Chapter 2
Despite Ruby’s exhaustion, grief and terror kept ripping her from sleep.
Well before dawn, she was scouring the internet for stories about ball lightning.
Turned out, ball lightning was a mysterious phenomenon having various shapes and colors.
Though it could melt metal, it passed through windows and even screens without causing a bit of damage.
Most importantly, it rarely killed a human, and nowhere did she find an account of one chasing down or lancing someone.
And what about the knives that seemed to exude some kind of energy… and affected the orb?
Mon had said something about magick, not telling the police, and Rule Number One, whatever that was.
So, she’d told the lieutenant about the freak bolt of lightning from the storm but omitted most of the bizarre stuff like how it tried to keep her from escaping the burning house. Not that he’d have believed her anyway.
Had Mon been rambling from shock? He’d been lucid enough to mention the envelope he’d told her to retrieve should anything ever happen to him.
She figured it involved inheritance issues or business matters.
Now that she thought about it, that he’d mentioned it as he suffered an agonizing death meant it was way more important.
Was there a chance it survived? Doubtful, but she had to try to find it.
She also needed to find the Book of the Hidden that Mon kept in his office.
While she had treasured the stories like a chest of jewels as a child, she outgrew them in her early teens and could only remember the essence of them.
If there was a chance, even a small one, that she could have something so intrinsic to her childhood, she would try.
The thought of going back to his house chilled her. What if the orb was there or the person who’d sent it? Had it chased her because she was a witness? Probably. How much did this Sin Tag know about her?
She had searched for variations of that name, too, thinking it was a company or government agency. No luck. Maybe SINTAG was a top-secret project and the orb some super weapon. Yeah, that made sense, except… how would her uncle get involved with something like that?
She pulled on old jeans and a T-shirt, stopping short at her reflection in the mirror over her dresser. A lock of singed hair curled in tiny spirals over her bandage. She lopped off the burnt portion, which made one chunk of hair shorter than the rest, so she evened them out.
Ruby had called Nevin last night to let him know she wouldn’t be in. She’d given him the freak bolt of lightning story.
As she drove to Mon’s house, she thought about his other warning—he’d been filled with them in those last minutes.
How did her grandfather fit into this? She had vague memories of awkward conversations with him, a man obviously not used to talking with children.
Then waking up at Brom’s after the boating accident, a gash in her head and no memory of anything that had happened after she’d been knocked against the cabin’s doorframe.
Brom broke the shocking news about her parents in a pained, soft voice.
She’d bawled for three days straight, not eating or talking to anyone.
She was quickly settled into Mon’s life.
Neither man would even let her go home to get her belongings.
Mon told her that Brom sank into a deep depression and had to go to a mental facility, where he’d been all the years since the accident.
From Ruby’s memories, it appeared that he’d pretty much gone bonkers.
Her truck rolled to a stop in front of Mon’s house.
Even in the soft morning light, the house was a horror scene.
A firefighter patrolled the edge of the rubble.
She didn’t want to talk to anyone, but his presence was comforting.
The orb had somehow slipped away, disappearing the moment the fire crew arrived.
Still, she searched the surrounding vegetation for it or anything weird.
Its absence wasn’t enough to make her feel safe.
But her Smith & Wesson was. She pulled it from beneath the seat of the truck.
Forget vases and knives. If that thing reappeared, she was shooting it.
She slid the gun into its holster, which tucked neatly into the waistband of her jeans.
After making sure it wasn’t noticeable, she grabbed a couple of garbage bags and approached the ruined house.
The stench of smoke and other odd smells filled the air.
The firefighter met her halfway, ready to turn her back.
“I’m Ruby Salazaar. The man who… lived here was my uncle. More like my father, really.”
The firefighter’s bloodshot blue eyes made her think he’d been there all night. “I remember you from yesterday. I’m sorry for your loss.”
At least he didn’t treat her like a suspect. They had swabbed her hands, looking for accelerants or other signs of foul play. They had no idea just how foul it was.
