Shadow Flare (The Ruby Callaway Trilogy Book 2)

by D. N. Erikson

“Get her on the phone.” I nodded toward the old-school receiver, indicating that no wasn’t a valid answer. “Tell her Ruby Callaway is here.”

  “Are you an old friend?”

  “Old, maybe,” I said with a smile.

  “You’re not much older than me.”

  “Looks can be deceiving.”

  The girl gave me a clueless eye roll and got Serenity on the line. Her eyes grew wide in the middle of the minute-long conversation. Then she gulped heavily as she placed the handset back.

  “Serenity says you need to leave.”

  “So she is in,” I said, heading toward the hallway to the exam rooms. “Thanks.”

  “You can’t go back there!” But the intern wasn’t exactly rushing to stop me. I slid past a rickety gurney and opened the door to the first exam room. A half-naked man with a nail in his arm sat wearing a pained grimace.

  “Sorry, wrong room,” I said. He was so sedated that he just drooled.

  Door number two it was. I walked right in. Serenity Cole stood by the exam table, her gloved hand holding a syringe. There was no patient.

  “Don’t come any closer, Ruby.” The needle glistened with silent menace.

  “We both know you’re not going to use that.” The door shut with a click, then there was a long, awkward silence. Her black hair swayed back and forth as she breathed heavily. I could see a thin patina of sweat gracing her light brown skin. “Nervous?”

  “You promised.” The words were shaky.

  “Relax. I’m not here because you misbehaved,” I said. “Put the needle down.”

  “Why else would you come?”

  The words would be insulting if they weren’t true. Yes, Ruby Callaway, legendary bounty hunter had a reputation. I didn’t have a habit of making house calls just for kicks or to catch up.

  “I need your help.”

  Serenity responded with a sharp, bitter laugh. That was about as mean as an elf got. The wisps circling her head turned sleet-gray. For most people, that was a half-decent day.

  Elves. Better than the rest of us.

  “I won’t help you.”

  “Interesting,” I said. “Any reason why?”

  “You forget so soon.”

  “I didn’t forget.” My eyes met hers. The pain was still fresh, even if the psychic wound had occurred over forty years ago. “But I still need your help.”

  “You killed Aland,” she said in a breathy tone.

  “Spared you, didn’t I?”

  “You were there to retrieve me!”

  She brandished the needle with the movements of someone unpracticed in combat. I pretended to be bothered, sliding toward the door. That made her satisfied, like she had control over the situation.

  “Didn’t do that, either.” I jerked a thumb toward the faded cabinets. “And look what a nice life you have now.”

  “You just…shot him.”

  “That’s not really how I remember it,” I said. There were flames. Me about to get drained.

  “He didn’t need to die.”

  “Consorting with vampires is a dangerous business, Serenity.” I shrugged. “I could’ve dragged you back to the kingdom.”

  Okay, so maybe not all elves were good. There were still a couple shady ones willing to hire a bounty hunter to retrieve their princess fraternizing with low creatures of darkness.

  “Thanks.” The word was heavy with bitter sarcasm. Maybe the world had hardened her.

  Or maybe that was just the guilt.

  “See, that wasn’t so hard. It only took half a century.”

  “I called the police.”

  I almost broke out laughing, but managed to keep it under control. “No, you didn’t.”

  “Not those police.” Her eyes flashed with an edge I hadn’t seen last time we’d met. In the loop, Roark and I had come by in the early morning. Maybe she got crankier when her blood sugar was low. I didn’t know enough about elf physiology to know whether skipping lunch could turn someone into a raging bitch.

  “Nothing I can’t handle.” I pulled the knife out, turned on the electricity, and then flipped it into the air. Catching it with a slight smirk, I then slipped it back into the scabbard. Energy sizzled in the leather.

  Serenity dropped the needle in surprise.

  “Good,” I said. “I need two things.”

  “What happened to one?”

  “Price went up for being uncooperative.” Her gaze fell. “The world’s a tough place.”

