CLOAK OF DRAGONS
Jonathan Moeller
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Table of Contents
Description
Chapter 1: Even More Fun With Food Service
Chapter 2: The Storm Behind Her Eyes
Chapter 3: A Little Favor
Chapter 4: Family
Chapter 5: Dragon Bone
Chapter 6: We Might Have Missed A Few
Chapter 7: Upper Class
Chapter 8: That Used Bookstore Smell
Chapter 9: Dragon Wrath
Chapter 10: Machine Parts
Chapter 11: Bring Some Work Home
Chapter 12: Old Books
Chapter 13: Hungers
Chapter 14: It’s So Hard To Find Good Help Nowadays
Chapter 15: Iceboxes
Chapter 16: Singularity
Chapter 17: Firestorm
Chapter 18: Dragon Wings
Chapter 19: Man Or Machine?
Chapter 20: Mad Bad Wizard Girl
Other books by the author
About the Author
Cloak of Dragons
Copyright 2019 by Jonathan Moeller.
Smashwords Edition.
Cover design by Natasha Snow.
Ebook edition published April 2019.
All Rights Reserved.
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the author or publisher, except where permitted by law.
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Chapter 1: Even More Fun With Food Service
My name is Nadia MacCormac, and two months after I got married, I helped my husband kill a man.
To be fair, the guy we killed totally deserved it.
By the time we caught up to Paul Ricci, he had already murdered fourteen people. Fourteen innocent people, who had been going about their lives until Ricci decided that he needed to spill their blood to fuel his crazy plans. And Ricci would have killed a lot more innocent people if me and Riordan hadn’t killed him first.
But I’m getting ahead of myself.
I should start at the beginning.
Okay, one of the beginnings.
If I started at the real beginning, that would be a hundred and seventy-five years ago, when Lord Morvilind recruited me as his shadow agent. And even then, it goes back farther. Riordan says that history is like that, that you think it’s done but it’s never really over, that it keeps causing you problems again and again.
That’s why I don’t like history.
I’m rambling. Again.
Anyway, Paul Ricci and the people he killed.
It was October 15th, Conquest Year 316 (or 2329 AD, according to the old calendar), and it was a cold, drizzling night in Brooklyn. Specifically, I was walking on a sidewalk a little north of Prospect Park. Five or six story buildings rose on either side of the street, and cars lined both curbs. It was about 6:30 PM, a little after peak rush hour, but traffic was still heavy, and quite a few pedestrians filled the sidewalks.
I walked through them, my hands in my pockets. I was wearing running shoes, black jeans, a gray sweater, and my favorite black naval-style pea coat. The coat was loose enough that I had wrapped it tight around me for warmth. It was also loose enough to conceal my little .25 revolver in an interior pocket and the radio pack clipped to the back of my belt. To keep the drizzle out of my eyes, I had donned a baseball cap, my hair tied into a tail and tucked through the back. I also wore a pair of thin leather gloves.
Fingerprints were not the sort of thing I wanted to leave behind tonight.
I watched the crowds around me as I walked, my hands tense in the pockets of my coat. This section of Brooklyn wasn’t exactly crime-ridden, and Homeland Security patrols were a common sight. Of course, it was only three months since the Rebels had almost nuked New York, so the locals were still watchful.
And me, I never really relaxed. Not anymore.
My destination came into sight, and I picked up my pace.
Ricci’s Italian Restaurant filled the lowest floor of a seven-story building. Light spilled into the drizzly night from the windows, and inside I glimpsed wooden booths and tables and a long U-shaped bar that dominated the center of the room. The smell of garlic drifted to my nose, along with the odors pepperoni and bread. Music played softly overhead, a pop song by a woman named Della or Delilah or Deborah or something (my knowledge of pop culture is often incomplete.) The place looked like a nice but expensive restaurant, but every goddamn thing in New York was expensive.
I wondered if Paul Ricci had killed any of his customers.