She could only nod at his kind words, ones she was sure he uttered on the regular. “I need to see what I can salvage from his office.”
The man checked his watch. “We’re not supposed to let anyone on the scene for twenty-four hours, but it’s getting close. I’ll have to accompany you, though.”
“Great,” she answered too quickly.
She took in the house, her throat tightening and eyes stinging. She brushed away hot tears before they could slide down her cheeks.
“Be careful.”
She jerked around, thinking the firefighter had seen something.
He nodded to the floor. “You can’t tell what’s beneath the muck.”
“Oh. Yeah, thanks.” Stop acting all scared and freaked out.
She stepped into the den. First order of business, find that envelope amid unidentifiable mounds and lumps.
One of those was probably what was left of the massive desk he’d had shipped over from Sweden decades ago.
She searched for anything resembling the bottom drawer.
All that remained of his files was a wet mess of ash.
Paper disintegrated as she pulled things out.
The fireman hovered without intruding. He was probably making sure she wasn’t digging up some incendiary device. How would a super-secret government thingamabob set a fire?
She turned to where the bookcase used to be and found burnt framed pictures of both her and the wife and daughter Mon lost years before Ruby landed in his life.
Book spines, singed covers, ruined pages—she found nothing salvageable.
Some of these books had been kept in a locked cabinet, but she’d glimpsed titles with words like ancient spells and alchemy.
Beneath a slab of wood, she felt a thick leather spine and pulled out a chunk of blackened book. The wood had protected it somewhat, though half the cover and an inch of the outer edge of pages had burned away. She brushed away soot from the tooled lettering.
The Book of the Hid…
The Hidden. She sank to her knees, pressed it to her chest, and whispered, “Thank you, God.” She flipped through the pages with trembling fingers, the charred edges crumbling at her touch. A cry escaped her throat. All of the sketches of dragons, Deuces, and angels… gone.
She grabbed another book from the muck that was in worse shape and opened it.
The ink was still there. And another. Then she picked up The Hidden again.
No more girl thrown into a dangerous world, no more Dragon Prince.
She recalled her favorite picture of him as he danced with Garnet, spinning her round and round and into his dark spell.
Black of hair and heart, he was darkly handsome, with chips of onyx for eyes and mouth in a permanent snarl.
It annoyed Mon that she’d been most fascinated by the villain.
To a girl who’d lost everything, a powerful prince who could whisk a girl out of danger seemed dashingly romantic. Then she’d grown up and discovered there were no princes out there, and men who snarled also bit.
Ruby placed the book in the garbage bag and gave up finding anything else.
She headed to the unscathed separate garage and keyed in the code for the door.
The front fender of Mon’s old Rolls-Royce sparkled as sunlight hit it.
She found nothing more than a few tools and some spare car parts she’d procured in case he ever needed them.
The car’s interior was as immaculate as its exterior.
What she did find was his cell phone on the passenger floorboard.
The main screen indicated a voice message.
She entered the same code that opened his garage door, hoping it’d be his password.
Bingo. She scrolled down his sparse contacts list, finding one that made her heart jump: Cyntag Valeron.
Yes, that could definitely be the name Mon had uttered. She clicked the voice message.
Her heart seized as a velvety male voice said, “Cyntag, here. I see that you called but didn’t leave a message. Have you finally come to your senses, you old bastard? Or is the Dragon beginning to show? I warned that you were playing with fire—literally. Call me. Don’t make me track you down.”
Dragon? Was that some kind of code? She played it two more times but still couldn’t make sense of it.
She searched through the call log. First he’d taken a call from Brom.
A short while later, Mon had called her and then Cyntag.
Cyntag had called back shortly before she’d arrived. He’d tracked Mon down, all right.
If she couldn’t go to the police, she had to take matters into her own hands. Someone had to pay for Mon’s murder. She couldn’t ask Brom, but she needed to find out who this Cyntag was.
She redialed the number. If he answered, she’d pretend to be someone investigating Mon’s death.
