by JJ Jones
Clarissa paced a few laps around the waiting room before she sidled up closer to the door to the office. She pressed her ear to it, one hand braced against it as well so that if it opened she could keep herself from getting her brains bashed in.
She could hear him talking on the phone, and she palmed her recorder out of her purse, turning it on. She wasn’t even sure what he was talking about or who he was talking to yet, but having too much information wasn’t going to hurt, and she didn’t want to risk missing something important while she tried to figure out what she was hearing.
He sounded nervous, and his tone was appeasing. His words were muffled through the door, but he was saying something about two other people—their names were in another language that Clarissa couldn’t recognize, compounded by the fact that her French was shaky enough that she only really understood two thirds of what he was saying. After that, it took another few minutes before she caught Corvin’s name, and Mr. Bergeron sounded even more nervous. The details were unclear, and Clarissa felt a bit like cursing the language barrier, but she was comfortable enough in guessing that he was attempting to convince Corvin that he didn’t need to come to the office himself.
That was likely all the information that she would need, but Clarissa kept listening at the door with her recorder in her hand until she heard Mr. Bergeron hang up the phone. She turned off her recorder and stepped away from the door, making her way over to one of the chairs in the
waiting room. She sat down and pulled her phone out of her purse, getting comfortable there, so by the time Mr. Bergeron opened his office door, it looked as if she had been patiently sitting there since she arrived.
“Miss Newman?” he questioned in accented English, standing in his office doorway still, one hand on the knob and his other hand straightening his tie.
She looked up from her phone with a beaming smile and practically leapt to her feet. “Mr. Bergeron!” she greeted cheerfully, holding out a hand to shake as she crossed the office, and he shook it without a fuss, as if he was on autopilot. “I’m glad you could get me in on such short notice.” Already, he was beginning to relax slightly.
“But of course,” he agreed, stepping aside to let her into his office. Clarissa followed him in, and the door closed with a thump.
He took a seat behind his desk and gestured for Clarissa to take a seat across from him, and from there everything proceeded as it usually would for any other interview. And she could probably even use some of it for her article for the magazine, so she didn’t even have to say that she wasn’t getting anything out of it.
Either way, she kept it short. She had come up with only a few questions, under the guise that she would be interviewing several people, rather than only spotlighting one person. And when she left afterwards, no one interrupted her on the way back out of the building. It had all gone far more smoothly than she could have hoped.
*
When Clarissa stepped into Abel’s townhouse, she didn’t even bother to knock, and already she found Abel and Marjorie waiting for her in the living room. The glass from the broken window had been cleaned up, and though the window hadn’t been replaced yet, it had been neatly covered over with a white tarp for the time being, so it was clear that something was being done about it.
It didn’t look like a dragon had burst through it just a few days before. Anything could have
happened to it. Someone could have thrown a rock through it. Looking at it as it was by then, no one would ever be the wiser, and for just a moment, Clarissa was convinced that she had to be dreaming.
“How did it go?” Abel asked, wrenching her out of her thoughts. “Did you get everything you needed to? You didn’t call, so I’m assuming everything went more or less according to plan.” He sounded eager for an answer, true enough, but also slightly concerned. And Clarissa couldn’t help but be touched, admittedly in a rather strange way, at the idea that he was concerned about her. Even knowing her task probably wouldn’t be particularly dangerous.
Regardless, it was rather apparent that she hadn’t gotten hurt and nothing had gone wildly off the rails.
Rather than answering, Clarissa simply pulled her recorder out of her purse and handed it over to him, and she made herself comfortable on the couch as Abel and Marjorie listened to the recording.
Even then, Clarissa still couldn’t quite get over the way Mr. Bergeron had sounded scared of Corvin. True, Corvin was a dragon, but so was Abel, and Clarissa wasn’t frightened of him. And she wasn’t even a hippogriff; she was just a human, plain and average in almost every way when compared to Abel and Marjorie and even Mr. Bergeron.
Granted, considering everything Abel had said about him, Clarissa couldn’t really be surprised. It sounded like Corvin wasn’t a particularly good person, even to the people who were
ostensibly on his side. Either way, she couldn’t help but feel bad. A leader was supposed to be fair to his subordinates, not lead them by the nose using fear as a leash. That was no way to lead.
She was drawn out of her musings when Abel and Marjorie finished the recording, and Abel announced, “Sounds like we were on the right track, then.” He got to his feet to hand the recorder back to Clarissa. “Now, that just means I need to handle the problem.”
Clarissa sort of wanted to ask him what handling the problem would entail, but she couldn’t get the words to come out before Abel announced, “It shouldn’t take too long. You two just sit tight here, and I’ll be back before it gets too late.”
Abel kissed the top of Clarissa’s head and left without another word, heading out the door. Clarissa waited until it closed with a click before she looked furtively at Marjorie and wondered cautiously, “Is he going to kill anyone?”
