About to hang up, I glanced at the blackened remains near the dumpster. “Garbage bags and bleach,” I added. My blood dripped onto the asphalt. “A first aid kit. And alcohol.”
“To drink, or—”
“Both.”
Sal’s worry blasted through the phone. “What the hell, Nite?”
“Do you want to know, Sal?” I shot back. “Do you really want to know?”
He was quiet a moment. I was tired, pissed off, rattled and wounded, and I was ready to come clean if he asked. No more lies.
I wonder what it would feel like.
Sal sighed into the phone. “Sit tight. I’ll be there in fifteen.”
“Make it ten.”
Sixteen
Two hours and forty minutes later, the alley was cleaned up. The holes in my shoulder were sewn closed, and I was sitting in the office of Fire Marshall Oren Parish in a gray ‘Sal’s Gym’ t-shirt, no socks, a pair of sneakers and gray sweats (both a size too big), eating the last of the junk food I’d snagged from the vending machine down the hall.
According to Oren’s secretary, he’d been called out to a meeting with the mayor. Having time to kill, I’d decided to replenish my rapidly recovering body while I analyzed my bizarre encounter in the alley. Dissecting every word Coen spoke, every expression; my hope had been to glean some hidden clue to his identity, some link to our suspects, or a connection to Ronan. But after two candy bars, a bag of chips, and a soda, I still had no correlation, and no motive for Coen’s apparent assignment to safeguard me.
The off the cuff taunt that one of him slung at me still rang in my head.
You have no idea what you’re involved in.
“No shit.”
I took my annoyance out on the empty wrappers and stuffed them with a little extra force into the garbage can. Too antsy to sit, I paced Oren’s office. A twelve by fifteen square, most of the room was taken up by an impressive mahogany desk. A matching credenza sat beneath a double interior window, displaying framed pictures of Oren shaking hands with Sentinel City’s most important citizens. The floor to ceiling bookshelf behind his desk held an extensive library of reference material. Nearly all boasted one common theme: fires. Setting them, fighting them, preventing them, controlling them, studying them, covering them up, the history of; if the word ‘fire’ was in the text, Oren had it. If he didn’t have it, he’d read it.
On the top two shelves were the odd sprinklings of scientific theory, biology, theology, medical journals, historical memoirs, and accounts of the unexplained, the supernatural, spiritual, and the satanic. Dragons enjoyed gathering knowledge nearly as much as wealth. Many lyrriken did the same. Oren, however, assembled the latter strictly to feed his fixation on the former.
He was careful, though. Oren’s collection of the arcane was enough to label him as interesting and eclectic, but not enough to raise eyebrows. Those books, he kept at home.
Hearing voices in the hall, I peeked out through the drawn blinds to see Oren dropping off coffee to his secretary. He was looking stylish as always in a charcoal pin-stripe suit and white shirt. A red tie was tucked into his vest; a pop of color that contrasted his silvery crewcut and dark complexion. Wishing he had coffee for me, I watched the older man with his five foot seven slender frame, and small unassuming features, effortlessly charm the woman with a disarming smile.
It came easy to him; the deception. He never faltered, never seemed to tire of it. I’d let it become reflex, too, for a while. My time on Drimera aside, I was nearing a hundred years of deceit and rootlessness. The closer I got, the less I liked it.
Maybe he stopped caring. Oren had been living a life of duplicity significantly longer than I had. Though he’d never divulged to me his true age, I knew he’d been visiting worlds long before I was born. He’d watched societies change and cities evolve, including this one. He’d amassed knowledge in science, religion, magic, and medicine, far different than our own. Oren knew more about the exits and the worlds they connected than any lyrriken I’d ever met. And despite being a high-ranking Guild officer who reported directly to Naalish, his strong mind had managed to keep our relationship secret—for a time. His strong loyalty had allowed it to continue after Naalish discovered Oren had taken me under his wing.
Or had something convinced her to look the other way?
