Cloak of Dragons

by Moeller, Jonathan

  My motorcycle waited there, a black Royal Motors NX-9 sportsbike with orange highlights. That had been the source of my “tigress” nickname from Nora since I had been riding that bike on the day we had met during the Archon attack in Milwaukee. Which felt like it was a century and a half ago from my perspective, but from Nora’s, it was just barely two years past.

  Damned Eternity Crucible. I shoved the thought out of my head.

  Anyway, I was glad I had brought my bike here from Milwaukee. It meant I had a vehicle when Riordan was using the SUV.

  I started the motor, rode out of the garage, and pulled into traffic.

  Time to start narrowing some things down.

  I headed for the John Doe Hospital.

  ***

  Chapter 4: Family

  Riordan crossed the lobby of a skyscraper in midtown Manhattan, heading for the bank of elevators on the far wall.

  In his suit and with his briefcase, Riordan looked like some prosperous businessman or broker. Appearances were so often deceiving, but Riordan supposed it was at least partially true. He did own several businesses and properties around the New York area. Granted, he had made his money from his books and his work with the Shadow Hunters and then invested it over the decades. While there were no pictures of “Malcolm Lock,” he knew that most people thought Mr. Lock would look like an aging history professor – gray-bearded, paunchy, probably wearing suspenders and tweed.

  The reality was rather different

  His sunglasses were still on, so he slipped them off and tucked them into an interior pocket of his coat. He could walk around outside without sunglasses during the day, but his Shadowmorph gave him heightened senses. Sunglasses were simply more comfortable.

  He caught some of the women at the receptionists’ desk giving him an admiring look as he passed. Riordan’s first thought was that he had lost control of his Shadowmorph, that it was hungry and looking for prey, but it was under tight control. It seemed that Nadia was right. Apparently he did clean up nicely.

  Alex Matheson and some of the younger Shadow Hunters would have stopped to flirt with the receptionists, but Riordan kept walking.

  The lobby looked like it belonged to a bank – dark marble walls, a polished floor, a few tasteful paintings here and there. In fact, the floors above held numerous banks or were leased by various financial services companies. The Family of the Shadow Hunters owned the building, but only used the top floors and several levels of the basement. No reason not to rent out the remaining floors and collect some income.

  The elevator door hissed open, and Riordan stepped inside, hitting the close door button at once. In the control panel was a small slot, and Riordan drew a card from his wallet and inserted it. A portion of the screen changed to a keyboard, and Riordan tapped in his password.

  The elevator chimed and ejected his card, and began rising towards the top floor. Riordan waited, watching the door. The panel chimed again as the elevator reached its destination, and Riordan stepped into another reception room. It was smaller than the big lobby on the ground level, but it had a polished marble floor, and high glass windows overlooked the streets of Manhattan far below. A long wooden desk rested on the far side of the lobby, and a man and a woman sat behind it. Both looked like perfectly unremarkable office workers, if a bit more fit than average, but Riordan knew they both had pistols under their jackets, and there were more weapons hidden beneath the desk.

  There were only a few hundred Shadow Hunters in all – very few could survive the Test. That said, the Family employed several thousand people around the world, and among them were several very skilled and well-compensated security professionals. Had Riordan been a stranger, they would have politely turned him away. Had he come with hostile intent, they would have overpowered him. And had he been an enemy wizard or some sort of Shadowlands creature, they would have retreated and alerted the Shadow Hunters that they were under attack.

  Riordan took another step towards the desk, and a flicker of blue light went through his vision, accompanied by a faint crawling tingle on his skin. There was a permanent warding spell around the Sanctuary of the Family, a spell called a Seal of Warning. Had he been a creature of the Shadowlands, the spell would have sounded the alarm. As it was, the Seal notified the guards that a wizard and the bearer of a Shadowmorph symbiont had entered its bounds. Riordan caught a flicker of light coming from the desk. The untrained eye would have thought it a computer screen. He knew it was a crystal linked to the Seal of Warning.

  “Good morning, Mr. MacCormac,” said the woman behind the desk with a bright smile. “If you could sign in, please?”

