Tracking the Tempest
Page 21

Daoud's jaw clenched as he straightened up to glare at the Alfar.
A djinn, I thought, his cornucopia groin suddenly making sense. Months ago, at the Alfar Compound, I'd watched another djinn, named Wally, pull a series of very large and very edged weapons out of his pantaloons. Yes, pantaloons. Oh, and he'd also pulled out a mace. In other words, Wally put the “hammer” in “Hammer pants.”
I really should have figured out Daoud's faction sooner, but Wally and Daoud looked so dissimilar, and used their powers so differently, that it was like they came from different centuries.
They probably do come from different centuries, moron, I realized before turning back to the argument unfolding before me.
“You do not command my deputies, Phaedra,” Ryu shot back, barely in control of his temper. I'd never seen Ryu so ruffled.
The Alfar female eyed Ryu speculatively, making her point by not reacting to his outburst.
“Perhaps not yet, baobhan sith. But soon. When you have failed in this assignment, as is guaranteed by your incompetence, I will take over, find your halfling abomination, and wipe him off the face of this earth.”
At the words “halfling abomination,” Phaedra sent me a rather pointed stare. Ryu hissed and I squeezed his hand, reminding him that he was not to lose his temper over me.
“And this must be Jane True,” the little woman sneered.
I nodded, refusing to fall to her intimidation tactics.
“I have been looking forward to meeting you. Indeed, we all have.” In my peripheral vision, I noticed Graeme's cruel smile grow crueler still.
I raised my chin defiantly, keeping silent. So the little Alfar upped the ante.
“Especially Graeme. He loves vulnerable little humans, do you not, Graeme?”
The incubus smiled at me, focusing a beam of his creepy rage-tinged lust at me.
Fuck bravery, I thought, moving closer to Ryu as he angrily interrupted the Alfar's little game.
“Why are you here, Phaedra? This investigation does not concern you. Or your master.”
“Of course it does. You know how much of an interest Jarl takes in the welfare of halflings.”
My heart dropped into my shoes when Phaedra said the name “Jarl.”
I should have known, I thought, glancing toward Graeme. Only Jarl would protect such a monster.
“Jarl expressed his concern over recent events to our king and queen, and Orin and Morrigan granted him permission to send my team…” here Phaedra smiled, a small and unpleasant expression that made my stomach twist, “… to assist your investigation. While the king made it clear that our role is one of support, Jarl made it clear that he expects you to be replaced if this situation is not soon resolved.
“And considering that all you have managed to do is lose nearly a dozen lives under your watch while nearly getting yourself killed at least twice, I expect that my orders to replace you will come shortly. Unless your mongrel bedmate has some clue hidden in her fragile little body that would explain her presence here.”
Ryu's face was white with rage as his hand gripped mine so hard it hurt. I thought he might actually crush it when the rapist incubus piped up with his own creepy two cents.
“If she does have anything hidden on her, I'd be happy to get it out for you,” Graeme said, letting his gaze wander over my body with an expression in which lust and malice rivaled one another for dominance.
“I swear to the gods that if you touch her…” Ryu started forward, as I grabbed his wrist and both Caleb and Daoud put restraining hands on his shoulder.
“I won't just touch her,” the incubus said, stepping forward to goad Ryu. “I am going to fuck her sideways—stretch her little cunt so far you can crawl inside it and retire, you pathetic excuse for a—”
“Enough!” Phaedra boomed, shooting a beam of hot white light between the incubus and Ryu.
I knew that only the threat of Phaedra's Alfar power kept the situation from turning into a full-on brawl, with me smack dab in the center. Ryu was literally glowing he was so angry, and all of his deputies looked equally pissed. Daoud was practically gnashing his teeth and Caleb was tossing his horns at the mountain of spriggan in a goaty challenge. Camille was eyeing the harpies like they might make a decent snack; the harpies, in turn, had their beady eyes focused on Julian and his mother like hawks that had just spotted two fluffy bunnies.
“This is neither the time nor the place,” Phaedra warned her evil entourage. “We are here on official business.”
While the tension didn't ease, everyone did take a step back. Except for Graeme, who kept himself forward, staring at me and daring Ryu to do something about it.