She didn’t know what she would do if the answer was yes. She didn’t want to be anyone’s
accomplice to murder, but from what she had heard, if one side didn’t give in, then there would just be more death later on, and it would likely involve people far less involved and thus far less able to defend themselves.
But even so, murder was murder. She worked for a high-class gossip magazine; it wasn’t exactly the sort of talk that she often encountered.
Marjorie’s answer wasn’t particularly helpful. Not at first, at any rate. She simply rolled one shoulder in a loose and languid shrug before she stated frankly, “I’m not sure.” She leaned back on the table, palms pressing flat to the top of the wood and her weight sagging backwards.
It got a little more complicated when she continued to speak. “I’m not going to say it’s a definitive no, but I know he doesn’t want to. He’ll talk to them at first, and if he can reason with them, then he’ll get them to cooperate.”
“And if he can’t?” Clarissa asked quietly, though she suspected she already knew the answer.
“Then he’ll get rid of them,” Marjorie answered carefully. Clarissa wasn’t sure why she was
trying to dress it up.
They lapsed into silence after that, as Clarissa turned that detail over in her mind. Abel didn’t want to kill. He wanted to acquire allies—or at the very least, he wanted less opposition. And if he could do that peacefully, then he would.
And if he couldn’t…well, it was for the greater good, right? Losing a few people who knew what they were signing up for early on was better than losing more people who had nothing to do with anything later on.
Right?
That sort of made sense, at any rate, and it was at least some amount of comfort. Either way, she was satisfied that Abel wasn’t a mindless sociopath just looking for the next big opportunity to kill, and for the moment, she told herself that was all she needed.
When she next spoke, it was to wonder curiously, “What about you, then? How do you fit into all of this?”
Marjorie tipped her head to one side, a few curls of hair falling across her face as she regarded Clarissa thoughtfully. After a few seconds, she answered, “I owe Abel a lot. If I can repay him by helping him find the people
who will make his city unsafe, then I’ll do that.” She smiled slightly, and her tone turned slightly wry as she added, “The fact that I like his company a fair amount is more just an added perk than anything.”
*
The hippogriff’s house was easy to find. Abel had known where it was from the very beginning. He had only needed proof that he wasn’t going after someone who wasn’t even involved; he had only needed proof that Bergeron was in Corvin’s pocket.
When Abel landed in Bergeron’s backyard, it took only a moment for the man to open his
window, leaning out warily. They eyed each other in cautious silence at first, until at last
Bergeron sighed and asked, “What do you want?”
Abel supposed he wasn’t surprised. Considering the vast difference in size and power between a hippogriff and a dragon, he wouldn’t have expected Bergeron to attempt to fight.
Abel tipped his head to one side and breathed out a slow, smoky sigh through his nose. “I’ve come to change your mind.”
His voice didn’t come from his mouth in his dragon form, and in fact his mouth didn’t even move. But rather, it seemed to come from every direction around him, radiating outward from where he stood, as if his voice was coming from the air itself. It even vibrated the air slightly, like a speaker playing music with a heavy bass.
Bergeron didn’t seem convinced, but he also wasn’t going to try to attack a dragon. It would have been suicide, and he knew it. Instead, he simply curled his hands over the edge of the window and leaned out, his weight settling comfortably as he said, “You’re going to need to be a
little more persuasive than that.”
And so, Abel explained to him, in all of the gory details, what letting Corvin drag them into
unnecessary war would mean. How many people would die, including those who had never even known that anything was going on. And what it would mean for magical creatures if they became common knowledge once again, as they had been so long ago before they began hiding amongst the world’s human population.
Bergeron’s anxiety became clearer and clearer the longer he listened to Abel speak, until at last Abel finished up with a somber, “We hide from the world for a reason, Bergeron. They did not take kindly to us in the past, and it didn’t go well for us then, when they lived in a world of
trebuchets and falchions. How do you think it would go for us now, in a world of guns and
explosives?”
*
“But are you friends?” Clarissa asked, head cocked to one side. “Or is this just you repaying a favor?”
“We weren’t friends at first,” Marjorie admitted, “but he’s grown on me. Can’t wait until all of this is settled and I have more time to spend with my boyfriend, though.” She sighed, her head falling back as she said it. “But it’s for a good cause, so I suppose I can’t complain too much about being busy.”
Clarissa held back the urge to ask if the idea of people needing to die for the greater good
bothered her. It sort of felt like a moot point, after all. It was going to happen regardless of the way the tide went. And if she played her part and helped out as best she could, she could at least
minimize some of the loss.
“What’s it like to be his friend?” she asked, instead of addressing any of the morbid concerns whirling around in her head, like a pack of dogs each chasing the tail of the dog in front of it.