Ronan had always believed Oren had traded favors with the Queen. His alternate theory was that Oren had something on her. Both made sense. As much as I’d shamed her, Naalish wouldn’t have let Oren contract me for work without a reason. At the same time, I couldn’t imagine her tolerating blackmail. She’d be more likely to rip Oren’s heart out with her teeth.
The office door opened. Oren came in and slipped off his jacket as he offered me a smile. The gesture turned his oblong face into a roadmap of emerging wrinkles, leaving no doubt that Oren was reaching the back half of a very long life.
“I’m sorry, Dahl.” He hung his jacket on the rack behind the door as he pushed it closed. “I got your messages. I assumed if it were urgent, you would have said so.”
His offhand tone catching me off guard, I shrugged. I was neck deep in dead bodies. I thought he’d assume all my calls were urgent.
Straightening his vest, Oren paused to glance at the rainbow of bruises on my face, all in various states of healing. “Busy morning, I see. Do you need anything stitched? You know it heals faster that way.”
“No thanks. I had a friend take care of it.”
“Friend?” His tone made the word sound wrong. “Are you sure it was wise to reacquaint yourself with that boxer?” he said, frowning at the advertisement on the front of my shirt. “It’s bad enough you’ve let him believe you’re a common vampire all these years.”
“I don’t see the harm. As long as Sal never runs into a real vamp, he’ll never know the difference.”
Oren’s responding smile was thin. He motioned at the chairs in front of his desk and we sat. “Gattlin Barnes called me this morning. I had no idea this had gotten so out of control.”
“Am I fired?”
“You might be if you don’t give the man something he can use. Something he can understand. Something other than combustion,” he clarified with disapproval.
“It fits,” I defended myself. “Sort of.”
“Of course it fits. We coined the damn phrase. At the time, it was the perfect cover for human deaths at lyrriken hands. But this isn’t 1840. It isn’t even 1940. You can’t go around spouting off spontaneous human combustion and expect no one to challenge you. Not anymore. You can thank modern technology for that.”
“If it wasn’t for the obvious signs of murder, I think I could have pulled it off. I still can, if I can give Barnes a plausible explanation for how it was triggered. My priority right now, though, is finding our killers, before their work hits the national news.”
“I’ll make sure our people in the media tone it down. I’ll also see what I can do with your forced combustion angle. I like it.”
“A lie works best if there’s a little truth in the mix. You taught me that.”
“I did. I’m just surprised you listened.”
“I always listen. Sometimes. Once in a while,” I said, making him chuckle. “But I wish you’d given me a heads’ up that it was one of us.”
“I didn’t know. The chief was sketchy on the details when he called. Now I understand why. A lyrriken hasn’t left a mess like this out in the open for some time.”
“Which is why I’m here. I need your help.” I pulled the plastic vial out of my bag and held it up. Giving it a shake, the dark shavings inside rolled around. “I need to track the rest of him.”
Oren took the vial. I watched as he scrutinized its contents with a studious squint. I wasn’t worried he’d turn me down, or that he couldn’t do it. Oren believed as strongly in magic as he did science, and he’d spent a lifetime becoming adept at blending the two.
While I’d posed as everything from a dishwasher to a DEA agent (some
times in the same week), Oren had spent his entire life studying the physiology of whatever beings he could get his hands on. Before I became a part of the Guild, he’d been an instructor there, teaching new initiates the beliefs of the elders. He’d lectured on the usual dragon philosophies, such as how our actions correlate to the energies of the world, and how, those deserving, were allowed to return after death to keep the energies aligned. Oren had gone from teacher to mage, to advisor to the Queen. Naalish had called him her Keeper of the Truth. I had no idea what that label entailed. When I was young, before I knew his name, I would see Oren walking the halls of the Citadel, entering doors and wings forbidden to even be looked upon without permission of the Queen.
Oren glanced up. “There should be enough here to do the trick. I assume this is your suspect?”
“One of them.”
“How many do you have?”
