Amal sighed. “Bog folk aren’t very friendly.”
“I doubt you would’ve seen him anyway. Name’s Tony Dyer. Five six height, about a hundred and thirty pounds. According to Lucan he had a broken arm and a black eye. Lives above a tea parlor.”
The description sounded familiar, and she cycled back through her memories.
The boy in the coffee shop.
He’d matched the description. She remembered his sunglasses and his sad, troubled air.
Amal swerved to the side of the road, and her tires chirped as she came to a stop.
“Babe, you all right?” Demetrius asked.
“Describe him for me again,” she said.
XIV
Miri took in the grandiose lobby of the Hall of Governance as she entered. She had her notebook tucked under her arm, a pencil lodged behind her ear, and she was trying to focus on the investigation and not what Dark had told her.
She had been to the Hall of Governance many times as a protester. The severe gray building imposed itself on her darkest dreams. It looked like it had been carved from a nightmare.
Once, a Governance representative invited her in to talk about magicological conservation. As a young woman she thought it would be the highlight of her career. But as they sat in his office and he leaned over his mahogany desk, listening intently, she began to tell him her point of view...and quickly realized that he wasn’t actually listening to anything she was saying. The next week he campaigned at a town hall, bringing up her name and that they’d had an ‘earnest conversation.’
‘Earnest’ her ass. She had never been so mad in her life as journalists photo-flashed her outside her apartment probing for details.
The Hall had played her, and so she learned to be careful with politicians. They weren’t all bad, but you still had to have a bullshit detector.
That memory just reinforced how much she didn’t want to be here in this air-conditioned hell that posed as the center of democracy.
The elaborate fresco painted on the ceiling seemed to mock her as she passed under it, as if the Crafter dragons hiding in the clouds of a glorious sunset were ready to breath fire on her.
No, she didn’t want to be here. No sane citizen of Magic Hope City who cared one bit about the aquifer did. She wanted to spend the entire night curled up in the bay window of her apartment, with her cat under her feet and a flute of champagne in her hand, pouring over every book she had ever read about Dark’s reign again. She had a cache of secrets now, and she’d be able to run her finger down each page and spot the misinformation.
She longed for the dry taste of champagne, the comfort of her apartment and the lack of urgency. Her body ached, she smelled horrible, her skin was breaking out into strange acne, and she envied Dark’s ability to get uninterrupted sleep. Her body was giving her signs to slow down, but she wasn’t listening to it. Who knew how much longer she could keep going.
But she had to keep going. Everything depended on it.
She took the elevator to the fifth floor and stepped into a hallway with brocaded wallpaper and pictures on the walls at irregular, uneven angles.
All of them were of Ennius Grimoire. She couldn’t look at them without being sick so she kept her gaze ahead and hurried through the hall.
Fear hit her halfway down the hall. She was deep in the throes of her enemy’s lair. A man who hated her not for her personality, but for everything she had ever taken a stance for in her life.
She hated him almost as much, but she kept trying to tell herself that she had to have compassion, that you couldn’t meet hate with hate. But every time she met the governor she found it harder and harder to listen to the little voice in her head.
Miri’s phone rang.
It was Jasmine.
“Jasmine, I’m a little busy right now.”
“Professor Charmwell, you aren’t going to believe this, but we found some treasure chests at the bottom of the pond.”
Miri tried not to let her excitement show through the phone.
Dark had been right.
He hadn’t lied to her.
“Oh?” she asked.
“Do you want us to open them or do you want us to wait for you?”
Her phone buzzed again. She saw several photo messages arrive on her screen. The photos showed algae-covered steel chests that had golden stripes across the top that seemed to glow in the dusky twilight of the bog. A leg stood next to them and she guessed by its swirling tattoos that it was Jasmine’s.
“What do you think is inside?” Jasmine asked.
“I don’t know,” Miri said. “But go ahead and open them.”
“You sure?”
“Of course.”
“Be sure to tell the governor,” Jasmine said.
“Some things are better left unsaid until we know more,” Miri said.
“Yeah, you’re right.”
“This is exciting news, Jasmine. Keep me updated and I’ll see you in the morning.”
She hung up.
A secretary waited for her outside the silver door leading to the governor’s office.
The door opened and Ennius Grimoire stood inside the doorway with his arms folded.
“You’re late,” he said, turning and walking into his office.
Miri followed him inside. He ordered her to sit down and sat on the corner of his desk with his fingers interlaced. Through a tall window behind the desk, the stars were blinking into the sky, and the starlight cast a shadow on one half of his face, and a desk lamp shaped like a dragon threw warm yellow light on the other half of his face like pale fire.
“How was your first day?” Ennius asked.
Miri slid into her chair. Opening her notebook, she handed him a folder with photos of the job site: piles of felled birches, soil samples, the surrounding brush.
The governor leafed through the photos without emotion. Then he stopped on one of a decomposing Magic Eater. “What do these photos show me exactly?”
