I had been so focused on fighting that I hadn’t seen the SUV come up behind us.
Shawn had gotten out of the car, and he held a .45 automatic pistol in both hands, the muzzle flashing as he emptied an entire clip into Blaster Boy’s back. The gunman jerked and twitched, stumbling towards the guard rail, and I saw blood spray from the wounds on his back. I also heard several clangs and whines, like the bullets were ricocheting off metal.
Shawn’s gun clicked empty, and Blaster Boy staggered towards the rail. He had just taken fifteen gunshots to the back, but he didn’t look that badly hurt. If anything, he looked annoyed. I started another spell, and he whirled, seized the guard rail, and vaulted over it. I ran after him, holding my Shield spell if he tried to shoot back, but I saw him racing away along the seawall. He turned and vanished, no doubt retreating into a storm sewer.
I let out a long breath.
It seemed that Blaster Boy had decided to retreat rather than risk fighting to the death. Just as well. I wasn’t sure I would be able to take him.
“My lady!” shouted Shawn, and Helen scrambled out of the SUV.
I turned and looked at Della, dismissing the Shield spell. There was glowing golden blood pooling beneath her head. I snarled out a curse and hurried to her as Shawn and Helen joined me, Helen running at an impressive clip despite her high heels.
“She’s hurt,” said Shawn.
“Worse than it looks,” I said. I knelt and felt her skull. Turns out a dragon in human form felt quite a bit warmer than a standard human. “There are no lumps, and I don’t think she cracked her skull. Scalp wounds always bleed a lot.”
“I think she’s right,” said Shawn. “I saw a lot of wounds like that when I was one of Baron Thronaris’s men-at-arms.” His eyes met mine. “But that man you were fighting. I’ve never seen anyone move so fast, not even anything in the Shadowlands.”
“He had strange armor on his arm,” said Helen.
“Wasn’t armor,” I said. “It was his actual arm. Or…I think it’s some kind of machine that replaced his real arm. He probably used that to kill Malthraxivorn.” Unless there was more than one of him? Now that was a nasty thought. I had barely held my own against one gunman. A whole squad of Blaster Boys would be nightmarish. “We can figure it out later. Right now, we need to get Delaxsicoria the hell off the street and somewhere safe.”
“Her condo in Lord Malthraxivorn’s building,” said Helen at once.
“No,” I said. “Blaster Boy…”
“Who?” said Shawn and Helen in unison.
I grimaced. “The guy with the machine arm. I’m betting he came to kill your lady, and he doesn’t seem like the sort to give up. He probably just retreated to regroup and think up a new plan. Going back to her building would be suicide.”
“Where, then?” said Shawn, looking up and down the street like he expected the gunman to return at any second. Which was an entirely reasonable fear.
“I know a place,” I said. “Come on, help me get her into the SUV.”
I really, really hoped that Riordan understood when I told him I had brought a wounded dragon to his condo.
***
Chapter 11: Bring Some Work Home
It was peak rush hour, and traffic in New York was stop and go. Riordan preferred to drive and only let Nora take the wheel to humor her, but right now, he was glad that she was driving. That let her get frustrated with the traffic, while he used his phone to do research.
“I’ve looked up Max Sarkany,” said Riordan. “Rich art dealer. Owns numerous buildings in New York, and a few in Manhattan. He apparently makes a lot of money selling rare artworks to Elven nobles and rich humans.”
“For God’s sake! Does no one in this bleeding city know how to use their turn signals?” snarled Nora, scowling at the windshield. In a much calmer voice, she said. “Our next stop is to chat with Mr. Sarkany?”
“Doubt it,” said Riordan. “He’s dead.”
Nora stopped glaring at the traffic long enough to give him a startled look.
“Murdered,” said Riordan. “A few days ago at his art gallery on the Upper West Side. The Homeland Security report says he was killed during a robbery, but there’s not much detail about it.”
“Jesus,” said Nora. “This is turning into a mess, isn’t it?”
