The Myth Manifestation

by Lisa Shearin

  Vivienne Sagadraco. Our boss, founder of SPI, and actual dragon lady.

  SPI was founded in 1647, and Ms. Sagadraco had done the founding.

  Do the math.

  Yep. That’s right. And she has been around for even longer than that.

  Our boss was a dragon. I don’t know who created the term “dragon lady” or why, but our boss was both a dragon and a lady. Mortal New Yorkers knew her as a wealthy socialite and generous philanthropist. Everyone who worked at SPI knew her as the best boss ever. Some people claim that their boss has their back. Ours did. Literally.

  Anyone who made the mistake of coming after or hurting her people only did it once.

  Dragons are intensely protective of what they considered to be theirs. And while Vivienne Sagadraco had accumulated vast quantities of objects that sparkled and gleamed, her protective instincts toward her hoard paled in comparison to what she’d release on anyone who showed the poor judgment of messing with her employees.

  Ms. Sagadraco’s human form reminded me of Judi Dench. She was considered petite now, but when she’d been born—or actually hatched—she had probably been quite tall. While she probably had the ability to make her human disguise taller, Ms. Sagadraco didn’t need to be tall to be confident. I guess when you knew you could change into a three-story-tall, fire-breathing dragon whenever you wanted to, being a short human the rest of the time wouldn’t bother you at all.

  She had seated herself in a chair that, by her mere presence, now closely resembled a throne. “Now that Lord Danescu is conscious, his healer insists on doing a full examination before allowing him to see anyone. I left headquarters as soon as you called, Agent Byrne. A report, if you please.”

  Ian gave our boss a quick yet thorough reckoning of what had happened downstairs. I chimed in with the details of what I had seen from a seer’s viewpoint.

  “And you don’t believe that portals were involved.”

  “No, ma’am,” I said. “Though Kitty’s on the way here to confirm that, and hopefully she’ll be able to tell us what was used.”

  Ms. Sagadraco stood. “I’m hopeful that Lord Danescu will be able to tell us who did the using. He regained consciousness about ten minutes ago. I understand that he is resting comfortably. Angrily, but comfortably. He suffered a mild concussion and a few cracked ribs from the altercation, but is otherwise unharmed.”

  Rake was going to like seeing Ms. Sagadraco walk through his bedroom door even less than he was going to like Ian paying him a visit.

  Hosting the summit was a test for him.

  There were other hotels in the city that Ms. Sagadraco could have chosen, but she’d gone with the Regor Regency—and Rake Danescu.

  The boss trusted him.

  And whether he’d admit it or not, Rake was intensely flattered and honored that she had put the safety of the delegates from this world and beyond in his hands.

  Rake was determined not to screw this up.

  Then someone had dropped eleven homicidal bukas into his hotel’s ballroom mere hours before it would be filled with delegates.

  Rake’s security hadn’t been breached. What had happened had been even worse. The security systems had been bypassed completely, as if they didn’t exist. That had been a slap in the face for the goblin; a slap that, knowing Rake, he was determined to repay with extreme interest.

  Rake Danescu was sitting up in bed, wearing an unbuttoned, dark blue silk pajama top over what appeared to be bandaged ribs.

  The goblin was not happy.

  I could understand why.

  Rake’s expression was utterly blank. Goblins didn’t show any emotions that they didn’t want you to see. The summit hadn’t even started yet, and there’d been a security catastrophe. Rake had been slammed into a column, woken up in his bed, and ten minutes later, he was receiving a visit from the lady who had entrusted him with the safety and ultimate success of the Centennial Supernatural Summit. And seeing Ian Byrne one step behind Vivienne Sagadraco had to be the sprinkles on the crappy cupcake his day had become.

  I felt awful for him.

  That would piss him off, too. Rake was a proud man who didn’t like or take sympathy—unless it would get him something he wanted—so I took a page from his playbook, and wiped any trace of it from my face.

