says anything bad about you.”
Lucan puffed. He wasn’t doing this tonight.
Celesse entered the restaurant, wearing a sleek white dress and carrying a black clutch. Her red hair was down to her shoulders and pulled to one side. Her makeup was expertly airbrushed.
“Gotta go, sweetheart. My dinner guests are here. I’ll see you tonight.”
Lucan blew a kiss and ended the call.
He stood as Celesse spoke to the maître d’. She surveyed the room, saw Lucan and waved.
Two people followed behind her. First was Tony in a faded t-shirt; his left arm was in a sling and he had a black eye. Next to him was a tall elven man. He wore a t-shirt like his son, and ripped denim jeans. He had a beard that was starting to gray, and he had an envelope tucked under his arm. He and his son glanced around the restaurant nervously.
The maître d’ stopped them. From his hand gestures, Lucan knew he was telling them they couldn’t enter.
Celesse said something, and after a moment of frowning, the maître d’ motioned them in the direction of Lucan’s table.
Lucan stood up and clapped slowly as they approached.
“Celesse, you look radiant as always.”
Celesse joined him and they sat down.
Lucan pointed to chairs on the opposite side of the table, and Tony and his father sat down hesitantly.
“That’s a nasty boo-boo,” Lucan said, eyeing Tony’s sling. “What’d you do, fall off your tricycle? You’ve even got a black eye to match.”
Tony averted his gaze.
His father cleared his throat. “My name is Bartholomew. And the reason I’m here—”
Lucan held up his hand. “Good lord, you’re trying to pitch me right away? What kind of business IQ is that, Bart?”
The waitress wheeled a cart to the table and unloaded it with so many dishes of food, she had to leave the cart tableside to hold the excess plates. Bart stared in disbelief at the huge array of food in front of him.
Lucan unfolded his napkin and clucked his tongue to get Bart’s attention. “Pass the charcuterie, will you?”
Bart searched around the table, unsure.
“It’s the cured meat,” Lucan whispered, winking.
Bart grabbed the charcuterie board and passed it; the many strips of aged, marbled meat glistened in the dim light.
“I don’t do deals on an empty stomach,” Lucan said. “Don’t be afraid of the food. It’s not going to eat you.”
Bart shifted in his seat. “I came here to talk business, not to eat.”
“Oh, so the food’s not good enough for you? Would you rather be eating peat? Since you were blackmailing me, I figured you had an aspiration for the finer things in life.”
“Cut the crap and let’s get to it,” Bart said.
“Okay, I’ll cut it.” Lucan pulled a slip of paper out of his suit jacket and read it. “Bartholomew Dyer. Your address is 1295 1/2 Candlelight Trail, Bogville. It’s near the town square. You used to work for me ten years ago on the production line. Now you’re … a park ranger. Is that right?”
Bartholomew was speechless.
“You’re surprised?” Lucan asked. “If that’s the case, then you’re more clueless than I thought.”
Bart snapped out of his disbelief and said, “I don’t care if yo
u know what I ate for breakfast this morning. You know why I’m here.”
“Go ahead, make your pitch. You certainly have my attention now.”
Bart unfolded the envelope under his arm. He slipped a note across the table.
We want three million dollars and your secret is safe with us.
Lucan laughed when he read the note. A few diners at the next table stopped and watched him.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”
He composed himself, then laughed again, beating the table.
“That’s all you want?” Lucan asked. “Really? Really really?”
“We’ve made our demand. Are you going to honor it?”
“What are you going to do if I don’t?”
“We’ll talk to your uncle. We’ll tell him everything.”
“Which is?”
“How you found a dragon tomb and covered it up.”
“So help me understand, because I’m missing something: how the actual hell did little boy wonder over here end up in a sling?”
“He was hurt in the dragon attack,” Bartholomew said.
“Can’t speak for yourself, Tony? If I recall correctly, you never shut the hell up.”
Tony’s eyes were wild. “Just give it to us and we’ll go away.”
Lucan sipped his gin and tonic. “Bart, talk to me. Do you need the money that badly?”
“Are you going to accept or not?” Bart asked.
Lucan sighed. “If I do it, will you sign a release?”
“Whatever you want us to sign.”
“Got it. Let me consult with Celesse.”
Lucan stood and helped Celesse out of her chair.
They walked into a corridor that led to the bathrooms; at the other end was the front door.
When they were out of Bartholomew’s sight, Lucan hooked his arm under Celesse’s.
He stopped at the maître d’ and handed him a slip of paper. “In five minutes, give this to the guy sitting at my table—the one with the beard. Oh, and by the way, he so graciously decided to pay for dinner.”
The maître d’ nodded.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Celesse asked as they exited the restaurant.
“Trust me,” Lucan said. “Can’t get any worse.”
The maître d’ delivered the letter to Bartholomew.
“Where’s Grimoire?” he asked.
“He told me to give this to you, sir,” he said.
Bartholomew opened up the paper and his eyes widened as he read it:
Sue me.
And have fun washing dishes.
Bartholomew yelled when the maître d’ handed him the bill.
XXXVI
Dark opened his eyes as the lights came on. He had fallen asleep. How long had it been?
The leftover meat in his bucket had lost its fresh scent, and his internal clock told him it must be night. A few windows in the high ceiling confirmed it.
He stood and stretched.
Miri was in front of the cage.
“They’ve been treating you well, I hope.”
“That depends on your definition of ‘well.’”
Miri pulled up a metal folding chair and sat down.
“No paper to take notes this time?” Dark asked.
“I need to know something.”
