The Dragon Conspiracy (5 page)

“We’ve got bigger problems,” Ian said, as if reading my mind. It must have been the forehead-to-window thunking that gave me away.

I’d been at SPI long enough to know that if Ian said we had bigger problems, our harpy situation was in reality the size of Godzilla rising out of the Sea of Japan to put the munch-down on Tokyo. I recalled the harpies crashing through that glass wall and into Central Park with a sense of impending doom.

“We both got a good look at that statue before it animated, right?” Ian asked.

I hesitated before responding. I wasn’t sure where he was going with this. “Yes.”

“And you didn’t see anything tipping you off that those harpies were hidden under a veil or held immobile by some sort of spell.”

“No.”

Ian was leading me to the conclusion he’d already arrived at, but I wasn’t doing a good job of following his breadcrumbs.

“Solid rock doesn’t come to life. No magic can do that. Meaning those were real harpies that someone was powerful enough to put into suspended animation, harden on the outside to the consistency of stone, keep them that way for at least six days while the exhibition was set up, and release them to steal those diamonds. The beings that have the power to do that can be counted on one hand.”

“Have I met any of them?”

“You’re alive to ask me that question, so no, you haven’t met them.”

“How about you?”

“Likewise alive, and I don’t plan to get in that reception line anytime soon.”

“Now they’re in New York with three harpies at their beck and call,” I said. “And seven cursed diamonds.”

“Do not forget the Russian,” Yasha added. “Dragons do not like having part of their hoard stolen.”

Nothing like mentioning Viktor Kain to make me want to change the subject. “How long will Ben be out?” I asked Ian.

“One dose lasts an hour.”

“And we’re not going to headquarters?”

“No. We have several properties in the city where we can take someone of Mr. Sadler’s undetermined talents.”

That didn’t sound good. I got visions of a single chair and a really bright, naked lightbulb.

“There are reasons it’s against SPI policy to bring a new talent anywhere near HQ while conscious,” Ian said.

“Can’t show civilians the Bat Cave, huh?”

“That’s one reason. There’s also the possibility that Mr. Sadler could have set us up and be working with whatever masterminded tonight’s show—or Viktor Kain. Kain saying he wanted him was the perfect way to get back one of his people. If he is Kain’s man,
we
want him. We can’t risk anyone knowing the location of headquarters.”

My mouth dropped open. I didn’t even try to stop it. “Holy paranoia, Batman.”

“Not paranoia. Past experience. More than once. Agents with more experience than you and me put together have had their instincts proven wrong, and good people have died because of it.”

That shut me up. That and Ian’s expression at the mention of those “good people.” A shadow had passed across his face. He’d known some of them.

“What happens next?”

“They’re taken in, given a background check and a psychological evaluation. If their background’s clean and they’re mentally stable, it’s taken on a case-by-case basis as to whether to grant them level one clearance and educate them on their skill.”

That was completely different from my experience.

I had attracted SPI’s attention working at the only journalism-type job I could get after coming to town—a reporter at a sleazy tabloid that specialized in anything weird or so far out there that just reading a story about it would give you a nosebleed. The vast majority of articles weren’t true, but mine were because I could see what the other reporters had to either make up or depend on getting their information from sources who wore tinfoil hats.

I glanced at Ben. “What about the ones packing major mojo?”

“People who come into their talent later in life are particularly dangerous to themselves and others. It has to do with younger minds being more flexible and easily taught.”

“Kind of like learning a foreign language. If you’re gonna learn one, do it while you’re young.”

Ian nodded. “They’re assigned a mentor of sorts to help them through the adjustment period. The new talent is also required to check in regularly, daily at first, then weekly and monthly as their control—and trustworthiness—progresses.”

“Like a parole officer confirming that they haven’t been bragging to their friends, or aren’t thinking about going into business for themselves knocking over banks.”

Ian nodded. “And if the talent is one that would be useful to us, they could be eventually offered a job as an agent.”

“Like I was.” I thought back for a second. “Wait, I didn’t get a psych evaluation.”

“Oh, yes, you did. You had tea with the boss, didn’t you?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Ms. Sagadraco’s been around humans long enough to read us at a glance. She cleared you herself—that and your family background didn’t hurt.”

