Coyle and Fang: Curse of Shadows (Coyle and Fang Adventure Series Book 1)

by Robert Adauto III

  He was right, of course, but she didn’t like the tone of his voice.

  Stop jibber-jabbing and get to work.

  She cleared her throat and stepped closer to the slaughter, her eyes covering the details of the room. Everything was bathed in red. She couldn’t even see the color of the rug. A lump grew in her throat.

  Poes glanced at her. “There can’t be too many female constables in the city, let alone the state of California. You must have an interesting story.”

  “It’s not that interesting,” she said as she knelt near a man. Her cheeks warmed. Poes was trying to get friendly. Just what I need in an already uncomfortable situation.

  “I’ve learned to ask the right questions when searching for answers,” Poes smiled. “And I can always find something interesting if I poke enough.” He was an attorney. Making people uncomfortable was his pride. And she was uncomfortable.

  “Right now, I need to find something interesting in these bodies, thank you.” She turned the dead man’s head and peered at his neck.

  “Gentlemen, let’s give Coyle a few moments alone so she can work,” Vonteg said. “This here’s a big house, and there are plenty of other places to look for something useful.”

  Their footsteps grew distant after a few moments, and she glanced over her shoulder. She was alone. In a sense. She let out a long breath of air and her shoulders slouched. She rolled her neck when a small noise caught her attention.

  It was soft, just barely a whisper. But, what—or who—was it? She leaned over and studied the faces. Who could be alive after this? No one. She was hearing things.

  Right?

  And then she locked eyes with a woman. Her lips moved. Coyle pulled up the hem of her dress, keeping it away from the blood-soaked rug, and stepped over the bodies until she was next to the woman with lavender eyes. A thin line of blood seeped from the corner of her mouth. Her skin was pale, without life, yet she was alive. Her pupils were constricted, focused and locked onto Coyle’s gaze. The woman’s lips formed shapes, struggling with words. Coyle leaned in close and dabbed her handkerchief at the woman’s mouth.

  “Keep this safe,” the woman said, pushing each word out. “Keep this safe.”

  “I don’t understand,” Coyle said. “Keep what safe? Vonteg!” she called out, regardless of the fact she was standing in the aftermath of a crime that had occurred over six months ago. She didn’t understand what or how this was happening, but she had to treat the situation as if it were happening right now.

  The woman patted her waist. A bulge was under the material, and Coyle carefully lifted the woman’s cool, soft fingers away. She tugged a pouch away and pulled out a large metallic ring with smaller concentric rings inside it. Runes were engraved along the outside. Coyle pushed a gemmed knob on one side. The rings came apart and hovered next to each other, tethered by a single blue, glowing strand. She switched hands, and the rings floated into a different formation but still held fast to the blue strand.

  “What is this?” Coyle asked.

  “Reciter. For the book. To read it.” The woman’s hand slipped away, and her eyes rolled back. “They don’t know. Keep it safe.” She let out a long sigh, and her body went limp, her eyes vacant.

  Coyle held up her palm, and the rings returned to their original formation and collapsed into her hand. She pressed her finger into the woman’s neck. No pulse. Coyle’s eyes shifted to the Reciter.

  What have I found?

  ***

  Veiul’s pulse quickened, and she pushed the switch on her transreceiver.

  “They found the Reciter. Repeat, they found the Reciter,” she said.

  “Then it wasn’t in Trevin’s lair?” the deep, mechanical voice asked.

  “The woman named Coyle just found it. Do you want me to single her out of the projection equation?”

  “Yes. Send her to me. I’ll take it when she arrives.”

  “Singling her out means there won’t be enough power to kill the others, you understand,” Veiul said.

  “We do whatever is necessary to reach the objective. Let Death have her way when she wishes.”

  Veiul removed the device, adjusted its knobs, and returned it into the projector.

