Shadow's End (19 page)

She smiled. “Don't worry about us. We're good at laying low.”

He returned her smile, but it died quickly as he stepped into the hall.

They
were
good. They appeared to be competent warriors, and were some of the best investigators he had worked with in a long time, but going to war against a first-generation Djinn was one of the most dangerous things anyone could do. The casualty count was invariably high.

People were going to die due to the decisions he made over the next several hours. One way or another, he had been in command of other soldiers for a very long time, so he was no stranger to seeing it happen. He had experienced that particular kind of loss before.

That never made it any easier.

TWELVE

A
fter Graydon left the hotel, he shapeshifted and flew back to Cuelebre Tower.

It had stopped snowing, but the snow hadn't yet lost its newness. The city looked pristine and sugarcoated. Even in the daylight, Christmas and masque lights twinkled along the streets.

He arrived at Cuelebre Tower quickly enough. His apartment was on the seventy-eighth floor of one of the most stringently guarded buildings in the city, so he never bothered to lock his balcony doors. That meant he could come and go with a decent amount of freedom.

Aiming carefully, he executed his shapeshift as he landed, with a sense of timing built on years of experience. Once he strode inside, he went into his bedroom, stripped and stepped into the shower.

Call him obsessive, but he set the portable hard drive on the bathroom sink where he could keep a visual on it, and he stayed under the jet of the showerhead for a long time, letting the hot water ease cold, tired muscles.

A sound came from his living room. He lifted his head out of the jetspray. He had company.

Grabbing a towel as he stepped out, he took a quick swipe at his dripping hair, then wrapped the towel around his waist and went to see who had invaded his apartment.

As he entered the living room, Constantine closed his refrigerator door. The other gryphon looked a little windblown, and his color was high underneath his tanned skin. His handsome face wore lines of tiredness.

All four gryphons were some version of tawny and brawny. Rune and Constantine were the two most handsome, and while Bayne had a certain ruggedness to his good looks, Graydon had always been comfortably aware that he would only be considered handsome through the gaze of someone who looked at him with true love.

Constantine said, “You've got no food in your fridge. What's the matter with you?”

Graydon suppressed a sigh. Leaving his balcony door unlocked meant, of course, that other avian Wyr who had security clearance could enter his apartment too.

He replied, “Since I didn't know when I would be coming or going over the next few days, I threw things out. What are you doing here, Con? I've been up all night and I'm tired.”

“I've been up all night too.” The other gryphon inspected the Keurig on Graydon's counter, selected a cup and started the machine. After giving Graydon a quick once-over, Constantine said, “From the look of things, I probably had more fun with my night than you did with yours.”

“I'm not available to talk about work stuff. You'll have heard I'm on leave right now.”

“Why, yes. I did hear that. I thought it was interesting, since you never ask for a leave of absence. I mean, sure, you take your vacations when it's your turn, but you don't ask for time off. Like, literally almost never, which makes it memorable when you do.”

He stared pointedly at the mug Constantine pulled from the machine. Not that Constantine chose to pick up on it.

The other man blew on the hot liquid in his mug. Then he took the bottle of scotch Graydon had left on the counter and splashed some liquor into his drink. “In fact,” Con said, “I'm pretty sure this is the first time you've asked for a leave in, oh, let me think . . .”

Graydon watched the other man without moving. Damn him, Constantine was sharp as a whip, stubborn as a bulldog, and he had a memory like a computer—he just wouldn't give up or stop piecing things together. His personal life was a mess. He catted around compulsively, and he was always wrecked and hungover, but he was a vicious, talented fighter, and his mind never, ever shut off.

Constantine gave him a gentle smile. “If memory serves, wasn't the last time you took a leave of absence when we went to London all those years ago? And wasn't that right after you'd had a private conversation with the Lady of the Elven demesne, at the Vauxhall masque?”

Exasperated, Graydon said, “Now, why the fuck would you remember something like that?”

“I watched you walk away with her, and you didn't reappear until the next day. I remember it so clearly because afterwards, you were uncommunicative and withdrawn for weeks. Gray, that's not like you. You're usually a laid-back, friendly, cheerful kind of an SOB.”

Sighing, Graydon pinched the bridge of his nose. “You're not going to go away, are you?”

“Nope, I don't think I am.” The other man turned back to the Keurig machine. “Why don't I make you a cup of hot chocolate or coffee while you get dressed? Then we'll chat.”

Spinning on his heel, he stalked into his bedroom, dragged on black sweatpants and a sweatshirt with a hood and pockets. Tucking the hard drive into one of the pockets, he strode back into the living room to face his tenacious friend.

Constantine had stretched out on the couch, boots propped on the coffee table, balancing his hot drink on a flat stomach. He had set another full, steaming mug on a coaster in front of a nearby chair and had put the bottle of scotch beside it.

Growling underneath his breath, Graydon sat in the chair.
He inspected the mug. Constantine had made him a cup of coffee. After having drunk so much coffee already, he almost set it aside. On second thought, he grabbed the neck of the scotch bottle to splash some into the drink.

He took a swallow. The hot coffee-liquor mixture burned all the way down.

He said, “I'm giving you fifteen minutes. Not a second more. After that, I'm booting you out and going to bed.”

“Fair enough, fair enough.” Constantine narrowed one eye at him. After a moment, he said abruptly, “It was Beluviel, wasn't it? Back then. Even though I
said
to you at the time that she was the definition of unobtainable, something caused you to fly straight at her like a moth to the flame.”