My family lives in a small town in the far western mountains of North Carolina that through the years has attracted more than its share of people and not-people who wouldn’t be described as normal by anyone’s definition. My family took it on themselves to protect the prey—supernatural and otherwise—from supernatural predators. Since the town’s founding in 1786, there’s been a Fraser as marshal, then sheriff, and my aunt was now the police chief.

“Or if the talent is something we don’t need often,” Ian said, “we contract with them on a job-by-job basis.”

“Like Eddie.”

“Exactly.”

I tilted my head toward the far backseat. “So what do you think is gonna happen with . . .?”

Ian answered by not answering.

I felt kind of responsible for Ben. If tonight had been the first time his talent had stood up and said howdy, I’d been there when it happened. What if I’d come into my talent later in life, and suddenly saw monsters everywhere I looked? I’d be in a funny farm inside of a week.

The thud of something landing on the roof sent a shudder through the massive SUV’s steel frame.

As a result, we were all looking up when the harpy fist punched through the bulletproof glass on the rear window. She snapped open her hand to expose claw-tipped fingers that sliced through Ben Sadler’s seat belt like a paper party streamer. The harpy then tried to sink those claws into Ben and pluck him out of the SUV like she was one of those steel claws in an arcade machine and Ben was the primo prize.

What the hell?

They stole the diamonds, and now they needed an appraiser?

With two explosive kicks, the talons on her feet punched through the roof of the SUV.

She was anchoring herself on the Suburban’s roof while she snatched Ben out the back window.

That
was Yasha’s final straw.

The Suburban was his baby, his mobile office—hell, she was his partner. And now a bird woman was punching holes all in her.

Yasha spat a continuous stream of Russian profanities. I didn’t know any Russian, but there was no denying that Yasha was cussing a blue streak.

Ian had his gun out and was firing through the roof, but all it did was make the harpy work faster to take Ben.

I still wasn’t allowed to carry a gun on all missions. Tonight was one of them. Too public. Not to mention no place to hide it in my little black dress.

But I had a knife.

The harpy’s claws were grabbing at Ben, who, not being belted in anymore, was flopping and sliding around in the far backseat. Two grabs later, the harpy got lucky and hooked one claw onto his shoulder. If Ben had been conscious, he’d have been screaming his lungs out.

Before she could get a better grip, I turned and threw myself over the back of my seat to return the favor, stabbing her in the forearm.

And broke my blade on her skin.

Son of a bitch.

“Hold on!” Yasha shouted. “I stop.”

I grabbed the back of my seat, and Yasha stopped.

Oh boy, did he stop.

The harpy lost her grip on Ben, but not on the roof.

Did your dad ever say, “Don’t make me stop this car” or “Don’t make me come back there”?

Yasha did both.

Yasha the driver stopped, got out, and went wolf.

Then Yasha the werewolf unleashed a load whole of whoop-ass on a very surprised harpy.

She lost interest real quick in making Ben her personal prize, and opted for retreat over tangling with an enraged werewolf hell-bent on extracting payback out of her stony hide.

The harpy launched herself into the night sky with a shriek that said she wasn’t done, not by a long shot.

As pissed as he was, Yasha had had the presence of mind to find a stretch of side street lined with small businesses that were closed for the night. It took a lot of hell being raised to make New Yorkers look out their windows, but apparently a harpy and werewolf going at it in the middle of the street qualified. Lights were coming on in the apartments above the closed businesses. The harpy had messed up the Suburban’s body, not the engine, so Yasha got us out of there fast.

The shoulder of Ben Sadler’s tux jacket and the shirt beneath were hanging in shreds, and blood was streaming from a puncture just under his collarbone. Ian had his handkerchief out, putting pressure on the wound.

“Get the kit,” he told me.

I knew what he was talking about, and better yet, I knew where it was. All SPI vehicles carried military-quality medic kits. Yasha kept his anchored under the middle row of seats. I flipped the clips holding it in place and hauled it up onto the seat with me. I tore into a pack of gauze bandages and passed a handful back to Ian, followed by a roll of heavy-duty gauze wrap.