  “Don’t lecture me, Ruby.”

  “I was kidding. Christ, I figured you’d be less gullible, now. You know that vamp was gonna eat you eventually, right?”

  “You don’t know anything about Aland,” Serenity said sullenly. Almost like a princess. Hard to shed that noble air, no matter how many free health clinics you ran.

  “That’s why I’m here,” I said brightly. “Tell me what you know about this lupine essence suppression serum coming out on Friday.”

  Her expression immediately darkened. She rubbed her foot along the chipped tile, like she was trying to dig her way out of answering. After a long silence, Serenity said, “It’s not good.”

  “No shit,” I said. “You think you can reverse-engineer it?”

  “I don’t have a sample, and there’s no way for me to get one.”

  “Lucky for us both, I have questionable moral fiber.” She scowled at this, but I shrugged. “So the question is, do you have the skills?”

  “Maybe.”

  “I’ll take that,” I said, having zero plans of handing over the last remaining sample to Silvia. Vengeful sorceresses capable of retroactively figuring out time loops were not to be trifled with. That was impressive—Rain Man level work. And let’s be real: the sign of someone driven by a mission. Like slitting my throat, or using the serum for evil ends.

  So fuck her. Even if she could use my blood to torture me—or worse.

  I also had no intention of protecting the warehouse for Malcolm Roark.

  See? I could be noble, too, when it came down to it.

  Which meant I needed to cover my bases.

  “I have patients waiting, Ruby.”

  “And I have another request.”

  “Just get on with it,” Serenity said, not concealing her dislike.

  “Elf dragons.”

  Her eyebrow raised in curiosity, but she said, “Is that the question?”

  “I met one last night. How do I call him again?”

  “You met one.” I might as well have claimed to have seen a herd of unicorns traipsing through the MagiTekk District. But facts were facts. “In Phoenix.”

  “Indeed,” I said. “I rode him.”

  “You’re lying. They hate that.”

  “Well then, consider me a lucky girl.”

  “There are less than ten left in the world.”

  “Well, I felt very honored to meet him, if that helps.”

  Serenity scowled and brushed her hand through her dark hair, briefly displaying her pointy ears. A quick shake and they disappeared—someone used to blending in and not drawing attention.

  “What color was he?”

  “I don’t know. It was dark and I was—look, the specifics don’t matter. Black, I think.”

  “Could he talk?”

  “Yeah, we discussed how the world was going to shit.” Then I stood bolt upright. I had heard something resembling words, but with the howl of the wind and Mach 70 speed, I’d brushed it off as an auditory hallucination.

  But as I’d blacked out in the burning high rise, someone had said we’re even.

  Serenity, reading my expression, nodded. “It’s Tinyr.”

  “So you’ll help me find him.”

  “Tinyr fled the brood not long after me.”

  “Why?”

  Serenity shook her head. “You’re sure you want to contact him?”

  “I need help committing arson.”

  Serenity cracked a small smile. “Good luck. He’s a free spirit.” She reached into
her doctor’s coat and extracted a prescription pad. In a scrawling hand, she wrote out a series of instructions. “That’s it.”

  I looked at the guide. “You’re kidding.”

  “I am not.” She slipped past me and opened the exam room door. “But it would be a good joke, wouldn’t it?”

  Serenity disappeared down the hall to tend to patients and save some small sliver of the world.

  Meanwhile, I stared at what I would need to do.

  Easy.

  Because all I needed to get Tinyr to show up was find him a mate.

  21

  I shelved that plan for the time being, as I was not eager to become a dragon huntress. Apparently Tinyr wanted to sow his oats, and the dragon harem at the elf palace had left him out. So he’d set out into the big bad world in search of a mate.

  I felt for him. Really. It would suck being celibate while all your friends got it on.

  Couple that with the unique ability to talk, and you had an uncomfortable situation.

  But I wasn’t in the charity business, and to the best of my knowledge the half-demon Kalos Aeon had killed the last dragon centuries ago. Although he had mentioned something about an encounter with one in Agonia back in 2017.

