Darkness Bound (20 page)

The
New York Times
, Tuesday, October 1, 20—

JOURNALIST MISSING, FEARED DEAD

Jacqueline Dolan, veteran reporter and senior war correspondent for the
New York
Times
, has been reported missing. Last seen by a neighbor on the afternoon of Wednesday, September 25, Ms. Dolan initially rose to prominence with her coverage of the Iraq war. The first female reporter to be embedded with an infantry regiment on the front lines of a conflict, she was also one of the youngest reporters ever hired by the
New York Times
. Over the past decade, she has reported on hundreds of international military conflicts, and has traveled with US troops to war zones in foreign countries on more than a dozen occasions.

A police search of Ms. Dolan’s apartment uncovered no clues into her disappearance, but friends and family speculate she may have been the target of retaliation by the subjects of her Pulitzer-nominated opinion piece, “The Enemy Among Us.” A treatise on the duty of the human race to preserve our culture and history in the face of the Shifter invasion, “The Enemy Among Us” was widely lauded as the driving force behind the adoption of new anti-Shifter legislation both in the United States and abroad, and sparked heated debate on the topic.

For now the investigation is ongoing, but anyone with any information about the current whereabouts of Ms. Dolan are encouraged to contact their local police department . . .

Aside from being a dragon, being a dolphin had to be the most kickass thing in the world.

Slicing through the water at a speed of just over eight knots, Jenna was having the most fun she’d had in a long time. In spite of the seriousness of her mission and the current—awful—outlook for peace between the
Ikati
and humans, the simple pleasure of leaping over and swimming through seventy-two-degree seawater with a group of twelve other dolphins was sublime.

Pod
, she corrected herself, glancing at the sleek forms swimming beside her. A family of dolphins was called a pod.

Though she must look odd to them, pure white as she always was in animal form in contrast with their pearl gray, they’d accepted her with the happy, curious ease of Labradors greeting a newcomer in a doggie park. She’d flown most of the way across the Atlantic toward Morocco in dragon form because it was fastest—skirting the landmass of Spain and evading airplanes where necessary by Shifting to Vapor—but, famished and tired after almost ten straight hours of flying, she decided to rest.

Over the open ocean, there was nowhere else to rest but in the water.

So in she went.

Fish were plentiful, the water was warm, and echolocation proved to be
awesome
. It took a while to get the hang of communicating through her nasal passages, but if the other dolphins thought her clicks and whistles slightly strange, they didn’t mention it.

The urge to stay in this form was strong, but Jenna was close to her destination now. She had to focus on the task at hand.

She squeaked a farewell—it sounded a bit like a creaking door—thrust hard with her powerful tail, and sailed high out of the water and into the air, where she promptly Shifted to a gull.

A moment of disorientation and some awkward wing-flapping, and she was off.

The coast loomed wide and desolate ahead of her, a strip of virgin sand with a rocky scrub landscape beyond that opened to the vast Sahara, far in the distance. A stiff headwind hindered her progress, and with her small gull wings working much harder than larger dragon ones, Jenna was exhausted by the time she reached the outskirts of the sprawling, inland city of Marrakech. In the purple-gray dusk, it shimmered beneath her like a mirage.

Scent and noise and heat rose, buffeting her in waves. Roasting meats, kebabs, and couscous from the souks; cumin, coriander, and the warm musk of curry from the spice markets; sweet honey and baked bread from the
chebakia
vendors in the medina, the soft chivvies of women calling their children home for dinner from their play in the dusty streets.

She pushed on, determined to find Caesar’s hideaway near the Atlas mountains by nightfall. Perhaps she needed to Shift to something a little bigger beforehand.

The air felt strange.

Though the peculiarity of his Gift of Immortality had the unfortunate side effect of leaving him unable to Shift to panther, or anything else for that matter, Caesar did enjoy the heightened senses of his kind.

Tonight his senses told him something was amiss.