“Flying stone monsters,” Ian said, changing out his soaked-through handkerchief for a stack of gauze bandages. “Sound familiar?”

“If you mean gargoyles ripping apart a borrowed bakery truck to turn us into road paste on my first night on the job, then yeah, it sounds familiar.”

He started tightly wrapping Ben’s shoulder, bringing the bandage under the appraiser’s arm to keep it in place. “I do.”

“Then it does.”

I didn’t need reminding to know how terrifying those gargoyles had been. Almost as terrifying as those harpies coming to life and raising unholy hell in a crowd of civilians.

Those gargoyles had been after me. That harpy had been after Ben.

The possibility of a connection was the sprinkles on the squashed cupcake of my evening.

6

THE
protocol for bringing in a rogue talent was tossed out the nearest window when that harpy punched out the back window of Yasha’s Suburban.

Ben Sadler had a deep puncture wound from a harpy claw in his shoulder, and more than a few nasty scratches. He didn’t need surgery, but he did require more medical attention than Yasha’s first-aid kit could handle.

Increased danger plus serious injury meant we’d be taking Ben home with us.

At SPI, we weren’t encouraged to bring friends home to headquarters for sleepovers, but I was sure Mom would be willing to make an exception. One, he was the new kid on the freaky ability block. Two, Viktor Kain thought he was involved with the theft of his diamonds and had looked at him like he was the meat entree on the midnight dragon buffet. Three, whoever had masterminded that robbery was treating the diamonds and Ben Sadler like a matched set they didn’t want to break up. They also weren’t averse to that harpy poking a few holes in him—and killing us—to get what they wanted.

SPI’s resident doctor was presently taking care of Ben, who was still conveniently unconscious from the drug Ian had given him. One of the medics had just finished bandaging the burn from Ben’s hand around my lower arm. I’d been burned before, but this didn’t feel like any burn I’d ever had. It tingled like a continuous low-voltage electric shock, like when I hit my funny bone, which I’d never found to be funny in the least.

SPI’s infirmary looked enough like a hospital that when Ben woke up, it might help alleviate a continuation of the panic attack that had hit him just before Ian stuck him with that needle.

Or not.

When we got to his room, Ben Sadler was still out, or asleep, or playing opossum in his hospital-type bed. The shredded tux was gone, replaced by one of those cotton hospital gowns that were open down the back.
That
was going to be a shocker when he woke up. Spend your evening getting all gussied up for a gala at the Met to get an early look at a priceless clutch of diamonds for your hoity-toity employer. Wake up in a hospital bed, with a hole punched in your shoulder, covered in bumps and bruises you don’t remember getting from flopping around unconscious in the backseat of an SUV, and wearing a cotton gown with two ties in the back that left your ass hanging out.

Yep, losing consciousness in one place and waking up in another left you open to all sorts of strangeness.

I knew this from experience.

Ben Sadler woke with a gasp, his eyes darting from one spot in the room to another, desperate for something, anything, to make sense. When those baby blues landed on us, I gave him what I hoped was a reassuring finger wave, since I was pretty sure he wouldn’t have happy-fuzzy memories of Ian.

He saw Ian and froze. I think he was afraid to move.

I really couldn’t blame him.

“Who are you people?”

He had already asked that question, but before he’d gotten an answer the first time he’d asked it, Ian had stuck him with the nighty-night needle. I think he was hoping for an answer, this time without the needle.

My gut was still telling me that Ben Sadler was a genuinely nice guy who’d ended up in a bad place at the worst time. I’d have been asking the same question, though probably with more than a few colorful vocabulary flourishes. Ben seemed like the polite type. If what had happened to him had happened to me, I’d have kicked everything I’d been taught about being a nice Southern girl to the curb until I’d gotten the answers I wanted.

I wasn’t worried about what to tell him. Ian was standing right next to me, and as senior agent, he’d be the one doing the answering. I resisted the urge to look up at my partner, smile sweetly, and ask, “Yeah, who
are
we people?”

“Are you with the government?” Ben asked.

I snorted. “Lord, no.”

Ian shot me a look.