I stepped off the sidewalk and into the alley between the restaurant’s building and its neighbor. The alley was unremarkable, with a pair of dumpsters that gave off a foul odor and a single security light over the restaurant’s rear entrance. Unlike many alleys in New York, it did not smell of urine, so that was a plus.
I dug the earpiece out of my pocket, slipped it into my right ear, and tapped it.
“All right,” I said. “I’m going to go in and see if I can find Ricci. If I do, I’ll let you guys know before I use the Cloak spell.”
A woman’s voice crackled over the earpiece, cheery with an English accent. “Good hunting, tigress.”
Yeah. Tigress. Nora was fond of little nicknames that seemed flattering but were slightly insulting if you thought about them too long. Though we got along better, these days. Nora hadn’t approved of me, and she definitely hadn’t approved of my relationship with Riordan, but after I saved Nora and fifteen million other people from dying in a nuclear inferno, she had started warming up to me.
I was still the “tigress,” though.
Another voice came over the earpiece, deep and calm with just the faintest hint of a Texas drawl. “If you locate him, don’t kill him on the spot. We need to find where he’s been casting his summoning spell. Men like him almost always gather a cult around themselves.”
I knew all that already, but I didn’t mind Riordan reminding me. He had gone to insane lengths to look after my safety. And I had in the past given him a few very good reasons to worry about me.
Well. Maybe more than a few.
“Right,” I said. “I’ll be careful.”
Nora snorted. “Liar.”
“I’m hanging around with a bunch of Shadow Hunters,” I said. “Way too late for careful.”
With that, I took a deep breath, cleared my mind, and cast the Mask spell.
Silver light flashed, and my will molded and shaped it, spinning an illusion. I Masked myself as a middle-aged man, paunchy and balding, dressed in a polo shirt and cargo trousers. It made me look like a sales clerk on his way home after work, and no one would bother a man like that if he didn’t make trouble. Given that my actual appearance was that of a twenty-two year old woman, it was easier to use a Mask spell to remain unnoticed.
But I was older than my appearance. Much older, and a century and a half of that time had been filled with death after death after death…
Memories of blood and torment bubbled up in my mind, and I shoved them back down. I had gotten good at pushing aside the memories of the Eternity Crucible, of keeping myself together, but the shadows in my mind were always there.
With a grimace, I stepped out of the alley and walked into Ricci’s Italian Restaurant.
It was warmer inside, which was nice. The air smelled of garlic and beer. A low buzz of conversation came to my ears. Four TVs mounted over the bar showed a football game (American, not British)
, and I was pleased to note that the TVs were muted. I’d been in some bars and restaurants where the damned TVs were so loud my ears started bleeding.
People waited for tables, but there were still open spaces at the bar. I walked up, picked a location that would give me a good look at the kitchen doors, and hopped onto a bar stool. The bartender approached, a perky blond woman dressed in black, and I bought a beer from her and pretended to drink it and stare at the football game. I didn’t actually drink the beer because I was hunting a multiple murderer and needed my wits about me. Also, I don’t drink.
I have a lot of shadows locked in my head, and I’m afraid they’ll come out if I get drunk.
I pretended to sip the beer and watch the football game for about ten minutes. What I actually did was watch the waitresses go back and forth from the kitchen. Three of the waitresses working for Ricci’s Italian Restaurant had disappeared in the last month, and I wondered if any of them realized their boss was behind it.
Either way, it would end tonight.
I pushed off my bar stool and walked to the bathrooms on the other side of the restaurant. The restrooms were in a narrow wood-paneled hallway that smelled of disinfectant. At the moment, the corridor was deserted, and I only needed a few seconds. I dropped my Mask spell, and then recast it. This time, I Masked myself as one of the waitresses I had seen earlier, a woman taller and darker than I was. I had seen her tell one of the other women that she was going out for a cigarette break so she wouldn’t be back for at least another ten minutes.