It was like . . . an electric charge in the air. Like a storm descending, only without any physical evidence a storm would produce. He stood at the uppermost point of the kasbah, in the crenellated turret that overlooked the fortress and the desert beyond, eyes scanning the night sky.

No thunderclouds, no wind, no telltale darkening of the stars that foretold the oncoming rush of sand from a sandstorm. Nothing.

And yet . . .

High overhead, a falcon soared, making wide, lazy circles. Caesar narrowed his eyes, watching it turn. He’d never seen a pure white falcon before.

Peregrine. Female.

He knew it was female because they were always larger than the males, and this one had a wingspan to rival a vulture’s. That was where the similarity ended, however; this bird was beautiful and regal, nothing at all like the ugly scavengers that looked more like enormous, long-necked vampire bats, some kind of hideous prehistoric carrion eaters.

Strange . . . the falcon seemed to be looking back at him. Watching him with keen, intelligent eyes.

It folded its wings against its body and slanted into a hunting dive.

Which seemed to be aimed straight at the spot he was standing.

Knowing that the peregrine falcon was the fastest member of the animal kingdom, capable of reaching speeds well over two hundred miles per hour in its characteristic dives, Caesar took a step back. Then another, as the bird rocketed toward him, set on what seemed an imminent collision course.

He jumped into the safety of the turret stairwell with a shout of anger as the falcon swooped right down over his head, black talons extended.

“Crazy fucking bird!” he screamed at it as it passed overhead and swept soundlessly out of sight.

When he again chanced a glimpse out of the turret, he spied the tail end of the bird, receding into the distance toward the mountains, jagged as shark’s teeth against the sky. It banked right and soared for a moment, then turned back in his direction.

“Nico!” he hollered down the spiral stairwell of the tower. “Get up here with your bow!”

It was probably breeding season. The stupid thing most likely had a nest nearby and was in protective mama bird mode, but he had enough problems—he didn’t need an insane predaceous avian to add to them.

As he wanted with anything that annoyed him, Caesar wanted it dead.

And Nico was the best archer he had.

He trotted down the steps, reaching the bottom just as Nico arrived with his bow and quiver of arrows.

Caesar pointed up the staircase. “Bird. Big, white. Kill it. Then bring it to the kitchens; I fancy roasted falcon for dinner tonight.”

Nico bowed. “Sire.”

Confident Nico would make quick work of the task and he’d soon be dining on fresh bird breasts, Caesar strolled off down the echoing stone hallway.

Before dinner, he had a meeting with Marcell. There were many, many more rooms that would soon be filled aside from those in the nursery.

Very soon.

“We’ve completed work on the aqueduct. If all goes well with the testing, we should have fresh running water by tomorrow morning.”

Caesar shook his head, marveling at the genius of his first-in-command and favorite guard, Marcell. Only yesterday he’d successfully installed the diesel generators that, in conjunction with a freezer, allowed Caesar to have that coveted desert luxury: ice.

Leaning back into his chair in what he thought of as the library, though there were no books, only soaring ceilings and a lot of empty space, he steepled his fingers beneath his chin and smiled.

“Well done, Marcell. Just in time, too. I anticipate we’ll need as much fresh water as we can get within the next few weeks.”

Standing as he always did whenever Caesar was present, Marcell cocked an eyebrow. “You’ve had word?”

“I have. They’re on the move. Won’t be long until Weymouth’s part of the Plan is complete. And quite honestly, I think work on the subterranean dig needs to be stepped up. Substantially. Otherwise we simply won’t have anywhere to put them all.” He watched a long-legged spider crawl over the sill of the window across the room. With no glass to keep the outside out, the empty casements were conduits for the myriad insects, arachnids, and creepy crawlers of the desert.

Spiders gave Caesar the heebie-jeebies. They just looked so . . . evil. And this one was doubly sinister because it was
albino
. Ugh.

“As you wish, Sire. I’ll double the crew and accelerate the deadline.” He paused. “If I may be so bold as to make a suggestion, Sire?”

Caesar turned his attention back to Marcell.