Marjorie snorted and offered a toothy grin. “Stick around long enough, and I’m pretty sure you’ll figure that out without much of a hassle.” At the slightly unimpressed look Clarissa offered her at the blatant non-answer, Marjorie barked out a laugh and flapped a hand at her. “He’s very low-key as a friend, unless he’s trying to impress you,” she offered. “I mean, he offers to pay for everything and anything because he figures that seems fair, but he’s easily pleased by simple things, and I’m not even sure he’s capable of making someone feel bad about not being as wealthy as he is.” She was smiling fondly by the time she finished speaking, and her gaze had gone slightly soft at the edges.
“How long have you known him?” Clarissa asked, her curiosity compelled by Marjorie’s sudden softness.
Marjorie stuck the tip of her tongue out briefly, and the only answer she offered was, “Long enough.”
It seemed pretty clear that it was the only answer Clarissa was going to get on that front, so she let the topic drop, and they moved on to other things instead.
*
There was no way for Bergeron to argue with anything Abel was saying, and so he didn’t even try. He sagged against the window, leaning down on his elbows as he dragged his hands over his hair.
“I can’t just bow out,” he pointed out eventually, still leaning on the window, so it seemed more like he was speaking to the ground below. “Corvin’s not just going to let someone back out,
especially people who know anything about what he wants and what he’s planning.”
“Didn’t you know?” Abel wondered, his tone turning slightly cheeky. “You’re going to get called away on a business trip any day now.” Bergeron’s eyebrows drew together in quiet confusion, but Abel carried on without a care. “It could last for weeks; it’s very important. It certainly won’t leave you any time to act as Corvin’s messenger pigeon.”
As the implications of what Abel was saying caught up to him, Bergeron couldn’t quite help but grin a little nervously. “I suppose you’re right. I better make sure I’m packed for my trip, then. Who knows how long I’ll be gone?”
Abel nodded once and offered a wry, “I’ll leave you to that, then. You can expect a call in the next two days at the latest.”
*
When the door opened slowly, Clarissa and Marjorie looked towards it nearly as one, their
expressions open and expectant as Abel stepped inside. He looked calm, there was no sign of blood anywhere, and his clothing was still in perfect order, but Clarissa had no idea how transformation magic worked or what its limits were, so she wasn’t quite willing to assume that meant anything one way or the other.
It was Marjorie who broke the silence, wondering amiably, “So, did it work out?”
Abel nodded loosely, and he sounded satisfied as he said, “I’ll need to manufacture a reason to get Bergeron out of the city before Corvin figures out that he’s not on board anymore, but that should be simple enough.”
Of course, Abel could just pull information and excuses like that out of the air. Clarissa didn’t even have it in her to be surprised. More than anything, she was just pleased that no one had died. In a fight between a fire-breathing lizard that probably weighed several tons and a glorified, feathery horse, she was pretty sure she knew exactly how that fight would have ended, and it would have involved flame-broiled drumsticks.
“I’m glad it went the way you wanted it to,” Clarissa offered after a moment, before she asked, “How many other people am I going to have to spy on to make sure it keeps doing that?”
To their credit, Abel and Marjorie did at least manage to look a little guilty once she asked the question.
With a slow, world-weary sigh, Marjorie answered, “We’ll…get back to you on that.”
Well, at least it was an honest answer. Clarissa supposed she couldn’t hope for much more than that.
CHAPTER FIVE
The next time Abel called Clarissa over, it was not to talk about another lead as she had expected, but rather to talk about…dinner. More specifically, to ask her out to dinner. She couldn’t quite pinpoint the reasoning why, but she had sort of assumed that his interest in her would wane once the secret about him being a dragon was blown open. She was just a regular human, with nothing particularly special about her, after all.
She didn’t imagine she would have much to offer to a dragon. Then again, he had been a dragon even before Clarissa was aware of it, and he had been interested then. Maybe the wants of a dragon weren’t all that much more complex than the wants of a human. It was a st
rangely comforting thought, though Clarissa kept it to herself. She didn’t need to make herself sound
pitiful, after all.
Regardless of her confusion on the matter, she agreed to go out on a date that evening. And just like last time, the food was incredible. It wasn’t until afterwards, though, that the evening truly got interesting.
They had walked to the restaurant from the hotel, and Clarissa simply assumed they would walk back the same way they came from. Instead, with something like muted excitement, Abel urged her, “follow me,” and ducked down an alley between two buildings. It was dark and narrow, but it looked like it opened onto some sort of courtyard that hadn’t been used in years. Clarissa followed him after only a moment of hesitation. He was a dragon, after all. She had a hard time believing a mugger would get very far.
Once they were standing in the courtyard, Abel looked around carefully, peering into every darkened window and every nook and cranny, just to make sure that there was no one around. And finally, standing well away from the alley they had walked down, he transformed. He gave himself a shake afterwards and stretched his wings out as much as he could allow himself to without them being visible above the rooftops surrounding them.