Penthouse Skywalk of Declan’s Building
About right now
At 5,500 feet, the wind howled like an insatiable beast, as if it wanted to devour my very soul. I knew this because Donovan had promptly shoved my head through the glass—glass that wasn’t meant to break. Woozy and bleeding, I found myself on the skywalk’s hard carbon floor, far too close to a precipitous drop for comfort.
“Declan was our inside man,” Donovan said. “Unfortunately, you ruined that.”
“Glad I could be of service.” I spit blood on the ground and grinned back at him. “How’d you know I was here?”
“Mr. Burrows gave us a phone call. Imagine my surprise when he explained that you had cut off his thumb.”
Somewhere, I swore I heard a distant scream. Maybe that was my imagination. From the beatific smile on Donovan’s face, though, I realized it wasn’t.
They’d chucked Declan Burrows out the window for his failures. Or maybe he was just a loose end. Either way, he’d have been better off not phoning a friend to get out of this jam. Because sometimes it was damn hard to figure out the difference between a friend and a snake in disguise.
Donovan’s two henchmen loomed behind their master, burly arms crossed. They both wore severe expressions, as if I had upset the balance of something majestic.
“Outsiders are so simple, yes?” Donovan circled me like an apex predator. Finally, he knelt, as if offering himself up for my appraisal. Dressed in the simple, rough robes of a sage, he wore no jewelry or anything ostentatious. Just a humble prophet, here to deliver us all to paradise.
His head was shaved and reflected the distant moonlight.
Just like I remembered him last time.
Right before I’d shot him in the chest.
“How’d you survive,” I said, trying to read his opaque expression. I might as well have tried to divine a dog’s thoughts. Despite being human, his entire demeanor was strangely inhuman—like no creature I’d ever come across.
Free of desire or petty jealousy.
Free of distraction.
A total commitment to the task at hand.
That made things scarier. Because I knew I couldn’t bullshit my way out of this by unbuttoning another shirt button.
Where was Roark when you needed him?
Oh yeah, not answering my calls. Probably asleep, while the last few minutes of my life played out.
Hope he was enjoying himself.
“We need to know all that you do, Realmfarer.” Donovan’s invitation to share was strangely enticing, but I didn’t bite. The man had charisma, despite looking like he’d escaped from a mental asylum for fallen monks.
“Hard pass,” I said.
“There are ways to make the reticent talk.” His voice was kind enough that I thought, maybe, he had some sort of hypnosis planned. But when I felt the rough fingers of one of his burly associates on my back, I realized that, no, this was going down the old-fashioned way.
“Wait,” I said.
“There will be no lies, Realmfarer. I see all. The wickedness you have wrought must be cleansed.”
“What wickedness?” I said the words cutely, which pissed off his goon, because his grip tightened on my shoulder.
“The wickedness of trying to stop us.” He gave a nod, the light gleaming off his round head. “For the second time.”
And then I felt myself dangling out the window, a mile in the air, nothing separating me from a long and very fatal drop.
18
Beneath the Skywalk
Right now
“You know I’m going to kill you for good this time, right?” I said.
“That’ll be hard when you’re a ghost, Ruby.”
“Then you haven’t met a ghost like me.”
“The righteous shall always prevail,” Donovan Martin had said.
To which I’d replied, “Indeed they shall.”
Which brings us about up to date.
As last words went, they wouldn’t be inscribed on any monuments. Then again, I hadn’t had much time to think before I was plummeting toward the pavement some 5,500 feet below.
I tumbled through the air, on my way to redemption—or however Donovan had spun it—after refusing to talk. Not that I had much to talk about. The Crusaders of Paradisum remained a mystery.
Somewhere, the Cathedral, FBI, MagiTekk and an ancient cult intersected.
But the details were hazy.
It hadn’t stopped me from running through the day’s events, each one playing back like a fuzzy tape.
The mind plays funny tricks when confronted with imminent death. You first learn that time is merely an illusion. A second is no longer a second, but a year—or the past twenty-four hours of your ill-fated investigation.
Each piece—Malcolm Roark’s order, the twenty-three bodies, the sirens, the suspension, Silvia’s visit, Declan and, finally, Donovan’s unwelcome appearance. I tried to figure out where they all fit in together, but that was futile. I didn’t have all the necessary information.
And there wasn’t any way to get it now.
I began to black out from the speed, the acceleration making me woozy.
I shut my eyes.
Then I hit something soft and scaly. It let out a big, indignant groan, and I felt the strange, flexible cartridge and bone of a strong wing prevent me from falling off.
Opening one eye to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating, I realized I was flying.
Kind of.
The elf dragon I’d set free had decided to return. But he wasn’t very big, which meant that I was too great a load to carry comfortably. We drunkenly swerved through the hologram laden sky, divebombing through an advertisement for hamburgers on our way to the ground.
Heart in my throat, I threw my arms around his neck. The beast growled in response. Almost what sounded like words.
I threw a cautious glance over my shoulder, up at the skywalk, but I couldn’t tell if Donovan had seen me miraculously cheat death. It didn’t matter, if I was being honest—that was a problem for the future.
