The Dragon Conspiracy (12 page)

12

“KENJI,
we need you to check the database—”

“For gorgons,” the elf finished for him. “Just sent the report to your phones.”

We looked down. Sure enough.

The elf knew it was us without even looking away from his screen. His fingers never slowed from flying across the keyboard. Kenji Hayashi was a wizard with anything computerized or electronic, but that was it. To the best of my knowledge, he didn’t have eyes in the back of his head—some of SPI’s employees actually did.

“Gorgons,” he continued. “Gaze turns you to stone, poisonous touch, snake hair. Though that last one’s not politically correct nowadays.”

“And physiologically incorrect,” Ian said.

“That, too. Though that’s too bad, because the snakes were the coolest feature.”

“Not sure the guy upstairs would agree,” I told him.

That made Kenji’s fingers stop clicking keys. “God?”

“Sebastian du Beckett. On a slab up in the lab.”

He winced. “Oh, right. The dragon lady herself asked for the report, and wanted it quick.”

“How did you know it was us?” I asked. “You don’t have any of those little rearview mirrors on your monitor.”

Kenji spun his chair to face us, smiling, quite obviously pleased with himself. “I have something infinitely more effective. I got tired of having
The Shining
twins over there sneaking up on me.”

Agents Calri and Gormi Dorgan looked up from their desks and grinned evilly. Oh jeez. Dwarves and elves had never gotten along. It was a cruel twist of fate—or boneheaded mistake of HSR (Human and Supernatural Resources)—that put twin dwarves directly across the aisle and just out of an elf’s peripheral vision. The twins kind of reminded me of Shrek’s pint-sized, ugly cousins after a weekend bender. Most agents didn’t bother to use any spells to hide what they were while they were in the office. Calri and Gormi, in particular, had always enjoyed strolling up beside people and then just standing there, staring at them. It didn’t matter what species you were; glancing up to find a pair of identical and identically dressed twins staring at you was creepy as hell. We all have Stephen King to thank for that.

That being said, they were the best at what they did. The Dorgan family—in their human disguises—were involved in just about every city excavation project, going back to when the first sewer and subway lines were carved out under Manhattan. The twins knew the eight hundred miles of subway tracks and the thousands of miles of sewer tunnels running under the city like the backs of their hands. More than a few of the supernatural baddies SPI ended up going after took to the darkness under the city in an attempt to elude capture. The twin Dorgan agents were our bloodhounds, bloodhounds that had a tendency to become annoying when they were bored. And when dwarves were bored, any elf in their immediate vicinity was going to get a double dose of obnoxious.

I had news for the boys; they were messing with the wrong elf.

“I wrote a little program,” Kenji was saying, “installed some sensors under the floor tiles, and rigged a few of the security cameras to scroll across the bottom of my monitor the name of anyone who comes inside my perimeter.”

“Perimeter?” Ian asked. “That sounds paranoid.”

Kenji raised a finger in dispute. “Sounds smart. Keeps Agents Fun ’n’ Games over there from shaving five years off my life twice a day. I’m running out of years, and I’ve long been out of patience.” He shot the twins a dirty look. “And if that doesn’t work, I’ll put collars on the little bastards and install one of those invisible fences—right after I tweak the system to quadruple the voltage.”

I opened the e-mail on my phone. “So we’ve got a list of gorgons in the tristate area? That was fast.”

“It’s a short list. Though it only covers the registered or suspected gorgons.”

“Registered?”

“Any supernatural that is on a list of those considered dangerous to humans are requested to register with us,” Ian said.

“It’s not a requirement?”

“It’s a strongly worded request. We can’t make them.”

“But if they don’t,” Kenji added, “and we find out about them, they get a star by their name, and it’s not for good behavior.”

“Meaning they can find themselves at the top of a suspect list when a violent crime is committed by one of their species,” Ian said.

I opened the e-mail and keyed in my password to unencrypt the file with the list.

Three names and brief bios.

That was all.

“You weren’t kidding when you said it was a short list,” I told Kenji.

“Like I said, those are the registered and suspected gorgons. One registered and two suspected.”

“If they’re not planning to go on a crime spree, why not just register? Yeah, it’s an invasion of privacy, but—”

“Gorgons have to kill to survive,” Ian said point-blank. “Otherwise their disease will kill them in a similar way.”

