by Livia Quinn
Dylan responded with a grunt. “It won’t start, and I need to go with you to Aurora’s. I’ve learned a little something about that guy Flambé you met the other night, something… unforeseen.”
Obviously a teaser, and it worked. Jack hadn’t seen anything surprise the enigmatic Dylan McGuinness since he’d known him, which hadn’t been that long but he felt like he knew him pretty well. “I’ll be there in five.” The phone bleeped, and the call ended as the usually taciturn PI hung up.
Jack ran through the possibilities in his head. Dylan had discovered the warrior was Aretuu, in which case, Jack was in deep shit. Or, maybe Dylan had just seen him shoplifting at the U-pakIt. Deeper still.
He thought about Tempe and how she’d looked when he’d dropped her at Harmony. She’d been pale, her hair, having lost its luster and color, was darkening, and her eyes no longer sparkled. Her words, that ‘he’d get what he wished for… a completely ordinary girlfriend’ caused fear to strike him like a viper. He used his training to push back because he wouldn’t be able to do his job if he gave in to worry. Jack made a silent vow to see her through the next twenty-four hours.
The investigator leaned against the clubhouse, typically casual. He never seemed out of place, Jack thought. Maybe that was part of having to fit in to his surroundings when he was undercover to the point that it was second nature; that and making his eight foot Sasquatch seem invisible. Dylan’s SUV sat nearby, apparently out of commission.
Dylan opened the door and got in. Jack took in Dylan’s appearance, the mud and grass streaks on his standard black jeans and t-shirt. There was duckweed adorning the pockets and grass poking out of the neckline, along with a foul odor wafting across the short distance between them.
“Jeez, what happened to you? You look like you drowned in pond sewage and you smell worse. How about rolling down that window?” Dylan complied. “And forget the seatbelt. Just try not to touch anything.”
“Yes, mother,” Dylan quipped. “You’re not half wrong. I nearly drowned in the swamp. I would have if it hadn’t been for that character with the swords. Tempe said you met him last night at the ball.”
When had Dylan seen Tempe? “Wh—” Don’t ask, Jack.
“Tempe came by Kat’s this morning and I was there. She said your ex showed up and you kicked her out—”
“Like hell!” Jack started, but caught the grin on Dylan’s face. “Look, can we call a truce or something? We have a lot on our plates.”
“Oh, you just think…” Dylan reached for Jack’s bottle of water and asked, “Can I have this?”
“Sure,” Jack said and watched as Dylan poured some of the water on his t-shirt and wiped his eyes with it. Tempe hadn’t mentioned any of this. “So you say this Sept Flambé character saved you? The Dark Knight everyone’s calling him.”
Dylan let out a laugh that sounded a lot like a giggle. Jack had to be imagining it. “He is that. He was on his way to the golf course.”
Jack’s mind tried to create a mental picture of the Dark Knight playing a round of golf, using one of those swords as a club. It failed. “Anyway, when Tempe came to see me this morning, she told me about this Knight fellow turning up at the ball and about your ex arriving, and she was about to tell me more when we heard—I’m not sure what to call it—a shriek or a bellow from the swamp. She rode my bike to Montana’s and I went to investigate. I still had some of my olfactory senses so I went into the swamp and got up close and personal with the swamp thang.” She saw Jack’s raised brow.
“Not my best move. I’d blacked out after it held me down on the bottom, and would have expired if it hadn’t been for the Knight. Conor is his name.”
“Conor. How did he rescue you from this unseen monster in the swamp? How do you know you weren’t having some kind of hallucination?” Jack scoffed.
Dylan clucked his tongue, and got that I can’t wait to tell you this expression on his face, then blurted, “He’s a dragon!”
“A what?”
Dylan grinned, obviously enjoying being the bearer of this news. “And not just any little ol’ dragon… no, we’re talkin’ black, fire-breathing, forty feet tall, teeth like curved swords…” his eyes darted to the side and his eyes narrowed, “…maybe that’s where they go.”
