“It’s a Model GEM-9,” Sullywether said. “I thought you recalled all those?” he said to Treece.
“We did,” Treece answered. “Though we were told a handful had been lost.”
“Looks like someone was fibbing,” Quolo added.
Sullywether pulled himself into stilted metal legs and tightened the leather straps so he stood at a similar height to the rest of the group. He slipped into metal exoskeleton arms and flexed the metal fingers.
“What does GEM stand for?” Vonteg asked.
“Gnomish Engineered Mech,” Sullywether said.
“Why were the GEM-9s recalled?” Poes asked.
“They were a ninth-generation prototype of artificial creation and intelligence,” Sullywether explained. “Marketed to the rich. They did fine for the first few months, but then they got mouthy, brewing up their own ideas of their place in the world. Some started naming themselves. We found a couple out in Colorado that called themselves bounty hunters.”
“Mr. Baldwin kept my name as GEM,” the automaton said. “And we had an arrangement: I would keep most ideas to myself, and he wouldn’t turn me in. I kept watch over his family as a faithful servant for 1,095 days, and I would never hurt a fly.”
“You pushed Coyle out of the closet,” Poes shot back. “What was that all about?”
“I told her: there was only room enough for one of us. I saw what happened downstairs. Someone with daggers switched all of the dinner party guests off, one by one and in quick succession. I certainly didn’t want that to happen to me,” GEM said with raised hands.
“And you’ve been hiding upstairs in the closet ever since?” Coyle asked, relighting the tobacco.
“Wouldn’t you?”
“Wait a minute,” Poes said. “You were there when the Baldwin mansion was attacked. What do you know about it?”
“I suppose everything,” he answered. “I am required to record all emergency incidents. More for proof that I wasn’t the cause of them.”
“But you said you were hiding upstairs,” Coyle said.
“I prefer to call it surviving, thank you,” GEM said, and blinked at her. “But I am synchronized with the other automatons who were downstairs and recorded what they saw.”
“We can hook him up to the roto-display,” Sullywether said. The gnome grabbed a long, thick, flexible tube and connected it to the base of GEM’s polished dome. After a few clicks, Sullywether moved to the table and flipped a few switches. A long, dark metal rod with joints popped out of the center of the table before splitting into branches and spinning. Sullywether pushed a knob, adjusted the speed to something he liked and flipped another switch. Small arcs of electricity jumped between the rods until a blue globe appeared.
“Ready,” Sullywether said, glancing at Treece.
“I suppose we should watch from about fifteen minutes prior to the incident,” Treece said.
Sullywether turned a couple of knobs, and the globe hissed and crackled until images appeared.
“Moving pictures? Like Edison’s kinescope?” Vonteg asked.
“Pfft. this is nothing like Edison’s work,” Sullywether said. “Tesla designed this. He’s got all sorts of gadgets no one’s seen. I’m ready to believe he’s just a tall gnome, because no human on earth—”
“Let’s just play the image, shall we?” Treece said with a tight smile. He shot a polite glance Coyle’s way, but he was obviously disappointed in her. She looked down and shook her head.
The moving pictures were different shades of blue, but amidst the crackle and hum of the moving parts, there was recorded sound. Everyone, including GEM, stared at the globe and watched the entire event.
Coyle’s ears perked up when the dinner guests began talking about fae history. An older woman named Dame Graethe did most of the talking. Coyle recognized her as the woman who was still alive.
“Keep it safe.”
“We live in peace and harmony with almost all of the other races and species,” Dame Graethe said through the speakers. “Ogreks, mudlucks, sprites, vamperion and gnomes are our friends. Most of the time. But there have been factions of fae or vamperion who split off to follow a deranged leader who’s so inclined. One such fae deviant was Arch-general August, who wanted more power than he held. He joined with the vilest race, the frost wyches, to walk our nether-realm. They built an army and set out to destroy us.”
“To destroy fae-kind?” someone asked.