“On the other hand, vampires don’t need to kill their victims.” Kenji paused uncomfortably. “Well, at least not after the first time they feed. Gorgons don’t have a choice. They survive by taking their victim’s life essence—all of it. The victim’s remains turn to the consistency of stone.”

“So gorgons have to do unto others before their disease can do unto them. I take it there’s no cure?”

“Not that’s been discovered yet.”

“That would be a good enough reason,” I readily admitted. “So the doctor tells them to turn someone to stone twice a day and call him in the morning?”

“More like once a month.”

“That’s better, but not to the poor schlubs who get stoned.”

“Gorgons often go into careers that require them to travel,” Ian explained. “They murder while away from home, then pound the corpse to gravel, which no human law enforcement agency can determine was ever a human being, resulting in a nearly perfect murder. No body that can even be identified as a body, let alone a specific individual, so the victims become just another missing person. There are things still unknown about gorgonism, and since those with the disease have to kill until they are caught and killed themselves, it’s not like the sufferers are willing to sit down with researchers and chat openly about the details of the disease, and what all they are capable of and how. The only info on this in SPI’s database is what was gathered as a result of investigating crime scenes where a gorgon was the murderer, or what was observed and experienced by agents while hunting gorgons. Of course, this information was only available from agents who survived their encounter.”

“Most gorgons use a combination of eye contact and physical touch,” Kenji said. “There are a few who use only their eyes, though you can count the number of those left on one hand.”

“I’d rather not count them at all. How is the disease passed?”

“The nest of snakes for hair is a myth,” Ian said. “It’s a type of vampirism—at least, the method of transmitting the disease is. There’s a pair of flexible, needle-thin fangs under the tongue—”

I blinked. “Tongue?”

“That is to transmit the disease. Gorgons can paralyze the outer muscles with a gaze. Physical contact resulting in broken skin transfers a small amount of venom which turns the victim to stone. But the disease itself is only transferred through a bite in a major vein. Gorgons older than five centuries only need their gaze to turn a victim instantly to stone.”

“Could a gorgon have turned those harpies into something resembling stone?”

Ian shook his head. “I wish that mystery could be solved that easily. When a gorgon paralyzes their prey, I’ve heard that it’s possible to release them from that state, but only if done within a very short length of time; after that the paralysis becomes permanent. I don’t know the exact time frame, but I do know that six days is way outside what’s possible. I think we’re talking hours here.”

“Crap. That shoots down that theory.” I thought a moment, horror dawning along with realization. “When you say ‘permanent paralysis,’ you mean the person is still alive in there, they just can’t move or talk?”

“Yes.”

“Oh God.”

“However, if they aren’t released, the victim begins to petrify from the outside in. As to how long the final petrification takes . . . the facts we have are sketchy at best. Gorgons aren’t volunteering to tell us the details, though the victim would die once the petrification reached the major organs.”

“But during all that, they would be aware of what was happening to them.”

Ian didn’t speak; he simply nodded.

“I can see why gorgons aren’t exactly lining up to give us their names.” So how does that work for the registered one?” I looked again at my phone and did a double take at her age.

Ian noted my reaction. “Yeah, gorgons older than a thousand years no longer need to kill to survive. They can take what they need without turning their prey to stone. As with vampires, if the source of a gorgon’s nourishment is a willing participant, it’s not illegal.”

“That would explain why she’d registered.” My brow furrowed. “But she lives here in Manhattan. Convenient.”

“The two suspected gorgons are under surveillance,” Kenji told us. “The reports from this morning have one in Cleveland on business, the other is in Richmond, Virginia, attending a family reunion.” He gave a short snort. “Makes you hope they get along better than most families. If not, that’d be a seriously fertile hunting ground.”

“Do you think our registered gorgon fell off the wagon?” I asked Ian.

“Possible, but unlikely.”

“
Im
possible,” said a cool, crisp voice.

Vivienne Sagadraco didn’t come down to the bull pen often, but when she did, you knew things were on the verge of going to hades in a handbasket. I turned to see the rare sight of SPI’s director in chief in the bull pen, walking down the aisle between the field agents’ desks.

Looking right at me.

I wondered if the boss might have a wee bit of gorgon in her, too. Her eyes locked me to the spot where I was standing.

“I wasn’t implying suspicion, ma’am,” Ian said. “I’m merely keeping all avenues of inquiry open.”

