by D. D. Miers
The actual meaning on the paper however, had stunned them both into silence.
“That can’t be right,” she said, shattering the terse quiet.
“It’s not wrong, though,” Callom assured her. “I can feel it, can’t you?”
He reached for the chain around her neck. A subtle shiver left her glancing away as he lifted the pendant atop the cut of her gown. Sure enough the same missing stone depicted in the book’s illustration was present, and the odd, almost crescent shape was one he’d seen before.
“Wait here,” he said as he jumped to his feet. Atop the mantel over his fireplace sat a small wooden chest which he hurriedly dropped onto the table. From deep within, he pulled out a ring his father had given him when he had still been just a small child. “Look at the shape of it.” Held up beside her necklace the vibrant stone itself looked a perfect fit to her missing piece, if only it could be freed from its setting.
“No.” Emma’s head shook vehemently as she shoved the paperweight aside and slammed the book shut. “This is ridiculous. Either the translation is incorrect or the book is false.”
“Why? Because your people once didn’t slaughter mine?”
The truth of his words silenced her.
Callom tapped the golden stone in his ring. “It shouldn’t be so hard to believe things had been different once. That you would have once been our protector rather than our demise.”
Settling the ring into his palm, he wrapped his hand around it and focused on the heat of his magic. Fire had always been one of his innate abilities, and he wondered whether he could soften the metal enough to remove the stone.
“What are you doing?” Emma asked when the scent of melting heat reached their noses.
“Heating the ring so I can pull out the stone.”
“That’s ridiculous, don’t . . . don’t ruin your ring for this.”
“You saw it for yourself, Emma, it’s going to fit. Flip the book open again and look.”
With a huff she reached for the book, just as the crushing squeeze of his fist budged against the solid piece. Immune to the scorching heat of the metal, he grasped the large stone and plucked it free with a satisfying click.
Emma flipped through the pages in hunt of where they’d been when he reached toward her amulet, only for his stone to snap into place as swift as a heavy magnet.
Her rifling of the pages stopped. The heat he’d exuded from his hands lifted into the air around them, encapsulating them in a swirling, invisible flame. Energy in its purest form crawled up Callom’s skin, leaving him shivering in its wake.
Something of the connection caused a massive lift of magic, and a wordless exchange had Emma flipping more furiously in the book.
“What happened? What does it mean?” she asked desperately as she slammed the book open to the correct page and nearly tossed it into Callom’s lap.
“I don’t know, it just—” His eyes widened at the page. “Oops.”
“Oops?” Emma’s voice rose in worry. “What do you mean, oops?”
“There’s more at the bottom of the page here, it must have been under the paperweight.”
Callom dragged the book of translations over and set to work. There weren’t quite so many lines to go through, and though Emma sat in wait with her pencil, he stored it all within his mind.
Emma panicked. “What is it? Is it that terrible?”
“It . . . um . . . there’s more to it than we thought. It’s true slayers were protectors once upon a time, but by placing my stone in your amulet we’re now bonded as . . . allies.”
Callom kept the truth to himself. In reality, the script didn’t say allies, He was not going to tell Emma Clearwater the joining of stones had bonded them as dragon and protector. And he absolutely couldn’t reveal to her the glow of her stone to his touch marked them as “twin flames” otherwise known as unbreakable mates. Slayers, once known as protectors, and their dragons sealed their fealty through a joining of stones. That much he had understood and accepted, but what had happened between him and Emma had been something rare. They were a one in a million match and when their two stones united, nothing could untangle them.
Discomfort and a strange sense of both possessiveness and loss bubbled up in his throat. He snapped the book shut. His instinctual tug to Emma made sense now. He wished to protect her and claim her as his own, but he couldn’t change the course of the future.
A knock at the door startled him.
“Come in,” Callom called out. Logan entered the room with a questioning look at Emma, as she squirmed under the scrutiny of her location.
“What is it?” Callom asked.
“It’s Graves. He’s been spotted on the move. He’s on his way now beneath the city into the underground network.”
“That must be where he’s doing his work,” Emma said.
“Where he’s making these creatures of war,” Callom added.
Emma jumped to her feet with a scrape of her chair. “Well let’s go, we’re going after him, aren’t we?”
Reluctantly, Callom nodded as he followed suit. The last thing he wanted was for her to plunge herself willingly into danger, but telling her no sounded like a deadly choice. “We’re going to need help. Is there anyone you trust that might aid us?”
Emma nodded as she rushed for the door. “I’ll gather them and meet you back here.” Before he could get another word in, she was gone, brushing past Logan.
“What’s going on?” Logan asked.
“Nothing, we were just working on some translations.”
“Do you always bring women into your bedroom for translations?”
Though Callom snorted, he shook his head. “Remind me why I keep you around?”
“Ah, come now, things always could be worse.”
“Yes,” a feminine voice rang from the doorway as a crop of raven hair stepped into view. “They could be.” She tapped a finger to her lips. “Like say, falling for your mortal enemy.”
