“I can’t gloss over this one. I want to solve these murders. It’s what I was hired for. It’s my job.”
“It’s your made-up job, one in a long line of many. And you don’t need a job, Dahl. You never did. You have the mind of a dragon. You could make gold rain from the sky if you took five minutes to make it happen.”
“You know I’m not like that. The money, the greed…that stuff isn’t in me.”
“It’s in all of us, child. Just because you took a different path—”
“There was only one path, Oren. One. I walked it since the day I was chosen by the Guild, and I walked it proudly. I was given one of the highest honors a lyrriken can earn. I just couldn’t cut it.”
“Not cutting it wasn’t the issue.”
“Then tell me what was.”
He didn’t reply, and it was all I could do to keep the anger from my eyes. Oren had a vast wealth of information. His fascination for the physiological workings of living creatures was seconded only to his interest in the exits. His long ago hypothesis that they were intersections—places where traumatic violent events overlapped and created a well of negative emotional energy so great it weakened the veil between realms—had been taught as fact on Drimera for hundreds of years. It was also how Oren explained my unique ability to see the exits. He said my empathy connected me to the violence and trauma that corroded that veil.
Unfortunately, the one question he hadn’t been able to answer was: why? Why me? Why that day? Something had opened that part of my mind and changed my life forever. Yet, things might have ended differently if Naalish had taught me how to use my new gift instead of condemning me for something I never asked for.
Oren had never been stingy with his affection or his aid, but right now, I needed more than stitches. “It’s been ninety-seven years, Oren. I want to know why.”
His eyes softened at the pleading in my voice. “Dahlia…”
“I was okay with not knowing. For a long time, I was okay. Not anymore. I don’t know what changed. I only know, I can’t keep existing, Oren. I can’t. It’s not enough. So don’t tell me I don’t need a job. It’s all I have.”
“Talk of home always did get you emotional,” he said, offering me a brief, soothing smile. “But what happened on Drimera was a long time ago, Dahl. You’ve had many lives since then. That one was just a spark in the dark.”
“You’re right,” I said, but he’d missed the whole point.
I didn’t want many lives. I wanted one worth living.
Picking up my bag from the floor, I stood. “I should go.”
Oren put a hand on my arm. “Get some rest. And think about what I said. If you expose Aidric or go against Naalish in any way, no matter how small, the reprieve you’ve been given will be over. The retrievers will come for you.”
“Let them. If I’m so damn important, they shouldn’t have stopped in the first place.”
Seventeen
I pulled up to the curb across from the Chandler house and shut off the engine. My lights went dark. My wipers stopped. I peered through the steady shower streaking my windshield, studying the other cars on the block. None had patrol lights fixed to their roofs. The police babysitter Detective Creed had arranged to meet me wasn’t here.
More accurately, I was late enough that the officer got tired of waiting.
It was rude, but it was better if I went into the house alone. I’d only followed police procedure for Creed’s sake. He was having a hard enough time with the investigation. Illegal search and seizure by his consultant wouldn’t help.
Now, I just had to get in and out without anyone knowing I was here.
Slipping my leather jacket on over my hooded sweatshirt, I opened the door. Wind gusted, nearly pushing it closed again. The temperature had fallen when the storm blew in, and the chilly air swept over me as I put a leg out. Water pelted my black jeans as I paused, deliberating the need for my bag in the trunk. My sidearm was tucked inside, along with my camera, coveralls, and forensics gear. But without anyone from the SCPD looking over my shoulder, I didn’t need to pretend.
Getting out, I pulled the hood up over my braided hair and closed the door. I splashed my way through the river running over the asphalt and crossed the street. As I reached the sidewalk, a man exited the blue two-door parked in front of the neighboring house. Underdressed for the weather, he ran toward me in faded jeans and a red t-shirt. Puddles sloshed up with his long, hurried gait. His head was down. Rain darkened his blond hair.