Riordan nodded. “My best guess is that Sarkany found some copies of the Summoning Codex by accident. Art dealers like him will sometimes buy out the contents of estate sales or abandoned storage lockers and hope they find something profitable.” He glanced at the web page for Dragon Imports Art Gallery on his phone screen. “I bet he found something in Russia. His gallery’s website is touting an exhibition of artwork on the bogatyrs from the Russian Imperium…”
“Bogatyrs?” said Nora.
“Semi-historical, semi-legendary figures from medieval Russian history,” said Riordan. “Knights-errant who wandered around the countryside fighting ogres and witches.”
Nora snorted. “Maybe Malcolm Lock should write a book about them.”
Riordan chose to ignore that. “The Russian lab report we found in Watkins’ copy of the Codex would confirm that. I suspect Sarkany bought a load of old books and antiques in Russia, didn’t realize what he had, and sold some of them to Anthony Watkins. Watkins sold one copy of the Summoning Codex to Ricci and kept another for himself.”
“Does Sarkany have more copies of the Codex?” said Nora.
“That’s a good question.” They drove through a stoplight and made it maybe another fifty yards before traffic came to a stop again. “Another good question is who killed him.”
Nora considered that as they waited for the next stoplight to turn green. “Could’ve been the Inquisition. If they caught word that Sarkany had sold copies of the Summoning Codex, they might have just shot him and made it look like a robbery.”
“Maybe,” said Riordan. “But they would only do that if Sarkany had deliberately and knowingly sold copies of the Summoning Codex.” He scratched his jaw. “It’s also possible that someone realized Sarkany had another copy of the Codex and killed him for it.”
“Yeah,” said Nora. “Or maybe Sarkany found something else in Russia. Dark Ones cults hoard copies of the Summoning Codex, don’t they? Maybe Sarkany found the secret cache of an old Dark Ones cult. Maybe there was a copy of the Void Codex among the books, or something worse.”
“Something worse?” said Riordan. “A copy of the Void Codex would be dangerous enough.” That book was a manual for summoning Dark Ones, and copies had been circulating since it had been written in medieval Germany a thousand years earlier.
“Maybe an artifact like those cuneiform tablets that summon Dark Ones,” said Nora. “Or something like the Sky Hammer.”
“The Sky Hammer?” said Riordan. “Why would you think that?”
Nora shrugged. “You told me about Last Judge Mountain. The US government had all sorts of nasty things hidden in there. Well, the Russians and the Americans were enemies before the Conquest, right? They almost nuked each other a couple of times. If the American government had a secret base full of nasty things like the Sky Hammer and automatic summoning circles for the Dark Ones, why wouldn’t the Russians?”
“That’s a good point,” said Riordan. “Nadia and I saw a video inside the Last Judge base, a message left by General Jeremy Shane for his successor. He said that the pre-Conquest US government stole most of its knowledge about summoning Dark Ones from the Russians after the Soviet Union collapsed.” He didn’t like that thought at all. The things Nicholas Connor had found inside Last Judge Mountain had nearly killed millions of people. Had Sarkany found something similar inside a Russian version of Last Judge?
“Guess we had better take a good long look around Sarkany’s warehouse,” said Nora. “Heard from the tigress?”
“No,” said Riordan, turning his phone over in his hand. He had sent her a text message, explaining that he would be late, and he hadn’t heard back. Likely she was busy and
hadn’t had time to respond. Or her phone was on silent, and she hadn’t seen the message. Or she was hurt someplace, and needed his help…
He forced aside the worry and mostly succeeded. Nadia could look after herself. She could defend herself more capably than nearly anyone else.
Except when she couldn’t.
“She’s probably doing the same thing we are,” said Nora. “Fighting this bloody damned traffic and running around the city looking for leads. If she really needed your help, she would call.”
“I know,” said Riordan.
He wasn’t sure of that, though. Sometimes he thought that Nadia’s mind was an engine that would rip itself apart if it wasn’t eased back from time to time.
“Of course, we might want to get her help for this part,” said Nora. “I’ll bet Sarkany has excellent security around his warehouse. Might be easier to have the tigress turn invisible and shut all the cameras off for us.”
“You’re right,” said Riordan. “We’ll take a look around first, see what kind of security we’re dealing with.”