Because, right now, we weren’t going to make it.
“The building,” I shrieked into the howling wind, pulling on the creature’s pointy ear to get his attention. The elf dragon let out a big hiss, ejecting a stream of napalm from his snout, so I let go. But we turned toward the nearest skyscraper, an almost carbon replica of Declan’s apartment.
The nano-builders hadn’t been programmed for originality. The uniformity of the design was for good reason: it made the city easier to repair and maintain. Unlike all those crumbling houses in Old Phoenix with their annoying architectural details and unique character.
Wouldn’t want any of that.
The dragon adjusted his wings, straightening his form into an arrow-like point. Aerodynamic adjustments complete, we picked up speed, hurtling toward the glass at terminal velocity.
“We’re gonna crash.” I reached for its ear, but the ensuing roar warned me not to go down that road again. Instead, I clenched my fists, short nails digging into my palms hard enough to draw blood.
Two hundred yards.
One hundred yards.
I shut my eyes, figuring that I’d only received a temporary stay of execution.
Then I felt a tremendous rumbling erupt from the beast’s stomach, followed by an explosion of heat. Cracking my eyes, I saw the night illuminated by brilliant blue-orange flames bathing the side of the building. The glass melted and warped as we raced through the crackling darkness.
At the last minute, the elf dragon spread its wings and widened its considerably sized pointy ears, putting on the brakes. We zoomed through the smoking frame, straight into someone’s living room.
The elf dragon hit the couch, and I flew straight off, hitting my head against the wall.
I heard a growl, and what I could’ve sworn were the words, “We’re even, now.”
And then the world winked out of existence.
19
“Goddam
nit, you can’t put her in there.” Roark’s angry voice cut through my dreamless sleep. It was nice to have a welcome friend around to greet me.
But when I tried to move, I found myself cuffed to an unpadded chair. The room came into focus, the drab concrete and chipped linoleum floors reminding me of a place I never wanted to see again. I wrenched so hard that I broke the metal arm off the chair.
I hauled ass toward the door, but I was promptly tackled by two cops. I kicked at one, catching him in the chin, but the other peacekeeper kept me down.
It wasn’t a fair fight, being cuffed and all.
“You were saying, Colton?” Janssen’s icy voice was not a welcome friend. This was like waking up to a delightful breakfast in-bed, only to find that someone had smeared shit all over the pillows.
Yes, I’d survived—but only to suffer a far more ignominious fate.
Because I was about to go straight back to jail.
“Please.” Roark wasn’t even turning on the patented charm. This was just straight-up begging.
I couldn’t blame him. Both our asses were on the line. Naturally, when they booked you, they ran you through an essence detector. I was guaranteed to set off all sorts of bells, since supernatural creatures couldn’t work for the FBI.
I’d be thrown back into the internment camp. Roark would lose his job, get fined, or be strung up by the nuts—whatever the hell MagiTekk did to their liaisons who consorted with the supernatural. I didn’t know the specifics.
I just knew it’d be bad.
“Your little expert consultant was found in the middle of a high-ranking executive’s living room. The window was melted. You do the math, Colton.”
“Breaking and entering?” Roark asked beneath his breath.
“Don’t be a sarcastic little shit,” Janssen said. I imagined her sour-puss face frowning, reprimanding silver hair shaking over the navy blue trench coat. “It wasn’t like she flew in on an airplane.”
“Because you were there.” I had to grunt the words out, since I was still mashed against the ground.
“I don’t want to hear a goddamn word from you, Ruby.”
“She has a point,” Roark said. “There’s no evidence of anything untoward.”
“Besides the smoldering wreckage,” Janssen said.
“Look—”
“I told you two fucking idiots to leave this matter alone. And then you go piss in the punch bowl.” Janssen tapped her foot. “Book her and let her think things over.”
Roark had no response. All I heard was the buzz of the crappy fluorescent lights as I was hoisted upright. I left a blackened smudge on the yellowing linoleum. My clothes were covered in about two inches of soot courtesy of the elf dragon.
Clearly they hadn’t captured him—otherwise I would have been hauled off to some dark room and prodded until the end of time. Ruby and her little pet. That was like Captain Stevens’s wet dream—gathering data on two of the rarest supernatural species in existence.
I wondered if Stevens was still around. Wherever he was, I’m sure he missed our little sessions together in the dark room.
The two guards shoved me toward Roark—who looked concerned, to put it mildly—and Janssen, who was ready to punch us both in the face. Which was preferable to what was coming.
I was marched toward the detector, its metal frame looming like an executioner’s ax. It would beep a couple times, outing me as a no-good supernatural threat. They’d all blink and look confused, and then run me through again. And this little ruse would end almost before it even began.
My breath caught, boots digging into the floor.
“Don’t make this difficult, Ruby,” Janssen said.
“Shove it,” I said, resisting with every ounce of my being. “I didn’t do anything.”
“You really don’t know when to quit.”
I didn’t respond. Only five seconds of freedom remained. A foot away from the essence detector, I heard Roark yell, “Stop.”
Hushed voices filtered across the cramped lobby as he whispered to Janssen. I couldn’t make out the gist of the conversation, and with the dampeners inside the jail, I had no idea about how this would change the playing field.
