Rogue Spotter Collection

by Kimberly A Rogers

  Crawling back into the bed, I tried in vain to go back to sleep. It was just impossible. Every time I closed my eyes I saw Mathias, bloodied and bruised, and collapsing to the floor after they changed his number. He was a natural Ten, and his number never lowered without some sort of outside interference. The last time . . . When we had been in Thrace just after completing the first of the Trials of Achilles, it had almost killed him to be given a powerful sedative. And this change from the Crown of Nimrod, oh, it was so much worse. I wasn’t certain if he would be able to survive the strain of the unnatural change to docility when some sort of torture had already weakened him. A thought that threatened to overwhelm me anytime I allowed it to surface. Tears continued to burn my eyes and scald my cheeks despite my best efforts.

  I couldn’t afford to fall apart. Not now and certainly not here, trapped on a plane with people I could only pray were truly loyal to their dragon prince and hadn’t been bought by Weard. Or worse, that the dragon prince Cesarina had changed her mind and reneged on our deal. The disconcerting idea sent a body shaking shudder down my spine.

  Enough nonsense, Lauren! Rolling onto my back, I rested a hand on my stomach and closed my eyes. Enough and enough. I didn’t have time to indulge in fruitless panic. All it ever did was cause me trouble when I chose to flee in moments of panic. I needed to have my argument for the Jinn ready, if I found them. No, not if, when I found them. And, I would be ready.

  I had never been much for public speaking, even if I hadn’t instinctively sought the path of least recognition to avoid attracting the attention of hunters who would notice a Spotter. I couldn’t let that stop me either. Somehow I was going to find the Jinn, and I was going to persuade them to help us. I wasn’t strong enough to hold a large glamour on my own. That much was proved by the incident over the Mediterranean when I hid the airship we were on from an attacking dragon.

  The effort alone would probably kill me. I wasn’t strong enough. I certainly wasn’t experienced enough to do it on my own. I had to have proper Jinn helping me. People who actually knew what they were doing when it came to glamours. And, could hold them properly for a long stretch of time.

  A sigh escaped me, and I wished I wasn’t alone. After spending so much time with Mathias, after finally being able to trust someone to keep his word and to have my back, being alone was hard. Especially when I couldn’t shut out the little voice that whispered I wasn’t going to succeed, that I wasn’t strong enough or clever enough to pull off a near miracle in less than six days. It felt true.

  I shook my head against the pillow and rolled onto my side as my mind offered a faint glimmer of a memory. Not of Mathias, though. It was of my parents. I could barely remember my mother writing first in Arabic, then in Turkish, and finally in English. She had been teaching me and I had been . . . frustrated. I remembered feeling upset that I struggled to move between all three languages, especially when it came to reading them. Baba had come back from a trip of some sort during the lesson.

  My nose twitched at the memory of his scent, sandalwood and warmth. I couldn’t begin to describe how someone could smell warm, but he did. My mother’s jasmine perfume swirled into the mix as Baba gathered us into a big hug.

  I remembered that he listened patiently as I complained about my great difficulties. Then he simply said, “Lauren Serkan, do you know a little ant can lift leaves bigger and longer than she is? When practice is difficult and it feels as though you will never succeed, you must still give it your all.”

  When I asked him why, he had smiled and said, “Because those who most often fail to climb a mountain are the ones who stand at the bottom and declare it too hard, then they go home and tell everyone it was too difficult a challenge for a mere mortal to achieve. Practice is difficult; it is why we call it practice, because you must constantly learn how to grow and to better yourself. Then, one day you will look down and realize the hill you have been climbing is the same mountain others said was too hard.”

  My mother had shaken her head, her dark hair swaying across her shoulders, as she asked, “Elam, do you think a four year old understands the many layers you put in there?”

  “Perhaps not.” His eyes twinkled as he tapped the end of my nose. “However, we can never know when a little lesson now might help a little Jinn of a Spotter in the future, hmm?”

