Shattered Spirits (5 page)

Jeez. She couldn’t even focus for two minutes.

“And Gig—” If Regis was behind the two decapitations, she’d need to do damage control in the future and find a human scapegoat. Particularly if the media sensationalized the deaths, and with the reporter being at the M.E.’s office, that could be any time now.

The biggest question, however, was if Regis was sending a message, why kill one known drake and one unknown drake, possibly a human? If the second victim, Andy Reynolds, was human, he had to have known something to have been considered a threat to dragon-kind. “I also need you to look into someone.”

“Sure thing, boss.”

“But it needs to be kept under the radar.”

“I’m good with keeping things quiet.”

No, he wasn’t. But she wasn’t going to say that. He was young. Naiveté practically evaporated from his sweat. A hundred years ago, he’d been so sophisticated, so old. Older than her. He’d been the boss. And the Handmaiden had taken that from her.

Which wasn’t fair, either.

“I need you to find out what you can about an Andrew Charles Reynolds. His local address is 27 Mapleton Ave.”

“Okay.”

While he wasn’t good at keeping things secret, he was great for doing things without question. “I’m working on a hunch, but I don’t want Tobias to worry about it until I know anything for certain.”

“You mean you don’t want Regis getting wind of it. I’ll get right on it.” He sauntered away, trying too hard to look cool and therefore failing.

She raised an eyebrow. Maybe there was a hint of Payne in there after all. And maybe she just saw what she wanted to. For the second time that day she was forced to ask what the hell was wrong with her? Wanting Eric and Payne back? People would think she’d become soft. She needed to get a grip because a soft drake was a dead one.

CHAPTER 7

Capri gated into the Dragon Court’s gateroom and headed to Tobias’s office, passing more than a dozen royal guards stationed along the passageways as well as three two-man patrols walking ‘beats’ like policemen. Security had never been so high in Court before. There certainly had never been patrols. She wished—not for the first time—that she had stronger gating abilities and could gate from anywhere to anywhere like Grey could. But she couldn’t and no matter how hard she concentrated, she couldn’t open a gate without a magical anchor and couldn’t move through dimensions without an anchor on the other end.

Save for the guards and patrolmen, the halls at Court, hidden in an inter-dimensional sphere discovered by the Handmaiden centuries ago, were unnervingly empty even for mid-afternoon. But it had only been two weeks since Zenobia’s failed coup and the disaster it had wrought. Prince Regis was still on a rampage looking for more traitors, and doyens were keeping their coterie members close, either to protect them or control them—although the odds of that preventing Regis from losing his temper and rebirthing any of them was slim.

Except now rebirth was impossible. Regis’s preferred punishment was off the table. The Handmaiden, the dragons’ only true sorcerer and the only one capable of casting the rebirth spell, had left and no one knew where she’d gone or when she’d return.

Her leaving was a disaster, especially when everything was in turmoil. Dragon-kind was an endangered species to begin with. Stuck in a parasitic spirit state, inhabiting and reanimating human corpses using the magic in their dragon souls put them in a precarious situation. They couldn’t reproduce. Their numbers were finite. While able to rapidly heal, accidents—and sometimes things not even close to accidents—happened. Their only salvation was the medallion, which could absorb a dragon’s soul and keep it safe until the Handmaiden could cast the rebirth spell. Except the medallion could only keep the soul cohesive for a short period of time. If the Handmaiden didn’t return soon, too many souls in their already diminished numbers could be lost.

Only something of great importance could have taken her away, but Capri couldn’t fathom what. She’d never known the mind of the Handmaiden. No one did. The only drake who’d ever gotten close to her was Grey, and Capri got the impression he still didn’t know a fraction of the Handmaiden’s secrets.

Capri stepped onto the Greater Promenade, heading to the end where the Chamberlain’s offices lay. Grey emerged from the opened double doors, brow creased.

“Hey, Grey.”

He squinted, as if looking at her from a great distance even though he only stood a few feet away.