A woman with a sultry radio voice answered, “Dragon Arts. How may I help you?”
“Dragon Arts?” That word again.
“We’re a mixed martial arts studio, with classes in self-defense, cane, jujitsu, and tai chi. I can give you our website address if you want the whole skinny.”
“Sure.” The woman rattled it off, then Ruby asked, “Does a Cyntag Valeron work there?”
“You could say that, sugar. He owns the studio.”
Oh, great. He was probably in top shape and could whip someone’s ass without breaking a sweat. But he had access to more powerful weapons than that, like supernatural orbs.
That’s all right. I’m going to find out more about you, Cyntag Valeron. And somehow, some way, I’m going to make you pay.
* * *
Purcell stepped into the captain’s office without knocking. The man bid the person on the phone goodbye and stood. The Dragon bristled at his territory being invaded without diplomacy, especially by a Deuce.
Purcell kept his singed palms out of sight. “Do you remember me? It’s been fifteen years since the last time I was in your office.”
Recognition clicked in the embers of the man’s eyes. “Yes, I believe you were identified as Mr. Smith. What can I do for you?” His words were clipped.
“You sent one of your best Vegas on that assignment for me.”
The man’s expression shut down. “The yacht.”
“Are you sure he completed the assignment?”
“Of course. The man and woman were not a big deal, of course, but executing a child troubled him. That job ruined him. He quit.”
“Quit? After how many years on the force?”
“He was a Ward.”
An orphan pledged to the Guard. They usually served their whole life. “You’re sure he killed her?”
“Yes.”
Purcell reached into his mind, just a little.
Not enough for the man to notice. He seemed to be telling the truth.
He was also angry over losing his Vega. The Guard tapped Crescent orphanages for their most promising Wards, mentoring them and luring them into service.
Perhaps this man was the Vega’s mentor. “What was his name? I want to talk to him.”
“We never give out the names of our employees.” The captain’s mouth tightened with a hint of smugness. “I’m sure you understand, Mr. Smith.”
Purcell reached again, probing for the name now. Sin. Similar to the name he’d overheard in the conversation between Brom and Moncrief. He knew of a Cyntag, an old Dragon with a fearsome reputation who had served in the Guard many years ago. “Is his name Cyntag?”
People usually gave away their answer when you took them by surprise. The captain shuttered his expression but not fast enough. “As I said—”
Purcell raised his hand. “I understand. I had reason to suspect that perhaps he hadn’t done his job. But you assure me he did, so I shall consider the matter closed.”
His hand was on the doorknob when the captain’s voice stopped him. “Why was it necessary to kill a child?”
“If we were trying to make it look like an accident, she would have been a witness to the fact that it wasn’t. Can you imagine her story to the authorities, about a Dragon killing her parents?” He scoffed.
The captain gave a quick nod of understanding. “But why would it matter now? If she was alive, what could she do?”
“Loose ends, that’s all.”
What could she do, a girl who had no powers? She could ruin everything according to Brom’s vision. Brom had referred to a granddaughter named Ruby who was destined to save thousands of Crescents. He would not leave this task to someone else, qualified or not.
His phone rang when he stepped out to the parking lot. His son, who was monitoring the scry orb he’d planted at Moncrief’s property. “Yes?”
“The woman who showed up at Moncrief’s house last night returned, and you won’t believe this—she is a Crescent. A Dragon. So she’s probably Justin’s daughter after all. I suspect Moncrief used a masking spell, which is why we couldn’t tell yesterday.”
Purcell stroked his trimmed beard. “You are, as always, late with your revelations. I’m sure she’s Ruby. You are continuing to monitor the scry orb?”
Darren’s silence spoke the anger that the boy didn’t have the guts to express. Finally he said, “Of course. She’s driving to an area populated with Dragons. Wait. She’s pausing in front of a martial arts studio, staring at it like she wants to incinerate the place. The sign says Dragon Arts.”
“Keep watching.” Purcell disconnected, then made a call that garnered the name of the proprietor. No surprise that it was Cyntag Valeron.