  ***

  Coyle stood up and looked down at the other bodies, wondering if anyone else was still alive. She carefully inspected each of their faces and called out to Vonteg again. They would have to know what she found and what happened. She patted her pocket and felt the heavy rings inside. She smiled. She couldn’t wait to see Treece’s face when she shared the news. She was definitely on her way to becoming a detective.

  The floor shifted underneath her. She steadied herself and looked down, but nothing appeared to have moved. She stepped out of the bloody mess and was about to call out again when Vonteg and Duone arrived from the staircase. She frowned when the staircase shifted colors.

  “Coyle,” Vonteg said. “What’s wrong? Did you find some—”

  She gasped as Vonteg and Duone shifted colors. Their mouths moved as if they were speaking, yet there was no sound. Portions of the walls and furniture shifted colors and disappeared for a moment before reverting back to normal. The air vibrated and made a scratching noise.

  “Should we leave?” Coyle looked around the room. The walls and floors and ceilings were disappearing and reappearing all at once.

  What’s happening?

  ***

  “We still have over two hours to retrieve any evidence, Coyle,” Poes said as he rounded a corner. “What’s wrong?”

  Coyle’s mouth moved as if she were speaking. The men frowned at each other. She looked at her hands and arms as her body shifted colors, from black and white to shades of blue and green, before changing back to normal. Dismay and shock washed over her face.

  “Coyle?” Poes asked. He walked toward her. She shifted colors again, faster and faster until she burst into a flash of light. The men shielded their eyes. There was a loud pop and the sharp odor of hot metal.

  Poes opened his eyes into slits and stood before a motionless, three-dimensional image of Coyle, the color of blue sky. The details were blurred, but Coyle’s hand reached out to him, mouth was frozen in a scream eyes wide in terror. By instinct he reached for her, but the image melted into nothingness. He looked at the floor, then at the ceiling, but she was gone.

  “What’s happened?” Vonteg shouted. “Treece?”

  The others came running until they were all standing near the crime scene. Treece and Sullywether exploded through the door.

  “What’s going on?” Bolt asked.

  “Something happened to Coyle,” Vonteg said. “She was flashing colors and then, poof, she’s gone.”

  “But where?” Quolo asked.

  “Sullywether?” Treece asked. All eyes settled on the gnome.

  “Sounds like the work of a molecular transference device, and not one of ours. That means there is only one place she could have gone,” Sullywether said. He shoved the cigar back in his mouth.

  “She’s at the original Baldwin mansion.”

  Chapter 8

  The Baldwin mansion

  Presidio Heights

  “What happened?” Coyle asked. Her heart slammed against her ribs as she searched for Poes. But he’d vanished right before her eyes. All the others had vanished, too.

  And that wasn’t the half of it.

  She stepped back, looking into the empty dining room. Everything was—different. No bodies. No gore. No blood-splattered walls. The furniture was missing. The walls were vacant of oil paintings, and the house smelled like dust and old wood. Warm sunlight poured into the empty spaces through bare windows.

  “Am I...? Am I in the real Baldwin mansion?” She swallowed. Her eyes darted around the empty space. “How on earth did this happen? And where is everyone else?”

  She stepped toward the front of the house, but the door opened, making her stop. A tall cloaked man stepped inside, flanked by two masked men with pneumatic rifles at their sides.
They raised their weapons at her.

  Her strength evaporated, and her knees trembled. She raised a hand to her mouth. The man closed the door behind them.

  No one to help me.

  The cloaked figure stood taller than the others. His bald head was covered in scars, and a brass-and-steel mask covered his mouth and nose. Thin tubes ran from the mask to a heavy contraption on his back. A small speaker-box rested under his chin. Eyes the color of sea grass displayed a bright, intelligent fire.

  “So good to see you,” he said. His mechanical voice dragged like an iron bar on a gravestone. “My name is Sigfried Moreci, and I’ve just learned your name is Sherlyn Coyle. Pleasure to meet your acquaintance.”

  She shook her head. “This isn’t happening. This can’t be real.” She stepped away from him all the same. “Vonteg? Duone? Treece? Someone?” Her voice bounced off the walls of the empty house.