Jack waited while Dylan had this short conversation with himself and then continued, “Fire shot out of his nostrils… I’m not kidding, Jack. Scared the shit outta me, but that was after he’d plunged his snout into the water and bumped aside whatever was holding me on the bottom and plucked me out of there like a damned crane. Then he unceremoniously tossed me on the bank. It was better than being eaten, I suppose.”
Jack contemplated Dylan’s story, and asked, “Do they… eat humans?” Please God, no. That would be more than I could handle. Yes, he was sure of it.
“This one doesn’t apparently,” Dylan sighed and put his head back on the headrest while Jack steered the car out of the parking lot. “Or maybe he wasn’t in the mood for a low-fat, tough chew like me. So where was I?”
“You mean there’s more?” To his own ears, Jack was starting to sound like a tired escapee from a refugee camp.
“He got the news about Lancelot escaping from LSU. Oh, you didn’t know. Don’t ask me, maybe it’s some kind of inner dragon thing like the Pomeroys have, or the dragon social network,” he snickered, and Jack mentally recorded another symptom to his list.
“So, he was headed over…” Dylan’s eyebrows waggled and he flapped his hands to illustrate. Jack rolled his eyes. “…to Enchanted Glen when he spotted my predicament. Afterwards, I drove him to the golf course.”
Dylan’s eyebrows went up at Jack’s expression, “Don’t look at me. It was either that or let him fly there in broad daylight. Anyway, when we got to the golf course, there was this rather large dude in the middle of the fairway, several holes away from the slew. Conor said the man’s name was Garric, we know him as Lancelot.” He waited for Jack’s reaction. “Yep.”
“If I weren’t seeing and smelling you while you tell this story, Dylan, I’d think you were under the influence,” Jack said, while Dylan just grinned like the star of his own comedy show. He’d never seen Dylan smile like that, like this was all some big joke. It confirmed what he’d told Tempe. Dylan’s personality had been affected.
“Wait, Dylan. You said fire-breathing?” Jack thought about the path of fire down the wall at the Bentsons’ home and the scorched remains next to the abused victim. He made himself relax, dropping his shoulders. Just as he’d thought—being the Sheriff of a supernatural community wasn’t all that different from that of a human community. It was still about collecting evidence, sorting clues and bringing down bad guys.
He hoped.
Chapter 15
Aurora Boreal, the vibrant, clear-headed shop owner Jack was used to, had disappeared. Aurora’s hair was almost totally white. To be more accurate, it was a light yellowish gray, which matched her wrinkled skin. As she made her way around the workroom, it was with stiff disjointed movements as if she were in pain.
The change in Aurora’s appearance was more dramatic than the others. At least Dylan and Montana still looked like themselves. Maybe shifters were different. Hell, each one of them appeared to be reacting differently to the power down. He didn’t even know what Aurora was exactly—a seer, sorceress, witch? Wizardress?
Jack looked at his watch. 11:30 a.m.
Dylan said, “In case I didn’t remember to tell you this morning, I didn’t like how things went down today with you and Tempe. Where’s the ex now?”
The guilt Jack felt had him checking his temper. His voice was calm and his gaze on Dylan direct when he said, “I don’t care where she is as long as she stays away from everyone I love.” Let him take that and smoke it.
“My priority at the time was to get to Jordie before G found her. I left the faerie dog on guard duty at the house in case she comes back, so…” he included Aurora… “let’s talk about the Chaos. I know the two
moons are coinciding and one will eclipse the other… but I thought everyone was supposed to get stronger as it approached.”
Aurora said, rather sniffily, “As I said on numerous occasions, Jack. The only thing predictable about the Para-moon, which is synonymous with coincidence, is the fact that it’s imminent.”
Okay… Aurora seemed to have turned into a snobby blue-hair, looking down her nose at him and punctuating the bigger words as if Jack needed extra emphasis to understand.
She continued, “I wasn’t even aware it was going to happen this month until about three weeks ago. As soon as Cache, the larger magical moon, begins to eclipse the lunar moon, meaning one edge crosses the edge of the other, our powers begin to diminish and all other effects begin. We won’t experience the full force of it until it peaks.”
Jack’s brow rose as he took in the totality of Aurora’s condition. How “sick” could she (and Tempe) get?