“To destroy everyone,” Dame Graethe said. “Fae magic is particular, non-threatening. We won’t use magic to kill. But vamperion are different. If the fae are wardens of the day, vamperion are of the night. Their magic is visceral, unyielding and deadly.”
“So, vamperion are—benign?” someone asked. “Or are they violent?”
“They’re no more violent than any other species when pressed to survive,” she answered. “They were quiet and kept to themselves and complemented the fae in every way. But the August War threatened everyone, and they took the lead in stopping his army. Vamperion mages created a book of spells powerful enough to defeat our enemies.”
“The Curse of Shadows,” Coyle said to herself.
Dame Graethe continued, “The vamperion unleashed destruction, and August’s armies were wiped out—but not without consequences. Our sky and moon became one, erasing the familiar lavender sky of day and dull crimson of night. Our world no longer rotates. It’s as if our eight seasons became one, and our crops have steadily declined over the past 1900 years, as have our races. We do what we can, but life has become difficult.”
The dinner table was silent for a time before someone asked, “And what of the vamperion? Heralded as champions?”
Dame Graethe shook her head. “The vamperion went mad, whether from the change in our world or from the book itself. They turned into the creatures you call vampires, cursed to drink blood to survive, cowering from sunlight. They saved all of the nether-realm but lost their rightful place. Once a proud people, they now survive as frightful, pale shadows of their former selves.”
The slaughter erupted soon after she spoke those words. Furniture was smashed against a wall. Screams erupted. Coyle looked away from the carnage, but the audio continued to play out the last horrid screams until all was silent. She turned back and looked at the bloody scene she had walked through. Then she watched as a familiar woman pick up a book from the table. Her posture, build and shape were certainly familiar. Coyle pictured the glowing ember eyes, she could hear the clipped-British accent. The woman in the images searched the room for a bit before leaving with Trevin out the back door. Coyle’s skin chilled. This was the woman who’d visited her in the cell, who wanted help finding a dangerous book. The same vampire who said she would keep an eye on her. She glanced to the sides, studying the dark corners.
“Stop the roto-display.” Treece sighed. “It’s obvious the dinner party was ambushed by two people.” He rubbed his face and stared at the floor.
“One witness described a young female—fair skin, short dark hair, dressed in dark leathers—using daggers. This is the assassin known as Fang,” Duone said. “Not too much is known about her except that she’s ruthless, cunning and a dangerous vampire.” He showed everyone a photograph of a lovely woman with short hair, her dark eyes vacant.
“She’s definitely pretty,” Bolt said.
“And deadly,” Duone added.
“No doubt.” Quolo said.
“Do vampires use daggers to kill?” Poes asked. “Don’t they have—teeth?”
Treece answered. “She was part of a secret project called Archangel. We thought, what better way to kill monsters than with our own, created and put carefully together in labs? Fang was the most successful of this new breed of soldier. But the manner in which she was created didn’t sit well with the rest of the Templar leaders—and they were right. We shut the project down and set the whole thing for eradication. These man-made soldiers were supposed to be transported to a research center in the New Mexico Territory, but most of them
disappeared. We got wind that the US government had placed these missing creatures into a secret location. After a few years of fruitless leads, we stopped looking.
“Just over six months ago, a warehouse burned into the bay,” Treece continued. “Witnesses described hearing strange howls and moans coming from the structure. We had our suspicions, until Miss Coyle unraveled the mystery of Trevin’s death and confirmed our deepest fears: Fang was responsible for all of it. The burning warehouse, Trevin’s death and now this. She was made to be a one-of-a-kind unstoppable weapon and we’re witnessing the devastation she’s capable of.”
“Well, she’s on the move with this book of curses,” Quolo said. “A dangerous book in the hands of a dangerous killer. I think we need more people.”
“Possibly,” said Vonteg.
The discussion turned to Trevin and why he would be involved, but Coyle stared at the last frames of the image and lit her pipe. She sucked a long draw until the tobacco tinged orange and she exhaled smoke. She squinted, staring at the images. Something wasn’t right.
“I apologize,” Coyle said, interrupting them. “But can you go back a few seconds? I thought I noticed something.”