But he didn’t want to wait. He was reasonably sure that someone had killed Max Sarkany for his copies of the Summoning Codex, or to claim whatever other relics Sarkany had found in Russia. Which meant, in a way, this had turned into a murder investigation. Riordan had never been an officer of Homeland Security, but he knew that if a murder wasn’t solved within the first seventy-two hours, it was probably going to remain unsolved.
He shifted in his seat as Nora joined the traffic over the I-278 bridge and into Brooklyn. At least his clothes were more comfortable. They had stopped by the Sanctuary long enough to shower and change, and Riordan had to admit it had been a relief to wash the smell of cat piss away. Odd that it annoyed him more than the scent of blood. He had changed clothes to boots, cargo pants, a T-shirt, and a leather jacket loose enough to conceal a shoulder holster, and Nora had donned similar clothing. Riordan had also loaded more weaponry and suitable equipment into the back of the SUV from the Family’s armory.
Whatever they found inside Sarkany’s warehouse, Riordan wanted to be ready.
At last they cleared the traffic jam near the bridge and proceeded into Brooklyn. The traffic dropped down considerably as they passed the South Brooklyn Marine Terminal and headed into the grid of warehouses and piers that jutted into the bay. Most big ships went to the ports in New Jersey, but quite a few smaller ones put in here.
It would be easier to smuggle forbidden items. Though Riordan wondered if Max Sarkany had known what he had found. Dragon Imports likely had any number of employees, and one of them might have been willing to steal and sell the copies of the Summoning Codex. Maybe Sarkany had planned the sale of the copies of the Summoning Codex. Or perhaps it had been a rogue employee, and Sarkany had no idea.
Or maybe Sarkany had known and had been killed to shut him up. The elderly owner of an art gallery could not have put up much of a fight against a summoned anthrophage or wraithwolf.
They drove past the Dragon Imports warehouse. It was a block-sized four-story building of red brick. All the windows had been bricked up, and the only entrance Riordan could see from the street was a pair of heavy steel security doors. An access road went past the building to a small lot behind it, no doubt leading to a truck dock.
“Looks deserted,” said Nora. “We…”
The SUV jolted, and Riordan’s seat belt sawed into his chest. He thought they had hit something, but the vehicle kept moving.
“Goddamn potholes!” snarled Nora. “Why can’t the city fix them?”
“They’re probably busy repairing the damage from the Rebel attack,” said Riordan.
“That was all in Manhattan. We’re in Brooklyn.”
“Drive to the next side street and park there,” said Riordan. “We’ll head up on foot and take a look at the building.”
“If anyone asks, we’re private investigators working for an insurance company?” said Nora. She turned and found an empty street.
“It’s a classic,” said Riordan, “but it works. Impersonating Homeland Security investigators is always too chancy. People ask to see badge numbers.” Nora eased the SUV into an empty parking spot. “Ready?”
“Always,” said Nora with a grin.
They paused long enough to check their weapons. Nora had a Royal Arms. 45 semiautomatic hidden beneath her jacket, and so did Riordan. He had his Shadowmorph blade and his magical spells, but sometimes a drawn gun had a greater impact than a flashy display of magic.
They circled the block and headed towards the Dragon Imports warehouse. It was past 6 PM by now, and the sun was starting to go down in the west. Most of the sky was overcast, but some of the rays of the sun broke through the gray clouds and struck the waters of the bay. Between the dimming gray light, the few spots of color from the sunset, and the rippling water, the scene had an eerie, solemn beauty.
Though the smell of garbage from the bay balanced that out nicely.
Riordan slowed a little as they approached the warehouse. He saw a security camera over the doors, recording anyone who passed in front of the building. Though there were no cameras mounted elsewhere on the warehouse's exterior, at least that he could see. No doubt there would be more near the truck dock, and many more inside the building. They started to pass in front of the warehouse, and Riordan glanced to the side, wondering if he could spot the pothole that had given his SUV such a bad shake.
He came to a surprised stop.
“What’s wrong?” said Nora, her hand twitching towards her hidden gun.