“Grey?” She could only imagine the challenges he’d faced since the coup. Being in the Handmaiden’s services had alienated him from his coterie, putting him in even more of an allegiance limbo than her. When the Handmaiden had disappeared and Grey’s friend Hunter had left his position in the Royal Coterie as the Prince’s Assassin, Grey had aligned himself with Hunter instead of joining the Royal Coterie. And while others also flocked to Hunter’s banner, Hunter had yet to solidify his coterie. Hell, he hadn’t even proclaimed he was starting a new one, drakes just gathered around him in hope that he, the only drake who could now take dragon form, would take the throne and lead them with the compassion that had been missing for centuries.

Which made Regis, as heir apparent, the last of two gold drakes—and the only one sane enough to rule—even more psychologically unbalanced.

Grey stumbled to a halt and sucked in a ragged breath. His gaze settled on her, and he tilted his head to the side. “Capri?”

“So I’m not invisible.”

He furrowed his brow.

Was that sweat at his temples?

“Rough day.” He rubbed his face.

She could relate. “And it isn’t even dinner yet.”

“You won’t want to mention that.” He jerked his chin in the direction of the Chamberlain’s office. “Barna insists on going ahead with his annual charity dinner for the humans, and Regis is on the verge of proclaiming him a traitor.”

Capri rolled her eyes. This was ridiculous. She didn’t know how, but it looked like the Prince was becoming soul sick, and if that happened, Court would fall into more chaos. It was barely holding together as it was.

“Well, we can’t hide from the humans’ realm every time we’re upset.” Although she suspected Regis would love just that. And not only when he was upset. The drake was becoming more paranoid by the day, just like his father.

A strange expression swept across Grey’s face, then vanished. “Yeah.”

He flashed her a hint of teeth, then snapped his lips closed and strode away.

It had looked like he was actually going to flirt with her. Had he finally given up on desiring something between them? He only flirted with women he wasn’t serious about. But the moment of flirtation hadn’t lasted. It hadn’t even really manifested. Nothing about Grey seemed right, but she couldn’t put her finger on the how or why.

Of course, maybe it wasn’t Grey. Maybe the mess of her emotions was making her see things. Which didn’t help her avoid the need to report.

She strode through the maze of desks, partitions, and office equipment to Tobias’s small office at the back. A quick check through his open door assured her he wasn’t on a rampage. Not that the former pirate rampaged. He was too slick for that. He’d more likely knife you in the back or while you slept.

He leaned over documents spread out on his desk, his wild black pirate hair, similar to Gig’s and yet more sophisticated on his muscular frame, veiling his face. She crossed the threshold and before she could make a sound to announce her presence, he glanced up.

“Report.”

“What, no small talk?” Even for him this was terse.

“It’s been a busy day, about to become a busy evening.”

He had a point.

“The hideout wasn’t as deserted as Diablo thought. We ran into a bit of trouble. One mage is dead, another is in the wind, along with who-knows-how-many more.”

Tobias pursed his lips. He didn’t look happy. Of course, he hadn’t looked happy when she’d entered, so perhaps it wasn’t
her
news pissing him off.

“We did find a cell phone that they seemed to have come back for. Gig’s got it, and he’s working his magic, although it did sustain some damage.”

“Damage?”

“It got shot.”

Tobias raised an eyebrow. “How does something so small take gunfire?”

In a complete disaster of a gunfight, that’s how. If Miller hadn’t distracted her, she would have gotten the phone and everything would have been fine.

“You don’t want to know.” She rubbed her temples. “Hopefully, he’ll have something soon, and we can track the others down. Perhaps get a handle on how many remain.”

“Wouldn’t that be nice.” Tobias flashed a hint of teeth, revealing his displeasure.

Yeah, well, she was displeased as well, but she wasn’t going to draw attention to it. The Chamberlain’s troubles were better left alone. Particularly right now.

“Are there any other leads?”

“No.” And finding leads wasn’t her job. It was Diablo’s. Something else she wasn’t going to point out to Tobias.

“I’ll talk to the Dugga of the Asar Nergal and have him assign Diablo to your team for the duration. Maybe that will get something done.”

Capri’s heart skipped a beat. “You’ll what?”

She couldn’t have the leader of the Asar Nergal commanding Diablo to hang around while she investigated the decapitations in secret. Well, she supposed she could, since it wouldn’t mean much to Diablo. But the idea of him poking his nose in her business—business she didn’t even want Tobias to know about until she was ready—didn’t sit well.

“Is there a problem?”