I made a zipping motion across my lips.

“We’re a private firm responsible for security in such cases,” Ian said.

Ben gave him a flat look. “You mean cases such as statues coming to life and stealing diamonds?”

If I hadn’t been leaning against the door frame, what my partner said next would’ve put me on the floor.

“Statues don’t come to life, Mr. Sadler. Those were Grecian harpies that had been put in suspended animation by a presently unknown and extremely powerful entity. But yes, they did steal the Dragon Eggs, and their motives are as unknown as their whereabouts.”

Ben looked as shocked as I was. Him because he’d just heard the words “harpies,” “suspended animation,” and “powerful entity” used in a real-life sentence. Me because Ian had actually told him the complete and utter truth.

“I’m sure you have questions,” Ian continued without missing a beat, “and I’ll answer them, but first I need some honest answers from you.”

Ben’s glance in my direction wasn’t accusing, but it still sent me packing on a brief guilt trip.

“Hey, I didn’t need to tell him anything,” I told Ben. “He saw what you did—and so did entirely too many other people.”

Ben’s face paled and he looked a little queasy. He was even worse at hiding his emotions than I was. I gave a little silent cheer. I hoped he got hired. Finally, someone I could beat on agency poker night.

“I don’t know what I did,” Ben said. “Or how I did it.” He eased himself back down on the bed, noticing the bandages for the first time. If he hadn’t noticed the pain, the doc must have given him some really good pain killers. “What happened to me?”

That was an essay question if I’d ever heard one. I tossed Ian a “where do we start” look.

I settled at the foot of the bed, close enough to be comforting, yet far enough away not to be threatening. Ben Sadler outweighed me, so I didn’t know how I could’ve pulled off being threatening even if I’d wanted to. I just wanted to regain some of the trust we’d had under that buffet table at the museum.

I glanced at Ian and got a single nod. “You got the crap beaten out of you by a harpy. Twice. You were awake for one, not so much for the other. Though she might have felt justified the first time because you started it.”

He tried to sit up, indignant. “Ow. I tried to stop that thing . . . harpy from stealing the diamonds. I’m the good guy here.”

“We’re not disputing that, Mr. Sadler,” Ian said. “I want to know three things: the real reason why you tried to stop that robbery, what you did to that harpy, and why they would track you down afterward and attack our vehicle with the intent of kidnapping you.”

Ben stared down at his bandages with a whole new level of understanding—and fear at where he could have woken up, and what could have been staring down at him. “Kidnapping?”

“Kidnapping,” Ian confirmed.

Ben took a shaky breath and let it out. “My client—”

“Who is?”

“The confidentiality agreement we signed—”

“I’ve got news for you, Mr. Sadler. Those harpies had no problem with going through us to get to you. My team was in danger. That supersedes any agreement you have with your client.” He paused meaningfully. “They aren’t here. I am.”

I spoke up. “Ben, that’s as polite as my partner’s likely to get, so you might want to stop with the duckin’ and weavin’. That harpy wanted you bad. Your commission’s not the only thing that nearly became history tonight.”

Ben sighed. “Sebastian du Beckett.”

“I know Mr. du Beckett,” Ian said.

I blinked. “You do?”

“I didn’t know what those things were,” Ben continued, “but simply
seeing
those seven diamonds—together or separately—was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Four of them haven’t been seen publicly for over two hundred years. The Queen of Dreams and the Eye of Destiny had never even been known to exist until Tsar Nicholas bought them for his wife.” His expression was stricken. “To have them stolen on the same night they were being shown to the world for the first time . . . I
didn’t
think, I had to do something, anything to stop—”

“And you did what?” Ian asked quietly.

Ben fumbled for words, at a loss. “I grabbed the hand with the diamonds.”

“Like you grabbed my hand?” I asked.

“Yes . . . No . . . I don’t know what I did. You have to believe me. Nothing like that’s ever happened before.”

“But you’re a diamond appraiser,” I said. “I’m assuming you’ve been handling stones for quite a while now.”

“Yes.”

“And you’ve never gotten so much as a shiver from one?”

Ben shook his head.