  Like hell was I returning to that Realm to help this little fella get laid.

  Or to the Elven Cliffs, for that matter. After failing to haul back their beloved princess Serenity, I didn’t think Cyrill and the royal court would welcome me back with open arms.

  There was always dynamite. That was remarkably effective for reducing warehouses to ash. And if that failed, I could revisit this dragon hunting thing later. Although, it being Tuesday, I had only three days until the essence suppression serum rollout.

  Such was the state of current calamity that Silvia’s job remained low on my list of problems.

  When I returned to my apartment, I found Roark by the door, his handsome jaw locked in a curious expression.

  “Have fun shopping?”

  “You said to stop drawing attention.” I pushed past him and pressed my hand against the jamb. The thin, soundproof metal door slid open, the apartment greeting me as I entered. “I figured running around naked would raise too many eyebrows.”

  “So, about last night.”

  “And here I thought you were smart.” I threw the bag onto the counter. “Haven’t figured it out yet?”

  Roark ignored the barb and walked toward the glass table. He placed the data cube in the corner and lifted his hand toward the ceiling. A collection of clippings about dragon encounters and sightings rose from the data mist.

  “I analyzed a sample of the soot on your clothing. Imagine my surprise when it came back positive for dragon napalm.” He stroked his jaw, his sad blue eyes staring out the window. “I honestly thought they were a myth.”

  “Then how’d you know to test for dragon napalm?”

  “Being in MagiTekk’s pocket has its advantages.” He turned toward me. “Their database is insane.”

  “Look, about that—”

  “Water under the bridge,” Roark said. “I’m just a sell-out, right?”

  “Clearly the water’s about to knock the fucking bridge down.” I walked over and leaned against the glass table, sending the holograms scattering like glitchy roaches due to my secondary input. “Let’s lay our cards on the table, shall we?”

  Roark tried to read me. I acted nonchalant, removing the jacket and folding it in a neat square. It still smelled faintly of soot and adrenaline infused sweat.

  That last detail could have been my imagination.

  “Look,” I said, putting my feet on the glass table as I leaned back, “I think you’re solid.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence.” Roark didn’t move to sit. His posture was so stiff it was almost like I’d placed a gun to his spine. The hurt in his eyes was plain to see. Everyone had their weak points.

  His was integrity.

  It meant everything.

  “All I’m saying is you need to be careful.” I played with the ends of my hair, searching for the right words. “You’re behind enemy lines.”

  “That’s kind of the point, right? The perfect way to bring MagiTekk down.”

  “And your father knows,” I said.

  “He won’t stop me.”

  “I’m in this, too.”

  “We’re in it together.” Roark threw his hands up in exasperation. “Where the fuck is this coming from?”

  “Because you have a little lanyard that says MagiTekk.” I crossed my arms. “And they got to your father.”

  Roark let out a bitter laugh. “Malcolm got to himself.”

  “All the same.”

  “Don’t compare me to him.” Roark dug into his pocket, extracting a weathered photograph. I’d seen it before—him and his brother, Sam, crouched together. Both smiling, the little kid wanting to be just like his big, broad-shouldered brother. “He’s in it for the money. I’m in it for Sam.”

  “You already got your revenge,” I said.

  “This is about justice, Ruby.” Roark’s words were bitter, like a mercenary just couldn’t understand. That stung. “Marshall killed him, but MagiTekk made him into a monster.”

  “Malcolm’s the only family you have left.”

  “He’s not family.” Roark’s arms quivered with rage, gripping the table hard enough that I was afraid it might shatter. “He might as well have killed Sam himself.”

  Malcolm Roark had been the triggerman in Solomon Marshall’s assassination. Marshall had created a new, rival startup named LC2 that was set to release a disruptive technology on the market—an essence modulation implant, capable of monitoring and controlling baser supernatural urges that were previously primal—when he’d been summarily dispatched.

