Secrets of the Sword 2 (Death Before Dragons Book 8)

by Lindsay Buroker

  I curled a lip in skepticism.

  “The elf from your father’s court found me,” Mom said, “and I don’t have a magical sword. I guess I can’t be too skeptical. I just… I’ve never known what it is to have magic or sense things. I didn’t believe you when you first said you could sense hinky things—that’s what you used to call it as a kid.”

  “I know.” This time, I gave her The Look. “Remember when we went camping at Lost Lake in Oregon? And I said a kid we saw buying candy in the store was hinky? You grabbed me by my ear and dragged me back to our tent and lectured me on racism and not judging other people by skin color.”

  “Well, that is an important lesson.”

  “I said he was hinky because he was part troll, not because he had brown skin. I didn’t know how to articulate that at the time since I’d yet to meet a full-blooded troll. The kid was lucky he wasn’t green.”

  “Isn’t it just the goblins that are green?” Mom waved toward the kitchen window, the room where Gondo had guzzled half her coffee and munched on her beans earlier.

  After installing Dimitri’s dubious yard guardians, he’d gotten a ride back to town in a beat-up old truck with pool-cleaning tools mounted on the side. The driver had also been green and likely sitting on three phone books to see over the wheel.

  “The trolls are kind of a bluish-greenish-gray,” I said. “You’ll probably see some at the wedding if you come. Ogres too. And goblins. Not sure about orcs. They’re not as frequent at the coffee shop. Zav is working on dragons.”

  “Of course I’ll come, but, Val, do you know all of those… people? I thought the magical community disliked you.”

  “You mean you thought they hate me with the fiery intensity of a thousand suns? Some still do, but that’s calmed down a bit since I became a co-owner of their favorite establishment for acquiring coffee. All those years I thought ogres and trolls were grumps, and it turns out they were just caffeine-deficient.”

  “A terrible thing to be deficient in. I need to buy more beans. I don’t know how your goblin friend was able to metabolize all that without exploding. Or without his heart exploding.”

  “Goblin anatomy is different from ours.”

  “Hm.”

  It started raining harder, and I was on the verge of grabbing Chopper and suggesting we call it a night, but Mom spoke again.

  “I’m a little apprehensive about the wedding. About… him coming.”

  “Sorry. Zav invited Eireth. I guess I would have, but honestly, I don’t know him well. We’ve only met twice and briefly both times.”

  “No, it was right to ask him. I’m glad he cares enough to take an interest in you. I always thought he would, if he found out about you, but there was no way to tell him.”

  “What are you apprehensive about? He’s pretty mellow, from what I’ve seen. For a king.” Rain spattered on the railing and bounced to my cheek. No way would a thief be skulking around out there in this weather.

  But Rocket, who’d let his head settle to the wood boards of the porch, lifted it again. Faint snuffles sounded as he tested the air. It was hard to believe a bear would be out in the rain.

  “The part where he hasn’t aged and I’m… old,” Mom said. “I’m afraid he’ll look at me with sad pity in his eyes. I was the sexy, exotic human when we met. And now I’m… less exotic.”

  “I don’t know about that. Gondo was kind of into you.”

  She didn’t laugh. Maybe I shouldn’t have made the joke when she was being serious, but I didn’t know what I could say that would be comforting. She was worried about the same stuff I’d been worrying about with Zav. Maybe telling her about that would be the right thing to do, to let her know that I got it. Or would one day.

  “I’ve had those concerns with Zav. What happens when I get old, and he’s still a virile dragon in the prime of his life?”

  “He is virile.”

  “I knew you were looking.”

  Mom snorted softly. “I’m not sure whether to feel scandalized or tickled that the image of him… lounging there will most likely be imprinted in my mind for the rest of my life.”

  “Was it his impressive nudity or the yellow Crocs that were responsible for the imprinting?”

  “The combination of the two, I think.”

  The rumble of an engine reached my ears as a truck turned onto the street, headlights piercing the rain. Rocket growled.

  “He doesn’t chase cars, does he?” I imagined him racing after a truck and tearing the bumper off for fun.

