Shattered Spirits

by C. I. Black

  “Took you long enough,” Swipe growled. He didn’t even look up from whatever he was reading.

  “What happened?” Gig asked, his eyes wide.

  Maybe she should have at least glanced in a mirror. “Nothing. What have we got?”

  “A fingerprint off the cell phone.” Swipe glanced at her, and his scowl deepened.

  Gig flicked a finger, summoning his earth magic, and turned on the big screen on the back wall. He pulled up the print and mug shot of a dark-haired, dark-eyed twenty-something man in desperate need of a shave and a haircut—in the very least, a comb.

  “It belongs to Eddie Boyd. Real catch, this one. In and out of prison, mostly for small stuff. Obviously not bright enough to learn his lesson or to figure out how not to get caught.” Swipe’s tone darkened at the end, as if there was a double meaning to his words, but Capri’s head hurt too much for her to even try to figure it out.

  It seemed too much of an effort to engage in a fight, no matter how much she usually enjoyed them. What the hell was wrong with her? “Does he fit the profile for Zenobia’s choice of mage stock?”

  The screen changed and Gig sat forward. “Yep. It doesn’t look as if there’s anyone who’d miss him.”

  “Not even a parole officer?” Capri pressed her palms to her temples and fought to focus on the screen.

  “Apparently he’s between sentences,” Swipe said. “It also doesn’t look like the phone was Boyd’s. His prints aren’t on the buttons, only the outside, and there are other prints on top.”

  “So he handed the phone to someone.” Capri was sure there was something important about that, and as soon as her head stopped hurting, she’d figure it out.

  “I think this other number, saved in call history, belongs to Boyd.” Gig flicked his finger again and a list of phone numbers—no, not numbers, just one number, filled the screen.

  “Regardless of whether this number belongs to Boyd, whoever had this phone called that number a lot,” Capri said.

  “Notice the most frequent days,” Swipe said.

  The call history stopped yesterday. But there’d been almost a dozen calls that day between 9 a.m. and 10 a.m.

  A chill raced over Capri. That couldn’t be right. “When did Diablo find that hideout?”

  “Around 10 a.m. But I suspect he got the lead and informed the Dugga and who-knows-who-else around 9 a.m.” This time Swipe’s dark tone was clear.

  “Someone in the Asar Nergal is warning the mages.” She hated to say it, but she’d bet if she checked the other call clusters they’d coincide with whenever Diablo went hunting.

  “It would explain why Diablo can’t seem to do his job,” Swipe said.

  “But the Asar Nergal wouldn’t—They’ve sworn—” Gig turned too-big eyes on her. “That would mean—I don’t even know what that would mean.”

  “It means the Dugga is going to need to clean house.” And Capri wanted to be as far away from that as possible. She had no idea who the Dugga was—that was a secret only Regis and Tobias knew—but warning the mages was as treasonous as making them. Someone, possibly many someones, would be spending time with Odyne.

  Capri rubbed her temples again. Keep her distance and her head down—and pray Tobias didn’t watch the news that night—and everything would be okay.

  If there was a traitor in the Asar Nergal, her team needed to find the mages and call in Diablo at the last possible moment.

  “All right.” She straightened. “See if you can get a location on that other phone number. We need to take charge of this mess.”

  “Got it,” Gig said.

  Swipe leveled a hard look on him. “And go do that somewhere else.”

  Gig swallowed and glanced at Capri. She nodded and he fled.

  “Are we really going to do this now?” Normally it was fun to argue with Swipe, but her head hurt so damned much.

  “What’s wrong with you? You should be glowing at the prospect of an argument with me.”

  “It’s been a difficult morning.”

  “You’re not yourself.”

  She met his gaze. “You just asked me if I was all right. You’re not yourself, either.”

  “Actually, I asked what was wrong with you. Completely different than caring about your welfare.”

  She snorted, sending a spike of pain stabbing through her head. “Yeah, totally different.”