“Pardon me for stating the obvious, but it seems like you’re powerless now.”
“Go ahead and say it, Jack,” said Aurora. “I look wretchedly old. Thank the gods it lasts only twenty-four hours. We aren’t completely powerless, but by the time Cache eclipses Luna tonight, Paramortals who are bound to the oath by blood will be as close to human as they can be, probably weaker.”
“Would you explain what you mean by the ‘oath’ and ‘bound by blood’?”
She sighed. Again, there was annoyance at having to explain the details to a mere human. Or maybe it was more than that: frustration at having to rely on a human to get them out of this mess, and believing that he couldn’t get it done. We’ll see about that.
“Think of it like this. The oath is the moral component or agreement to stand for the cause, to put one’s life on the line for those who are defenseless. The pact, whether by blood or spell, is the compunction to defend. Those who inherited the bond through blood will lose their power. This would be Tempestaeries, weres, Dinnshenchas, etc.”
“What about vampires? Montana said she’s part vampire,” Jack said.
Dylan said, “Vamps are a different. Paramortals who are part vampire are bound by the Oath of their hereditary nature. Montana’s vamp side will give her strength, but is only bound by her moral obligation to uphold the mission of the Paramortals. Her blood bond will disappear but because the vampire she was bitten by took the Oath as well, you can still count on her. See?”
Aurora said, “By comparison, any Paramortal who was bitten by an enemy vampire will probably lose the ability to process the Oath, once they lose their power. They may follow the enemy’s direction. You see how it works, the strongest nature will win out during Chaos. None of the Fae will be affected.”
Jack nodded, “Okay, I get it. Who else can we count on?”
“Dick Randall,” said Dylan glibly.
“Randall? You’re kidding. What the hell is he?” Jack asked. He was getting a compunction to wipe that stupid grin off Dylan’s face.
“He’s an ogre.”
“That figures. Who else?”
“Marty, the Pomeroys’ Imp. He can shift and who knows what else. Then there’s Bella and Petre…”
Jack breathed out a sigh. Now they were getting somewhere, the queen and prince of the Fae. “What about the purple skinned guy and the frolicking fairies I saw at their Inn?” he joked. He was getting a pretty good idea of his little band of warriors.
“Don’t make fun, Jack. Some of the tiniest Faeries can pack the biggest wallop,” Aurora said.
Jack nodded and asked, “What about 003?”
Dylan stiffened and the goofy smile turned off like a light switch. Aurora’s brows rose, “What is it Dylan?”
Dylan hesitated but finally admitted, “Katerina wasn’t acting like herself this morning. She tried to bite me, and then when Tempe showed up, she turned into… a lion—not just a panther, but a full grown male African lion. If Tempe hadn’t distracted her, she’d have probably taken my head off with one swipe. How is that possible?”
“Oh, dear,” Aurora said.
“You’re sure she’s Paramortal?” Jack asked.
Aurora nodded, “Yes—”
“Look, Katerina’s been hurt,” Dylan said, his staunch support of Kat drawing raised eyebrows from Aurora and Jack. In an uncharacteristic gesture, she placed her hand on Dylan’s.
“Chaos is never easy, is it Dylan? It sounds like Jack might not be able to count on Katerina for support.”
To say the least, Jack thought, feeling empathetic toward Dylan suddenly. When had he become so involved with Kat? And what did Dylan know about Chaos that he wasn’t sharing. “Do you know Katerina’s background? Where she came from?”
Dylan hunched over the table, sullen. “She was just starting to open up to me when Cache started to move. I know it looks bad, but try not to over-react…” his voice trailed off, as if he knew he was making an unreasonable request. How could anyone not react when faced with a man-eating lion who wasn’t herself?
All Jack said was, “Kat’s a survivor, Dylan.” And aren’t we all, but that wasn’t a guarantee of survival. “Okay, according to Dylan, there might be someone who could be our Big Bad, if he plans on sticking around to help us.”
Aurora asked, “Who’s that?”
Dylan said, “Conor de Sept Flambé.