  “It’s quite the shock to realize you’re alone, isn’t it, Miss Coyle?” he said. He lowered his chin and stared at her.

  “You’re not real. None of this is real.”

  “Give your rifle to her.” He nodded to one of his men.

  “Sir?” the man asked.

  Moreci said nothing.

  The gunman lowered his rifle, walked to her and handed over the weapon. He pulled out a semi-automatic handgun from his hip-holster and stepped back to Moreci’s side, glancing up at him.

  “Does that feel like a real rifle to you? Test its weight. Smell the gun oil.”

  She glanced down, shifting the rifle in her hands. It felt real. She blinked.

  “Use it. Pull the trigger.”

  She tried to swallow. The strangers stared back at her. She lowered the weapon until it dropped to her side.

  “Shame.” He held out his hand, and the gunman handed him the pistol.

  She tensed, her heart caught in her throat.

  Moreci raised the weapon and shot the gunman in the head, spraying the wall with gunpowder and brains. The man dropped in a heap. Coyle backed into the wall and the rifle clattered to the floor.

  “Now that we’ve uncovered the reality before us, let’s change the subject. I heard you were interested in acquiring a detective position, but you failed. You’ve also failed to believe you’re capable of killing when given the chance.” He shook his head and chuckled. “You’re not cut out for this. And it’s not for lack of testosterone. It’s more about the need, you see?”

  “The need? To kill?”

  “To survive.”

  “What do you want?”

  “A chance to prove myself in the world.” He held his hands behind his back. “Isn’t that what you want? Yes, of course it is. And is it any wonder that we both get what we’re looking for? We have a lot in common, you and me. Both of us have needs, desires.”

  “I don’t think so.” If she could buy just a few seconds, maybe she would be rescued.

  “On the contrary, Miss Coyle. We both need something very important. I need a special key called the Reciter. It’s used to read certain ancient tomes written in the fae language. We thought it was in Trevin’s home until your excellent detective work popped up. You didn’t think Treece and his ilk were the only people interested in what you could find, did you?”

  The only people?

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her gaze flashed around the room, and she inadvertently pressed her fingers against the ring in her pocket.

  “Treece is the worst kind of backstabber you can imagine. He uses all his money to get what he wants, and when he’s finished, he’ll destroy you.” His eyes hovered over her pocket.

  “That’s not true.” She hoped.

  “I have proof.” He motioned his hands to present himself. “Here I am, barely alive.”

  “Yet able to slaughter innocents.”

  “Tell me. Is there anything you need so desperately that you would do anything in your power to get it?”

  She paused too long. “No.”

  “Don’t take me for a fool.” He stepped forward. “I certainly wouldn’t take you for one.”

  “If you’re not a fool, then who are you?”

  “The long answer is that I was once a good, hard worker. Treece noticed something in me that others didn’t and hired me to do his work. Does that sound familiar? But I digress. He wanted me to create an army, one that could fight against the powers of darkness that plagued mankind—under his control, of course. And I created marvelous soldiers for him, absolutely marvelous. Stunning showcases of what could be wrought from my laboratory. Alas, my brilliance was overshadowed by my naiveté, and by the time I realized I was expendable, it was too late. Treece was finished with me, and I was discarded like a used tin can.

  “I survive now with the help of oxygen scrubbers and medicated baths. I certainly will never forget the enormity of what happened to me, of how he changed me. There’s real power in change, isn’t there? Why, you have the same look in your eye, as if someone changed you. Yes, curious. For the better, I hope. Yes, I think so, I think so. For now we have this power within us. It’s our impetus for change, swooping in to capture and strangle what was so close to destroying us. Yes, you and I are the same, aren’t we?”

  “We’re nothing alike.”

  “We’re more alike than you care to perceive. It is curious, though. I wonder who changed you. It had to be someone you were close to you, someone you trusted. Someone of great value. Betrayal does that to a person: it drives them beyond their own limits and fears to become something new.”

