Ruby Callaway: The Complete Collection

by D. N. Erikson

  To find out anything of utility regarding the Cathedral of St. Peter—and how it related back to the Crusaders of Paradisum. And MagiTekk. Any information about what it was hiding would be good.

  The first step was getting a current employee to open up.

  “It can wait,” he said, voice hopeful.

  “I don’t want you waking up and bitching at me.”

  “I would never do that.”

  “I’ve met enough men in my life to know that’s a lie.” I pointed toward the kitchen, and Declan dutifully grabbed a roll of paper towels. When he returned, he hiked up his pants, ready to get down on his knees. “No, I’ll clean it.”

  “But you’re a guest.”

  “Make a drink,” I said. “It won’t be long.” I tore off a handful of paper and rubbed it through the whiskey extra slow. I raised my eyebrow, like I was playing sexy maid or some nonsense, but really I was stalling.

  “Vodka?”

  “You remembered,” I said a half-octave higher than usual.

  Declan puffed his chest out, like he was some sort of big player.

  Keep stoking that fire, Ruby. You got this.

  “I always wanted to learn about archeology.”

  “We can travel the world together. The pyramids.” I heard the carafe clink against the edge of the glass as Declan squinted his way through the pour. “My goodness, the Great Wall.”

  “You’ve been?”

  “I have.” He lowered the vodka to my level, and I gave him a thankful wink. His head almost exploded at the possibilities. Here Declan had been tucking in for a night of boring study, and instead he’d met me via a dating app.

  Unfortunately for him.

  “I never had the money,” I said. “Maybe one day, but…” I stopped pushing the towels along the floor, acting like I’d remembered something terrible.

  “What is it?” Declan took a big swig for courage and placed a hand on my back. “You can tell me. Anything.”

  “It’s so embarrassing.”

  “You can trust me.”

  “That’s what the last one said.”

  I felt his hand tense a little. Oh yeah—any more of these sweet nothings and he’d be proposing marriage.

  Or I was overconfident. That was always a possibility.

  “I’m not like the others,” Declan said.

  I had to stifle a giggle. Not that men were so predictable—that bullshit, faux-feminist, all dudes are evil sacks of shit mantra wasn’t my bag. More that people were all like little machines. Infinitely complex, but each possessing the same set of buttons.

  Everyone wanted love.

  Everyone wanted to feel special.

  No one wanted to be alone.

  Man, woman, vampire, it didn’t matter all that much: if some semblance of humanity coursed through those veins, it was only a matter of pushing hard enough. It felt a little unsporting, but I deserved an easy win given how the day had gone.

  “Of course you’re not like the others,” I said, with what was my best pained smile. “I—well, I don’t make much because…because I work in Old Phoenix.”

  There was a slight pause as Declan processed this fact. In the old world, I might as well have admitted to being a panhandler. But nothing could stop Declan’s thrumming heart now, as he’d already committed to being my shining knight.

  “Where?”

  I racked my brain for a second, almost cutting my hand on a piece of glass. Then it came to me. “Serenity Cole’s clinic.”

  “A Good Samaritan.” The heavy, awkward petting resumed. “I should’ve guessed.”

  “There’s a few of us around,” I said. “Like at the cathedral.”

  Declan snorted. “The Cathedral of St. Peter?”

  “I don’t really know what it’s called.” I ducked my head away shyly. “I’m lapsed.”

  “Everyone lapsed a long time ago. Supernatural critters made sure of that.” At least he didn’t call them freaks, like most mortals. MagiTekk had done a damn good job of making everyone fear the supernatural. Far beyond Propaganda 101.

  “I thought the—the Cathedral of St. Peter was a sanctuary.” It took all my effort and buzzed concentration to make the words sound naïve and doe-eyed. I heard Declan top off his glass.

  “Want to know a secret?” Declan bent over and whispered in my ear.

  “I’d love to.”

  “I work there.” He backed up slightly and gave me a confident nod. “And let me tell you, girl, there aren’t any nuns saving the day.”

  “Then what happens there?”

  “Research.” He grinned wide, drunk. “The kind the government don’t want you to know about.”

  “It sounds exciting.”

  “Playing both sides…MagiTekk are some real bastards.”

  Just like Roark had told me that morning: You need two sides for a war.