He stopped beside me on the sidewalk. Making sure the knife at the small of my back was covered, I greeted him warmly. “Officer Evans. Nice to see you again.”
He put a hand up, shielding his eyes. “Miss Nite.”
“I didn’t realize you were here. Sorry I’m late.”
“Not a problem.” He pulled at his shirt, soaked and clinging to his chest.
“Where’s your uniform?”
“My shift was over. Barnes grabbed me on the way out. Said he needed someone to swing by and let you in for another look.”
“Sorry to hold you up.”
“It’s fine. It’s on my way home.’
“The edge of the city limits is on your way home?”
Flashing a wet sheepish grin, he confessed. “I figured if you were requesting to sweep the place again, maybe you were onto something. And if you were,” he reached past me and unlocked the gate. “I wanted to be here when you cracked this case wide open.”
A brilliant flash lit the sky. Exactly two seconds later, thunder erupted above our heads, drowning my response. Another flash streaked in vivid veins of white, illuminating a layer of angry, dark purple clouds. More thunder followed and the rain fell harder. Hail mixed in, stinging exposed skin like shards of pelting glass.
Evans took off for the cover of the porch. I was right behind him.
Rushing up the steps at his heels, I pushed off my hood. “Thanks for the confidence,” I said, referring to his last words. “But I don’t think I’m cracking anything tonight.”
Shivering slightly, Evans ran a hand over his face. He pressed it back over his head, casting droplets into the air. “If you think it’s a waste of time, why are we here?”
“I’m not sure. It just feels too neat, too perfect. It’s probably nothing.”
“I guess you don’t go to the movies much,” he said, pulling his drenched shirt off over his head.
“Why do you say that?”
Ringing out his t-shirt with both hands, the excess splashed onto his shoes and the already wet hem of his jeans. “Whenever anyone says ‘it’s probably nothing’…it’s always something.”
“Let’s hope you’re right.” I slipped out of my leather jacket and took off my sweatshirt. “Here. Dry off with this.” I tossed him the sweatshirt.
Evans caught it in one hand. “Thanks” Dropping his own crumpled garment onto the porch with a loud splat, he turned slightly, revealing the gun in the back waistband of his jeans.
I was glad to see he was prepared, but I hoped it wouldn’t come in handy.
As I squeezed the water from my braid, he ran my sweatshirt over his chest like a towel. Watching him, I admitted to myself what I’d known since the moment we met: I liked him. Officer Evans was one of the good guys. He was funny and smart. He had a friendly, easy way that almost made me forget we weren’t the same.
It’s been a long time since I’ve made a new friend, I thought. Maybe I’m due.
It was customary for humans to seek new friendships when they moved. Sleeping in gutters, cars, tents, abandoned buildings and seedy motels, I’d rarely stayed anywhere long enough to make such attachments. On those few occasions when I chanced getting close, the disasters had ranged from hurt feelings to trashed apartments to fatal wounds. I’d never owned a plant, never had a cat. On Drimera, I possessed nothing that wasn’t essential or approved. Lyrriken living spaces weren’t chosen. They were assigned. Only those exiled from the cities were free to go where they pleased.
We didn’t have friends or family. We had den-mates, squad-mates, superiors, instructors, apprentices, peers—lovers.
Every owned object had a function. Every association had a purpose.
I’d left Drimera so long ago, yet after nearly a hundred years, parts of it were still in me. Maybe it’s time to let go of the rest, I thought, watching Evans fluffing his hair.
As personable as the man was, he probably had more than enough friends to go around. I wasn’t sure I even had one. My affection for Sal was too deep to classify as friendship. I’d been there to hold him the day he was born, and to hug him the day his father died. Someday, when I looked the same as I did now, and Sal was a frail old man, I might be there when he died. But Sal had a wife, two daughters, a son, and a handful of grandchildren. They wouldn’t appreciate a (seemingly) young, red-headed gym groupie hanging around.