Shit, she’d waited too long to answer. She rubbed her face with her hands, playing up her exhaustion. “No, I just doubt Diablo will agree. He’s very much a lone drake.”

“That’s his problem.”

“Actually, it will become my problem if you force him onto my team.”

“You can’t handle him?”

“Oh, I can handle him fine. I just hate wasting the bullets.”

Tobias sighed and closed the folder on his desk. “Try not to shoot him.” He opened another folder. “At least not too many times. There’s more than enough politics to go around right now. I don’t want any of it from you.”

“Aye aye, Captain.”

Tobias flashed his teeth, this time in pleasure, and she left. She needed to get back to Gig. Hopefully he’d found something about this Andy Reynolds, and she could figure out if his murder was connected to Court before it became a public problem—and before Diablo could show up, making things even more complicated.

She headed back down the Greater Promenade to the gateroom and rounded the corner. More than a dozen drakes glanced at her and she froze. Most were Regis’s sycophants, but she counted at least three guards with them. The sycophants were a collection of drakes who’d sworn allegiance to the Royal Coterie but didn’t hold any position of importance other than to follow Regis around and make him feel good. As if on cue—and, knowing Regis, it could have been orchestrated—the drakes parted, revealing the Prince, who stood waiting at the gate.

A young drake, dressed in creams to match Regis’s over-dramatic, Henry the 8th attire, cleared his throat. “Your Highness.”

“What?” Regis barked. He turned and his gaze landed on Capri. A bright, evil pleasure curled his lips and lit his eyes. “Capri. So good of you to join me. Shouldn’t you be at work, chasing down mages?”

Capri plastered on a fake smile, showing just enough teeth to be polite and not be mistaken as the aggression she wanted to show. “Just reporting to the Chamberlain, Your Highness. I really should gate back to Newgate and carry on.”

“But my summons,” Regis said.

“Your—?” Right. There’d been a text message on her phone, summoning all drakes to Court at 4 p.m. exactly. Royal decree and all that. Normally she would have just sucked it up and gone, but given Regis’s mood lately and the current mess with the mages, she figured it would be safer to be too busy for whatever Regis had in mind. “I really should get back to work.”

“And disobey a decree?” Regis asked, his voice syrupy.

“Of course not. I shall attend at Your Highness’s pleasure.”

“And not perform your duties.” Regis’s tone darkened, and he flashed his teeth.

“Your Highness.” The trap was obvious and there was no way to avoid it. “I am at Your Highness’s disposal.”

“With the Handmaiden gone, unfortunately you’re not.” Implying he’d
dispose
of her by rebirthing her—probably just for the thrill of it. He’d do it, even though her new body wouldn’t have the earth magic ability to manipulate humans’ minds and that she’d lose all of her memories. Her soul would be reset back to her most primal state, that she was a blue drake and a baby drake at that, and then she’d be useless as leader of the Clean Team.

A black void erupted against the far wall in the hall as the gate was activated, and Barna, the doyen of the Major Brown Coterie, and his Second lurched through.

“About time,” Regis growled. “Come along. You, too, Capri.” He strode from the hall with a wake of drakes dressed to match his cream doublet, breeches, and cape trailing behind him.

Barna, a drake in the body of a middle-aged man of Greek descent, turned his lined, swarthy face to Capri, his dark eyebrows raised.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” she said, and followed after Regis and his entourage.

Behind her, Barna’s Second, a drake in a young, mid-twenties body, snorted. Yeah, that’s how she felt, too. With luck, whatever this was wouldn’t last long.

Regis sauntered down the hall to the main stairs—a wide, curling staircase that connected the arteries of Court. They took the stairs up one flight, then down a secondary promenade to a wide, ornamented hall.

Capri’s heart sank. Only the halls with royal significance were ornamented, as if to point out to the rest of dragon-kind that the Royal Coterie was so much more important than they were. This hall led to the royal booth in the arena.

It shouldn’t have surprised her. Regis had summoned everyone. He had a point to make, and the best way to make it was in the arena. But it couldn’t be a duel. Surely she would have heard if someone had called a
wasu tahazu
. Even if someone had, Regis couldn’t allow it. Yes, the medallion at the heart of the arena absorbed the soul of any drake killed during a fight. But without the Handmaiden to cast the spell, the soul—without a body to maintain its cohesion—would disintegrate.