“Three. For now,” I added. “I’m not sure how deep this goes, but it’s not like the others. It’s not a mistake or a hunt. This isn’t some random creature getting his kicks or looking for a meal. This was premeditated. This had motive.”
“You think it was a Guild-ordered hit?”
“Possibly. I’m not sure yet.”
His laugh lines sagged as he frowned. “I want you to be careful with this, Dahl.”
“I’m always careful.”
“Careful is looking both ways before you cross the street at rush hour. You’re poking a nest of sleeping dragons and being dense enough to believe they won’t bite.” I said nothing at his analogy, and he sighed. “I suppose you didn’t see the paper last week?”
“Only if it was sitting on the counter at the coffee shop.” I smiled, but he wasn’t amused.
“If it had been, I’m sure you’d remember the article about the scaled woman spotted in the shipyards? It seems she was a ninja. At least that’s what the dock worker told the police after he watched you take out a warehouse full of drug dealers. In his statement he claimed you were ‘the Sentinel come to life, smiting evil from the streets with your scaled hand of fire’.” Oren’s jaw tightened considerably. “I wasn’t aware you had moved on from stalking creatures to stalking human criminals as well?”
“They weren’t all human. And the drugs were laced with nageun venom. Besides, I only shifted as a defense against their arsenal of guns. You know scales can take more damage than human skin. But if I’d known anyone was around…”
“You would have done exactly as you did.”
Defensive, I reminded him, “Nageun venom isn’t something we want loose in the city. It’s far too debilitating to us. I can’t imagine how it would affect a pure human.”
“It’s been here for years, Dahl.”
Irritation hid my surprise. “Well I haven’t been here for years, Oren. But I am now.”
“And already your interference has been costly. You should have checked with me before prying. We had it under control.”
Dread pinched my stomach. “How?”
“A few years back, an enterprising lyrriken operative came up with the idea of profiting from this city’s criminal element. It’s a small source of revenue for the Guild, a way to fund our many projects here, so it’s tolerated. Enough is allowed in to keep the profits flowing without causing any real problems to the population.”
“Meaning, you look the other way.”
“It’s a business transaction. A move made in the best interest of Drimera. Whatever corruption it may feed in this world was already in place. Remember,” he said quickly, “the elders feel the balance of the world, not us. The elders know what’s good for Drimera. Their children shouldn’t question.”
“We aren’t just their children, Oren. Being half human means we have a stake in this world, too, whether you or the elders, or anyone else, wants to admit it.”
Oren crossed his arms in a gesture that reeked of disapproval. “There have been other sightings,” he said sharply. “You’re getting sloppy.”
“There are always sightings, and have been throughout history. Disappearances. Assaults. Mutilations. Murder. Sometimes, it feels like I’m the only one doing a damn thing about it.”
“Don’t be arrogant, Dahl. We have plenty of assets handling these matters. And don’t act like humanity is the only species affected. Since the first exit opened to link the worlds, each one has suffered their own threats. Each has been irrevocably changed in some way. What you must remember is the majority of these occasional other-world incursions pose no real danger.”
“They’re more than occasional. And using myths and urban legends for damage control is fine, but more needs to be done to prevent the damage in the first place. On Drimera we have the Guild. We have a permanent consistent force patrolling and handling whatever dangers come through. What do they have here?”
“You, apparently.” I glanced away, and he sighed. “Just check your surroundings before you shift in the open. Some migrant worker, drunk on the job, claiming the city’s being protected by a scaled ninja is at least manageable. It took no time to discredit his statement and get him fired. No one will believe him now, especially once he’s deported.”
“You reported him to immigration?”
“I had no choice.”
“Bullshit,” I said, peeved by Oren’s unscrupulous tactic.
“You’re right. I could have had him killed.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Why are you so offended? I did this to help you.”
“You ruined his life. You treated him like he has no rights, like he’s less.”
“He is less. Lyrriken superiority over a pure human is unquestionable.”