Oren was my mentor. It was a thin, sometimes fluid barrier, but it would always be between us. Nadine was too much of a mystery to be a friend, but she was a good listener, a confidant. Beyond that, I had no idea what she was.
And then there’s Ronan…
Sighing inwardly, I thought of our conversation in my apartment about honesty. I recalled Carly’s pleading eyes, the jogger and the chunk missing from her bloody scalp. I recalled my fight in the stairwell and with Coen in the alley. Friends are as risky as lovers. I had no right to put either in the crosshairs with me. And how could Evans and I be friends if I was obligated to lie to him at every turn?
I tried not to be disappointed as I decided. Arm’s length it is. Like always.
My stare had gone on too long. An odd look had developed on Evans’s face. He was studying me, using his cop sense. It was sharp. But I knew how to send it askew.
Emotions still, eyes calm, I smiled like nothing was wrong and stuck my arms in my jacket. “I’m going to have a look at the yard.”
“Now? You’ll be soaked.”
“It’s slowing down.”
Evans glanced out past the porch. The downpour had lightened, but the sky was still flickering. A burst of wind blew over the house, pushing an empty garbage can down the street. “You know, whatever you’re looking for has already been washed away?”
“I just want to get the full picture.”
Skepticism kept him staring. I smiled again, and his doubt waned. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll come with you.”
“No need. I’ll only be a minute.”
Before Evans could argue further, I jogged down the porch steps and out onto the lawn. Stepping lightly on the soggy ground, I looked up and down the street. I eyed the surrounding properties, noting again how expansive the Chandlers’ yard was compared to the rest. Moving toward the back, I let some of my dragon half out to enhance my senses. I breathed deep, smelling the ozone in the air and the mud beneath my boots. The scent of lyrriken was faint and spotty, but it was enough to lead me to the back of the house.
I stopped at the end of the yard, where the fence bordered the empty lot next door. Fully enclosed, with the same type of fencing, there was no structure on the adjacent lot and no for sale sign. Moving closer, I realized the deeper shadow at the back was a heavy swathe of trees. Their branches were a dense tangle that overhung the fence and blocked out the light from the street lamps.
Curious, I reached a hand over the fence. I flipped the lock on the other side and wind grabbed the gate, swinging the metal wide on its hinges as I walked through.
The plot was decent sized. The grass had been left to grow long, but there wasn’t a single piece of garbage. Not a rock or stray twig on the ground. Someone had kept it clean.
I ran my eyes over the tall stalks. Many were bent and trampled. It was a lot of activity for an undeveloped plot of land. Especially considering most of what had come through wasn’t human. Smells of many different species were on the air, including my own. Evans would be coming to look for me long before I’d sorted them all. Still, I didn’t need to know their distinctions. The fact that they were here together was telling enough.
But telling of what? Lyrriken weren’t the type to mingle.
I moved farther into the lot. Detecting the outline of a small structure in the heavy gloom, as I drew closer, a streak of lightning identified my find. It was a shed. Unremarkable from the outside, the small, windowless building was situated between the trees. It fit perfectly, like a space had been cleared out and the shed dropped inside. So perfect, in fact, it wouldn’t be seen from any angle but where I was standing. Certainly not from the street. The wood had been painted to blend in with the trunks of the surrounding trees. It wasn’t illusion like Coen was capable of, but the camouflage of paint and overgrowth was effective.
I walked up. The shed door was padlocked with a heavy chain.
“Maybe you weren’t such a normal family after all.”
I reached for the lock, and a dazzling band of lightning tore down from the sky. The air crackled as the bolt struck a tree not twenty feet from the shed. Branches split and tumbled down. Hail the size of quarters plummeted from the sky. The ice dropped noisily onto my jacket, but it didn’t bounce off. The hail adhered—to me and to themselves. Drawn together like magnets, sticking to my clothes and my skin, the pieces joined to form a heavy, frigid crust. I strained, but my fingers wouldn’t move. The ice on my hands and sleeves didn’t crack. The same weight was growing over my back, across my shoulders, down my legs, and over my boots; rooting me to the ground as the ice spread over the grass.