But afterward Janssen cleared her raspy throat and said, “Let her go.”
One guard said, “Ma’am?”
“Are you questioning the FBI’s authority?”
“No ma’am,” the other guard said. The cuffs immediately came off. I stared at the essence detector, but didn’t move.
“Let’s go, Ruby.” Janssen’s tone was strange.
I followed her and Roark out of the precinct. No one said anything as we traipsed across the sidewalk and into the street. Finally, in the parking lot, she glanced back at me. Her eyes were no longer cold. “You idiots should’ve told me sooner.”
“Told you what?” I asked, not putting the pieces together.
“Supernatural behavioral psychologist.” Janssen snorted and looked at me. “You can read people?”
I swallowed hard, my heart almost dropping into my boots. A quick glance at Roark told me that this had been the only way to salvage the situation. I said, “I’m a Realmfarer.”
“I’m sure Colton will tell me what the hell that means.”
“Tell her about the Crusaders,” Roark said. “You know, a century ago.”
I gave him a look, but detailed how I’d been hired to kill Donovan Martin in 1923. And, much to my chagrin, not succeeded.
Janssen flagged down her ride and stepped into the back. Perks of being a supervisor. The window rolled down. “You should understand something.”
I didn’t answer, realizing that she probably wanted to hear from me as little as possible.
Janssen looked between us from her seated position. “I need you both alive.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Have you seen the other idiots working for me?” Janssen looked at me strangely. “Half are in MagiTekk’s pocket, the other half are incompetent.”
I looked at the ground, unsure if I was supposed to agree or protest.
“You’re both back on the case.”
“Just like that?” I asked, somewhat incredulous. Apparently all I had to do was ride a dragon through a luxury apartment and burn the place down.
“It was only a time out. Appearances for the folks above.” Janssen winked and almost smiled. “Colton is my best agent.”
“And me?” I asked, feeling bold.
“Stop burning shit down and I’ll let you know.”
The car sped off, leaving me with more questions than answers.
When we were alone, Roark turned to me and said, “So you met the guy in charge.”
“If you want to call it that.”
“And?”
“You’re smart.” I gestured toward my burned clothes. “Figure it out.”
“Guess we should stick together from now on,” Roark said.
I said nothing, but inside I smiled.
That sounded wise.
Especially when the world was out to get us both.
20
I slept like I’d been thrown off a skywalk and actually hit the ground. Moved like it, too, when I stepped into the shower. Soot streamed out of just about every place imaginable. When I stepped out from the shower, my hair was three shades lighter.
Somehow, the leather jacket had survived the ordeal with nothing more than a few character-adding scuffs. Had I known it was the equivalent of fire-retardant armor, I wouldn’t have been so hesitant to accept it from Roark during our first meeting.
The rest of my clothes, however, hadn’t fared as well. The apartment came well-stocked with plenty of FBI pant suits and other professionally appropriate dresses that ended far enough below the knee for even my mother’s ghost to be satisfied.
But this wardrobe wasn’t for me. And grabbing replacements for my oxford shirt and jeans wasn’t as easy as going to the local thrift shop or edgy independent clothing store. As I walked along the s
kyscraper shops in a shapeless dress that felt like a burlap sack, I realized that I’d need to head elsewhere for new clothes.
Fortunately, I had other business in Old Phoenix. So, after trawling through a few dingy shops, I had a handful of suitable new oxford shirts and jeans. I wanted to burn the dress, but as everything in this section of town looked in serious violation of the fire code, I just tossed it into the trash.
Fresh ankle boots happily trekking across the worn asphalt, I made my way to Serenity Cole’s clinic. Because who better to ask about elf dragons than an actual elf?
Allies were in short supply. I could use another—especially one capable of burning things down.
Things like secret MagiTekk warehouses filled with an essence suppression serum.
I had an inkling why the dragon had saved me: like the elves who had bred them, they were one of the world’s few benevolent creatures of light essence. There was a common misconception when it came to the supernatural that light meant good, darkness bad. Truth be told, there were assholes and cagey pricks on both sides of the supernatural aisle, probably in about equal numbers.
Elves were the obvious exception. Which was why they’d been hunted almost to extinction. Lacking a killer instinct will get you nowhere in this world. That, and the pointy ears made them easy to spot—and burn at the stake—even before humans got the 411 on the supernatural.
Easy to scream witch when you find someone in your village with ears sticking out of their hair.
However, Serenity had a little bit of a darker past than most elves.
Vampires and such.
I approached the all-glass exterior of the clinic, reflecting on my last visit. It was during the time loop—one of the ones that had reset. Which meant, technically, Serenity hadn’t seen me since 1993.
We hadn’t parted as friends.
I entered the clinic. Being noon, it was relatively quiet, with only two families in the clean, but well-worn waiting room.
I approached the desk and asked the teenage intern, “Is Serenity Cole in?”
“Do you have an appointment?” the girl asked.
I looked around. “Isn’t this a walk-in type of place?”
“Then you’ll have to wait.”
Shadow Flare (The Ruby Callaway Trilogy Book 2) Page 8