  But then Marshall had risen from the dead, born again in the Underworld as a necromancer, and gotten his revenge by killing Malcolm Roark’s son Sam. And then heading after Colton, killing him twenty-four times in the time loop.

  Eventually, Marshall had gotten the best revenge of all: training the surviving son to hate the father.

  “So when the time comes…” I said to break the silence. The implication hung in the air.

  “Don’t worry about me.” Roark pushed himself off the table. “Just don’t lose your nerve.”

  “Oh, I don’t have a problem shooting your father in the head.” I gauged Roark’s reaction. The wisps didn’t even change color. I’d call him stone cold, but that wasn’t true. Malcolm Roark was just that much of a bastard. “But we’re getting way ahead of ourselves.”

  “Since you don’t even know you can trust me.”

  “I trust you. Fuck, do you want a notarized contract? I meant we have nothing to use against them.”

  “But we do have a case.” Roark ran his hand through his brown hair. “And if you don’t have any more shopping...”

  That’s when I saw it. The source of all this discord. I saw it within the wisps, swirling about Roark’s head. It’d been there before, but my intuition was still out of shape from years of disuse. Clear as day, though, there it was.

  Concern.

  Feelings.

  My own stomach fluttered. Enough for me to cough.

  Roark shot me an odd look.

  “Bad shrimp,” I said. “Never eat in Old Phoenix.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re sick again.”

  “Nope.” I swung my legs off the table and walked toward him. “Where are we headed?”

  “The Fallout Zone.” Roark led the way, opening the door into the lengthy hallway. “And fill me in on the rest of last night.”

  “Thought you had it figured out.”

  “Come on, Ruby.”

  “As long as I won’t get thrown off any skywalks.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t sleep with strangers,” Roark said drily. “That strategy hasn’t been kind to you lately.”

  “I got what I wanted, right?”

  But I mulled his words as we waited for the ele
vator.

  Sooner or later, being reckless would come back and bite me.

  And when the bill came due, the charge would be my life.

  22

  Even though we were no longer on suspension, Roark still needed to bribe his way into the Fallout Zone. He shot the shit with the gate guard—the same fellow named Madsen who had let us pass during the loop—and then slipped him a couple hundreds.

  Any sign of the massive crime scene from yesterday had been scrubbed from existence, same as the nuclear radiation near the towering steel gate. Not even a chalk outline to mark the dead.

  “The FBI does quick work.”

  “We’re fighting the clock,” Roark said, glancing at the cracked asphalt.

  “Meaning?” I asked.

  “MagiTekk has the world sitting on a goddamn powder keg.” Roark took over manual steering as the car travelled further into the Fallout Zone. “Lots of tension between the mortals and supernatural. And this storm isn’t helping.”

  Roark caught my eye in the mirror. We both understood worse things were afoot in the shadows. Declan had told me that MagiTekk was playing both sides—generating all that tension for pure profit. But their slow burning greed wasn’t the same level of news fodder as ritualistic killings.

  The truth didn’t matter.

  Only people’s perception of the truth did.

  “Which means what for us, exactly?”

  “We need to figure out exactly how this is connected to the Cathedral of St. Peter.”

  “MagiTekk scrubbed the file after we visited yesterday.”

  “Not before I found this.” Roark took one hand off the wheel to put the data cube onto the dash. I half expected to see Hiro amongst the half-corrupted files, but the little digital samurai was obviously not on Roark’s cube.

  The blur of data combined and mashed together to form a grainy image.

  The sign read GREATER PHOENIX PSYCHIATRIC PALLIATIVE CARE WARD FOR THE SUPERNATURAL.

  “Palliative?”

  “I did a little digging.” Roark gritted his teeth together, like the research had been unpleasant. “For those who wouldn’t recover. One might call them…possessed. Cursed.”

  “Like a kill shelter for sick animals.”

  “The research was pretty dark.” Roark rubbed his hands together. “I was gonna check it out anyway, but when you told me that you’d shot Donovan Martin in 1923, it made me think.”