Wrapped in the magical illusion, I walked across the restaurant and slipped into the kitchen. It was about twenty degrees hotter in there, and the mixed smell of several different Italian dishes hit my nostrils. It almost made me wish that I was hungry. A small army of cooks in white aprons toiled at stoves and ovens, and the waitresses moved back and forth, carrying orders out to the dining room. I fixed a determined scowl on my illusionary face and marched across the kitchen. No one got in my way. I had a lot of experience breaking into places I wasn’t supposed to be, and I had found it was best to stride around like you owned the place. Acting furtively was a great way to get caught.
Also, the Mask spell helped.
Next to the door to the walk-in freezer, I spotted a narrow flight of stairs going up. Paul Ricci owned his restaurant, but most of his money came from supplying items to other restaurants throughout the New York metro area. RFS (Ricci Food Services) operated out of offices above the restaurant.
I hurried up the narrow stairs, moving in silence. No one noticed. All the workers were too busy. Ricci might have been a murderer and in league with Shadowlands creatures, but he apparently knew how to hire good people.
The stairs ended in a locked steel door. I glanced around, but there were no security cameras up here. I didn’t want the waitress whose likeness I had just borrowed to get arrested for burglary. I cast a minor spell of telekinetic force. It didn’t require much power, but it did take a great deal of concentration and focus. Fortunately, I had that in abundance, and the lock clicked open.
I paused long enough to drop my Mask spell and recast it. This time I chose the illusionary guise of a Homeland Security officer in a blue uniform and black tactical vest and harness. If I came across anyone, the sight of an armed officer would make them hesitate.
The door opened into an office hallway lit by dim emergency lights. I eased the door closed behind me and looked up and down the hall, but I didn’t see anyone moving, and I didn’t hear anyone. I walked to the other end of the hall and saw that it opened into a glossy-looking receptionist’s office with a U-shaped desk, potted plants, and slightly uncomfortable-looking guest chairs against the walls. No sign of anyone yet.
I walked back down the hall, used a quick spell to unlock one of the doors, and stepped into Paul Ricci’s office.
It had the crowded look of space that was used for actual work, not the sort of glossy office or conference room a man like Ricci would use to impress clients. Three massive file cabinets sat against one wall, and there were more manila file folders stacked on the floors and the guest chairs. The computer was on standby, with a worn keyboard and mouse. Ricci’s office gave me the impression of an organized place that was starting to fall apart. Like he had developed a drug addiction or some other self-destructive behavior that was making him fall apart.
Like summoning Shadowlands creatures and falling under their influence.
I tapped my earpiece. “I’m in Ricci’s office. Gonna have a look around.”
“Acknowledged,” said Nora. “We’re out front in our van.”
“Don’t get towed,” I said, walking around the desk.
I looked through the papers. There were a lot of invoices, and quite a few late bills. Ricci had been neglecting his business over the last few weeks, and he had been spending a lot of money buying things unrelated to restaurant food distribution. Like guns and ammo, for instance. Perfectly legal, but not the sort of thing a restaurant owner needed. He had also bought a lot of lead and silver ingots. Again, not the sort of supplies a restaurant owner required, but they would be useful if a man wanted to build a permanent summoning circle.
I looked through the invoices. None of the deliveries had come here. They had all gone to an address in Long Island. Specifically, if I remembered my New York geography, an address near MacArthur Airport. Probably a warehouse or a leased hangar.
The perfect place for a renegade summoner to carry out his experiments.
“Hey,” I said, tapping my earpiece. “I’ve got an address.” I read it off. “Ricci had a bunch of guns and lead ingots shipped out there. I’d bet my entire fee for this little enterprise that he’s doing his summoning experiments at that address.”
“That’s how gents like him prefer to operate,” agreed Nora. “Of course, we’re seeing way more of them after the Sky Hammer than we did before. I…”
“Nadia.” Riordan’s voice cut into the channel. “I just saw Ricci. He’s coming up to his office with three other men.”