  My mother’s eyes had grown distant and then she smirked. “It seems you are correct. She’ll find it useful one day.”

  Baba had winked at me. “Another reason to persist in climbing the mountain. You might meet the love of your dreams standing on one of the ridges, ready to climb the rest of the way with you.”

  I blinked away the memory. Then, I sat up and took out the book of paranormals. Turning on the overhead lights, I flipped through to the rare and extinct species until I found the Jinn. I had read it more than a few times already. However, I knew I needed to have every scrap of knowledge about the Jinn available if I was to have even a small hope of finding them in the desert. Mathias had mentioned Petra as the place to go. I could only hope he was right about it and that the book was also right.

  I didn’t have the contacts that Mathias had always pulled on when needed. I knew of some safe houses in the area because he had insisted I memorize them in case we were ever separated, but easily acquiring a way of reaching Petra . . . It would most likely be far more of a challenge than if Mathias were here. Of course, if he were here, I wouldn’t have the same urgency in finding them and could afford mistakes.

  There was no luxury to allow for mistakes now. This time was even more precious than the Trials of Achilles. Because this time, it was Mathias’ life at stake. No, that wasn’t accurate. It was Mathias’ life and our baby’s life as well. Somehow, I was going to keep my promises. I was going to save them both, and I was going to stop Soslan. I just needed to get some more help first.

  * * *

  Mathias

  I didn’t remember how long I wandered through the fog. Unfortunately, the macabre and frankly annoying boy covered in blood was rather dogged in following after me. And, he would not stay silent.

  No matter his claims, I was never such a brat as he.

  “Continuing to lie to ourselves in our dotage,” the boy mocked. “When will you learn, Wynn Mathias, that you need to be a man and cease indulging in such false comforts? Come now, be a brave chap and own your sins.”

  I scowled even as I refused to look back at him. “I have owned my sins a very long time.”

  “We have killed more innocents than any Myrmidon since Achilles.”

  This time I couldn’t stop myself from flinching. The words weren’t mine. Not truly. However, there had been a time during my days as a child soldier when I was paraded before the rogue dragons and their allies. They had declared that I was the heir to Achilles, and the key to unlocking their true inheritance of ruling over the entire known world with flame and bloodshed. A dragon’s might properly appreciated once again instead of being regulated to the ranks of folklore and horrifically inaccurate fiction stories.

  At the time, the words sank deep into my mind . . . and even into my soul. They had burned at me, scalding my conscience whenever I was clearheaded enough to look back in horror at what I was forced to do.

  “We enjoyed it.”

  “No.”

  The boy appeared on my right this time, twirling his bloodied daggers as his icy gaze bore into me. He sneered. “Don’t be such a simpering ba—”

  “I’ve heard quite enough, thank you,” I interrupted. I stopped moving through the endless fog and frowned at the boy. “We were a child, torn away from our home and our family. We did what we were told because we wanted to survive. That blood is not on our hands.”

  The boy snorted dismissively. I ignored him, however, as the fog bank in front of me started to fade. It was only a small patch barely the width of my hand above the ground. The sudden urge to reach through seized me, and I dropped to the ground of my own accord and then rolled onto my side
to peer through the thinning fog.

  The faint sounds of clacking keyboards reached me. This time was somewhat different, though, as I heard a vaguely familiar voice bellowing. I couldn’t quite make out the words . . . not yet anyway.

  I focused on peering at my surroundings. The bars were closer this time, and I could barely feel the cool touch of metal beneath my jaw and temple on the right side. I was . . . I was leaning against the bars. Still dangling above the cubicles, and this time I was able to make out the nervous flutter of sprite wings and twitching hobgoblin tails.

  My brain sluggishly recalled one of the heaviest presences of lower level paranormals was in the logistical operations unit. There were Lore keepers and Seers too, all used to provide information and constant updates between hunters and management on various operations. I tried to look at the bank of screens lining the wall in front of me, but none of the images made sense. They were too blurry through the fog for me to make heads or tails of them.