“Progress,” Miri said. “Everything you see is definitely manmade. We discovered a pond in the middle of the site and the crew is dragging it right now. We should have results in the morning.”
Ennius shook his head. “Your deadline looms closer, Miss Charmwell.” He threw himself off the desk with an agility that surprised her. “It would be a terrible, terrible shame if you didn’t meet your deadline.”
“I won’t.”
“That is all. Leave your report on the desk and get out.”
“But don’t you want to—”
“No.”
Ennius flashed her an icy glare. “Let’s not pretend we like each other. If I didn’t owe Dean Rosehill a few favors, you wouldn’t be here.”
Asshole, Miri thought. So this is how it’s going to be. Why am I even surprised?
She set her neatly-stapled report on his desk, closed her notebook and started for the door.
Her hand was on the doorknob when the governor clucked his tongue.
But she slammed the door behind her before he could reply.
“Fucking asshole,” she said.
Her phone rang again as she entered the elevator.
It was Jasmine.
“Is something wrong?” she asked. Her voice came out angry, agitated. She felt bad about lashing out and tried to soften her tone. “Jasmine?”
Jasmine’s distorted voice sounded like static on the other end. “Pro … sor Charmwell. You won’t—”
“I can’t hear you.”
Miri plugged one ear with her finger and moved into the corner of the elevator to get a signal. The car barreled downward and it felt like forever before the doors opened into the lobby.
The signal improved when she stepped out.
“Jasmine, sorry. What happened?”
“Miri, you won’t—it’s … my.…”
“What’s wrong?”
“The chests. The chests!”
Jasmine’s voice was pained, frantic.
Miri heard screams, cra
cking glass and huge booms. It sounded like the equipment was being toppled over. “Jasmine, calm down. What’s happening?”
“No, Laner, don’t touch it. Stop—oh my God. Call the police!”
She screamed.
“Police?” Miri asked. “You have to tell me what’s going on!”
There was a huge WHUMPF sound and the line went dead.
Miri didn’t expect it and she stood in the hallway for a few seconds trying to figure out what had just happened.
She tried to dial Jasmine again, but the call went to voicemail.
HI! THIS IS JASMINE. DON’T LEAVE A MESSAGE. LEAVE ME A LOVE LETTER.
Miri stood in the shadows of the lobby. Her hands trembled around the phone. Jasmine’s voice wasn’t normal—she was a headstrong woman who reminded Miri of her younger self, and the frightened timber in her voice scared her.
Had it been because Jasmine opened the chest?
Miri told her to. What had she done?
She dashed through the lobby and burst into the humid night air, screaming for Earl.
***
Ennius Grimoire thumbed through the report. It was neatly written and smelled of fresh printer ink.
We have ruled out natural coincidences. We believe that the Magic Eaters had something to do with the entire incident, but we are still trying to track the magical source that caused it all.
He grunted and shoved the papers aside.
A wall housing a built-in bookcase slid open and Norwyn stepped out. The white dragon had decided to visit in person this time, and his scales were so white they lit up the dark office. The dragon had a hump and walked slowly.
Norwyn sniffed, wrinkling his scales.
“It’s rare to see your physical body these days,” Ennius said.
“I had to see this for myself.”
“What?”
Norwyn tracked around the room, smelling it. Then he stopped and turned to Ennius with an empty glance.
“You didn’t ask me for my opinion this time,” Norwyn said.
“You weren’t helpful last time.”
“Who was the woman?”
“She’s investigating the bog.”
“She didn’t smell like the bog.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Of course you don’t.”
“You’re saying something’s strange with her?”
Norwyn was silent.
Ennius pounded the desk. “When will you just come out and tell me what the goddamned hell you’re thinking?”
“You don’t control me.”
Ennius growled. “So what are you proposing?”
“I’ll be back in a little while.”
Ennius reclined in his chair. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Norwyn flashed in a sparkle of light, and in an instant, the white dragon was a blue and white orb hovering in the air.
Ennius opened the window and Norwyn flew out, into traffic, following Earl’s sedan as it sped down the street.
XV
Jasmine crawled across the ground, struggling to see clearly as shimmering light engulfed the bog.
She was out of breath.
Something had struck her in the chest. Hard.
Her sternum throbbed, and all she remembered was that she opened one of the steel chests and the area filled with light. Her crew had started yelling and her heart had started racing and the only thing she could think to do was call Miri.
One moment she had been talking to Miri and the next—she was on her back, gasping.
She hadn’t even seen what hit her.
All around, screams, groaning, and coughing. She tasted bitter earth and dead weeds, and spit a clod out of her mouth, gagging. A smell that reminded her of stale smoke, misty river water and clove overwhelmed her.
She couldn’t see anything. God, it was so bright!
She put her hand to her face. She was covered in mud, but not bleeding.
Nothing broken, even though her chest felt like it had been smashed.
Good.
She crawled backward. Maybe if she could get away from the light she could find her bearing.