  Riordan nodded and crossed the rest of the way to the desk. A small palm reader terminal sat there, and he placed his left hand against it. The device chimed and flashed green, and he heard the click as the door behind the desk unlocked. He nodded to the receptionists and slipped through the door.

  Beyond was a large room that looked like the lobby of a particularly nice hotel. There were couches and overstuffed chairs, and a long counter holding a buffet table and several coffeemakers. Doors on the walls led off to the gym, the swimming pool, and training rooms. At this hour, the lounge was nearly deserted.

  Alex Matheson sat on one of the couches, his feet propped up on a table, a cigarette in his hand. He was unshaven and wearing a suit that looked a bit rumpled. Riordan caught the smell of perfume and sweat. Either Alex had only just gotten up, or he hadn’t gone to sleep at all last night. Judging from the faint scent of perfume, Alex hadn’t been alone last night.

  “I hope you didn’t bring her back here,” said Riordan.

  Alex gestured with the cigarette, leaving a trail of smoke in his wake. “No, that would be a security nightmare. We used her place.” He smirked. “Twice. And if I had brought her here, I would have had to learn her name.”

  “Wouldn’t that be unfortunate,” said Riordan.

  Alex grinned. “Well, we can’t all get to be married to a…”

  “Watch yourself,” murmured Riordan.

  “Some of us aren’t content to be tied down,” said Alex, smoothly changing gears. His expression sobered. “You’ve got another job?”

  “Not that I know of,” said Riordan. “I just came in to talk to the Firstborn and make sure you and Nora get paid.”

  “Ah, good,” said Alex. He ran a hand over his hair. “It costs a lot to look this good. But I’ve got another job.”

  Riordan raised his eyebrows. “Already?”

  “Yeah, the Duke of Cincinnati commissioned it,” said Alex. “Seems like someone has been calling up cytospawn, and the damn things have been attacking cars on the I-71 and the I-471 bridges over the Ohio River.”

  Riordan frowned. “You’re going alone?”

  “Nah, Adler’s in town, and he’s going with me,” said Alex. “We’ll clear it up in a few days, come back, and get paid.” He puffed on his cigarette and gestured with it. “But, damn, the pace has picked up since the battle of New York. It seems like every dumbass with a spark of magical talent is calling things from the Shadowlands.”

  “It does,” said Riordan. He’d noticed that himself.

  “Well, I don’t want to keep you,” said Alex. He grinned. “Especially since you’re going to talk to the Firstborn about us getting paid.”

  “A man needs to have priorities,” said Riordan, and he crossed the lounge. Alex was a lot like most of the younger Shadow Hunters, capable and confident to the point of cockiness. But not overconfident. Overconfident Shadow Hunters died swiftly.

  Or perished during the Test.

  A door on the far side of the lounge opened to a flight of stairs. Riordan climbed the stairs and came to a hallway. The corridor on the right led to the barracks, where Shadow Hunters could stay while in New York. Riordan had used to sleep there, but eventually, he had been spending so much time in New York that he had bought the condo. The corridor on the left led to offices, training rooms, and armories, and Riordan walked down that ha
llway.

  He stepped into a large office. Tall windows provided a good view of the Manhattan skyline, and a middle-aged woman sat at a desk, typing into a computer. She looked up and smiled at him.

  “Riordan,” said Natalie, who had worked as the Firstborn’s personal assistant for the last fifteen years. “He’s expecting you. Go right in.”

  “Thanks,” said Riordan, and he walked past the desk and into the office of the Firstborn, the leader and the eldest of the Family of the Shadow Hunters.

  The office was large, as large as a good-sized New York apartment. Three of the walls were glass, looking over Manhattan, though the windows were tinted and kept the glare of the sun at bay. Smooth dark marble clicked beneath Riordan’s shoes. The Firstborn’s desk was at the far end of the room, a simple wooden table holding a computer. There were various objects scattered around the office – racks of weapons, small sculptures, a table with a coffee maker.