  Another shout. I peered through the haze at a large figure striding through the cubicles below. Khalid’s scarred visage twisted into a familiar snarl of utter fury as he snatched a sprite by the arm and yanked her close. “Where is Robb?”

  The sprite’s wings beat faster, lifting her feet from the ground, before she managed to squeak, “We don’t know, sir. She’s vanished.” Her voice turned shrill as Khalid suddenly pinched the base of her left wing. “We cannot find her!”

  “Cannot find her?” he repeated. “You are the logistics operations department, and you are telling me that nearly one hundred people are incapable of finding not only that pathetic excuse of a Spotter but now you cannot locate one of our own people.” He didn’t release his hold on the sprite as he added, “Have you anything else to share?”

  The sprite’s voice was shaky as she slowly nodded. “Before Didi Robb disappeared, she seems to have erased all electronic backups of her team’s activity including the fugitive files. We sent hunters to her apartment, but she’s not there either. The only thing we managed to find was that she made calls to several of our contracted workers, the last one being Lamar Chance, a dragon-born from Argus Security stationed in Saint Augustine. Our hunters there just reported that he’s vanished as well. The seers cannot locate anyone. Every attempt at seeing results in the same vision.”

  She gasped and squirmed as Khalid tightened his grip on the base of her wing. “Just what vision would that be, hmm?”

  The sprite whimpered. “It is always the same. They see the Destroyer. She is coming and when she arrives, she will tip the scales to victory.”

  Khalid’s predatory smile twisted into a sneer as his scars pulled taut. Then he jerked down, tearing through the sprite’s wing. She dropped to her knees, screaming, as she clutched at her broken wing.

  He ignored her as he approached the middle of the room and my cage. “It seems that loyalties no longer can be trusted to run deep. Anyone who has associated with the Lore keeper Didi Robb will be taken into interrogation. Anyone who refuses will be . . . punished. Find her. And remember, finding the rogue Spotter is of the utmost importance to the Nephilim. You all swore oaths of service, and you will fulfill them. Or your families will pay for your disloyalty first.”

  Khalid strolled up to my cage and then tilted his head back to peer at me. “Not dead yet? Well, you were always annoyingly stubborn about staying alive. It seems the healers were better skilled at keeping you breathing than anticipated.” He pointed to another sprite whose dark skin turned ashen as her eyes widened. “Summon Lorelei. I have a job for her.”

  The fog thickened once more, obscuring my view of the dragon’s scarred face and the smirk riding on it. I had never liked him.

  “He’s a right devil, isn’t he?”

  I scowled at the boy. “No one asked you.”

  “Better to be one of birth than of character,” the boy chirped the saying that our uncle had mentioned more than once.

  “Gareth always did have a way with words,” mused a voice that I hadn’t heard in years. Even the boy didn’t sass this time as a new shadow emerged from the undulating fog. I stared into the face of a man who looked a little younger than I did now, before he strode toward me. He caught me in a firm embrace and then stepped back a little. His hands were cold through my shirt where they grasped my shoulders, but he smiled. “You survived, Wynn.”

  “He’s only Mathias now. Might want to make a note of that before he starts complaining about the use of his true name,” the boy piped up unhelpfully and I rolled my eyes.

  “This hallucination is growing entirely unmanageable,” I muttered. Yet, I couldn’t bring myself to break away from my father’s hold.

  “We’re Myrmidon, boy. Did you expect to be allowed to sink into the memories of your lovely wife and then into the beyond without any sort of interference?” my father asked, a layer of amusement spread thick across his words. He clapped me on the shoulders and nodded to something on the left. “Come on, then. We don’t have a lot of time.”

  I stood still as he strode off into the fog. Then, I looked over at the boy. “Nothing to say?”

  He smirked through the blood coating his face. “Why should I say it when you’re already thinking it?”

  “That hasn’t stopped you before,” I muttered.