Graydon drank his hot drink and said nothing.

“She was married. She was the Lady of the Elven demesne. She was all kinds of inappropriate.” The other man paused. “Is it Beluviel this time too?”

Graydon finished his drink.

“You're not going to say, are you?” Constantine looked half-admiring and half-annoyed. “What the fuck, Gray? You said you'd give me fifteen minutes.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Didn't say I was going to talk. Just said I'd give you that much time.”

The other man's wry smile faded. Constantine said, “While I can respect your level of discretion, I'm trying to help you, man.”

The other gryphon didn't sound like his feelings had been hurt, but still, his direct, quiet words shook Graydon's resolve. Shoulders slumping, he rubbed his face.

Con was one of his oldest friends and coworkers. To say they had a friendship was a misnomer. He was more like a somewhat irritating, good-hearted brother. He was also loyal to the point of death, and while currently he was being intrusive, he didn't deserve a cold shoulder.

“Con,” he said, setting aside his mug and leaning his elbows on his knees, “I appreciate you poking your nose into my business.” To make sure his words didn't carry any sting, he gave the other man a sidelong look and a smile.
“I'm trying to keep a strong separation between all this”—he made a vague, all-encompassing gesture that included Constantine and his surroundings—“and a long-standing issue that is really, mostly not mine to tell.”

Silence fell between them. Then Con shifted his boots off the table, took the scotch bottle and poured more into his empty mug.

He said, “You know what I think?”

One corner of Graydon's mouth lifted reluctantly. “I have a feeling you're about to tell me.”

Constantine didn't even blink. He pointed the top of the bottle at Graydon. “Maybe this has to do with Beluviel, and maybe it doesn't. After all, whatever happened in London was a long time ago. But I do believe you wouldn't be trying so hard to compartmentalize if you weren't involved in something dangerous.”

Like Graydon had said. Smart as a whip.

Constantine said softly, “You're trying to protect everybody, aren't you?”

Oh, fuck it. He reached for the bottle again, and the other gryphon surrendered it to his grasp. He muttered, “I'm trying to keep the Wyr demesne from getting involved in any fallout, but I can't protect everybody.”

And people were going to die. Closing his eyes, he took a pull straight from the bottle.

“You're such a stupid shit,” Constantine told him affectionately. “Every single one of us, including Dragos, Pia
and
Liam, would go to the mat for you.”

“But I don't want you to,” he said in a very quiet voice. “I want you all to thrive and be happy, and totally ignorant of any trouble. I don't want any of you to get hurt because of something I got involved in a long time ago.”

“Well, you know what? You don't get to choose that.” Con tilted back his head and tossed off the last of his drink. “Okay, here it is. It's true enough that some of us have had more than enough shit hit their fans over the last eighteen months. But I'm not one of them. So you cut me in on the secret, and as
long as I can help watch your back, I'll also help you keep it quiet.”

Moved, he said, “Con, there's no need for you to get invo—”

“On the other hand,” said Constantine, cutting him off with a charming, ruthless smile, “if you don't cut me in, I'll tell Dragos and the other sentinels everything that I know, or at least everything I've surmised thus far. Then you can try fighting your way out of the pile all of us will make as we sit on you until you spill everything.”

“You wouldn't,” growled Graydon.

Con rolled his eyes. “Do you even know me?”

Anger, affection and worry caused conflicting impulses that held him frozen for a moment. Finally, he snapped, “Are you working tonight?”

“Nope, I've got a date,” Constantine said. His blue eyes were unrepentant. “Actually, I've got two dates, back-to-back. I'll cancel them.”

“Fine. I'll let you know when and where,” he said. “Now, get out of here so I can take a nap, will you?”

“Sure, no problem. Didn't mean to interrupt.” When he started to growl, the other gryphon gave him a limpid smile as he stood. “What, was that too much?”

He stood too. Setting aside all his other emotions, he looked into the other man's eyes. “Thanks, Con.”

A small smile creased Constantine's features. He slapped Graydon on the back lightly and left the apartment by way of the hall door.

Once alone, Graydon rotated his stiff, sore shoulders and went to crash in his bedroom. He was going to be no good to anybody if he didn't get some rest.

Plugging his phone in to charge, he stretched out. The hard drive dug into his ribs. He shifted the sweatshirt, stuck his hand in his pocket and fell asleep holding onto the evidence.

When he woke again, his bedroom had gone dark.

Rolling over, he snatched his phone off the bedside table.

He checked the time. It was much later than he had
expected, nearly seven o'clock. This close to the winter solstice, sunset had been over two hours ago.

Quickly, he scrolled through his messages. While he had tons of emails and several voicemail and text messages, he ignored most of them.

The latest text he had received had been from Julian, almost ten minutes ago.

We've checked in at the Four Seasons. Let me know where we're meeting.

Landing a room or suite at the Four Seasons at this time of year was no small feat. Apparently Julian still had plenty of clout, even if he was on hiatus as Nightkind King.

He double-checked his messages again. No word from Bel. No response to the email he had sent with a hotel reservation. If anything, he should have heard from her first, not Julian, who had flown in from California.

Equal parts dread and anger coursed through him as he tore off his sweats and dressed. He should never have left her.

He could feel it in his bones.

Something had gone wrong.

•   •   •

A
fter a long, stressful day, tension tied Bel's body in knots.