  Swipe flashed her a hint of teeth in challenge. “Just get it back together. Now is not the time to piss off anyone in Court.”

  “Particularly a mentally unstable Prince.”

  “I wouldn’t say that too loud in public,” Swipe said. “Actually, I wouldn’t say that in public at all.”

  “Only among my closest friends.” And even in private, suggesting that Regis was unstable, like his father, was dangerous. You never knew who might be listening.

  “We are not friends.” Swipe scowled at her.

  Yeah, right. And she was a baby gold drake in disguise. But she wasn’t going to push it. They weren’t friends like she and Hiro, they were co-workers, but she was pretty sure Swipe would have her back if push came to shove… although not if the person shoving was Tobias or Regis.

  She sighed—even that made her head hurt—and stood. “Tell Tobias our suspicions about a leak in the Asar Nergal.”

  Swipe’s eyes narrowed even more. “Isn’t reporting to Tobias your job?”

  It was, but she needed to get back to Miller and two decapitated bodies before Tobias locked her up for breaking just about every rule dragon-kind had. “I need to follow up on… on that human. Make sure my earth magic is holding.”

  “Why don’t I believe you.” He rolled his eyes at her and strode out of the conference room.

  Capri pressed her palms to her temples again and squeezed her eyes shut. She just needed a moment. The urge to sit and put her head on the table teased her. But if she did, she wouldn’t get up again, and she was running out of time. Who was decapitating people? And who was the leak in the Asar Nergal?

  Someone cleared his throat behind her. For a heartbeat she imagined it was Miller and heat swept through her.

  “Got a minute?” Gig asked.

  Not Miller—not that he could ever be in the Clean Team’s base, but she was still disappointed. “Were you standing in the hall the whole time?”

  Gig leaned in the doorway, but didn’t look at ease. “Maybe.”

  Which meant, of course he had been. He’d heard whatever he’d heard and she’d deal with any fallout later. “What do you want?”

  “I looked into that guy you wanted me to, and there’s nothing unusual save that his place of employment is funded by one of Nero’s corporations.”

  So nothing she hadn’t already known.

  “His life is pretty average for a human,” Gig said.

  “So why was he targeted with Kardas?” It just didn’t make sense. There had to be a connection.

  “Kardas? As in the drake who was killed?” Gig asked. “Isn’t looking into that Cooper’s job?”

  “It is. I just don’t want us caught off guard.”

  Gig straightened. “But if you’re caught poking into Cooper’s work, Regis could get pissed.”

  “That’s why you have no idea why I asked you to look into this guy.”

  Confusion flooded his boyish features. “But I do know, sort of.”

  “No,” she said, willing him to understand. “You don’t.”

  “Oh? Ooooohhhh. Right.” He winked. “I don’t know. But my curiosity has gotten the better of me and I think I’ll do more digging on this guy.”

  Capri offered him a smile. “Thanks.”

  “You bet.” He grinned back at her and left.

  Here was hoping if the shit hit the fan, Tobias would think Gig was too naive to really know what he was doing.

  Here was hoping the shit didn’t hit the fan. If she was smart, she’d stop poking her snout where it didn’t belong. But being caught unaware and looking incompetent was just as bad. T
here were just so many messes and she had no idea how to control it all.

  She blew out a quick breath. First things first. Miller.

  Desire burned within her.

  Jeez. Not Miller. Her investigation into the decapitations.

  She pulled out her phone to call him.

  An investigation that just so happened to require her to be close to Miller.

  That was so very very good, and so terribly terribly bad.

  CHAPTER 19

  Tobias stared at the stone dragons carved into the pillars in the rebirth chamber. The beasts, riddled with cracks and missing chunks, bared teeth as long as his forearm and spread massive wings.

  He reached out his arms, willing, praying, for the earth magic of metamorphosis like Hunter, to turn into a dragon. Mother, please. From the moment he’d fallen from the sky and was shoved into this frail, minuscule body, he’d wanted his dragon form back.