Aurora’s eyes narrowed briefly and Jack asked, “Did you know the Knight before he appeared last night at the ball?”
She shook her head. “Not specifically. Dragons are everywhere, but I had no idea who or what he was until I heard his name.”
Jack opened his eyes. He’d closed them to hide his reaction to dragons are everywhere, but now he asked, “What do you mean?”
“His last name gave it away. Sept for Kin or Clan, and Flambé for fire. And it was pretty obvious when you looked at the dragon wings across his shoulders.”
Pretty obvious to Aurora, who could have said something, not that he’d have believed it, and what could he have done? Right. “Who’s side do you think he’s on?”
“Our side,” said Dylan. “He didn’t have to save me this morning. If you think about it, it was an inconvenience. And we could have easily had one less Paramortal. I guess he could be neutral. What do you think, Aurora?”
Aurora shrugged and looked at her lap.
Jack looked at Dylan. Goofy was back.
Jack groaned inwardly. The personalities of the Paramortal leaders around him were devolving faster than you could say dragons are everywhere, turning into circus clowns and apathetic degenerates.
Jack drummed his fingers on the counter as Dylan flipped his badge over and over on the table. How long would he be able to depend on the Paramortals for guidance, much less help during the power down?
His phone rang. Looking at the screen he read, 911 call. “I’ve got to go.”
Dylan said, “I want to ride along.”
Jack was already striding toward his cruiser.
Chapter 16
The skin on Conor’s neck quivered, his shoulders bunching as he watched the scene on the street in front of him. The Dinnshencha had told him she had a “day job” caring for the sick, in one of the boxy looking medical vehicles with the red lights. He’d searched the streets of Destiny for the last hour, looking for her, which had taken him longer than usual since he couldn’t search from the sky. But finally he’d spotted her, and the one she was “caring for”.
The man was sitting on the side nearest Conor behind the turning wheel. All he could make out from his angle near the cafe on wheels labeled, Crawlin’ Cajun Mudbugs, was her thick blue-black mane brushing the man’s shirt. The man laughed. Conor’s eyes narrowed. He didna’ sound ill at all.
He thought he heard Montana say something and the man said, “Watch your teeth, darlin’.” A low growl escaped Conor’s throat before he could contain it. Montana’s head bobbed up but he wasn’t able to make out her face, only the back of her head.
The more he watched, the more he was sure that this was
no emergency rescue, even in the style of his time, but an amorous liaison between the two partners. Conor’s tatts swelled, heat accumulated in his lower body and bubbled up into his nasal cavity. He swore.
“It’s Conor, isn’t it?” a voice from behind him said carefully. He whirled, his swords slicing the air as the man stumbled back and caught the silver edge of a car to keep from falling to the ground. Conor had barely managed to avoid decapitating the sheriff.
No one ever slipped up on a dragon Knight. Which spoke louder than anything of how much this Dinnshencha had affected him. He sheathed the swords while the man straightened. Conor looked back over his shoulder at the medical van.
Vict—Montana’s head had disappeared from view and the man had leaned back against the headrest, one hand continuing to fondle her hair and… Conor didn’t care what else. His eyes flared briefly as he gathered his wits and turned back to the cop.
“You are the sheriff of this village.”
The Finrir—McGuinness—stepped out from the shadows, as the green-eyed man squinted at him, and scratched his head. Conor nodded formally, “I am de Sept Flambé Knight—”
“—of his majesty’s realm. Right,” said Jack. “I was curious about that, but right now I have a 911 call. I’m Jack Lang, the ‘sheriff of the village’,” he said with a grin. “If you’ll stick around…” but Conor didn’t wait for him to finish.
“I’m done here,” he said, scowling, and with one look over his shoulder at the window where he’d last seen Montana, he brushed by Jack and stomped away, the heavy metal boots creating a rhythmic clank, clank as he rounded the nearest corner.
“Nice to meet you, too,” Jack muttered, watching as the disgruntled Flambé stalked away. He didn’t look like a dragon in the least.
He looked at Dylan again. For all he knew, Dylan had been seeing things. Flambé was certainly stout enough to save Dylan from drowning as he was.