Sullywether shrugged and turned a knob. The images reversed. Coyle leaned in and pointed with the pipe stem.
“There, see?” she said.
“What do you see?” Vonteg asked. Everyone squinted at the moving images.
“Play it again, just these last few seconds,” Coyle said. “The light changes shape on Fang’s face. See? She looks back, and the light and shadow are different on her face. The nose and jawline melt into a different position, almost as if she were wearing a featureless mask.”
The images reversed and played back again. It was plain as day to her, but no one else agreed.
“I think it’s a trick of the light,” Duone said. “Hard to make out with these visuals.”
Coyle’s observations were dismissed, and discussion turned to newer technologies and the differences between Tesla’s inventions and gnomish engineering. Coyle stared at the images as they flipped back and forth. She was positive she was right. The images proved Fang was telling her the truth. But she wasn’t ready to tell them the assassin vampire had visited her in a jail cell and asked for help. Then they wouldn’t believe or trust her, and she would be turned out onto the street, left to figure out another way to make detective. Best to keep that card close to her chest. Yet she had to try to open their minds.
“Are there fae or vampires who can change the shape of their face?” she asked. “Maybe this isn’t Fang. Maybe this is someone else.”
The men turned to her with frowns.
“Preposterous!” Bolt said. “Any of us could easily see the vampire’s face throughout the incident. She is a trained assassin, apparently full of madness, and we just watched her slaughter.”
“But what if there’s another assassin at work here? What if Fang is innocent?” Coyle asked. The question hung in the air like a rotted apple no one wanted to pick. Odd looks shot her way. Someone cleared their throat.
“Let’s get back to the real meat. The book gets stolen, and Moreci wants to kill a few people?” Poes asked.
Coyle was glad for the diverted attention. First, she’d lost an important piece of evidence, and then her hypothesis had been brushed aside. Such a fine start. All she wanted to do was crawl under the table and hide in the dark. There would be no more talking for a while. A long while. She leaned against a table, her cheeks warm, vacantly staring at her nails.
Just how important did you think you were?
“The book was used to kill an army,” Duone said. “Why kill tens when you can kill hundreds of thousands?”
“He means to wipe out a large population,” Treece said, and bowed his head. “Possibly an entire city.”
“So a murderous vampire slaughtered innocent guests and stole a book,” Bolt said. “And apparently Coyle gave them a device to use it. How thoughtful of you.” His dark eyes bored into Coyle. “And now you seem especially forward in claiming Fang is innocent. Are we to believe you and Fang are in collusion together?”
“That’s ridiculous,” Coyle said, her voice cracking.
“Is it?” Bolt asked.
Maybe.
“How dare you insinuate a vampire and I are working together?” Coyle said. She squeezed her hands into fists. Her body shook with anger and fear all wrapped together. He was right, of course. They were working together, just not in the sense he was talking about.
“You may have fooled the others, Coyle,” Bolt said. “But you’re not fooling me.”
“It does sound a bit odd,” Duone said. “Why are you trying to defend this vampire?”
“I believe she’s just trying to investigate all possible avenues,” Quolo offered. “It’s what she was trained for.”
“Yet she failed,” Bolt added.
“Gentlemen,” Treece said. “We know nothing else at the moment, and what we need is unity, not division. Miss Coyle did the best she could, I’m sure. Why don’t we adjourn for a moment and let me have a discussion with our esteemed guest?”
The others left the room amidst a babble of murmurs. Poes was the only who looked back and gave her a slight nod before he left her in the room with GEM and Treece.
“I’m so sorry, Treece,” she said, setting the pipe down and running trembling fingers through her hair.
“Miss Coyle, I’m more happy you’re safe than... anything worse.”
“It’s just that, well, I feel like a failure. I was supposed to help you in this mission, and I keep failing.”
“On the contrary, Miss Coyle. You found a peculiar device no one else found before you were confronted by Moreci.” He rested a hand on her shoulder. “I’m happy to have your services, and I believe you’re the perfect fit for the Templars.”