  “Dearest Vivienne, forgive me for not rising, but Dr. Jules strongly advises against it—at least for the next two hours.” The arch glance Rake shot at the goblin healer standing on the other side of his bed said loud and clear that at two hours and one second from now, he was out of that bed and back downstairs.

  The goblin healer sighed the sigh of the long-suffering. “If you will excuse me, Lord Danescu. I need to see to my other patients.” Left unspoken was “who will obey a doctor’s orders.”

  “Thank you, Gerald.”

  The healer left, closing the door behind him.

  “Vivienne, this is not the way I planned to welcome you to my hotel.”

  “I will admit, this is unexpected. I understand you sustained the worst injury?”

  “That is what I’ve been told.”

  “Then we are indeed fortunate, and our respective personnel are to be commended for containing the incident.”

  “It was Makenna who kept the situation from escalating out of control,” Rake said. “If it had not been for her masterful seer skills . . .” The goblin flashed a quick grin. “And her marksmanship with a paint gun, the aftermath would have been far worse.” He cast a glance at Ian. “And it seems I have you to thank for my rescue, Ian. You and your ancestor’s spear.”

  My partner nodded in acknowledgment. “I was doing my job.”

  Ms. Sagadraco seated herself in a chair near Rake’s bed. “While I am glad that my people were able to help prevent this incident from becoming a tragedy, the fact remains that these creatures vanished as quickly as they appeared—both inexplicably. Nor do we know why neither magic nor conventional weapons had no effect on them.” She glanced down at her tastefully delicate diamond watch. “In less than six hours, the majority of the delegates will arrive. The longer we remain ignorant as to how these creatures gained access, the longer we are in a poor position to prevent it from happening again.”

  “We called Kitty,” I told Rake. “Yasha’s gone to pick her up.”

  “Good plan.” Rake tried to sit up straighter in bed and winced with the effort. “Since I am restricted to this bed for the next two hours—”

  “Or more,” Dr. Jules said loudly from the front room.

  Looked like the good doctor had decided to hang around until we left. That, or he didn’t trust his patient to obey orders for even five minutes.

  Rake stopped short of rolling his eyes. “Or more, that doesn’t mean I can’t do anything to help.” He paused uncomfortably. “There is a good chance this attack might have been personal. They used bukas, a goblin monster. The attack happened before most of the delegates arrived, raising the possibility that they did not wish to involve SPI directly or disrupt the summit. And last, I’m told that one of the bukas attempted to carry me off. After my intended abductor used my head as a racquetball, I wasn’t aware of anything else until I regained consciousness here. Perhaps you could clarify something for me, Makenna.”

  “Uh . . . maybe.”

  “It’s my understanding that Agent Byrne was only able to stab my kidnapper after you threw a . . . biscuit at him?”

  Vivienne Sagadraco raised an elegant eyebrow.

  “It was a loaded biscuit,” I told them both. “Bacon. They must not have applewood-smoked bacon where you come from,” I said to Rake. “Or at least where that buka came from. I was out of ammo, and Ian needed a distraction. The biscuit was the only thing I had left to throw.” I shrugged. “It worked.”

  “And I understand you had to get entirely too close for it to do so.”

  “I had to. I suck at throwing. To say I throw like a girl is an insult to every female on the planet. I even throw frisbees sideways. Don’t ask me how
, ’cause I don’t know.”

  “Don’t worry,” Ian told Rake and the boss. “We don’t let her anywhere near grenades.”

  I ignored him.

  “I wouldn’t want to try my luck again,” I said, “but it wasn’t like I had a choice.”

  Ian frowned at Rake. “If someone wanted to settle a personal vendetta with you, why here and why now?”

  “When a goblin invites someone under the protection of our roof, we are obligated to protect them as we would our own family. For me to violate that trust would be to severely damage or even destroy the honor of my family and that of the goblin people.”

  “If something happens to any of the guests, your honor takes a hit.”

  “Considering the importance of the summit, the damage would be critical and probably irreparable. The elite of the supernatural world expect to be safe here. They trust me to protect them.”