So is our arrogance. “How do you know he was drunk?”
“I don’t. But I made sure his employer believed he was.” Knowing how much he’d riled me, Oren backed off. “All I’m saying is, if you’re ever spotted by a credible witness…”
“I know. Thanks for the advice. And the cover up,” I said, though gratitude was hard to find in my tone. “But I wouldn’t stick all your worries in one basket. Dan Chandler told the police he saw dragons flying away from his house. A few hours later, he was lying in a hospital bed, overcooked and crispy.”
“Damn. I trust you’ve been doing your best to dismiss such a wild, unfounded accusation.”
“I’m trying, but I’ve been a little busy, hopping from one crime scene to the next. I’ve got three suspects. Two have surfaced. And their behavior makes no sense. I tangled with two of them yesterday. Easily, they could have taken me in. Hell, they could have killed me. But they just left.”
“Taken you in? They recognized you? That’s not good. Not good at all.”
“It hasn’t been so far,” I agreed, “which is the other reason I’m here. What do you know about a young lyrriken female with blue hair?”
“There are many water descendants with hair in the blue spectrum.”
“She also has command of fire.”
“Both? That’s uncommon. I’m surprised the elders would lose track of such an asset long enough for her to commit multiple public atrocities. Naalish must be mortified.”
“Does she sound familiar? Is she Guild?”
Oren shook his head. “I wish I could help, but it’s been years since I’ve been involved with the Guild to the extent of knowing every operative’s name. My work is more on the fringe now.”
“Then I suppose you didn’t know a balaur was in town? We spent some time getting acquainted this afternoon.”
Alarm widened his eyes. “Is he a retriever?””
“He claimed he was here to protect me.”
Oren laughed. “And you believed him?”
I fought off the red creeping over my cheeks. “It’s been sixty years since I’ve had a retriever on my tail, Oren. Why would the Guild send one now?”
“Maybe we should take you off this one? Let you lie low for a while.”
His advice reminded me of Ronan, and I hesitated to share my next words. Oren was
already unhappy with me. But there was no one else to tell, and no one else who would understand. So I said it fast, with the childish hope that he wouldn’t hear me. “Ronan is here.”
Oren sat back, like merely the name had put distance between us. “What does he want?”
“What he always wants. To save his own skin.”
Oren nodded to himself. “Anything else?”
“He said there’s something going on at home. Have you been back recently?”
“Not for some time.”
I waited for more. He didn’t offer it, so I tried something else. “He also told me Ella Chandler was connected to Aidric.”
“Ronan Locke is a crook and a liar,” Oren spat. “And that’s on a good day.”
I winced at his tone. “I know what he is.”
“Yet you continue to trust him. You make his hold over you far too easy.”
“There’s no hold. There’s…history.”
“A history of mistakes,” Oren muttered. Since the day Oren found me, half-starved and living in a drain pipe, Ronan was the only thing we’d ever argued about.
“Even if he’s lying, Aidric is a part of this. I can feel it. I just don’t know which side he’s on. If he ordered Ella and her family butchered or—”
“What if he did? What are you going to do? Arrest a dragon king? If Ronan is telling the truth—which would be a miracle,” Oren added with a low brow, “then you can’t be anywhere near this. As the humans say, Aidric’s at the top of the food chain. And you, my dear, are unquestionably at the bottom.” Realizing by my expression that he’d struck a nerve, Oren grimaced. “Being on the bottom and deserving that position are two different things.”
I nodded, but he was right. I was so far on the bottom I was never climbing back up.
Dismissing the grim thought, I pressed him. “You have connections in the Guild, friends in the capital. If Aidric’s involved with such a public slaughter, someone has to know.”
“Even if they did, few would dare say so. Even less would care what Aidric might have done to a handful of humans.” He stared a moment. Unease creased his dark brow. “If you won’t sit this one out, then tell Gattlin what he wants to hear and move on.”
Nite Fire: Flash Point Page 17