“You can eliminate Helena Thanos as a suspect, Agent Byrne.”

Ian opened his mouth to respond, presumably to apologize. The boss held up a hand.

“It’s early in the investigation, and you are following protocol, as you should. I will be having tea with Helena within the hour. I will ask the question to officially eliminate her from the list of suspects. The other two gorgons are out of town and are likewise eliminated. Correct, Agent Hayashi?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Which leaves us with no viable suspects. Meaning we have an unregistered and unknown gorgon at large in Manhattan. While Helena seldom leaves her apartment, she does have an extensive and trustworthy network of contacts, and has been of immeasurable help to us in the past. She is also one of the world’s foremost experts on Greek history and mythology—she was there. I have questions for her, and since this is your case, Agent Fraser, you should come with me.”

“It’s Ian’s—I mean, Agent Byrne’s case, too. And as senior agent, shouldn’t—”

“No, Agent Fraser. He should not. Helena was infected with gorgonism by a man and, through the centuries, has been hunted by men. As a result, she’s not overly fond of them, and I would not offend her sensibilities by bringing a man into her home. This will be an excellent learning opportunity for you.”

Why is it that opportunities, either training or learning, end up being extremely unpleasant experiences?

“If there is a rogue gorgon killing humans in our city, she would want them dealt with.”

“How do we do that?” I asked. “Deal with them.”

“Helena Thanos is one of only five known gorgons who are old enough not to need to kill to keep their disease from consuming them. It is exceedingly difficult to capture a gorgon. However, when one is caught and their actions connected to specific deaths, there are only two solutions: solitary confinement until they reach a thousand years old, or execution. Were I afflicted with gorgonism, I would choose the latter.”

13

THE
Dakota.

I’d heard of it. I mean, who hadn’t?

Exclusive and expensive home to celebrities and the absurdly rich. Where John Lennon had lived and was killed a couple of years before I was born. But I’d never seen it in person. The apartment building looming over a chunk of Central Park was part French chateau, part fortress.

In my opinion, it couldn’t have been a more perfect home to New York’s only registered gorgon.

Vivienne Sagadraco’s limo stopped in front of the arched carriageway that extended through the thick walls of the sand-colored building. I half expected to see an iron portcullis over the entrance, ready to drop on any who had the audacity to pass through without an invitation from one of the residents. There was a guard in an actual sentry box like something you’d find outside Buckingham Palace, minus the big, furry hat. God help you if your name wasn’t on the guard’s list.

Naturally, the boss was on the list, and surprisingly, my name was on there as well. It didn’t merely say “and guest.” The guard directed the two of us through the carriageway and into an amazingly quiet inner courtyard. The sound of the water in the bronze fountains was actually louder than the traffic on the street outside.

We crossed the courtyard and entered a small lobby. I turned toward the elevator, and felt Vivienne Sagadraco’s light touch on my arm.

“This way, Agent Fraser.”

“But—”

“Helena has a private elevator to her apartment. She prefers to avoid contact with the other residents.”

I could certainly understand that. Turning people into life-sized action figures would be a surefire way to alienate your neighbors.

The boss led me to the far end of the narrow lobby where there was a small keypad set into a blank wall. Her delicate fingers flew over the keypad, hitting I had no idea how many numbers. There was a click and an elevator door–sized section of wall silently slid back, revealing a dark wood-paneled elevator illuminated by a pair of alabaster sconces set into either side of the back wall.

The elevator went up as quietly as the door had opened, so I couldn’t tell how many floors we passed going up. How we were getting there was less of a concern to me right now than what the heck I was going to say when I got there. Best to ask now than to embarrass myself soon.

“Ma’am, I don’t want to offend Ms. Thanos or embarrass you, but I have no idea how to act around . . . someone with her affliction. I was raised to believe that it’s rude not to look people in the eye when you talk to them, but with a—”

“I’ve told Helena that I will be bringing a guest. She will wear special glasses over her eyes out of consideration for you. It will be perfectly safe for you to look at her.”

I didn’t want to ask, but I had to. “Are you sure it’s safe, ma’am?” I spoke quietly. I didn’t doubt her word, but after seeing what’d happened to Sebastian du Beckett . . .

She gave me a reassuring smile. “Quite certain, Agent Fraser. No human has ever been turned to stone by looking at Helena’s glasses. And skin contact can only transfer the disease if Helena wills it—and she has not done so for hundreds of years.”

