Dragon Intrigues

by Isadora Montrose

  “Not so tight,” she protested loudly.

  “Shut the fuck up, or I’ll tape your mouth, bitch.”

  She shut up. Neither of these dudes had a crystal. But they were capable of violence. They both smelled strongly of nail polish remover. And of scared, panic-stricken male. She tried to recall what exactly that meant. A hornet stung her between shoulder and neck. The scent of solvent followed her into oblivion.

  CHAPTER 39

  Neil~

  “You don’t need to keep listening to that.” Sam Merritt’s voice carried the cold edge of authority.

  Neil looked up from Blythe’s laptop where the soundtrack of her abduction was playing. Again. Her video camera had been running the whole time, and had captured the entire thing.

  The pictures were crap, but the audio was top-notch. The camera had been set to sync with her laptop automatically. Naturally the feed had cut out as soon as the Bieber boys drove the SUV out of range of the hotel’s Wi-Fi.

  A big hand closed Blythe’s laptop and leaned on the lid. “You’re chasing your tail, Drake,” Merritt said sharply. “That recording’s given us all it’s going to give.”

  The wolf was right. The cops had a copy, and between what Blythe’s video camera had recorded and the audio feed from the security cameras, there had been enough evidence to have Alden Reilly arrested and charged with abduction and a host of other felonies. It would have been better if SPAR was holding him, but the police had priority. And better in jail than on the run.

  Of course, Merritt had been waiting for Reilly when he returned to the ballroom and had relieved him of his crystal weapon before the cops arrived. As soon as the wolf took that off him, the natural skunky smell of a wolverine returned to the groomsman. Which explained how he had managed to stay off their radar all day. But not why he was in league with the psi-criminals.

  Neil didn’t want to stop listening to the tape. There was a bleak comfort in hearing Blythe’s cheerful voice trying to keep the little girls calm and control the uncontrollable. “She did good, didn’t she?” Neil asked. He didn’t want to think that he might be listening to the last words he’d ever hear his mate utter.

  “Kept her head,” Merritt agreed. “A cool head in a tight spot’s worth a lot.” He left unsaid that Blythe was a tiny woman surrounded by who knew how many violent thugs.

  Neil forced his shoulders back. Merritt didn’t know how brave Drake’s bunny was. “We need a plan,” he said.

  “They’re on the water. And we have no ID on the vessel,” Merritt reminded him. “Yet.”

  “What about that she-wolf who distracted you?” Neil demanded. “Is Mackenzie Shearwater part of this?”

  “Forget her. She’s a weak spoiled bitch, but I can’t see her agreeing to be part of this. Not with her alpha and first bitch right in the same room. The Shearwaters are tough, but this is not Bob Shearwater’s kind of operation. For a start, he doesn’t need the money. And his pack is involved with SPAR too. Let’s keep our focus, Drake.”

  In the wake of the abduction, the wedding had fizzled. The authorities had commandeered the ballroom as their center of ops. But their interest in interviewing the 500-odd guests had waned when Merritt handed Reilly over and offered the recording of the abduction.

  Phillip Olander had taken charge with a CEO’s efficiency, thanking the guests, and deploring the attempted abduction of his granddaughters. Even though everyone had to give a name and address to the police, the ballroom had cleared in minutes. Once the detectives had finished with Neil and the wolves, the three veterans had checked into a room in the hotel to monitor the situation.

  They had kept to themselves the GPS devices in Blythe’s boot heels. This operation was a job for SPAR, not cops. Merritt had been tracking Blythe since the kidnapping. The SUV had driven straight to the waterfront. The police had its license plate from the outside CCTV cameras and had put out an all-points bulletin.

  The stolen vehicle had turned up empty close to the wharves. The cab and cabdriver had been found a block apart on opposites sides of the hotel. The driver swore he had locked his vehicle before he went for coffee. Neil believed him. A lock pick like the one carried by Dallas Sheppard would work on a car too. And stealing cars was routine for petty thieves. Besides, the hotel’s cameras showed the cabdriver had not been at the wheel of his cab.