“Just stay out of our way, Phaedra. And keep your minions out of my sight.” Ryu's voice was tight, his control barely in place.
“Sorry, Investigator, but I have strict instructions to aid you in any way I can. And I will aid you.” The Alfar smiled. “Get used to us. I am sure we will get used to you. Until then!” she called, walking back toward the door to the lab.
The harpies crouched low and then heaved themselves in the air, wings flapping furiously. We were again besieged by filth and dust, only this time Ryu's shields were in place well before anything could hit us. Behind the dirt swirling against our protective barrier, I saw Graeme mouth something at me. I'm no lip-reader, but even I could make out “See you soon.” I trembled, pressing myself into Ryu's side.
Finally, the dirt settled and we were alone in the laboratory. Daoud groaned and stretched. Caleb shuffled his hooves in the dirt, as if he were considering chasing after Phaedra's gang at ramming speed. Camille watched Julian worriedly as her son took off his glasses, breathed fog onto them, and then wiped them with his flannel shirt. His eyes, a beautiful sea green, met mine as he gave me a grin even more crooked than usual. Julian's kind expression helped to wipe away the smudge of Graeme's interest.
Ryu, meanwhile, looked apoplectic. He was gripping my hand like a vise, and I pulled, gently, to free myself. My fingers, when he finally let go, were mottled red and white.
We all stood there, in silence, for a few minutes till, finally, Ryu put into words what we were all thinking.
“Shit.”
We nodded.
“Fuck.”
We nodded again.
“And damn.”
Then he strode angrily toward the door as we scrambled to keep up.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
My fingers scrabbled at the smooth leather interior of Ryu's BMW as he missed the exit we needed, causing him to drop a few more F-bombs and slam on the brakes. He then opened up what I assume was a rift in the space-time continuum in order to hurtle his German-made steel cage of doom through said continuum, only just managing to avoid two Jesus truckers with their grill crosses glowing brightly in the night.
Ryu was decidedly cranky.
We were on our way to the head scientist's, Dr. Silver's, family home. It was about two in the morning, so we were officially on baobhan sith time. When we'd gotten back to the cars, Ryu had hurled poor Julian's laptop at him and said, “Find something. Now.” Much to everyone's surprise, and especially Julian's, he had. In the month since they'd officially canned the investigation, there'd been a few pings on the good doctor's “secret” accounts, and from somewhere in the States. So we'd split into pairs to investigate whether he'd made it back to his home turf. Camille and Julian had shot over to Silver's Boston pied-à-terre, Daoud and Caleb headed out to his summer home in Cape Cod, and Ryu and I drove out to the family manse in a ritzy suburb of Boston.
“This is probably a wild-goose chase, but it's all we've got. And at least we know Silver is alive, and hopefully back in the country.” Ryu frowned, again. “Plus there's something about this house in particular that I don't get. I'm glad I'm going back.”
“Whaddya mean, you ‘don't get'?”
“I can't put a finger on it. Something with the layout,” he said, as we pulled up in front of an enormous, gorgeous old home that bordered on being a mansion.
“Wow.” I breathed. I guess there's a good living in running evil laboratories.
We walked up to the house and Ryu murmured something to the door, which opened up as if in welcome. The house was warm, but unaired. From the foyer, I could see that it had been carefully shut up for the Silvers' holiday to the south of France: furniture covered, plants fitted with complicated watering devices, electronics unplugged.
I stuck close to Ryu as we walked toward the grand staircase dominating the foyer.
“Pay attention to the upstairs layout, and then think about it when we come back down,” he told me.
“Okeydokey, smokey,” I said, solemnly.
The house was professionally perfect; there had very obviously been a decorator involved. Even the family photos had been chosen for maximum effect. Tons of pictures covered the walls of the stairway, all full of healthy, wealthy people doing healthy, wealthy things. A baby-boomer couple, who I assumed to be Silver and his wife, dominated the action. In one photo, dressed in black tie and holding champagne, they flanked a famous politician. Another picture showed the same couple, this time wearing tennis gear and clutching rackets, sandwiching a famous tennis player. In others, they wore equestrian gear, or picnic-wear, or fancy dress, or business attire. Inevitably they were accompanied by someone either famous or who exuded a similar air of wealth and status.