“What about you, ma’am?”

“The glasses are not necessary when I am her only visitor. I am immune to the unfortunate side effect of eye or skin contact with a gorgon.”

“That must be a comfort to Ms. Thanos to have a friend with similar interests and life experiences who she can talk to and be herself around.”

Vivienne Sagadraco was facing the closed door, her profile to me. I glimpsed a shadow of a smile. “Very diplomatic, Agent Fraser.”

“Pardon?”

“Since Helena and I were both around when Plato was teaching in Athens, we’re two old ladies who can gossip.”

Lucky for me, the elevator picked that moment to stop. The door opened into a small room with another door on the opposite wall. It had a bronze knocker in the center in the shape of a Medusa head complete with hair of all-too-lifelike snakes. After what had happened with a certain statue of three harpies, there was no way I was touching it. Good thing the boss didn’t share my squeamishness or we’d have been standing out there all day.

A petite woman wearing dark Jackie O–style sunglasses opened the door. She had to be Helena Thanos; that was, unless her staff had to wear incredibly stylish protective sunglasses, too.

Between knowing that the gorgon was conservatively two thousand years old, and Vivienne Sagadraco telling us that she rarely left her apartment, I expected someone who was a combination of a reclusive silent movie star and Miss Havisham from
Great Expectations
.

Helena Thanos was neither.

After entirely too many surprises since last night, it was nice to have a pleasant one.

She couldn’t have been much more than two inches over five feet tall. Though it was only in recent human history that people have been growing taller. In ancient Greece, she was probably quite tall. I knew how old she was, but she looked to be in her early forties, a very attractive early forties.

I could only see the lower half of her face; the top half was covered by the sunglasses. Vivienne Sagadraco was right; I didn’t turn into stone by looking at the glasses. That was good because I hadn’t been able to resist looking at her.

Her hair was cut in a dark bob that perfectly complemented her glasses. She was dressed in casual, but elegant, cream-colored slacks and ivory silk blouse that were tastefully accented with gold jewelry.

But it was her aura that had clued me in immediately that Helena Thanos was more than a snappy dresser with a flair for accessorizing. The auras of humans and supernaturals had one thing in common—they encompassed the entire body. Helena Thanos’s aura was centered around her head. It was green, and damned if it didn’t look like she had snakes for hair. I wondered if that was where the myth had started—a seer in ancient Greece had gotten a good look at a gorgon and lived to tell about it. And speaking of living to tell about it, my instincts were telling me rather forcefully to forget the elevator that’d brought me here; find the stairs, find them now, and run until I got to the street, and when I got to the street, keep running.

Helena Thanos gave us a warm smile. “Vivienne, how good to see you!” Watching a dragon and a gorgon hug and do the double-cheek-kissing thing was surreal.

The gorgon turned her attention to me, and I tried my best not to close my eyes or cringe, and especially not to run.

“And you must be Makenna Fraser.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She must have been all too aware of how humans who knew what she was reacted the first time they met her. The warm and welcoming smile stayed in place, but she made no move to touch me.

God, I really felt bad for her.

Do it, Mac.

I took a step forward and extended my hand.

Helena Thanos’s smile brightened as she took my hand in a warm handshake.

Judging from the upward slope of the ceiling, Helena Thanos’s apartment was on the Dakota’s top floor, and included one of the pair of two-story gables that dominated the front of the building. I couldn’t even begin to imagine how much this apartment must have cost.

There were flowers, real trees, and even a small, shallow stream winding through the room and continuing into the next through a low arch cut into the wall.

The walls were continuous, photo-realistic murals of a meadow at the edge of the woods. The illusion continued from the walls to the vaults of the gables that were painted like a blue sky, and it all glowed with sun that streamed in through a progression of windows set into the gables, the last set so high as to qualify as skylights rather than windows. There were artificial sources of light, but they were recessed into the ceiling to supplement and mimic natural light. The sun coming in through the windows dimmed with the passing of a cloud, and the room’s lighting adjusted to match.

“Wow,” was all I could think to say.

Way to be the articulate representative of mortals, Mac.

“Thank you, Agent Fraser.” Helena Thanos sounded genuinely pleased. “The lighting in this room is a great source of enjoyment. It can also duplicate a sunset, through twilight, and on into a starry night sky with moonlight.” She gestured through a pair of white marble columns twined with climbing roses. “Please, come in. Doria has prepared tea for us.”