He remembered their pact. “Ah, you’ve come to the Library of Dark…”
“The Ancestral Bogs are thousands of years old,” she said. “Aside from your tomb, what other magical items are there?”
Dark recalled the photos he’d seen of the devastation. She must have been referring to that, and he thought he’d overheard her tell Lucan that she was doing an investigation of some kind.
The fact that she was coming to him for help made his blood pump.
“You are leading an investigation?” Dark asked.
“Yes. The government is investigating what happened when we found you.”
“Why not tell them the truth?”
“Your tomb is gone. Lucan had to destroy it.”
“Why?” Dark roared.
“Because it’s your tomb. History wasn’t kind to you, Dark.”
“I am history itself.”
“Have you ever considered that maybe it was your arrogance that got you cursed?”
Dark paced around his cage angrily. “What do you mean history wasn’t kind to me?”
“Answer my question first,” Miri said. “Are there any other magical artifacts in the bog? I need something in the immediate area. Even just a few miles away is fine.”
“Oh ho! You make sense to me now, elven woman…”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Dark grabbed the bars of the cage and brought his face down to her level. “You think you can keep me in this cage and leech information out of me. Is that what I’ve become? A living history book?”
“If you want to live, then yes, that’s exactly what you’ve become,” Miri said.
Dark snorted. Then he let go of the bars.
His assessment of Miri was complete. She was too headstrong to manipulate emotionally right now. She had a tired, determined look in her eyes.
“Next to my family mausoleum, there was a pond. Do you recall it?”
Miri’s eyes tracked toward the ceiling as she tried to remember. “Yes.”
“Is the pond still there?”
“I think so.”
“At the bottom, you will find several chests. Inside, if there is anything left, are human remains.”
“Remains!”
“Tributes.”
“Why?”
“Humans built our tombs, Miri Charmwell. Surely you know that.”
“After a thousand years, I doubt there’ll be anything left of their remains.”
“But the money will be there. All four hundred thousand gold pieces.”
His cache of magic would be there, too. But that wasn’t worth mentioning.
Miri mouthed the amount of money and almost fell out of her chair.
“One of my father’s many stashes,” Dark said. “That should serve as a welcome distraction in your investigation, Miri Charmwell.”
“Right. Wow. And it’s Miri.”
“If we’re addressing formalities, you may call me My Lord.”
Miri rolled her eyes. “Not a chance.”
Dark laughed quietly.
Miri walked around the cage. “This is perfect. Thank you for the tip.”
“Now, it’s time to answer my questions.”
Miri nodded.
“History,” Dark said. “Why did it not treat me kindly?”
“Fenroot became the dragon lord and wrote you and your parents out of history.”
“WHAT?” Dark roared. “Fenroot, the dragon lord? How?”
“I’m sorry to be the one to tell you,” Miri said. “But he was working with elves. He made a deal with them. If he killed you, he would be the dragon lord and they would have access to the aquifer for magic. Long story short, that deal was the basis for our society today.”
“Before I fell asleep,” Dark said, “Fenroot said something about the curse not working correctly. It should have killed me.”
Miri shook her head. “I don’t know. All the history books say that Fenroot killed you instantly.”
Dark’s rage consumed him, and with it he felt a strange stillness.
A society founded without him...
A society that existed because of his failure...
A world with people who uttered his name with disgust, or worse, mockery. He had heard how Frog alluded to it, as if he were not allowed to speak of Old Dark proudly.
Don’t talk about Old Dark; he was nothing in the grand scheme of history.
His contributions weren’t important!
He was just a disease. A plague!
Dark settled into a cold, quiet anger. “Where does our new dragon lord reside?”
“He only ruled for ten years. There are no more dragon lords.”
“Where is Fenroot, then?”
“Counting his billions. Or approving a documentary about his impact to society. I don’t know.”
“What about Moss?”
Miri wrung her hands uncomfortably. “That’s enough for tonight.”
Dark closed his eye. “No, you are only beginning, Miri Charmwell. Tell me.”
Miri hesitated, Dark knew it wasn’t going to be good.
“Where is Moss?” Dark asked again.
“Sit down, because you’re going to be pretty angry.”
Coda
Miri and Dark sat up talking through the night. Miri couldn’t help but tell him everything he wanted to know. It felt right.
Dark was furious to hear about Abstraction, and that dragons had given up their shares of the aquifer. He was sadly confused at how much things had changed.
Her phone rang. It was Laner. The files. She still had to review them.
She left Dark alone in his cage—he didn’t want to hear any more. She sat in the long, empty hallway, going through the reports.
She wished she had taken Earl up on his offer to stop for a few bottles of wine.
Then the door opened, and Earl entered at the far side of the hallway, a grocery bag in his hand. Wine bottles clinked inside. He tipped his hat to her, and she read with renewed energy.
Lucan and Celesse rolled over on his bed in his penthouse. They were naked, and they were panting.
Propping his head up on a pillow, he grinned at her. “Are we made up yet?”
She tucked herself into the bed’s white sheets; her long red hair spilled out on her pillow. She sighed, out of breath. “It’s a start.”
“Heh. Well, we’ve got a lot coming our way.”
“We do, don’t we?” Celesse agreed.
Outside, the city glittered.
“We’ll get through this okay,” she said, caressing his messy black hair. “I hope.”
Lucan sighed and rolled over as his phone rang.
It was Madelaide again.
“Go,” Celesse said.
He reached over and they shared a long, protracted kiss. Then he sat at the edge of the bed and began to dress. As he walked out of the penthouse, he called the local pretzel house and told them to whip up a fresh batch of magic pretzels.
Old Dark (The Last Dragon Lord Book 1) Page 19