  The news was full of outrage about two unidentified men found floating in the harbor. And of a third man off Pioneer Square who had OD’d in an alley. They reminded the public that two other men had been found earlier that week shot in the head and dumped. Drugs were believed to be involved in all cases. Were the authorities capable of keeping Seattle residents safe in the midst of this crime wave?

  Neil figured the dead men in the harbor had to be the Bieber dudes from the SUV, and the guy in the alley was the fake cab driver. Which tied in with the guard’s report that the cabdriver had smelled of methamphetamines. The other two guys would likely have been the original Spider-Men who had attempted to abduct Blythe. Apparently the price of failure in this outfit was high. No second chances.

  As for Blythe, her signal continued strong, heading for open water. The kidnappers were making for the Anacortes and its hundreds of tiny islands. An area famed for the ease with which drug runners and other crooks could fade out.

  Neil had permitted a pack of ruthless psi-criminals to snatch his mate. Sitting on his hands felt all wrong. He needed to be in hot pursuit. Her ring still called to him. Faintly, it was true, but steadily. So perhaps that weak signal indicated distance. At any rate, he should be following that feeble beacon and rescuing his rabbit.

  “Drake.” Merritt’s voice was so loud, Neil figured he’d been trying to get his attention for a while. “Get a grip. If you go off half-cocked you won’t be where you need to be when we have a lock on her location.”

  He sat back down. “She’s only a civilian,” he said.

  “Understood. SPAR is arranging for a boat. Until we have a vessel, we have to wait.”

  Brisk rapping on the door interrupted what had become Merritt’s set speech. Neil satisfied his need to move by answering it. With any luck he would find someone who needed punching. Unfortunately it was Phillip Olander. Neil opened the door. The father of the bride was looking a trifle worn, but his tux was still immaculate, and his shoulders square.

  “Have they asked for ransom?” Olander demanded. “Because whatever it is, I’ll pay. That little gal saved my granddaughters. The Olanders always pay their debts.”

  Neil nodded to acknowledge the offer. “I don’t think this is a ransom situation,” he told the hawk. “This gang wants information from Blythe.”

  Olander’s hawk-like nose grew sharper. His golden-brown eyes narrowed. “Blythe Warren is as brave as a passel of tigers, but she’s just a photographer. What intel could that little bitty bunny have?”

  Neil shrugged. “We’re working on that one, sir,” he lied. That was the only piece of the puzzle that they had so far nailed down. This affair was all about Molly Needles. As far as they knew Blythe’s partner was just a mid-level geotalent with a flair for photography, but someone was willing to kill for her.

  “Anything you need,” continued Olander. “Anything at all. And I have at least twenty hawks at your disposal. Thirty. Young, fit tercels every one. Just say the word.”

  A tercel was a male hawk. Since hawk hens were larger and stronger, Olander was showing his sexism. But Neil acknowledged that a fellow who had plans to swaddle his mate in bubble wrap and tuck her safely in his hip pocket, if he should be lucky enough to get her back, had no room to quibble about some hawk’s rampant overprotectiveness.

  He glanced across to his colleagues. Thirty hawks were a handsome offer. Anything at all, even handsomer. Packard leaned back in his chair. “We need a fast boat, sir. Two would be even better. Vessels that have good reason to be cruising the Anacortes on a foggy evening.”

  “Done. I’ll have a fleet in the water in half an hour, crewed and
gassed. Just tell me what you need.” Olander drew his phone from his jacket pocket.

  Packard began reciting his wish list.

  CHAPTER 40

  Felix~

  Colin loomed over the bench. “I hope you got me suited up for something better than a bunch of cold crystals, Mason.”

  No one enjoyed working in the hot suits. Like hazmat jumpsuits they provided complete coverage, but the fabric was woven from aluminum, fiberglass and some proprietary JTA materials, all designed to keep psi from impacting the wearer physically or psychically. Hoods covered their heads and ears, and breathing masks did double duty as headsets so they could talk.

  Felix had taken the covers off the electronic lock pick and stun gun they had received from SPAR. The crystals left at the scene of the Mystic Bay fires were in a glass box beside them. “I figured you’d prefer not to have your aura fried, sir.” Personally he was taking Molly’s warning seriously. If nothing else she was their resident expert on dirty-glass.