  She needed to keep him talking. “You said that was your long answer. What’s the short answer?”

  He tilted his head. “The shorter answer is that I am mankind’s reckoning. I was changed into this for the better. If Treece represents a bulwark for humanity, then I happily represent its impetus for change. I am going to change people, turn them into my soldiers, for my purpose, under my control. And I can’t continue without the Reciter. Now, are you going to give it to me, or do I have to change you too?”

  Ice slid down her spine. Her hand reached back to the stairwell and she ran. Up one flight, then two flights, then down the hall. Every room was empty. No furniture to hide behind. No dressers to push against the door.

  No place to hide.

  “There is no escape, Coyle.” His amplified voice echoed off the hardwood walls and floors and ceilings. “Just as surely as mankind has no escape from me.”

  She searched room after room. She paused for a beat and heard the other gunman plodding up the stairs.

  “Give me the device, and I give you my word to let you live. I need the Reciter, and you need to learn to survive.”

  Every room she tried was a dead end. Finally, she shoved herself into a closet and shut the door as heavy boots clomped down the hallway. She heard a mechanical clicking noise and turned, frowning as two blinking eyes stared back at her.

  “Are you an automaton?” she whispered.

  “This is my hiding place,” it answered, shoving her out the door and closing it just as the thug grabbed her.

  She was dragged back downstairs where more gunmen waited. Fighting was useless. Two of them rifled through her pockets until they found the prize. She met Moreci’s hard gaze.

  “I am the victor here,” he said.

  “I don’t have to like it,” she retorted. “And that doesn’t belong to you.”

  “And it belongs to you?”

  “It needs to be returned to the fae. Give it back!” She reached for it, but strong hands yanked her back, and cold steel muzzles pressed against her body. She froze.

  Moreci opened his hand and let the rings spread out in a configuration. He waved his hand, and the rings rearranged in the air before they slipped back into their original position.

  “Miss Coyle,” he said, “I extend my generosity to you. Though you didn’t hand the device freely, I will let you live another day. Let me know when Treece wants you exterminated, and perhaps I can help.”

&
nbsp; “I prefer not to work with monsters.”

  He chuckled, the sound of it like gasping, and then he leaned over in a fit of coughing. One of his men adjusted knobs on his apparatus, and Moreci took a deep breath and stood.

  “Monsters. You don’t really know Treece, do you?” he said. He waved his hand. The rifle pointed at her head lowered. “I’m very curious, Miss Coyle. If you don’t mind, I’m going to learn everything I can about you. Until then.”

  They left, their boots thudding against the wooden floors.

  She collapsed against the wall, breathing out a long sigh. A tight knot grew in her chest, and she clenched her fists. She wasn’t going to cry over this. Not now. She’d lost something very important. She’d given it away, practically.

  It’s gone.

  The opportunity to prove her worth had been snatched out of hand—again. And now she was her old self, an incompetent buffoon. Her head thumped against the wall before she remembered the automaton.

  He’s going to answer for this.

  She went back upstairs and yanked open the closet.

  “You,” she growled.

  “But there wasn’t room for the two of us!”

  Chapter 9

  The Treece mansion

  Sausalito

  “It’s a wonder you are still alive at all, Coyle,” Treece said. “This Moreci character sounds incredibly dangerous, and he’s working with a former soldier of mine, Fang.”

  “Fang killed one of my projectionists and used a molecular transference device to suck you out of the warehouse and into the real Baldwin mansion,” Sullywether said. “Those devices can be tricky, seeing as how they weren’t invented by gnomes.”

  Coyle nodded and puffed from her pipe. The group was in a large workshop, standing around the automaton Coyle had found. Most automatons were plain brass and steel, but this one was polished to a high shine with intricate silver and gold filigree. Bright green gems mimicked eyes, and a small rectangular speaker-box formed its mouth. Various switches and buttons and pipes with pressure gauges covered its chest and back.