  Now the smirk transformed into a grin. “Oh, I know. However, I’ve decided I’m going to enjoy this.” He waved a dagger at me in a shooing motion. “Hurry along now, old man. Wouldn’t want to fall behind in this fog.”

  Resisting the urge to continue arguing with the boy, I resolutely turned my back on him. I could barely see the outline of my father’s specter through the fog in front of me. Feeling a sudden need to speak to him again, I started running.

  It felt strange to run through the fog. The tendrils reached out and wrapped around my legs, threatening to trip me. My breathing grew labored until I burst through the fog into a room I hadn’t seen in . . . decades. My father’s weapons room. He leaned over the whetstone, grinding the edge of a sabre with precise movements. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, allowing me to see the tattoos curled around both forearms. Stylized shards of ice surrounding twin spears.

  “Come in, boy, before your mother realizes you’ve left your bed again and scolds me.”

  I walked closer to him until I stood at his left shoulder. The blade grew sharper under my father’s efforts. “Why are you here?”

  “I had a sword to sharpen.” He glanced up suddenly, and then he nodded. “Do you remember what I taught you about being Myrmidon?”

  “It is both an honor and a heavy burden. We must weigh innocence with guilt and force our thirst for justice to be tempered by mercy,” I spoke the words easily as though I had heard them only yesterday. “Family is everything because it summons mercy.”

  “Family is our shield while we are the spear,” my father murmured. He lifted the sword to inspect the edge. “You have a bride.”

  “Yes.”

  “Myrmidon?”

  I shook my head. “No. Lauren is . . . She is more like the wind than lightning. Sometimes gentle and barely detectable, but she has the ability to blow everyone away if she desires. She has the strength to do so . . . and she will probably never use it.”

  “Weak willed?”

  “No. No, if you had ever met her, you would never mistake her for weak. Not if you spent more than a few minutes with her. She is cautious and wary of things that could be risky, but she’s so strong.” I smiled at the memories. “She has faced down dragons and bent an irate dragon prince to her will. She never truly fled from me either. She’s so much more than I think even she realizes, and she’s good. She has a good heart, manages to love me somehow. Lord knows I don’t deserve it.”

  “Too right!”

  My smile faded as I turned to see the boy had popped back up. “How wonderful to see you again,” I muttered to keep from cursing. Then, I looked back to find my father watching us both. “He’s a rather uncooperative hallucination.
”

  “I would expect nothing less,” my father mused. Then, he gestured for me to follow him once more. The weapons room dissolved back into the fog.

  Not knowing what else to do, I trailed after him. Soon, the fog dissolved into a more familiar scene. The cliff overlooking the North Sea. My father stood at the edge, sword held in one hand, but he didn’t speak until I stood next to him. “Wynn Mathias, son of Emrys and Vanna Mathias, do you know why I am here?”

  “Well if the little blighter is to be believed, it’s because I’m dying.” I glanced at my father out of the corner of my eye. “I was never that bratty.”

  He smirked. “You had your moments, my son. Trust me.” He nodded toward a storm brewing on the horizon. “There was a time when I urged you to be like a storm. This time, however, you must do more.”

  “More?”

  He held the sword up, inspecting its blade. “Yes. It’s what our ancestors did not always master. Being more than our instincts, than the ice that so readily flows through our veins. It was the challenge that Achilles in particular failed at and in doing so doomed our people. You have come so far from the days when you were forced into the rage by the dragons manipulating you, my son. And, I am very proud of you.”

  I frowned at him, wanting to believe him. But it was all a hallucination, wasn’t it?

  “That’s positively sickening with sentiment.”

  I cast a droll look at the boy who smirked at me. Choosing to ignore him, I focused on my father once more. “He said we were Nephilim too.”

  “The one you face you already know is a skilled twister of words.” My father paused heavily then murmured, “It is the distant connection to Nimrod, you know. The truly powerful all share a drop of his blood outside of the shifters. It is . . . genetics.”