  There was also the dwarf-gate, the key to the Test of the Shadow Hunters.

  The gate was an eight-foot square of peculiar bronze-like metal. Within the frame was a mirror that reflected everything with a peculiar gray tint. Riordan saw his own reflection gazing at him from within the mirror – tall, brown-haired, brown-eyed, and clad in a three-piece suit. Yet there also seemed to be something moving behind the mirror, within the thick gray glass.

  Of course, it wasn’t actually glass.

  The dwarf-gate could act as a focused rift way to a specific domain in the Shadowlands, and there, potential Shadow Hunters underwent their Test. A memory of old pain flickered through Riordan as he thought of it. Most candidates thought the Test was a trial of skill and prowess. It wasn’t. It was a trial of self-control, of mastering the dark impulses of the Shadowmorph.

  Four out of five potential Shadow Hunters who took the Test did not survive.

  Riordan turned his attention from the dwarf-gate and to the man rising from behind the desk.

  “Riordan,” said Jonah Robb, the Firstborn of the Family and the oldest living Shadow Hunter.

  “Sir,” said Riordan, and he reached across the desk and shook Robb’s hand. He called very few people “sir” any longer, but the Firstborn was one of them.

  He had earned the respect. On Kalvarion, before the Archons and the Conquest, there had been a society of Elven Shadow Hunters, devoted to fighting the Dark Ones and defending the Elves from the creatures of the Shadowlands. When the High Queen had conquered Earth, she had chartered and founded a human Family of the Shadow Hunters, charging them to hunt creatures of the Shadowlands and to find the Forerunner, the founder of the Dark Ones cults among mankind.

  Of the five original founding members of the Family, Jonah Robb was the only survivor.

  He looked like a thin, wiry man of about sixty, though Riordan knew he was over two and a half centuries old. Robb was also much faster and much stronger than he looked, which Riordan had noted firsthand from the occasional missions when the Firstborn took the field. He wore a dark suit that seemed to hang loosely from his frame, though he was lean enough that clothes almost always hung loosely on him.

  “Thank you for coming in,” said Robb, walking around the desk. “Coffee?”

  “Please,” said Riordan.

  The Firstborn touched a button on his phone. “Natalie, three coffees, please.”

  Three coffees? Was someone else joining them?

  Robb beckoned, and Riordan followed him to the corner of the office. A ring of four chairs had been set around a low table. Riordan had taken many meetings with the Firstborn here, and with the floor-to-ceiling windows, sitting in the chairs had the slightly vertiginous feeling of floating over midtown Manhattan. Robb gestured, and Riordan sat.

  “So,” said Robb, adjusting his coat as he sat down. He had shrewd, pale blue eyes, and Riordan could feel the Firstborn’s true age in those eyes. “How’s the new wife?”

  “Doing well,” said Riordan. “She said to say hello.”

  Robb smiled at that. “A charming young lady. But, then, you married her so you would agree. Convey the thanks of the Family when you see her next.”

  “I will,” said Riordan.

  “I imagine she’ll appreciate the fifty thousand dollars rather more,” said Robb in a dry voice. “Duke Tamirlas acknowledged that our writ of execution has been successfully carried out, and the money has been wired to our account. You and your team will be paid in another three to five business days, as soon as the office processes the transfers.”

  “Thank you, sir,” said Riordan.

  “No, thank you, and your team,” said Robb. “And Mrs. MacCormac. That situation could have been much worse. Maelogaunts are dangerous foes, and with that Summoning Codex, Ricci would have killed a lot of people over the long run.” He leaned back in his chair, considering Riordan. “You and Mrs. MacCormac have been married…two months now, yes?”

  “That’s right,” said Riordan.

  “It’s uncommon for Shadow Hunters to be married,” said the Firstborn. “Frankly, the aura of the Shadowmorph makes it far too easy to charm new partners.” A flicker of old pain went over his lined face. “And Shadow Hunters rarely live a long time.”

  “Do you disapprove, sir?” said Riordan.