Callom sighed at the sight of his half-sister, Farah. He’d noticed the way Emma had regarded her earlier in his parlor with both curiosity and perhaps a tinge of jealousy. He could’ve easily explained Farah was not a threat, but his ego enjoyed seeing Emma envious. “I’ve done no such thing.”
“Really?” She cackled. “Then what would you call your little tryst with the betrothed slayer?”
“It’s not a tryst.”
“Then what is it?”
“Just . . .” A heavy sigh propelled him forward and out of the space which the two had welcomed themselves into. The last thing he needed was more distractions, especially when Emma consumed most of his mind’s focus. He barely understood it himself, so he couldn’t explain it to Farah or Logan.
“Are you coming, Logan?” he asked as he reached the stairs.
His friend’s voice echoed up the corridor. “There’s no chance I would miss out on this. I’m right behind you.”
Chapter 9
Of all of the people Emma had imagined she would need to spend the most time convincing of such urgency, never had she imagined it would be Henrietta.
Victoria had listened to her quickly spilled tale and with great efficiency had put on her most maneuverable gown tucked with weapons of her own variety. A bonus to the visit had been the addition of another she hadn’t considered. Brett Galloway, another slayer, had been visiting Victoria, and from what Emma could tell of the woman’s flushed cheeks, there had been more than business discussed. Unfortunately, such gossip needed to wait for later.
With the three trailing along, Emma had explained they would go first to Callom’s home to group up before going after their foe.
“Why would we need the help of the dragonborne?” Henrietta had scoffed for what felt like the thousandth time. “We can handle this on our own.”
“I’ve told you already, history had it wrong. We were never meant to become one another’s enemy.”
“But, what—”
“Look,” Emma said, “tho
se creatures attacked my father and me once. They were no easy foe to match. Some are half-man, half-machine, and they’ve some innate ability of magic or something similar that I’m unable to explain. And why wouldn’t they when their creator is believed to be a user of dark magic? A warlock, Henrietta. We may be facing down more than we could hope to easily overcome.”
The speech was enough as Henrietta quieted, and Emma was given her first glimpse of Brett’s true personality in his pinched lips to restrain his laughter. Emma had always thought him pleasant looking but too boring. Now she knew there was much more to Brett Galloway then she’d first imagined. Perhaps if Victoria did fall for him and one day wed him, she’d have nothing to complain over.
Unlike Emma. The moment Frederick entered her mind, she shoved the thought aside, and when they reached Callom’s home, she inhaled before the inevitable. A solid knock brought Callom and Logan swiftly out the door, and after a moment of terse introductions, an awkward silence enveloped them.
“Let’s go.” Emma’s voice startled everyone but with quick steps, she dragged the group of unlikely allies forward. Unfortunately, she soon realized she had no idea where she was going. “So, where exactly are we going?”
Happily, Logan grinned. “Oliver kept on Graves’s trail and will have marked the way. Come on.”
Dressed like high society, the group didn’t expect to turn down a dingy street. Logan halted and Victoria’ gasped at an open manhole that wafted out thick, horrid-smelling air.
“You can’t possibly expect me to go down there,” Victoria said.
“It can’t be all that bad,” Brett said as he descended the narrow ladder first and his head vanished beneath ground level.
“Well,” Victoria said as she gathered up her skirts and shoved them haphazardly through, “we’ve things to do. We best hurry.”
Emma surprised herself by placing a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing. Logan was barely able to contain his laughter as he plucked up the sides of his coats with finger and thumb, pretending to wear a dainty dress of his own.
“Don’t you dare get us in trouble with her,” Callom said with light laughter to his friend before they all hurriedly went down the manhole.
The moment Emma dropped to the sewer’s floor with a pair of hands guided around the small of her waist, she cursed the flooding heat of her cheeks. It had been Callom’s hands aiding her, and she freed herself in a hurry to keep up with the others.
Bonded allies or not, she desired to keep her distance, even as she was drawn to him.
“This way.” Logan’s whisper instructed from farther ahead.
From dry metal grates, they walked in cold sludge , drowning their feet along the wet sewer floor. The stench had her hand clamped over her nose as quiet curses flew from Victoria’s lips. It was quite an unladylike behavior, but given the circumstances she knew all would be forgiven.
The group stopped at the next juncture of dripping pipes and dark walls, giving Emma her first preview of a dragon’s magic where she hadn’t feared for her life.
A tinge of blue light glowed upon Logan’s fingertips, gathering and growing until bursting forth in a bright flash of light. A single blink at the wrong time would have left anyone unaware as to what had happened. Footprints lit across the murky water’s surface. In a hurry, the group raced after the path Oliver had left behind.
Henrietta shored up at Emma’s side as they sloshed up onto slightly higher and drier ground. “Why can’t we do that?” she whispered, much to Emma’s amusement as a lifted hand silenced them all. Voices drifted toward them from ahead and hands itched toward hidden weapons.
“All right, we work together,” she said quietly, just as a figure stepped into view, startling them all. Victoria and Henrietta were ready to pounce with the sharp ends of their blades just as Logan and Callom stopped them.
“He’s with us,” Callom hissed sharply as Oliver ran up to join the fray.