“We don’t have to believe you,” Ian told him, “but for now, we will. Why would those harpies come after you?”

“I. Don’t. Know. I wish I did.”

Ian fixed Ben Sadler with a stare. Ben met his eyes, a glimmer of wetness in the corners.

Oh sheesh, don’t cry.

My partner’s shoulders lowered ever so slightly as he sighed. The threat of waterworks was a wondrous and powerful thing. Even more so when I knew in my gut—and apparently Ian did, too—that Ben Sadler was telling the truth.

“Perhaps we can help you find out,” Ian said.

You’d think he’d just thrown Ben a life preserver. “You can?”

“Well, not me, but we have people who specialize in this kind of thing.”

I glanced up at Ian and received an imperceptible nod in return. Well, here went everything. “Some people have talents that others don’t. Welcome to the club.”

“Talent? You call being able to electrocute people a talent?”

“Electrocute is kind of strong, no pun intended. Let’s just say you’ve got a good, defensive zap there.”

“It doesn’t matter what you call it. I could’ve killed someone just by touching them. I hurt you.”

“Like I said,
defensive zap
. I touched you as you were coming around. The last thing you remembered was getting tossed by that harpy, right?”

Ben thought, then nodded once.

“You were protecting yourself. I don’t blame you. If I’d have been in your shoes, I’d have done the same thing myself. Actually, skills like yours aren’t as rare as you’d think. People either learn how to hide it . . .” I stopped and caught myself mid-wince. I hadn’t meant to go in that direction—that people who couldn’t handle any magical woo-woo life handed them often ended up in an institution, on the streets as an addict, or else they self-inflicted themselves into a drawer at the city morgue.

None of those were going to happen to Ben, I told myself. That was why we were here. And nothing forged trust like giving trust.

“I see supernatural people,” I told him.

Thank God, I didn’t see dead people. Living with that shit would send me screaming right over the edge.

Ben didn’t move a muscle. “Supernatural?”

“Those creatures you’ve read or heard about in fairy tales and urban legends. You’ve heard the phrase that to every legend there’s a grain of truth? Well, there’s a lot of grains out there, and they’re real. Vampires, werewolves, dragons, elves, goblins, pixies, unicorns, Sasquatch, the Loch Ness, and various other monsters and creatures—they’re all real.”

During the few times in my life when I’d said a variation of the above to someone, I’d gotten the look Ben was presently giving me, usually combined with the step back, which Ben couldn’t do right now, or the person I was drinking with would laugh and order us another round of tequila shots.

“And you never wondered whether you were crazy?” Ben asked.

Ian didn’t say a word. He simply went to the door and opened it. The assessment team was waiting outside. Procedure had to be followed.

“Caera, could you step in here for a moment, please?” Ian asked.

Caera Filarion was an attractive human woman in her late twenties—at least she looked like a human woman to human eyes. In reality, she was much older.

She was also an elf.

Ian opted to go with a non-traumatizing example for Ben’s introduction to the beings who shared the city and our world with us. Caera was no bigger than a minute, cute as a button, and looked about as threatening as a newborn kitty cat. She was also perfectly capable of kicking Ben Sadler’s ass up one side and down the other, but that wasn’t part of the example Ian wanted to make.

As a member of the assessment team, one of Caera’s tasks was to be a newbie’s first walk on the supernatural side.

The elf lowered the magazine she’d been flipping through while she and the other three members of the team waited.

“Need me to flash my ears at him?” she asked Ian.

“If you wouldn’t mind.”

Caera came in, and Ian closed the door behind her.

The elf crossed the room, hand extended, smiling brightly. It was genuine.

“Mr. Sadler, I’m Caera Filarion.”

She didn’t give him any choice but to shake her hand, and Ben was too well mannered to refuse, regardless of how surreal all this had to feel.

The handshake was more than an attempt to put a newbie at ease. It presented them with irrefutable evidence that Caera Filarion was a warm, living, breathing, and charming woman and—as he was about to find out—one who also happened to not be human.

It made the pointy ears she was about to reveal go over a lot easier.

“I’m an elf,” she told him simply.

“Pardon me?”

“An elf, Mr. Sadler.”