  “And what just happened downstairs says loud and clear you can’t guarantee that.”

  “Precisely.”

  “So, this was to send you a message,” I said. “A powerful someone, someone who doesn’t like you, wanted you to know that all of your fancy security measures don’t mean squat. Using bukas was merely a way to make it even more personal.”

  “So it appears.”

  “Who has that kind of power and hates you so much that they’re willing to thumb their noses at not only you, but SPI and the entire supernatural world as well?” Ian asked. “We need names.”

  “That is exactly what I plan to spend the two hours of my convalescence doing—writing a list of names, their MOs, and last known locations.”

  “And what you did to piss them off,” I added.

  “Much of that is classified information. My position in goblin intelligence limits—”

  “I chucked a bacon biscuit at a buka for you, and I risked my personal bacon to do it. You owe me—you owe us.”

  Rake exhaled with a faint sigh. “Touché, Makenna. Very well, I will include what I—and they—did to win them a place on the list.”

  “Thank you, Rake,” Ms. Sagadraco said. “Regardless of the culprit’s reasons for sending those creatures here, the repercussions go beyond any animosity they may have toward you. The objective of this summit is to ensure continued peace in the supernatural world. Should these negotiations be disrupted, with delegates placing the blame on us—or worse, each other—we could face the destabilization of the entire supernatural world. This problem belongs to all of us, and we will solve it only by marshalling every asset at our command. Together.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” we replied in unison.

  Including Rake.

  Chapter Six

  I scrolled through Rake’s list on my phone.

  And scrolled, and scrolled.

  I knew Rake was a bad boy, but damn.

  Ian was scrolling through the same list, his only reaction being an occasional impressed whistle.

  It was close enough to lunchtime, so Ian and I were taking full advantage. We were back in the SPI dining room, grabbing a bite while we had a chance. Thankfully, the only beeps from our phones had been the e-mail list from Rake. He’d wisely copied Ms. Sagadraco on it as well.

  “And you thought Rake didn’t like you,” I said. “Compared to most of these guys—”

  “There’s a difference between ‘normal dislike’ and ‘utterly obliterate from this world and the next.’”

  “Except Rake didn’t utterly obliterate these people, because they’re on the list. Well, unless they were already dead to begin with.” I scanned the list of names. Surprisingly, only a few were vampires. Either Rake didn’t have much interaction with vampires, or most interactions had been permanently fatal to the vampire.

  “To come up with this extensive of a list that fast tells me there’s probably more that he’s not sending us,” Ian noted.

  My phone beeped with an incoming e-mail.

  Rake. Another file.

  Ian’s phone beeped a moment later.

  “But wait, there’s more,” I murmured. “This one’s shorter.” I perused the file. “The first list was everyone powerful or influential who he’s pissed off. This one has the people on the first list who would also love to see SPI go down in flames. Rake numbered it for us, how considerate.” My eyes widened when I got to the number beside the name at the bottom of the list. “SPI’s got a lot of enemies.”

  “I’ll forward both lists to Kenji,” Ian said. “He can run them against our own most-vengeful-villain list and see if any of these names rise to the top.”

  Rake had provided a room for Kenji Hayashi’s use during the summit next to the hotel security command center, and Kenji had made himself right at home.

  Ian continued to study the list, frowning.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “These names. Of the goblins, more than a few are connected with their colonial government here on Earth.”

  “You know how politicians are,” I said. “They’ll do anything to keep from having to go out and get a real job. The new goblin king wants to get rid of his late brother’s appointees. I’d imagine they’re having some bigtime job insecurity right about now. Are any of them mage-level talents who could throw bukas through the best wards money can buy?”

  “That’s exactly the problem.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “Even if whoever is behind what happened this morning is on this list, they wouldn’t need to be a mage. All they’d need is enough money to hire the magical muscle.”

  “So, you’re saying we shouldn’t limit ourselves to the mages Rake has pissed off.”

  Ian scrolled through the pages. “He does have a lot of enemies, doesn’t he?” He gave me a quizzical—and meaningful—glance.