  “Huh. Talk, Mason.”

  “If you’ll recall, my initial hunch was that the blue crystals acted as long-lasting batteries to run the arsonist’s incendiary device, although it was hard to see why someone would waste such expensive materials on a firebomb.”

  “It’s a puzzle.”

  Felix used his metal tongs to point. Thin wiring connected tiny blue crystals to the motherboards of both gadgets. “These are both modified off-the-shelf devices.” he said. “Someone’s gone to the trouble of adding crystal engines to them. Artificial crystals.” He produced a Field lock from the drawer under the bench. “Watch.”

  He activated the lock. Its little chips of fluorspar glowed a soft green. He snapped the housing on the lock pick shut. Waved Justice back and pressed the on button. In seconds the light on the lock turned red. The device popped open with a soft hiss.

  “It went through a Field lock like a knife through butter.” Colin sounded horrified. As well he might. Field locks were virtually impregnable. State of the psi-art.

  “Yeah. Someone’s discovered how to tune glass to disrupt hot-rocks.” Felix tapped the electric shock gun. “Want to bet this one doesn’t disrupt auras as well as short out muscles? You know how hard it is to bring down shifters.” Shifters could keep going for a long time after being shocked. Everyone else collapsed in an unconscious puddle. An amplified stun gun would be a serious weapon.

  “Shit.” There was silence in the lab while the boss cogitated. Felix could almost hear Justice’s brain throbbing. “They go in the deep vault. You submit any reports direct to me. Paper only.” Colin meant this discovery was now classified above Top Secret. “And you don’t say one single word to our tame glass talent.”

  “I never crossed my mind to involve Molly any further,” Felix said mildly. She was in quite enough danger. “But I think JTA needs to recruit some glass talents with mechanical gifts. I need help with this project.”

  “I’ve already got Cooper in HR working on it. But we’re being even more careful than usual about security clearances.”

  “Yes, sir. Obviously.” Felix coughed. “You know, this isn’t one rogue geotalent with a hobby lab. You’d need furnaces to melt the glass, crystallizing machines, annealing ovens, and cooling arrays. Just to start with. And talents to run them all. And that’s before you found freaks to infuse the crystals with bad psi.”

  “They’d need a complicated setup like ours,” Justice said thoughtfully. “Think JTA has competition?”

  Everything clicked. Felix felt a bone-deep certainly. “Someone with deep pockets is paying for multiple lines of psi R&D. SPAR should be hunting for a sophisticated operation of monied psi-criminals capable of maintaining a large physical plant, actively recruiting freaks, and geotalents. And slick enough to run it and a distribution ring all from the shadows.”

  Colin made a face. “Like JTA, but without ethics.”

  “Exactly.”

  The bear’s face changed. “Well, shit, SPAR called it. They think we’re up against psi-mobsters on steroids.”

  Felix’s sinking feeling hit rock bottom. Molly Needles was in real danger. “You tell SPAR it’s worse than that. If my research is correct, they’re looking for a basilisk.”

  Justice barked. Probably thought he was laughing. “A basilisk?”

  Felix nodded. “That’s what I said.”

  “They don’t exist, outside of those old books you’ve been consulting.”

  Felix opened the notepad he had used last night. He began reading. “Take two stones, well envenomed by your common basilisk, taking pains to use leather gloves and tongs of silver, and therewith do thou capture the sun. The light thereof shone at full force will be fatal to any creature whatsoever it toucheth,” he quoted. “Dr. Sir Arthur Montlevy, alchemist and astrologer general to the Duke of Bainwaring, 1678.”

  Colin’s eyes narrowed behind his visor. “Take out the bit about the common basilisk, whatever the fuck that means, and you have some kind of primitive laser or even a magnifying glass to frizzle ants.”

  Felix “It’s about the only method I found that could potentially infuse psi into glass. I admit it’s not definitive, because old Montlevy didn’t distinguish between glass crystals and naturally occurring mineral formations. But he does give a recipe for ‘growing crystals like grains of salt’. And he basically means glass crystals.”

  “There are no basilisks.”

  “Lots of people would say werebears were equally improbable. Or a dude who believes he can perceive the energy in rocks. Yet here we both are.”