  “No.”

  As the truck rumbled closer, I sensed that the driver had the aura of someone with magical blood. At first, I thought it might be my thief, but this felt like a shifter, not a half-dwarf.

  Chain link rattled as an automatic opener activated the rolling gate in the fence of the property across the street. Rocket’s growls grew noisier.

  “He doesn’t like that neighbor,” Mom said. “He always growls when the man is out on his property. I don’t know why. He seems like a decent man. I’ve met him a couple of times walking to the lake. He’s a retired painter who used to have a modest instructional show on cable TV.”

  “Are you sure about that?” Now that the truck was right in front of us, slowing to turn, I could identify him as a werewolf. “A butchery and cooking-with-raw-meat show seems like a more likely choice.”

  Mom gave me a strange look as Rocket rose to his feet, hackles up. “I looked him up. His name is Liam Walsh. The show has been off the air for twenty years, and he never had the success of a Bob Ross, but he’s still publishing books on painting wilderness and animals.”

  “He must have a hard time getting those animals to pose.”

  “Val?” Her tone was puzzled.

  “He’s a werewolf. That’s why Rocket doesn’t like him.”

  The truck’s window rolled down and an arm lifted to wave. It was clad in plaid flannel, not fur, at least for the moment.

  “Evening, Sigrid,” the werewolf—Liam—called over the idling truck. “What are you doing out in such cold, dreary weather? Is that the daughter you mentioned?”

  “You mentioned me? I’m touched.”

  “How can he tell we’re over here?” Mom whispered. “All the lights are off.”

  “Because he’s a werewolf. He can sense me, and he can probably see in the dark and smell whether or not you put deodorant on after getting out of the sauna. Wave back. He’s smiling over at you. If you have a werewolf for a neighbor, it’s good to stay in his good graces.”

  “I don’t want to encourage him,” she whispered.

  What did that mean?

  “I’m Val.” I waved since Mom wouldn’t. “And, yes, I’m the daughter. As native Washingtonians, we enjoy a dreary, rainy night.”

  On the off chance that my thief was out there listening, I decided not to mention our stake out.

  “The rain doesn’t make for good hunting. Coffee in the morning, Sigrid?”

  Mom finally answered. “A visitor drank all of my good coffee.”

  “I’ll bring some over and make you breakfast if you’re willing. I hope the pottery wheel is working well now.”

  “Yes, it is. Thank you, but my daughter is staying over, so I don’t think this is the appropriate time for coffee.” She paused, glanced at me, then blurted, “Maybe this weekend.”

  I raised my eyebrows.

  “I look forward to it. Are you wearing shoes?”

  My eyebrows climbed further.

  “Not currently. There’s no snow on the ground yet.”

  “You’re a hardy woman, Sigrid.” He sounded like he approved. “Goodnight. Nice to meet you, Val. And always a pleasure, Rocket.”

  The dog rumbled, a growl, not a nicety.

  The truck turned into the driveway, the gate clanked shut, and Liam parked beside the house. He went inside whistling. I got a glimpse of his face by the porch light, slate gray hair with a trimmed beard and mustache accentuating a strong jaw. He waved again before
disappearing inside.

  “Interesting,” I said.

  “What?” Mom asked warily.

  “A werewolf is flirting with you.”

  “He’s not a werewolf. That’s ridiculous.”

  “Trust me, Mom. It’s like the kid at the candy store at Lost Lake. I can tell.”

  “He paints. Deer and elk and other animals. What kind of werewolf would do that? Who paints what they’re going to eat?”

  “Food photography is a whole thing, Mom. Haven’t you seen Amber’s social-media page? She posts pictures of good-looking desserts she’s about to chomp down.”

  “That’s not the same. Besides, he does pottery too. He fixed my wheel. He’s a fixer, not a killer. A nice, peaceful man.”

  “Are you sure? I bet he’s got some sexy animal magnetism that oozes all over you and makes you horny.”

  She shot me a scathing look but didn’t quash the notion, as I would have expected. Too bad there wasn’t enough light for me to see if her cheeks were red.