She turned around and crawled as fast as she could, knee-deep in the warm mud.
She stumbled and landed face-first.
The air sweltered above her, making her ears ring.
The hairs on the back of her neck stood up.
She began to sweat and her stomach knotted when a loud shrieking ripped through the air.
It was coming back for her.
“Oh, God,” she cried, crawling faster. She pulled herself into a run and even though her lungs were on fire, she ran as fast as she could.
She was getting away. She didn’t know what the hell this was, but she was too young to die. She had too many more things to discover. She still hadn’t been married yet. She hadn’t traveled to all four continents—she hadn’t advanced far enough in her career. She was nobody and nobody wasn’t enough when you wanted fame and fortune and respect in your field. It wasn’t time!
The tree line was a few yards ahead. She could make out the slanted birches and their dark foliage. She steered toward them with every inch of her body, pushing so fast both her legs were in the air at the same time as she bounced through the mud.
A little further, and she could hide in the brush.
A little further and she’d be able to catch her breath.
Her foot caught something and pain exploded in her toes as she fell forward.
It was a log.
She screamed, grabbing her foot. It had to have been broken. She tried to stand, but she stumbled on something else.
Not a log. Not mud.
A person.
Laner.
The mousy college professor lay on the ground shielding his face. Strangely, the pose is exactly what she had expected he’d do; he talked a big game, but he wasn’t suited for the great outdoors. He wasn’t suited for anything other than an air-conditioned lecture hall, she thought.
“You okay?” Jasmine asked, reaching down.
He nodded. He didn’t look hurt.
“Come on,” she said, pulling him. She limped, and her toes tingled until she could no longer feel them.
Laner saw her limping and put his arm over hers. He pulled her toward the trees as the shrieking grew louder.
Whatever it was, it was close and it was almost to them.
The shrieking grew louder like a whistling bomb falling toward them.
The area around them grew brighter.
Doom and fear overcame her and she cried out, but her voice caught in her throat.
They weren’t going to make it.
Jasmine closed her eyes and tears flowed out.
This wasn’t how she wanted it to end.
She hated the tears, hated her broken foot, hated the fact that she was going to die with no dignity.
An incredible wind blew through her, and she felt like she was in a wind tunnel.
Then it was gone.
The light dissipated, and as the bog came back into view and silence set in, Jasmine realized how loud it had been, like a runaway train on rickety tracks. But the whistling diminished, the shrieking evaporated into the night air, and the bright light slowly became a fading gradient that gave way to the night, motes of it dancing down and dying as it hit the mud. Whatever had chased her was gone—and she hoped to God it wouldn’t come back.
“What was that?” Jasmine asked, massaging her foot.
But Laner’s jaws were dropped and he was pointing to the sky.
Jasmine slowly raised her head up and saw several large wisps dancing in the air. They were pink, sparkling, and looked like ghosts.
They roared as they swirled around the campsite. They followed an elliptical pattern. Specks of magic dropped in jagged, sparkling whispers that reminded her of snow, of farm planes spilling pesticides over a field in spring, of magical mystery that had first gripped her as a child and made her want to be a magical researcher.<
br />
“Are they alive?” Laner asked.
“No,” Jasmine said. She reached for her phone, but it wasn’t in her pocket.
It had been knocked out of her hand.
She saw it, a black square covered in mud a yard away.
Hopping on one foot, she inched toward the phone.
One of the wisps swung in low and she ducked. It barely missed her before whirling back over the trees.
She hopped faster.
She jumped harder.
A constellation of pain burst through her leg, but she dove, landed on the ground and grabbed the phone with one hand. With her shirt she wiped away the mud from the screen.
She turned on her camera.
Laner ran to her side. “Stay off that foot,” he said.
“It’s not alive,” she said.
“It’s not?” A look of bewilderment crept across Laner’s face and he shook his head. “I guess … I don’t understand.”
Of course he didn’t. Though it was strange for a professor of Magical Sciences not to know his history.
“When magic is stored for a long time, it becomes more potent. When you release it—”
“Wait, so you’re telling me this is magic?” Laner asked, incredulous. He ran his hands through his hair and let out a stressful sigh.
“It’s magic.”
The wisps circled over the camp site one last time, then hovered in place, shaking and shrieking. Then, like rockets, they exploded, taking off into the starry sky, disappearing over the trees.
“And now it’s gone,” Jasmine said, frowning.
But she glanced at her phone screen.
She had recorded it.
Fifteen seconds of magical wonder.
As the dark night returned, the cicadas sang again, and Jasmine fell back onto the ground and lay spread-eagled in the mud, smiling.
“My God!” Laner said. “We’ve got to get you medical attention.”
“My foot is fine,” Jasmine said.
But Laner wouldn’t take no for an answer and he carried her over to a nearby bench.
“Where do you think the magic went?” Laner asked, setting her down gently.
Old Evil (The Last Dragon Lord Book 2) Page 9