  “The Cascades are full of bears. All shifters have animal counterparts.” Justice said it as if he were reciting.

  “Uh-huh.” Felix’s shoulders slumped. But he flipped a page. “I grant you that when Montlevy speaks of, ‘the tail of a serpent, the wings of a great vulture, and the talons and beak of a harpy eagle’, he makes a basilisk sound like one of those medieval composite critters.”

  “Like a sphinx, Mason. Or a gryphon. A legend compounded of ignorance and traveler’s lies.” A big hand squeezed his shoulder. “You’ve been working too hard, son. You need a little R&R. Why don’t you take Ms. Molly for a walk in the woods?”

  CHAPTER 41

  Blythe~

  The light hurt her eyes, even though objectively there wasn’t much. She squeezed them shut again. Where the hell was she? Whatever she was lying on was unyielding. A wooden floor? Her head pounded. She ached all over. Her stomach churned. The stench of roadkill was a living presence.

  “Ah,” said a voice several degrees colder than an Alaskan winter, “you’re awake.” A toe nudged her roughly. “On your feet.”

  She had feet? With an effort Blythe turned her head. The black boot at her eye level tapped impatiently against dusty, wooden floorboards. She forced herself to look upward.

  Glowing orange eyes regarded her from an armchair upholstered in red and black tartan. A foul mist hung around a tall gaunt figure, obscuring all but those eyes. No, that was smoke. Real smoke which made her head swim. She dropped her eyes to the bony hands with their talon-like brown nails. What was going on?

  “I will make allowances for your disorientation, but I expect obedience,” continued her captor. This time the toe connected with her ribs. Hard. “Next time, your face.”

  She rolled away from the kick, and pushed up weakly with her hands. Her wrists were raw and red, but the zip ties were gone. She staggered to her feet and used a couch swathed in a frayed sheet to pull herself upright to face the kicker. Her unsteady legs wobbled as much from terror as feebleness.

  Whatever was in that smoke had made her queasy and sluggish, and Roadkill’s personal fog wasn’t helping. Or maybe that was whatever had put her out in the SUV?

  The room she was in was dark, but not because of the threadbare curtains dangling at the windows. The glass had been protected by shutters or boards affixed from outside which obscured daylight. If there was any.

  A moth-eaten bearskin rug guarded a firepla
ce taller than she was. A fire crackled and leapt hungrily behind her captor’s armchair. Clouds of smoke escaped into the room. Despite the blaze, she was cold clear through.

  The only light came from a couple of camp lanterns and the fire. The furnishings seemed to radiate gloom. The glass eyes of deer and moose glared down from the paneled walls. Roadkill’s armchair was the outsized, chunky variety beloved of those who favored Pacific Northwest rustic chic. Only judging by the dust, this taxidermist’s delight had been abandoned years ago.

  “That’s better,” continued Roadkill with cold satisfaction.

  Each word scared Blythe more than the one before. She swayed, unable to regain her sense of balance. She was sure she had never encountered that terrible, terrifying, nauseating stench before. It was worse than skunks. Worse than sewage. Worse than carrion. But with some of their qualities. Who or what was Roadkill?

  “You have put me to a great deal of trouble, Blythe Warren. I have run out of patience. You will return my property.”

  What property? She tried to look her interrogator in the face, but she couldn’t withstand that evil stare. Her lips were dry, her tongue thick. Her head addled. “Y-your p-property?” She was ashamed at how her voice trembled, but she was having enough trouble standing on boneless legs.

  “Hyland Ferris gave your partner a crystal. I want it back.” That implacable tone left no room to negotiate.

  Was one of those wretched crystals what this entire ordeal had been about? She shook her head in an attempt to clear it, and was sorry when pain speared through her head. Her stomach rebelled. She covered her mouth with both hands and managed to squeak, “I’m going to throw up,” from behind her palms.

  Vicious laughter greeted her words. She heaved. A different voice carelessly drawled, “Side effect of the sedative, Dom.” Where had she heard that voice before?

  Fingers snapped. “Take her to the bathroom, Jinx, and return her when she’s empty.”

  The woman chuckled ingratiatingly. “Of course, Dom.”