  I knew the question he was getting at. Yes, getting involved with a man like Rake Danescu was a risky proposition. I knew that from the moment I laid eyes on him. I wasn’t going into this with blinders on. Ian knew that. I knew that Ian knew. But because Ian cared about me, he’d continue to ask. And because Ian was my official partner and unofficial big brother, I’d continue to put up with it.

  I smiled very slightly. “Yes, he does. You think any of those politicians hired a rogue portal mage with a herd of pet bukas?” I asked, taking a sharp left away from the topic of my love life, or at the moment, the lack thereof.

  “The goblin colonial governor will be here tonight for the welcome reception, so he must not be too worried about being attacked,” Ian said. “The who and why doesn’t matter as much as how they did it.”

  My partner’s phone beeped again. Thankfully, mine didn’t.

  “Please tell me it’s not—”

  Ian stood. “No, it’s good news for a change. The cavalry’s just arrived. Let’s welcome them to town.”

  Ian led me down a hallway and two flights of stairs and into the part of the hotel that guests didn’t see. From my study of the hotel’s layout, I knew we were near the loading dock and its freight elevator.

  There the new arrivals were unloading their luggage and gear.

  Ian’s definition of “cavalry” greatly differed from my own.

  I’d never equated Vikings with cavalry.

  First bukas, now the Regor Regency had been invaded by a horde of Vikings.

  And I’d never been so glad to see our brothers and sisters from SPI Scandinavia.

  “Wow, bad news does travel fast,” I said.

  “Ms. Sagadraco called last week and asked them to come,” Ian said. “As insurance for the elf and goblin delegations.”

  It’d been nearly a year and a half since they’d paid us a visit. We hadn’t had any time then to socialize before we’d all had to armor up and head down into Manhattan’s underworld on that New Year’s Eve morning grendel hunt. Without SPI Scandinavia’s help, it would’ve been a slaughter.

  Needless to say, we were right fond of the Vikings.

  SPI Scandinavia’s commando team was based out of Oslo, and they weren
’t really Vikings, but you wouldn’t know that to look at them. If it wasn’t for their high-tech weaponry and armor, you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between them and their fur- and leather-wearing ancestors.

  The team of nine men and women was tall, blond, and still seriously buff. Half the men looked like Viking romance cover models, and the team’s two women had that whole Valkyrie/Norse goddess thing going on. I remembered from last time that the woman with the shorter hair was also a werewolf.

  Ian crossed the loading dock toward Lars Anderssen, the team’s commander. Anderssen was fit, but not as big as some of his men. He was the shortest among the Scandinavians, but he still towered over me.

  At least we had a nicer battleground this time around. The bukas had been nearly as tall as a grendel, but we were in a five-star hotel rather than the dank depths of underground New York. As far as improvements went, I’d take it.

  I spotted Rolf Haagen and went over to hug his neck.

  Before I could hug him, the six-foot-six crazy but lovable Viking swept me off my feet and danged near squeezed my stuffing out.

  We’d been on the same grendel-hunting team, and I’d gotten firsthand proof that Rolf Haagen was indeed certifiable, but in a good way. Or as I also thought of him—the bionic Viking. A Finnish ice dragon had bitten off Rolf’s human arm up to the elbow, and it’d been replaced with a cyborg arm, so getting a hug from Rolf Haagen was like being latched onto by the Terminator.

  “I see you got that upgrade you were wanting,” I said, once he set me back on my feet and I’d gotten my wind back. No upgrade would be worth sticking your arm in a grendel’s mouth to shove a grenade down its throat. But that was just me. Rolf hadn’t had any such reservations.

  One grendel, plus one grenade, equaled a new arm.

  Rolf proudly flexed his forearm with its collection of steel gears and levers moving smoothly beneath a clear armor shell that must have been bullet-proof, or at least impact-proof. It reminded me of the inside of my granddaddy’s old pocket watch.

  “You’ve got that whole steampunk thing going on,” I noted. “I like it.”