  The Firstborn smiled. “I went to your wedding, didn’t I? And there are always exceptions to the rules. I think, Riordan, that you and Nadia are that exception. It takes an unusual woman to be married to a Shadow Hunter, but your wife is practically unique.”

  “She is,” said Riordan. The Firstborn didn’t know how right he was. He hadn’t told Robb about the Eternity Crucible. That was Nadia’s story to tell, or not to tell.

  “It is not hard to see why the High Queen recruited her,” said Robb. He did know that Nadia was one of Tarlia’s shadow agents. Riordan wasn’t quite sure how Robb had found that out, but the Firstborn was one of the most well-informed humans on the planet. “She does have an eye for…ah, here we are.”

  The office door opened, and Natalie entered, carrying a tray with three cups of coffee. With her came Nora Chandler, her long black hair tied back in a tidy bun. Nora was wearing a crisp black jacket and pencil skirt that displayed her toned legs to very good effect. Riordan had never attempted to pursue a romantic relationship with Nora. His experience with Sasha had soured him on the idea of a relationship with another Shadow Hunter, which was just as well since he might never have met Nadia otherwise. On a more physical level, Riordan preferred women who were shorter than he was, and as Nora had pointed out (much to her amusement), Riordan tended to be attracted to skinny white women with dark secrets.

  Which had definitely described Nadia when they had first met.

  Nevertheless, he had to concede that Nora was striking.

  “Hey, boss,” said Nora with a grin, and then addressed the Firstborn with more respect. “Sir.”

  “Thank you for coming, Nora,” said Robb, gesturing to another chair. Nora sat, crossing her legs, and Natalie distributed the coffees. “Ah, thank you, Natalie.”

  Natalie smiled and left, and the Firstborn took a sip of his coffee.

  “Well,” said Nora. “Isn’t this pleasant? Coffee with my boss and his boss.”

  “I want to compliment you on your work with the Ricci writ,” said Robb. “For all the harm the man did, he would have done much worse if he had not been stopped. That is the purpose of the Family, to protect mankind from both the Dark Ones and the creatures of the Shadowlands.”

  “I can’t take much of the credit,” said Nora. “If I’m going to be honest, the tigress did most of the heavy lifting on this one. It would have taken a lot longer without her help.”

  “Indeed,” said Robb. He looked at Riordan. “I sent you to find Nadia because I thought she might lead us to the Forerunner. Little did I know that your meeting with her would prove so significant.”

  “She did meet the Forerunner,” said Riordan, remembering what she had told him. “Once, when Morvilind made his pact.”

&
nbsp; “That brings us to the purpose of this meeting,” said Robb, setting his coffee on the table and straightening up. That was what he usually did when the preliminaries were over, and it was time to get down to business.

  Riordan frowned. “Do you think the Forerunner will try to locate Nadia again?”

  “No,” said the Firstborn. “From what we’ve learned of the Forerunner, he never attempts the same stratagem twice. The Rebels and the Sky Hammer were an attempt to open Earth up to the Dark Ones in the same way that the Archons ravaged Kalvarion. No, there is something else I would like you to do.”

  “What is it?” said Riordan.

  “I want the two of you to try and track down where Ricci found his copy of the Summoning Codex,” said Robb.

  Riordan tapped a finger against the side of his coffee mug. “That might be challenging. The Codex isn’t common, but it’s not exactly rare, either. There were a lot of copies originally printed, and more have been made since.”

  “I know,” said Robb. “Normally, I would not waste the time of two members of the Family on this, but I suspect it’s going to become important soon.” He picked up his coffee, sipped at it, and set the mug back down. “The world has changed rather drastically in the last year.”

  “The Sky Hammer and the Mage Fall,” said Riordan. He had been there for both cataclysmic events and almost died both times.

  “And the Great Gate,” said Nora. “The end of the war with the Archons, and the union of Earth and Kalvarion under the High Queen.”

  “The world is going to change in ways that we cannot foresee, for both humans and Elves,” said Robb. “Socially and economically both. But that is outside of our purview. I speak instead of something more dangerous. The Sky Hammer weakened the barrier between Earth and the Shadowlands.”