“What?” I said. Even as I spoke, I heard the door in the receptionist’s office open.
“A delivery van in the alley,” said Riordan, voice grim. “I caught a glimpse of them. You’d better get out of there.”
I hesitated for a half-second, and then made a decision. I had maybe ten seconds before Ricci noticed that his office door was open.
“Too late,” I said. I eased the door closed and turned the lock, stepping between the door and the file cabinet. “I’m going to Cloak and listen to their conversation. I’ll report in once they leave.”
“Be careful,” said Riordan. He didn’t sound worried. He sounded grimmer, which was how I knew he was actually worried.
I didn’t have time to answer. I cleared my mind, gathered magical power, and cast the Cloak spell. The spell wrapped around me, and I vanished from sight. When using the Cloak spell, I was completely invisible, and nondetectable by any magical means. I could even move around while Cloaked, though I could only manage that for about eleven or twelve minutes before I had to rest. When standing in place, I could stay Cloaked for hours.
It hadn’t always been that way. When I had first learned that spell, I could barely stay Cloaked for a minute, and if I moved, the spell had collapsed.
But that had been a long time ago.
A long time, and many, many deaths…
I shoved that out of my head before my thoughts could start spiraling to the Eternity Crucible. I had to keep myself under control just now.
Two seconds later I heard keys rattle in the lock, and the door swung open.
Paul Ricci strode into the office, glowering.
He looked like a moderately successful businessman, burly and graying but with something of a beer gut. Ricci wore a sports coat, a crisp white shirt, and dark trousers, and he paced behind his desk and dropped into his chair with a grunt. Three other men followed him into the office. They were all in their middle twenties. The men had the look of r
ecently discharged men-at-arms – they still had the crew cuts and everything.
“We going to do this tonight, Ricci?” said one of the three men.
“Yeah, yeah,” said Ricci, unlocking his computer and opening his email application. “I’ve just got to write an answer to this quick.” He started typing. “Don’t give me shit about this. I’m the one who’s paying for everything, Coleman.”
“But we’re so close,” said Coleman. He had the sort of lean intensity I had seen in some of Nicholas Connor’s more fervent followers, the ones who had talked about how bombing kindergartens would punish people for supporting the Elven nobles. He was standing so close to me that I could have touched him, and I kept my breathing slow and shallow, lest he feel it on the back of his neck. “We’ve already summoned one maelogaunt. A little more practice, and we’ll be able to summon more. We’ll all have maelogaunts.”
Maelogaunts?
That was really bad. All Shadowlands creatures were dangerous, but some were more dangerous than others, and maelogaunts were among the worst. They also tended to wind up controlling their summoners, which explained why Ricci had decided to go on a murder rampage.
“I know,” said Ricci. “We’re getting close. I think we can try the more advanced summoning circle from the book. But we don’t want to screw it up. If we kill too many people, Homeland Security’s going to notice. Or worse, the Inquisition.”
“Homeland Security is still a mess from the battle, at least the New York branch,” said Coleman. “They’re still hunting Rebels in the sewers. No one cares, Ricci. No one will notice what we’re doing.”
Since he was being watched by a Cloaked woman working with a group of Shadow Hunters hired to stop his boss, I could detect one or two tiny faults in his logic.
“All right,” said Ricci. “We’ll try to summon another maelogaunt tonight.” He tapped a few more keys, clicked his mouse, and then nodded. “And we’ll go right now.”
He got to his feet and walked around the desk, and I came to a decision. If I remained Cloaked, I could follow them easily enough. I could ride unseen in their van to their warehouse and disarm any defenses or security cameras for Riordan and the others. The trouble was, though, I couldn’t check in to tell Riordan what I was doing. The Cloak spell blocked radio signals. But we had discussed this possibility, and he knew that I might try to follow Ricci. Riordan and the other Shadow Hunters would draw the logical conclusion and follow Ricci’s van.
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