  Just for a moment. A second. A heartbeat.

  He needed to feel the sun warming his scales and the wind caressing his snout. He needed to feel powerful, not helpless.

  He roared and slammed his fists against the Handmaiden’s altar. He was tired of being weak. He’d been tired of it since the 1500s when he’d taken to the sea to fight and steal and just be. Sailing had been the closest he could get back then to flying. But the sea had proven it wasn’t the same and wouldn’t reach that desperate, broken place in his soul.

  He drew back to pound the altar again.

  “You know she won’t like it if you ruin the place,” a sultry voice said.

  Tobias searched the shadows for the owner. “I don’t think she’ll notice one more crack.” The rebirth chamber was already in ruins from the attack on the Handmaiden two weeks ago.

  “You really want to bet on that?” A shadow separated from the shadows by one of the pillars, and Ophelia—head of Internal Inspection—eased into sight.

  “No.” But maybe if he broke something she’d come back and talk to him. Except she hadn’t even told him she was leaving. What made him think she’d come back for him? He’d thought, after all the time they’d spent together, she would have said something. He’d thought she’d cared and thought—

  Apparently thought things about them that weren’t true. He was just another drake, like her sworn servant, Grey. That was all.

  “She’s not back yet?” Ophelia crossed her arms. She wore her usual black pantsuit. It blended with her dark skin, helping her to hide in the shadows. Six hundred years ago she’d been Constantine’s Spymaster. Now, she was still spymaster, just the title had changed.

  “No. And you haven’t heard anything about it?”

  Ophelia raised an eyebrow. Only a select few knew about her earth magic ability to hear thoughts—and only Tobias and Regis knew she was the spymaster.

  A thread of jealousy cut through Tobias. She had magic. She wasn’t completely helpless in her human form like he was. His human hadn’t given him anything but suffering. He had no earth magic at all. He couldn’t call wind, and didn’t possess increased strength. He couldn’t use a gate even if the gate was anchored. Not that he was going to let anyone know. Only Ophelia did, since she’d read his thoughts years ago.

  “You really have to learn to let that go.” Her tone softened. “You are the most powerful drake in Court.”

  “But if someone challenged me for my position—”

  She barked a throaty laugh. “No one wants your paper, Tobias. No one is going to challenge you to combat for the position of Chamberlain.”

  “Unless Regis puts them up to it.”

  Ophelia’s expression darkened. “I wouldn’t put that past him. Last time I was near him, his thoughts were practically salad.”

  Tobias went cold. “Are you sure?”

  “Completely tossed, just like his father. The jumble didn’t last long, but—” She shrugged.

  “We need a contingency plan.” If Regis was becoming soul sick like his father, Tobias needed to set the wheels in motion for new dragon leadership. They couldn’t be without a clear successor to the throne.

  “You need to be careful of Regis. If he even suspects you of betraying him, he’ll send you to Odyne.”

  If his Prince didn’t outright kill Tobias and send his soul into the ether. “How long have we got?” Maybe there’d be enough time for the Handmaiden to return—from wherever she was—and rebirth King Constantine. The King would lose all his memories, his soul would reset back to its primary state—that he was a gold drake—but the soul sickness would be gone.

  “One problem with that plan,” Ophelia said in response to his thoughts. “Constantine is missing.”

  “So Regis has already made his move.” A reborn Constantine was the only drake who could rightfully claim the throne from Regis. So far the Prince had kept the King confined to his quarters instead of having him reborn, claiming the situation helped stabilize dragon politics. And for about five hundred years it probably had. But after Zenobia’s coup, and Hunter renouncing the Royal Coterie, everything teetered on the edge—including Regis’s sanity, apparently.

  “I’m not sure he’s killed Constantine, though.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Ophelia frowned. “There are moments when his thoughts suggest he has killed his father and others where he’s desperate to find him. Sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference between wishful thinking and real thoughts.”