  “Besides, Rocket likes everyone,” I said. “Except predators who might be a threat, right?”

  “That’s why I couldn’t date him. If Rocket doesn’t like a man, that means he’s not right for me. I only made him coffee because he fixed the pottery wheel.”

  “This isn’t an ordinary man. Rocket would growl at any shifter, I’m sure.” I waved to the dog, though he’d settled back onto his stomach now that the werewolf had gone inside. He was back to listening to the critters scuttling around under the porch. “That doesn’t mean he’s someone you shouldn’t date.”

  “I’m not dating anyone, Val. Just drop it.” Her rocking chair creaked as she stood up. “I’m going to bed. Holler if you need any help with your thief.” She patted the hip where her Glock was tucked under her jacket.

  “I will,” I said, even though I wouldn’t.

  Even though I doubted the thief would show up tonight—maybe she didn’t even have an idea of where in the greater Seattle area I was—I would handle her myself if she came.

  Rocket sat up but was looking out into the trees again and didn’t rise to follow Mom inside.

  “Bring him with you when you come in, please,” she said. “He’s an indoor dog.”

  “Yes, I’ve seen him sleeping on your bed.”

  “He hogs the pillows and the covers, but at least I don’t have to worry about catching a chill on cold nights.”

  As she stepped inside, I thought about teasing her that a werewolf could keep her sufficiently warm in bed, but if she didn’t want to date someone, that was none of my business. Even if a nature-loving painter who didn’t find her shoeless tendencies strange seemed perfect for her. Besides, I wasn’t an expert on dating or a talented matchmaker. Zav had fallen into my life unasked for. It was amazing he’d turned out to be such a good guy under the haughty dragonness.

  Rocket growled softly. Nobody was visible in the yard, nor could I sense anyone, but the door to the Jeep opened.

  19

  I rose to my feet, prepared to spring over the railing and grab what had to be an invisible person opening my door. But I caught myself. It could be a trap. She could be using magic to open it from afar.

  “Sindari,” I breathed, touching his charm.

  Even though I hated using him as bait, if anyone was going to be trapped, someone who could turn to mist and disappear to another realm was a better bet than I was.

  But as Sindari formed, Rocket’s growls turned into raucous barking. He evaded my belated grasp and rushed down the porch steps and into the yard.

  Our thief is here, Sindari, I telepathically told him, running after Rocket. The last thing I wanted was for Mom’s pet to fall into some heinous trap.

  I do not sense anyone. Sindari sprang over the railing and prowled, not toward the Jeep, but toward the trees bordering the yard. I will hunt for her.

  Rocket rushed to the Jeep door, alternately snuffling the air and then the ground, but he didn’t seem to find what he’d expected so he defaulted to barking at the open door. I approached warily, Fezzik in hand. Like Sindari, I didn’t sense anyone. If she had a camouflage charm like mine, and she had opened the door, I ought to be close enough to see through the magic and glimpse her.

  I swiped at the air with my pistol, in case she had an even greater invisibility charm, but I didn’t contact anything except the tip of Rocket’s tail as he swished it about, jumping in agitation.

  The lights came on, both in Mom’s cabin and in the house across the street.

  A twang of magic plucked at my senses from the side of the property. Forest magic. It felt like one of Freysha’s traps flaring to life.

  I started to turn, but my sword in its scabbard rose up from my seat, levitated by invisible power.

  “Oh, hell no.” I lunged in to grab it, but something small and hard slammed into my back, startling me. It struck forcefully enough to send a sting of pain through me, even though I wore an armored vest. I stumbled forward a step before catching myself on the door, then spun to face the trees. That projectile had seemed to come from the same direction as the magic I’d sensed.

  I dropped to one knee, pointing Fezzik into the shadows, searching for shaking branches or anything that would hint of the thief’s exact location. Which tree had Freysha’s trap been in? They all looked the same in the dark.

  A faint tink sounded as something fell out of my pocket. No, not my pocket. From my back, where whatever had hit me had stuck in my leather duster.