The boss and Helena Thanos traded brief pleasantries, and then it was down to business.

Harpies.

But most of all, gorgons.

“As much as I wish we could linger and chat,” Vivienne Sagadraco said, “we have a rapidly deteriorating situation that won’t allow it.” She hesitated. “Unfortunately, circumstances also dictate that I officially ask you a question, which, considering that you almost never leave your apartment, is in extremely bad taste. Where were you this morning between six and nine?”

Helena Thanos waved a dismissive hand. “I understand completely. I was here. Until seven o’clock, I was still in bed. From then until approximately eight thirty, I was out on the terrace enjoying a real sunrise and my morning coffee and paper. I then went inside to prepare for a nine o’clock meeting with my assistant to go over my tasks for her for the next few days. And the only person who can vouch for me is my housekeeper, Doria. And so you don’t have to suffer the discomfort of asking, our building does have security cameras that show the area of my terrace where I was sitting.” She reached for the smartphone on the table beside her. “I will call down and ask that they release—”

Vivienne Sagadrago shook her head. “Helena, that’s not necessary.”

“For you, my dear friend, I know it is not. However, the circumstances that bring you here must be dire for you to ask. I will gladly put your organization’s mind at ease. Will the hour and a half that I was on my terrace be sufficient? Only Doria saw where I was from—”

“It will be more than sufficient, Helena. I’m mortified to even—”

“Think nothing of it.”

Helena Thanos made the call and the request for the security footage from her terrace from seven to eight thirty this morning. That would definitely be sufficient. Unless Ms. Thanos could sprout wings, it’d be impossible for her to have gone to Sebastian du Beckett’s brownstone, turned the old guy to stone, and returned to her penthouse. Ian hadn’t mentioned anything about gorgons being able to fly, and if they could have, I was certain he’d have mentioned it.

“If I may inquire,” Helena Thanos asked once she’d completed the call, “what happened that prompted you to ask?”

“Sebastian du Beckett was found dead in his office this morning,” Ms. Sagadraco said. “Turned to stone.”

“That would certainly be a good reason to know the whereabouts of every gorgon in the city. Do you believe it is connected to the theft of the Dragon Eggs last night?”

“We do.”

“I read it in the paper and saw it on the news, Agent Fraser,” Helena Thanos explained in response to what must have been my surprised expression. “My reluctance to venture out does not extend to completely cutting myself off from civilization. I enjoy all of the technology this exciting age has to offer.” She indicated the phone she’d just used. “I upgraded my iPhone last week.” With an impish grin, she flipped it over to reveal a phone case featuring a brightly colored Medusa head. “We all are what we are, Agent Fraser. Life goes down a lot easier when we accept it and move on.”

I smiled at the cover. “I love it.”

“I do, too. Another benefit of the twenty-first century—online shopping. Who needs to leave home?”

Ms. Sagadraco proceeded to tell her friend the details of what had happened this morning: Sebastian du Beckett’s death, Ben Sadler’s kidnapping, and the now less-than-twelve-hour window we had to stop the diamonds from being activated.

“If you have any knowledge that would assist us in locating this individual, as always, I value your wisdom.”

Helena Thanos gave a mirthless laugh. “You know as well as I that wisdom has nothing to do with it. Living for thousands of years doesn’t make us wise, it simply makes us old. Who donated the harpy statue?”

Vivienne set her teacup on its saucer. “A Madame Pointe-Cozeur from Nice.”

“I take it her statue never made it to New York?”

Vivienne nodded. “It was found in a warehouse outside of Heathrow. The jewel thief—and now kidnapper—arranged his tableau to match, placed it in the real statue’s crate along with the corresponding paperwork. It was put on the flight to JFK as originally scheduled.”

“So you have a team of thieves as opposed to an individual.”

“An individual powerful enough to immobilize three harpies in a crate long enough for a transatlantic flight, time in customs, and then sitting in a museum exhibit for six days before it was opened.”

“Harpies aren’t known for their patience,” Helena noted wryly. “Which probably accounted for their crankiness when they were released from stasis. The mortal authorities are fortunate only the two guards were killed. If the harpies’ orders hadn’t been so precise, there would have been many more deaths. So they can put harpies in stasis, but they need a human gem mage to use what they stole?”