She smiled politely. Her skin prickled.
You really don’t know Treece, do you?
How many times would she fail before Treece decided she wasn’t worth keeping around?
Let me know when Treece wants you exterminated.
She pulled away from him and wiped her face. “I appreciate everything you’ve offered me. If you feel I should resign from—”
“Absolutely not.”
“I don’t feel I’m pulling my weight here.”
“If you feel deficient in pulling or pushing weight, you can count on me to help,” GEM said. He blinked his emerald eyes. “After all, you helped me in my time of need. They would have found me if it weren’t for you.”
Coyle frowned.
“There, see?” Treece patted her shoulder. “Even the automaton would like you to stay. You’re needed here, Miss Coyle. I believe you can do a great amount of good.”
“I don’t know what else I can do,” she said.
“Why don’t we send you and the others to Trevin’s place to have a look around? I know you could find something useful. And GEM will help take care of you.”
“Absolutely!” GEM said. “Where is Trevin’s housing located?”
“Fort Alcatraz,” Treece answered.
GEM blinked and swiveled back and forth between Coyle and Treece.
“Fort Alcatraz is surrounded by a cold, deep ocean with surprisingly strong currents.” GEM gently patted Coyle’s shoulder and leaned close. “All that to say—I can’t swim. I believe it’s in all of our interest if I sit this one out. Best of luck!” he said, and headed to the doorway. “Gentlemen, who wants sandwiches?”
Chapter 10
Let me never slumber, never lose my assurance, never fail to wear armor when passing through enemy land.
Amen.
It was close to noon when they embarked on the magnificent waterborne horseless carriage. Three volunteered: Poes, Vonteg and Coyle. The others opted out, giving her a wary eye. She wasn’t sure which was more hurtful, the fact that she wasn’t trusted enough by the other men or the fact that Poes and Vonteg were basically forced into working with her
.
This was nothing new. In her former line of work, not too many men wanted to work with the “weaker” sex, and those who did were mostly interested in the possibility of intimate relations. She found it infuriating all the same. She just wanted to be the best candidate for promotion, and since she wasn’t going to heed their desperate urge for relations, she had opted for the test scenarios with her peers.
She hunched over, shoulders slouched, resting her chin on her knuckles, eyes gazing out at the bustle of the streets.
“How are you feeling so far, Miss Coyle?” Poes asked.
“Fine, I suppose,” she answered. “I’ve never been involved with an investigation on this scale.”
“Do you feel like you fit in? Or not?” Poes asked.
She paused. He was an attorney; she had to remember he was trained to get to the point.
“Truthfully, I do not. But I also suppose it’s natural since I’m the only person unfamiliar with the Templars and Treece. I can’t say anything bad, of course. I mean, he’s invited me into his amazing home and provided every furnishing I need, even new clothes.”
“He’s generous with what he has,” Vonteg said.
“I’ve never seen so much of it in my life,” Coyle said. “My father is rich, too, but he never shared any of it with us. We lived in a simple home outside of Sacramento. He was always away and too busy building his shipping empire.”
“Treece is a good man,” Vonteg said. “Gives to charities, supplies hospitals with equipment, helps build farms for the poor. Not a mean bone in his body.”
“He’s kind to his... employees?” she asked.
Vonteg nodded. “And members of the Templars. He gave me a small bonus when my firstborn came into the world. And then he sent a nursemaid to help with the first year. I’m lucky to be working with him.”
“And you?” Coyle asked Poes. “How long have you been working for him?”
“I got picked up by Dawn Industries less than a month ago,” he answered. “I haven’t seen as much, so I’m in the same sort of boat you are.”
“Every Templar in North America works for Dawn Industries, but not every employee for Dawn is a Templar. Treece runs a world-renowned conglomeration. He uses Dawn Industries to create what’s necessary for agents in the field, who in turn protect assets owned by Dawn.”
Coyle and Fang: Curse of Shadows (Coyle and Fang Adventure Series Book 1) Page 9