“Look at this,” said Riordan, stepping to the curb.
The pothole was easy to find. It was about the size of a dinner plate, and deep enough that Riordan saw the gravel fill beneath the road. Yet most potholes were crumbled and weathered. This one looked as if it had been melted through the asphalt. Small bits of broken dark stone were scattered around it, and Riordan stooped and picked one up.
It was a piece of asphalt that had melted and then dried into a twisted shape. He had visited Hawaii some years ago on a mission for the Family, and once he had accomplished his task, he had taken a few days to play tourist since he had never been there before. A shop had sold pieces of cooled lava thrown up by the volcanoes, pieces that had cooled as they struck the earth, and they had looked a great deal like the pieces of asphalt scattered around the crater.
Because it was a crater, not a pothole.
“What the hell?” said Nora. “Looks like something melted through it.” She pointed. “Look at the guard rail by the sea wall. Something hit it pretty hard. Maybe there was an accident.”
“Maybe,” said Riordan. “Doesn’t look big enough for a car impact, though. Might be a coincidence.”
Nora raised an eyebrow. “An art dealer who apparently sold two copies of the Summoning Codex gets murdered, and we find a weird melted spot in front of his warehouse.”
“I really don’t like coincidences,” said Riordan. “Let’s head around back. We might find a fire door that doesn’t have a camera.”
Nora nodded, and they walked up the access road and behind the warehouse. There was a mid-sized concrete parking lot behind the building, big enough for forty or fifty cars. Likely the employees of Dragon Imports parked here. Since this was New York, the parking lot was surrounded by a chain link fence and barbed wire, with a gate and an attendant’s booth. The booth was unmanned, and there were no cars in the lot. A truck ramp sloped down to the back of the warehouse, leading to three truck doors. Next to the truck ramp was a concrete loading dock and a smaller truck door.
A man in a black coat sat on the steps to the loading dock, smoking a cigarette and watching Riordan and Nora.
Riordan’s first thought was that he was the night watchman or a security guard. But the man was dressed wrong for that. His coat was the sort of navy-style pea coat that Nadia preferred, and beneath it, he wore dusty jeans, steel-toed work boots, and a gray T-shirt. He didn’t have a radio or a flashlight or any of the
other equipment of a security guard. Though to judge from the way his coat hung on the right, he had a pistol in a shoulder holster.
The man had icy blue eyes in a hard face, with close-cropped black hair and black stubble shading his jaw. Riordan’s immediate impression was that the man was dangerous. His instincts reacted the way they did when he came face to face with a predator.
Perhaps the man in the black coat had something of the same reaction when meeting two Shadow Hunters.
He remained sitting, still smoking that cigarette.
They stared at each other for a moment, the sun growing dimmer to the west.
“Hi,” said the man at last. “My name’s Neil.” He spoke with an English accent. Not with Nora’s Manchester accent, but precise Received Pronunciation, the sort affected by all the broadcasters in the UK.
“Hello yourself,” said Nora.
Neil blinked and then grinned. “I’ll be damned, someone from home. Liverpool?”
“No, Manchester,” said Nora. “Close, but still too far.”
“Yeah, spoken like a true Manchester girl,” said Neil. His expression turned distant, and Riordan was struck by how weary he looked. “Been a long, long time since I’ve been home.”
“Are you a security guard here?” said Riordan.
“Nope,” said Neil. He shifted, and Riordan saw patches of dried blood on his gray T-shirt. “I’m just waiting for new orders.”
“Are you hurt?” said Riordan. “Do you need medical attention?”
He shared a glance with Nora. She gave a faint nod and shifted her stance, freeing her hands to grip her pistol.
Neil snorted. “I’ve had more than enough goddamn medical attention in my life, thank you.” He glanced at his shirt. “This? Let’s just say I ran into a couple of women who didn’t like my orders.” He let out a long sigh. “Mind telling me what you’re doing here?”
“We’re private investigators working for an insurance company,” said Riordan.
Neil twitched at that as if he had been jolted by a live wire. “Let me guess. You’re investigating the death of Max Sarkany?”
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