  I activated my night-vision charm, but it did little more than show me the empty air between the trees. My attacker was invisible; I was sure of it. The nearby lights caused the charm to flood my eyes with too much brightness, but I was able to spot a tiny dart that had fallen to the gravel. I grabbed it and stuffed it in my pocket.

  Try the side of the house, Sindari, I suggested. Someone fired at me, and I think it came from that—

  Another projectile struck me, slamming into my abdomen. I swore at the sharp stab of pain—and because not so much as a leaf out there had moved.

  I whirled, intending to grab Chopper and run to the other side of the Jeep for cover, but the sword had continued to rise. It was outside of the vehicle now and rising higher into the air, already well above my head.

  I saw where it came from that time, Sindari replied, springing through the brush from the rear of the house and toward the trees to the side.

  Good. Get her! I sprang for Chopper—and just missed it. The sword floated several feet above my head as it drifted slowly toward the trees.

  I scrambled atop the hood of the Jeep, to the roof, and leaped off as the sword floated farther away. The added height let me catch it, one hand wrapping around the scabbard like a vise, but to my surprise, my weight wasn’t enough to pull it out of the air.

  A branch moved as Sindari hunted through the trees, having as much trouble pinpointing my attacker as I was.

  Try by Freysha’s trap, I told him.

  Hopefully, he could tell the trees apart better than I could in the dark.

  I fired at the tree I thought the trap was in, then twice more to either side, hoping to get lucky. One of the branches shuddered, and was that someone’s gasp?

  Sindari charged in that direction.

  “Val?” Mom called from the doorway as I floated across the yard, hanging from my sword, my feet dangling five feet off the ground.

  “Stay inside!” I called.

  “Sigrid?” the werewolf—Liam—called from the doorway of his own house.

  The whole neighborhood had probably heard my gunshots.

  “We’re fine,” I called to him, not wanting to endanger anyone else with my trouble.

  Sindari and I could handle this.

  Or so I thought. Then a chill breeze swept across me, raising the hair on my arms. The glow of ominous purple light came from farther back in the woods. Had she gotten that box again? How? Zav had taken it with him back to Dragon Land, hadn’t he?

  Branches ra
ttled as Sindari ran all around the area where I’d fired, but he still hadn’t found the thief.

  Try up in the air. She may be caught in Freysha’s trap. I imagined the half-dwarf dangling upside down from her ankle high in a tree.

  Sindari sprang up onto a thick branch, the limb quivering under his weight. Ah, yes. I caught a scent.

  Just don’t fall. I wanted to rush over and help, but I dared not let go of Chopper. It kept floating away from the yard and toward the trees, but not the same tree Sindari was climbing. No, it was pulling me toward that purple glow.

  I groaned and gripped Fezzik, not sure whether to fire at the glow or fire toward my invisible enemy. I didn’t want to risk hitting Sindari, but I was getting desperate. My forearm muscles quivered from holding my body weight up by one hand. There was no way I would let go of Chopper and let her have it, but…

  Skeletal fingers brushed at my cheek. I jerked my head away and tried again to yank Chopper off its trajectory. I needed the blade to attack the wraiths, if that was what I was dealing with again.

  Gunshots fired, not mine. They had come from the direction of the house. Mom?

  A crash sounded—Sindari’s branch broke, and he plummeted to the ground. He twisted, landing on his feet, and snarled.

  I injured her, but she shot me.

  She’s got a gun?

  No, it was a dart. Maybe a tranquilizer. His snarl floated back to me.

  “Val?” Mom called uncertainly. “Something’s trying to get in the house. I felt…”

  Damn it, were the wraiths molesting her? My gut clenched at the idea of her being dragged into that box.

  “Stay there, Sigrid,” the werewolf called. He was in Mom’s front yard now. Maybe that was good. If there were further threats and he could help her…

  Except that it was my job to help her. I couldn’t even shoot toward Freysha’s trap now if I wanted to. The sword kept pulling me deeper into the woods, and I couldn’t see Sindari—or Mom and Liam. All I could see was the purple glow, and yes, now I could make out that big black box again. How did she keep getting it back? Or did she have an unlimited supply?

  Something tugged at my braid. Not again.