  “So Regis may or may not have murdered his father, but regardless, Constantine is missing?”

  “Yes. I’ve confirmed that with a number of sources.”

  “Wonderful.” Now there wasn’t a clear line of succession. Hunter would likely be the majority of the dragons’ next choice—even many of the doyens’ choice—but Hunter would never step up. Which left the doyens fighting each other for the throne.

  “It gets worse.”

  “How does it get worse than the possibility of civil war?”

  “The Dugga is starting to suspect there’s a leak in the Asar Nergal. He asked me to do a little nosing around for him.”

  Just great. “I was wondering why it was taking Diablo so long to catch a few mages. Do we think the leak is Diablo?”

  “No. Not unless he knows I can read his thoughts, which I highly doubt. The drake is ready to blow a gasket at not being able to catch them.”

  Tobias blew out a long breath but it didn’t make him feel any better. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

  Ophelia flashed him a hint of teeth, her gaze charged with sexuality. “Anything?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  She dropped her invitation. “I do. She’ll come back to you.”

  Tobias’s throat tightened. “I’m not sure it’s me the Handmaiden will be coming back for.”

  “I’m sure she will be.”

  Except Ophelia had never been able to read the Handmaiden’s thoughts. And self-pity was just pathetic. He was a stronger drake than that.

  “Yes, you are. Come on. We’ve got to figure out how to keep this place together so the Handmaiden has something to come back to.”

  * * *

  The address where Miller had told Capri to meet him was for a modest red-bricked century old house with two gables and a wide front porch. It seemed familiar, but that could be because it looked like all the other houses on the tree-lined street—and therefore many of the houses in Newgate. Sitting in an older neighborhood, the ice and snow-slick road was still cobblestones, and it was clearly a private residence.

  She parked her SUV on the street and strode up the driveway, her footsteps crunching on hard-packed snow and salt. The idea of visiting his house simmered within her—even though it wasn’t really his house since he lived in Elmsville. Still, he’d invited her someplace private, personal. Not that they could openly discuss the case in public, but he could have picked somewhere else.

  She couldn’t decide if the knot in her chest was the same strange feeling that had compelled her to kiss
him or just plain discomfort. It had to be discomfort. Her head still throbbed. Things were still complicated with Court politics, and—

  The door opened. Ryan stood in the entrance in a T-shirt and jeans, his hair mussed as if he’d been running his hands through it or had just woken up.

  Her breath vanished. Everything but him vanished. Just looking at him made her chest and gut ache, and it was no longer the ache of having left Eric. It was a want that threatened to consume her. It did consume her.

  He drew in a sharp breath, as if he, too, could feel her desire for him.

  Maybe he could. Maybe she was making him sense it with her earth magic.

  But no magic curled from her. At least none she could sense. And yet, there was something there, an electricity, a spark.

  “We should—” His pale eyes, the color of new leaves pierced by sunlight, held her captive. She would never be able to find a shiny that could match their intensity.

  “We, ah…” He stepped aside to let her enter. “The, ah, case.”

  Right. The case. She was there to talk about the case and find out what he knew. That was all. Jeez, that was all. She wrenched her gaze from his and entered. “So, where do we stand… on the case.”

  He closed the door. It didn’t catch. He shut it again, turning the lock to keep it closed. “Let me take your coat.”

  He stepped close, his hands brushing her arms. Heat enveloped her. More than just the normal heat of coming in from outside.

  She slid out of her coat. He held it, poised behind her. His breath fluttered across the back of her neck. Tentative. Tempting.

  “Reynolds is the second victim?” He reached around her, hanging her coat on the top of a banister.

  She turned into him. “Yes.”

  They stood so close. If she took a deep breath, her breasts would brush his chest. Her stomach quivered in anticipation.

  “Do we have a connection between the two?” he asked.

  “So far, no.” Since she couldn’t tell him about the possible dragon connection. Mother of All, she needed to have her hands on him.