“You aren’t going to like what you’re about to see,” Oliver said.
The group crept toward where the tunneled corridors opened up into a vast space lit with lamps flickering with electricity and humming with a dark energy.
Emma shivered under the feel of it and saw a weariness in the eyes of all of those with her.
Flitting about the room was Chester Graves, looking pleased with his results. The room was filled with men that looked to be exact replicas of the ones that had attacked Emma and her father, replete with top hats and coats that let them drift into society without warning.
Worst of all, they were far outnumbered.
A strategy was necessary, and one had just formed in Emma’s mind when Victoria sneezed, alerting all of their presence. For a moment, sound ceased to exist as opposite sides stood in watch of one another before all hell broke loose.
“Back up, back up!” Callom cried out. “Funnel them through here!”
Against the slop of the ground, they ushered themselves backward, forcing the creatures into the confined pathway before them. It would be an advantage, but only a slight one given their numbers.
Emma’s ears ached from the first shot of Henrietta’s gun, and in quick order the two women shot in a perfect tandem that never let up.
Until it was necessary to reload.
Footsteps thundered toward them, and behind the wall of her allies, Emma shoved more bullets into her revolver. Inhuman screams flashed through the air as fire forced from the dragonborne’s hands felled their enemies, and just as Emma cocked back her gun and raised to aim, a single top hat sailed through the air toward them.
The ticking she’d once heard echoed through her head, and without thought she took the shot. Her bullet ripped through the velvety fabric and rocked the tunnel with an explosion that had them all dropping to their knees.
Rubble and dust blanketed them, making it difficult to tell who was friend or foe.
“Emma!”
A heaving cough cleared her lungs of a thick dusting as hands grasped at her arms in the thick of her disorientation.
“Emma.” She heard the call of her voice again, and several heaving coughs later realized it was coming from her side. Golden eyes stared at her with grave concern as the hot rubble from the blast left her wincing in shock.
“I’m fine,” she assured him, and with a lackluster tug of her arm set herself free.
“You killed a great deal of them with that blast, but now we’re just aware of one more thing to deal with.”
Another of the horrific creatures stormed in through the far doorway, his features masked by the settling dust. Yet there was something different from the others that heightened Emma’s nerves. The creature’s face had drooped like melted wax, dripping from bone and metal as he trundled toward them.
“Stop.” The single, booming voice halted the creature where he stood as if he’d been under a spell. He rocked atop crumbled concrete and the fallen bodies of his own men in wait.
No one knew what to do, and in some unspoken order, their weapons held in wait as well.
“So good to see you all.” The same voice echoed down the corridor, turning their heads in search of where the man stood.
“Chester,” Logan grumbled, “you little shit. Show yourself.”
Just beyond the stature of the halted creature, a shadow of Chester’s figure appeared. In a knee-jerk reaction Henrietta’s finger pulled upon the trigger of her revolver, letting off a single shot that sailed straight through the apparition’s outline.
A bone-shaking laugh reverberated through the corridor. “It seems you’ve deciphered at least half of my plan by now. Oh, how often your foolish slayer allies fell for the ruse of the dragonborne attacking.”
Emma’s teeth grit as she burst to race forth but was halted by Callom’s sturdy grip on her wrist. “Don’t,” he whispered, his breath hot against her ear in an attempt to hide their words. “We won’t defeat him here, not like this.”
Forward down the single corridor was too dangerous, and
Emma wanted to tell Callom before he dragged her backward, away from the action.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“We’ll go another way.”
In a hurry, they trudged back through the thick sludge as worry ticked in the back of her mind. If Graves was powerful enough to parade a vision of himself for them to see, what else was he capable of?
They ran through a snake of turns until the same vast room was suddenly visible in the distance.
“What if—”
Callom’s finger pressed sturdy against Emma’s lips, silencing her words and leaving her acutely aware of the salt his skin had left behind. His same finger pointed forward toward where Chester, the real man, stood.
Great machines twisted into the air in front of him, and from their heavy pipes the same blue dust she’d once seen puffed out.
The moment Graves spun away and busied himself with what looked to be a grouping of vials, the pair sprinted forward.
Something clicked within Emma, as if she felt the push of Callom’s feet across the ground. They ran in tandem, connected somehow in a way beyond comprehension.
The moment his hand lifted and energy crackled, she knew what to do.
Fire flung forward, sailing from Callom’s open palm, while his hearty cry intensified its power. It blazed so brightly, Chester’s eyes as he flung himself clear of the flame.
It was then, in the space toward which he fell, that Emma’s gun rang out.
Doors all around them flung open in the seconds in which it took her bullet to reach him. Time seemed interminable as the fleshed creatures of childhood nightmares flooded forward, surrounding them just as her bullet reached its mark.
A scream piercing with energy cried out from Chester’s lips as the bullet sank into his leg, leaving him limping as he ripped parts of the machine off in an effort to drag himself to his feet.
“Emma!”
She positioned her back against Callom’s back. In the distance she heard cries of battle from their friends, but here, now, there were more than they could face alone.
Giving up, though, had never been her style.