Chapter 2
She was either making a huge mistake or saving her family.
Too damned bad she didn’t know in advance which it was going to be.
Violet stood on the steps of the Guard’s headquarters.
She’d heard that it was fashioned after the government buildings on the Crescents’ ancestral island of Lucifera, and that this building had been here since the beginnings of Miami.
There was no written history of Lucifera, only legends handed down orally through generations.
Like many ancient cultures, Luciferians worshipped gods specific to the island.
A fluke of nature allowed several gods to become physical on the Earth plane, where they fell to sensual temptations.
Eventually, two disgruntled gods and one overly righteous angel decided procreation was a bad idea and instigated a war between their progeny.
The war caused a violent schism that not only reversed the gods’ physicality but broke the island apart, forcing the inhabitants to flee to Florida.
Etched symbols like hieroglyphics adorned the two-story columns along the front of the otherwise nondescript building.
Violet recognized six of the symbols, mostly the Dragon gods with which she was familiar.
Her Crescent jewelry store customers sometimes requested pieces with the symbols for various gods.
No one ever requested a necklace depicting the Tryah, the trio who started the war.
And we’re on the verge of war now.
Maybe rage and violence were in the blood, the vengeful tendencies just a throwback to the flawed beings that sired them so many generations ago.
The imposing dark blue doors did not invite the curious.
Crescents knew the “financial services firm” was a front for the Hidden’s police force.
Couldn’t go to the Miami police complaining that your neighbor’s magick was disrupting your satellite signal.
Or that your brother was murdered by a Dragon.
The Guard’s main focus was enforcing Rule Number One: Crescents must never expose their magick to the Mundanes.
Then there were Crescents who’d gone Red, their term for magick psychosis.
Violet betrayed her clan with every step she took toward those ultra-tall double doors.
As much as she hated the idea of going to the Guard for help, she had no choice.
There was going to be a lot more bloodshed if she couldn’t convince them to intercede.
She took a deep breath as she clutched the steel handle.
Act like none of your family has ever been on the wrong side of the law.
Compared to the bright Miami sunshine, the lobby was dim and cool, dominated by shades of blue. Even the woman behind the reception desk wore a dark blue blouse.
“I need to speak to someone about a murder.” That last word caught in Violet’s throat. When the receptionist asked her name, “Castanega” came out even hoarser. She had to repeat it, and the woman’s eyebrows rose.
Yes, I’m one of those Castanegas.
The woman’s previously placid expression soured. “Did you commit murder or are you reporting on behalf of the victim?”
“The victim.”
She opened a drawer, pulled out four pieces of paper, and clipped them to a board with a practiced hand. “You’ll need to fill these out.”
Violet could only stare at the words DEATH REPORT at the top. Her fingers trembled as she reached for the clipboard. The woman jabbed a pen in her direction and walked into the back room.
Crescents in general had their prejudices against Fringers, viewing them with the disdain bestowed on hillbillies.
Since Fringers didn’t want outsiders poking into their business, they happily perpetuated the stereotype.
Mostly it worked, and the Guard only stepped in when illegal activities might draw the attention of the Mundane police.
The joke was on the Crescent population, really. Fringe families had long ago taken land no one else wanted and cultivated it. The marshes and swamp areas were the most beautiful, private, and richest of all the inhabitable land in the area. To Violet, the busy, crowded city was the unwanted area.
The receptionist returned a few moments later. “Someone will be with you shortly.”
I’ll bet.
She bet right. Once all the papers were filled out, with the cold facts of her brother’s life and death crammed into lines not nearly long enough, she spent the time checking emails on her phone and confirming a couple of appointments with jewelry stores.
Finally she played a couple of rounds of Best Fiends before a voice penetrated. “Miss Castanega.”
A young man stood in the open doorway with that same sour look.
He’d drawn the short straw, evidently. She was so sick of being judged by her name, her family.
She swallowed the weariness and forced a professional smile.
He took the clipboard and said nothing more, just walked into a large room filled with desks.
