My throat felt dry, remembering her face when the Wyrm dragon finally let me go. The way she’d looked at me, fearful and relieved... Did she still care? Could she care, or was I fooling myself again?
“What about you?” I asked. “I know this hasn’t been easy. How are you holding up?”
Ember held my gaze, and for a moment, the world went still. I could see my reflection in her eyes, feel the brush of her arm against mine, making my skin prickle. Then she gave a faint smile and everything unfroze. “There’s a massive elder dragon underneath Chicago, Garret,” she said in a half teasing, half awed voice. “Kinda makes you wonder what else is lurking down there. I might never sleep again.”
“It puts the ‘gators in the sewers’ legend to shame, doesn’t it?” Riley said, walking back to the bed. He shot us a glance, and there was the barest hint of a warning in his eyes, before he turned and began sifting through the box again. Ember, I noted, didn’t move from her place beside me, but I refused to hope that it could mean anything. I had dared to hope before, and had been crushed like an egg in the jaws of a dragon.
“Well, well,” Riley muttered, pulling out an envelope. Recorded meetings was scrawled across the front, with a series of dates below. “What do we have here?” With a shake, he turned the envelope upside down, and a thumb drive slid out into his palm.
“Ooh,” Wes exclaimed, perking immediately. “I’ll take that, thank you.”
Plucking the drive from Riley’s palm, he hurried to his computer. The rest of us followed, encircling the desk as Wes sat down, opened the laptop and shoved the drive into the side slot.
A black rectangle flickered to life on-screen, accompanied by the sound of static. Then the sound of footsteps echoed from the computer, and the rustle of fabric as someone sat down.
“Thank you for meeting me like this,” said a voice, unfamiliar to me. “I assume you got my message? Was the tip I sent you about...certain targets, correct?”
“Who are you?” replied a second voice, deep and instantly familiar. I straightened quickly, and felt everyone in the room hold their breath, as if they were really there, watching it happen.
“A concerned citizen,” replied the first voice. “Who, unfortunately, knows a little too much. A human who wants to save our race from the tyranny of monsters.”
“How do you know of us?” the Patriarch asked, his voice suddenly cold. “Do you work for them?” My skin prickled, knowing what would happen if the man said yes. The Order did not bargain with Talon employees, even human ones. Even ones that wanted out. St. George believed that to be in the dragon’s employ meant that the human’s soul was hopelessly corrupted, and Talon was devious enough to try to send in spies to infiltrate the Order, something they could not afford, for any reason.
“No,” the other said quickly, as if he knew this, too. “I’ve never worked for them. Talon doesn’t even know about me. Let’s just say I’m a...freelance investigator who had something precious stolen away by monsters. Surely you can understand that. After all, most of your own can relate, am I right?” He paused, as if gauging the other’s response, before continuing. “Look, I know you have no reason to trust me. I could be a spy for them or whatever. But I’ll prove to you I’m not. I happen to know where you can find one of the bastards. And if you can take it out, I’ll make a generous donation to your Order.”
“I’m sorry,” said the Patriarch, “but our Order does not work with outsiders who are simply out for revenge. Nor are we common assassins. I sympathize with your loss, but if you contact me again, I will have to take sterner measures against you.”
“It’s not assassination if they’re not human, Patriarch,” the man replied, his voice pitched very low. “And I thought your Order was bound to kill these things wherever and whenever they pop up. Well, I’m telling you where one has popped up.” There was a hiss of paper, as if he’d slid an envelope or a folded-up letter across the table. “I can make your war with these things a lot easier,” he went on. “Just think about it.”
“This conversation is over,” said the Patriarch, and he stood. But there was a brief rustle as he picked something up from the tabletop. “Good day to you, sir.” We listened to his footsteps walk away, but the recording didn’t stop. After about a minute of silence, Wes moved to hit Forward, when the voice came again, low and furtive, as if speaking into a phone.
“This is Walker. The Patriarch has taken the bait. Move on to phase two.”
“Bloody hell,” Wes remarked as the recording came to an end. “So that’s how they did it. Sodding ingenious, that. Offer up the one thing St. George can’t ignore, the location of a dragon, and make sure the Patriarch is the only one to know about it.”