“I find a little . . .
incentive
always helps motivation. If the men were to have a reward awaiting them if they finish ahead of schedule . . .”

His lips quirked, and Caesar grinned.

“If they finish the tunnels and all the necessary rooms ahead of schedule, they shall each be allowed to choose a female from my own personal stock in the dungeon. How’s that?”

Marcell bowed. “Excellent, Sire.” He straightened and grinned back at his master. “I guarantee the shovels will be flying.”

At the mention of flying, Caesar’s look soured. He sat back in his chair, gazing at Marcell with narrowed eyes. “That reminds me of something. Shortly after Weymouth arrives with his group in tow, he needs to have some kind of accident. Make it believable, though. Nothing too exotic. And I can’t be anywhere nearby; we don’t want to get off on the wrong foot with the new arrivals. But a traitor like him simply can’t be trusted. If he’ll turn on his own leader—even if she is a female—he’s fully capable of turning on me.”

Marcell considered it a moment before answering. “Perhaps a fall down a flight of stairs. The stone in this kasbah is crumbling badly; the steps could give way underfoot at any time.”

Pleased, Caesar nodded. “I’ll leave it to you. Just make sure I’m doing something very visible with the rest of the colony when it happens. Making some kind of kumbaya speech about unity, et cetera.”

“Any idea what he has planned for that Queen of theirs?”

Caesar’s lip curled.
Queen. As if a woman could ever lead. Ha!

He rose, crossed to the windows, and gazed out into the starry, arid night. “Poison, I believe. For her and her Alpha. The two little brats I think he means to smother in their crib. Not that I particularly care about the methods. The end result is my only concern.”

“And the rainforest colony? The ones Weymouth can’t convince to join us?”

Caesar smiled at the stars, a glow of satisfaction spreading through his chest. “I hated my father, you know,” he mused, watching the twinkling heavens. The sky was so clear here at the edge of the world, the stars winked like a million coins at the bottom of a wishing well. “Not only because he always favored my sister over me, but also because he always looked at me with such disappointment. I think if he were alive today, however, he’d be very proud of me indeed. After all, I’m carrying on his legacy. Keeping your friends close and your enemies closer, that sort of thing. I’ve given the hunters enough to go on so they know where to strike. ‘Capture and exterminate,’ were the exact words used, and I confess I’ve never heard two more beautiful words in my life. Whoever isn’t a friend is an enemy; remember that Marcell. There are no in-betweens for us. In war, everyone must choose a side.”

Marcell said with deference, “And how genius of you, Sire, to use one enemy to kill the other.”

“Only the first step, that one. Once the
Ikati
are under my rule, I’ll strike the final blow. What I have planned for the Expurgari and our new friend Thirteen and his corporate backers will make the Holocaust look like Sunday in the park. After that, we’ll take over Marrakech, then infiltrate every major city in the world and begin to impregnate the females, just as I’ve done here. According to my father’s calculations, it will only take a few generations for the entire human species to be wiped from the face of the Earth.”

Caesar’s smile grew wider, the flush of satisfaction more intense. “Three moves ahead, he always said. You have to stay at least three moves ahead of your opponent. My father loved his ridiculous chess metaphors, but he was right. The pawns will fall, the knights will fall, the Queen will be toppled . . . the whole board will be wiped clean.” His voice grew quiet. “And the King will rule, once and for all. Forever.”

A movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention. The albino spider, still crouched in all its diminutive creepiness on the sill, had reared up on its hind legs and was crazily waving its front legs in the air.

“Great Horus, that’s disgusting,” Caesar muttered, and brought his fist down hard atop it.

Nico entered the room. “I couldn’t locate the bird, Sire. You must have scared it away.”

Caesar sighed. “Well, no matter. If it comes back, you know what to do.”

Nico bowed out of the room. Marcell said, “What have you got there, Sire?”

“A dead spider.”

But when he opened his hand to scrape away the remains, there was nothing there but a fine grit of sand, blown in by the wind.