My jacket collar stiffened. The leather pressed in against my chest. I felt a tug as my neck was pulled back and my face forced up into the storm. I closed my eyes against the sting of the hard rain, as icy fingers reached, breaching my mouth, forcing it apart.
In the echo of fading thunder, I heard Evans calling my name from the front of the house. I tried to answer him. All I could do was gag on the ice flow growing in my throat.
A taunting female voice whispered behind me. “Shhhhhh…”
The hail fell harder, bruising my skin, blocking my air.
The jacket pushed tighter against my chest as Evans called louder.
With a laugh, her hand slipped away. I focused then, forcing my legs to move. My strangled cry of effort was masked by the noise of the ice as it cracked around my boots.
I turned fast. She was already gone.
Spitting the accumulated shards from my mouth, I coughed up the rest. I sent scales across my hands and the icy sheets exploded off. With heat from my palms, I softened the heavy layer around my neck. As it melted, I moved my efforts down over my body, heating it until the last of the casing broke off. The ice was gone, but the stifling sensation had yet to fade. The leather still felt heavy, restrictive.
I heard Evans again.
If she was still here, I couldn’t let her anywhere near him.
I shook my scales away and ran back through the fence. The grass in the yard was significantly shorter. With so little to soak up the rain, the ground was a slippery soup of mud. My boots slid over the slick surface as I rounded the front of the house and up the stairs. With far more drama than I could explain, I stripped off my leather jacket and threw it on the porch floor.
Sensing my distress, Evans took an anxious step toward me. “You okay?”
I panted out a believable explanation. “It…was…hailing.”
“I can see that.” Frowning, he flicked a piece of ice out of my hair. “Find anything?”
“A shed on the empty lot next door. It’s padlocked shut. No windows.”
“We can’t break the lock without a warrant. But if you think it’s something, we can find out who owns it and get in there.”
“Good.” But I wasn’t waiting for permission. I just needed him gone first.
The expectance in my eyes dawned on him. “You mean you want a warrant now?”
“Do you mind?”
“I can put a call in,” he said, pulling his wet shirt back on over his head. “But even if we find the owners, you’re not g
etting in that shed tonight.”
“What if you requested it in person? Would that move things along? I can check the house by myself. I promise to lock up after.”
“I’m not leaving you here. If Barnes found out, he’d have my head…and probably a few others parts, too.”
I grinned at his joke, but I didn’t like it. If he stayed, he was in danger. I had no choice but to take a quick look inside now and double back after he left. “Forget it,” I said, glancing out into the storm. If she was close, I couldn’t hear her. I couldn’t smell her near the house. “It can wait until morning.” I gave Evans a quick smile. “Tell me about the basement.”
“You ever see that show about hoarders? Downstairs would be like a top ten episode. Maybe top five.” Pulling out a pocketknife, Evans cut the police tape over the door. I helped him pull it aside, and he produced a key from the front pocket of his jeans. He unlocked the door and pushed it in. “You have good timing. Barnes is sending a team back in the morning to box everything up and take it to the lab.” He took a pair of gloves out of his back pocket. The fingers drooped, soggy and limp.
I laughed at his unhappy face, until he pulled out a second pair for me.
I snatched them from his grip. “A messy basement doesn’t fit with the rest of the house.”
“I guess some people have more skeletons than a closet can handle.”
“Nice line, Officer,” I grinned in approval.
Evans tugged on his wet gloves. “I have a few I pull out for special occasions.”
“I’m honored.” I grabbed my jacket and stepped toward the open door.
Evans stuck an arm out to block my way. His other stretched back for his weapon. “Let me check it first.”
“I don’t think that’s necessary.”
“I do.” He reached in and flipped on the light. “Wait here.”
“Whatever happened to ladies first?”
Burying my impatience, I stood on the porch and waited as he checked the house.
Nite Fire: Flash Point Page 18