  Declan swayed slightly, laughing at his own bravado. The whiskey was taking its cumulative toll. Another glass, and it’d be night-night. That would save me an unfortunate roll in the hay. Not that it was likely to be the worst one ever, or even hit the top 5.

  You live this long, you come across some real losers.

  I gathered the final pieces of the whiskey glass, running my hand along the fine wood. I’d stretched this little mishap to its absolute breaking point. With a dainty push, I got to my feet.

  “Have a wastebasket?”

  “Forget that.”

  “Wouldn’t want anyone to cut themselves,” I said with a sultry wink. “Things could get exciting.”

  This was enough for Declan to let me get into the kitchen. It was too bad I didn’t have the total amoral fiber to spike his drink with bleach and watch the inevitable consequences play out. Declan seemed like an overpaid academic who had bumbled his way into a lucrative gig. But he didn’t understand the forces he was playing with.

  I dumped the contents in the trash and called back, “Stop staring at my ass.”

  There was a sputtering cough. “I—I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  Turning around slowly, hips gyrating just a tad, I gave him a stern look. “You’re a bad liar.”

  Declan downed the rest of his drink and stared at me through the counter cut-out, torn between his usual meek personality and whatever hold the whiskey had on his mind. Finally, he decided on grabbing another drink.

  As I walked back toward the living room, I heard an angry squeak.

  “What the fuck was that?” I wasn’t acting. Handling the archaeologist was one thing, but company was another matter.

  “Oh, don’t mind that.” Declan’s confidence abandoned him, nerves returning in force.

  “You have a dog?”

  “Um, no.” Declan stretched his arms, whiskey sloshing onto the floor. He didn’t notice. “I think this might’ve been a mistake.”

  Fuck. I’d been so busy patting myself on the back about being a master seductress that I hadn’t actually made sure everything was running smoothly. In bailout mode, I put my hands on his shoulders and kneaded.

  “Don’t say that, Deck.”

  Declan shrugged me off as another squeak came from the second bedroom. “You really have to go.”

  His face was ash white. Impressive, given how much whiskey he’d slugged down.

  “Just have another drink.”

  He did, but it didn’t calm his objections. “I have to wake up early.”

  “What’d I do?” This time, the squeak turned into what was unmistakably a clipped roar. The wisps, dulled by the night of drinking, drunkenly swirled toward the spare bedroom. But I didn’t need their help to recognize that Declan had something far more dangerous than me up in his expensive apartment.

  A certain archaeologist was smuggling supernatural creatures. Perhaps abusing certain clearances afforded to him by MagiTekk.

  “Nothing. You’re great,” Declan said. “Just, uh, too much work. I’m an important man, you know.”

  I grabbed his hand and tried to lead him toward the
master bedroom. He dug into the floor like a dog going to the vet, despite my feverish tugging.

  Finally, out of exasperation, I said, “I don’t even make this much effort for guys I want to fuck.”

  Now it was Declan’s turn to drop the glass. His eyes were wide, rough face contorted in an expression of confused hurt.

  “Oh my god. This is a sting, right? You work for MagiTekk.” The words were slurred, the thoughts messy.

  I could’ve gone on and on about how I swear I didn’t mean it. But this con was already blown.

  So I did the only thing I could.

  I punched Declan Burrows right in his plastic chin, sending him through the antique Victorian coffee table. The wood splintered with a sizable crack, and whatever creature was hanging out in the other room let out a muted roar in response.

  The light in Declan’s eyes went out, a bruise forming across his jaw.

  “Could’ve gotten laid, buddy.” I stepped over him, thankful he’d taken this road instead, and began my investigation of the apartment. Declan might not have told me much, but he had confirmed that Hiro wasn’t giving me shitty information.

  Something big was going on at the Cathedral of St. Peter.

  And both MagiTekk and the FBI were in on it.

  The main question was how the Crusaders of Paradisum were connected.

  I headed over to the computer in the corner of the study and touched the screen. The surface rippled with a tactile response, bringing up a login screen requiring a biometric voiceprint to access.

  That was out of the question, since Declan wouldn’t be awake for a few hours.

  I ransacked the desk, finding nothing but old letters from the 19th century and some trinkets from his travels. He hadn’t been feeding me a line about the Great Wall: there were a couple faded photographs featuring him and his colleagues.

  I was about to put them back when I noticed a familiar face.

