I had arrived. In London. The Order’s largest and most influential territory. Though I’d been to the city only once, I could be sure of one thing: I would find no dragons here, or in any of the surrounding towns. St. George’s presence in the city was huge and obvious. The Order’s symbol, the red cross on a white shield, was everywhere throughout London, on signs and churches and building walls. Though St. George was the patron saint of England itself, and we shared his flag with the rest of the country, the message to Talon was very clear: no dragons allowed.
It was dangerous for me to be here. I knew that. The Order was looking for me, and if I was recognized, I’d never make it out of the city. Thankfully, most of St. George’s soldiers and armed forces were housed elsewhere, as England’s laws on weapons and firearms were very strict. But the Patriarch, the head of the Order itself, ruled from London with the rest of the council and oversaw all of St. George’s activities. If he discovered I was here, I’d have the whole of the Order on my back in a heartbeat.
But he was also the reason I’d come, the reason I was looking for answers. How much did he and the council really know about Talon? Did they truly not know about the rogues, the dragons who wanted nothing to do with the organization and the war? I couldn’t believe they were that ignorant, that they had been ignorant for so long. St. George knew something, and if the Order was keeping secrets, I needed to find them. I had killed dozens—dragons and humans alike—because the Order told me I was protecting the world. I owed it to those lives, to all the innocents I might’ve killed, to discover the truth.
At the hotel, I checked in, tossed my single bag on the bed and, even though I’d been traveling for more than ten hours straight, pulled out my burner phone and called the number I had memorized before I left the States.
As the phone rang, I checked my watch. It was 6:32 a.m. London time; early, but he knew I would be calling once I’d landed. Still, I counted seven rings before there was a click, and a gruff voice sounded on the other end.
“Yeah?”
“I’m here,” I said quietly.
He grunted. “No trouble with the Order?”
“None.”
“Good. I’d lie low if I were you. Though you really shouldn’t be here at all.” There was a snort, and I imagined him shaking his head. “Stubborn bastard. I still think you’re insane, Sebastian, coming here while the Order has a price on your head.”
I gave a faint smile. “This is the last place they’ll think to look for me.”
“Doesn’t mean you should push your luck, mate.”
“I need your help, Andrew,” I went on. “I wouldn’t have come if it wasn’t important. But if you can’t see me, if you think it’s too dangerous, you can walk away.”
“Oh, piss off,” Andrew growled. “Like I’m going to turn in the guy who saved my life.” He sighed. “But we do need to be cautious. The Order literally has eyes everywhere. If they see us together, we’re both dead.”
“When is a good time to meet?”
“Today,” was the reply. “This afternoon, twelve o’ clock. I’ll text you the address now.”
“Roger that.”
I hung up, double-checked my door to make sure it was locked and finally stretched out on my bed and stared at the ceiling. My eyes felt heavy, but I needed to stay awake, both for the impending meeting and because the jet lag would kill my internal clock. I wished I had a pistol or even a knife, but smuggling either onto a commercial airline wasn’t possible. I’d have to get by without a weapon, for now, anyway. There was a bolt and a chain on the door; if anyone was going to break into my room to kill me, at least I’d have a little warning.
All right, St. George. I’m here. What haven’t you been telling us? And is it going to destroy the last bit of faith I have in the Order’s ideals? Will I discover that you are just as soulless and corrupt as Talon?
I almost didn’t want to know the answer.
EMBER
On three, Riley mouthed, gazing at me from the other side of the door frame. I nodded, feeling my muscles tense as we stared at the peeling white door with the gold 14 near the top, hearing sounds of a television through the wood. My dragon growled and stirred, sensing violence, and I narrowed my eyes. Riley took a deep breath and raised the pistol he’d kept hidden under his leather jacket. One...two...three!
He drove his boot into the wood, kicking it right beside the brass knob, and the door flew open with a crash. I lunged inside, Riley right behind me, sweeping the pistol around the hotel room. It was small and dirty, an unmade bed in the corner, the television blaring away...but the room itself was empty.
“Dammit!” Riley lowered the gun, glaring around the abandoned space. “Gone again. We probably just missed the slimy bastard.” Scowling, he yanked his phone out of his pocket, pressed a button and put it to his ear. “Wes, he’s already gone.” Pause. “I don’t know how he knew—it’s Griffin! When was he not a paranoid cockroach?” He sighed. “Right. Heading back now. Call me if there’s an emergency.”