Expecting her to follow, she assumed. The Guard’s officers wore business attire, not uniforms. She didn’t need to see his magick tattoo identifying him as the lowest officer, an Argus.
The fact that he led her to one of the desks crammed into the center of the room said as much.
There were only two levels of officers in the Guard.
Vegas handled higher-level issues, and Arguses handled everyday Crescent matters.
Several other officers sat at their desks, engaged with complainants.
She heard snippets of conversations about the crazy neighbor releasing orbs from his roof and Aunt Betty doing naked gardening and trying to run off Elementals.
Those officers not busy watched her openly, as though they were ready to be amused.
Someone whistled the banjo theme from Deliverance.
Idjit. That movie was set in Georgia, not southern Florida.
She gripped her alligator purse handle tighter.
The skin came from their farm, the purse from the company that fashioned them into four-hundred-dollar bags and belts.
She wanted to tell these people that their operation used every part of the gator so nothing went to waste.
That the income from their various enterprises provided well for the families it supported, far better than the Guard probably paid their employees.
They also ensured that the alligator population thrived, that the nests in the wild were protected.
Violet met curious gazes, most giving her a dose of a sneer. Her Dragon rolled over her senses, bringing everything into hyperfocus. She felt its heat as it pressed close to the surface.
Back. Not a good place to show yourself. You’ll—we’ll be pounced, blasted, and incinerated before we can blink.
She pushed it deep inside her and focused on the paintings of gods that were situated between doors, done in various mediums, styles, and probably eras.
For younger generations, the gods were mythical, part of distant history.
Her clan descended from Mora, Dragon goddess of creativity and beauty.
Here she was depicted as a gorgeous green Dragon surrounded by flowers and butterflies.
She was about to snap her fangs around the neck of a bird with bright plumage.
The man led her to a female officer’s desk. “Here, K, this one’s all yours.” He shoved the clipboard at her. “I’ve got better things to do.”
Mia Kavanaugh, according to her nameplate, gave him an acidic look but turned to Violet. “Please sit.” Her gaze skimmed the top of the report, and Violet could tell the moment her last name registered.
Mia’s moss green eyes took her in, swirling with trademark Deuce mist that, like Dragon’s flames, could only be seen by Crescents.
Mia set the clipboard down and met her gaze.
“Ms. Castanega, please tell me your family hasn’t killed the Mundane who is screaming to the world that there’s a gator ape in the swamp. ”
Dragonfire, that’s where she was going? “Even though Smitty’s always sneaking around on our private land with his video cameras, we have refrained from harming him. This has nothing to do with him.”
“You piqued his interest. A huge alligator that walks upright at times? One of your family members obviously revealed your magick. Which makes you a reckless element—”
“This has nothing to do with that idjit, and we are not reckless.” Well, most of the time. Wild, daring, and a little bit crazy, yes, but all aware of the punishment for breaking Rule Number One: death. “The murder I’m here to report is my brother’s.”
“Details?”
Don’t cry. You’re good at holding back tears after years of being teased by three brothers. No, now two …
She held back the rest of her thoughts and the sob that threatened to erupt. “My brother Arlo was murdered yesterday by a Dragon who Breathed his power. He was attacked on our property without provocation. But—”
“You know the Guard doesn’t interfere with the swamp clans’ feuds.” Mia lifted the clipboard, her face relaxing as she thought her job here was done. “We will, of course, file the proper paperwork.”
So his death would be filed with the government but not the suspicious nature of it. No need to involve the Muds—the Mundane police force.
“I’m not just here because of my brother’s murder.
” Violet pulled out a piece of paper and laid it on the desk.
It contained the names of the other deceased Fringers.
Swamp trash, she knew they were called more often than the Fringer moniker they’d given themselves long ago.
“As I was about to say, there have been five similar murders in the last ten days. All Breathed. Someone’s inciting the feuding clans. ”
Mia barely glanced at the list. “The feuding clans are inciting the feuding clans. That’s what you do down there.”