  Her hair was brown, but the jet black eyes remained the same. There was one difference, though: Emma Janssen was smiling in the corner of the frame, accompanied by a half dozen other archaeologists.

  “Well isn’t that interesting.” I folded the picture and slid it inside my pocket.

  There was a roar in the other room that made all the others sound like coughs. Afraid of being caught, I decided to finally check on the commotion. Gripping the hilt of my blade, I headed toward the second bedroom and peeked inside. Declan had blacked out the windows with tape, making it eerily dark.

  “Hello?”

  A heavy breathing answered—that of a cornered, caged animal.

  Satisfied that no monsters were loose, I stared into the abyss. As my vision adjusted, I saw two slitted amber eyes glowing in the darkness back at me. A low, feral rumbling growl came from the room.

  “You don’t scare me.” I flicked on the blade’s electricity for light. But I almost dropped it when I saw the creature staring back.

  An elf dragon.

  16

  The elf dragon’s snout was clamped shut, probably to prevent it from burning the entire place down. It’d been decades since I’d seen one—since the last time I’d been to the Elven Cliffs. Hell, I figured they were probably extinct. Its pointy ears twitched back and forth like a dog’s as its eyes angrily surveyed me.

  The cage itself was spacious enough to house a large Great Dane.

  That made for tight quarters.

  “I’m not animal control,” I said, looking into the elf dragon’s eyes. “I don’t know what you want.”

  It snorted as best it could, a faint trail of smoke pouring from its nostrils. The cage had a large biometric padlock—but this one was activated by a finger.

  I stared at the beast for a moment.

  Maybe Declan was right.

  Maybe I was a Good Samaritan.

  Contemplating the strangeness of finding such a creature here of all places, I headed back into the living room. Declan was still out cold.

  That worked for me.

  I switched the electricity off the blade and then relieved him of his thumb. Declan awoke with a massive shriek, loud enough to wake the entire mile-high building. I pressed my hand over his mouth as I finished, and he soon passed out from the whiskey and pain.

  Toting the bloody, dripping thumb across the apartment, I reentered the room, staring at the elf dragon. Its wings flapped against the sides of the cage in nervous anticipation.

  “Here’s the deal,” I said, holding up the thumb. “I let you go, you don’t cook me.”

  It growled. I squinted to read the wisps. They indicated that the elf dragon understood.

  The dismembered thumb worked better than I expected. The lock disengaged instantly. I took a step back, waiting for the dragon to charge out.

  Instead, it walked out meekly, looking at me funny. Its amber eyes were filled with suspicion and curiosity. Maybe a little thanks, too.

  It shook its head, futilely trying to get the clamp off.

  “Damn, you’re needy.” I reached for its neck and it backed away, snorting. Smoke covered my ankle boots. “Well, fine, do it yourself.”

  After a few minutes of wasted effort, it let out a whine and, ears low, shuffled over. It jerked slightly when I grabbed its muzzle, but it didn’t light me on fire, so I considered that a win for us both.

  Up close, from the markings and build, I could tell the beast was male.

  A little wiggling and prying from the blade—which freaked him out at first—and the elf dragon was free. I knew because a stream of blue-orange flame shot past my shoulder, almost lighting my hair ablaze.

  I put my hands on my hips and said, “That’s not a thank you.”

  The elf dragon raised his eyebrow—or where an eyebrow would be—and then charged through the window, shattering the glass. Up this high, the wind whistled loudly. Light streamed in from the neon advertisements below as he vanished into the night.

  Happy to have completed my good deed for the day, I slid the knife back into its scabbard and headed into the living room. I stopped and scratched my head.

  Declan was gone, a thin trail of blood marking his escape.

  “Ruby.” A bald man clad in simple robes stood at the apartment’s entrance. “It has been too long, has it not?”

  Lacking a snappy response, I just glared at him. My con had worked better than I’d thought.

  Because Declan had led me right to the head of the snake. The Crusading Prophet himself.

  Donovan Martin.

  17

  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 one of our most useful assets,” Donovan said. “Unfortunately, you ruined that.”

  “Glad I could be of service.” I spat blood on the ground and grinned back. “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 rob
es 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 asked, 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.

  “Are the FBI’s little worker bees buzzing too close to our honey?”

  “No comment.”

  “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 found myself dangling off the skywalk, a mile in the air, nothing separating me from a long and very fatal drop.

  18