Chapter One
CHAPTER ONE
David
I run my eye over my list one last time. It looks like we’ve covered everything, so I ask, “Any questions?”
The people on the team I put together to facilitate the migration of two species from one dimension to another smile and shrug and shake their heads—not that I expected anything else.
These people are the best at what they do.
You could put them in the middle of any natural disaster with nothing but a pencil, and within hours things would be organized.
With money and resources, there’s nothing they can’t do.
They got a single-page briefing memo last night and came to the meeting this morning with reams of research and information ready to go.
Their questions have already been asked and answered.
I have no doubt they’ll have a solid plan and timeline ready by the time I get back.
I’m so fucking jealous.
Putting aside the fact that this project only exists because the remnants of a once-great civilization will be wiped out otherwise, it’s exactly the kind of thing I love to do.
Lots of things to organize, endless details, a time restriction…
give it to me, baby. But I don’t have time to indulge myself right now, which is why I’m handing over the heavy lifting to the four incredibly talented people in front of me.
“Great. I hope to have more information about the refugees’ needs later today, and I’ll get that to you as soon as I can.
Or, if we’re lucky, I’ll be able to bring you a species representative.
In the meantime, I’m going to be away from my devices, so direct any questions to Sam and prepare to be patient. ”
There’s a wave of nods and a chorus of agreement, and then the meeting breaks up and they head off to find homes, jobs, and everything else that’s needed for two hundred thousand immigrants that we need to hide from the humans.
I follow them out of the meeting room and set off at a brisk pace for my team’s office. I need to check in with Sam and Noah before my meeting with Percy, and then I’m going through a portal to another dimension to meet the king of the elves. Because that’s just my life now.
Shaking my head, I wonder if there’s time to grab something to eat.
I missed breakfast this morning—entirely my own fault.
I’ve been so busy lately that the commute back to my place—a whole thirty minutes—isn’t time I’m willing to give up, so I’ve been sleeping on the really comfortable couch in Percy’s office.
Unfortunately, that means I can’t just grab food on my way to and from work, and sometimes I get caught up in what I’m doing and forget to eat.
“David!”
Nope. No time for food.
Holding back a sigh, I stop and let Kirsch from security catch up.
“Got a sec?” he asks.
“Sure. Just one, though.”
He launches into a hurried rundown on the latest attempts to infiltrate our security.
It’s only been thirty-something hours since we realized what the bad guys’ evil plan is, but in that time, they’ve made several strikes.
Our guess is they’re trying to stop us before we can begin the migration, because once we have the elves and dragons (yeah, that’s right) here, we’ll have a huge advantage, even if we don’t know the details of what they’re up to.
“We’re holding steady,” he concludes. “Having the elves’ help is making a big difference. We didn’t even know we had to defend against elf spellcasting before—or that it existed. That’s where our system was failing, trying to defend against stuff we didn’t know about. Now, it’s working perfectly.”
“Great news,” I tell him. It really is. I’ve been low-level uneasy about security breaches for almost a year, ever since we realized there was a leak in our office.
No matter what we did since then, it kept recurring.
Now, though, we know it was the result of an elf spellcaster modifying a sorcerer’s weaves—some very clever espionage work that I’d like to examine more closely when I get the time.
It took our new elf allies a very short time to identify the rogue spells.
“You’re going to… uh, go over there today, right?
” he asks, glancing around. This hallway should be secure, but we’re trying to keep the whole other-dimension thing on a need-to-know basis for now.
Ultimately it’s going to be kind of moot, because once we bring the elves and dragons over, nobody’s going there ever again.
We don’t know exactly how long it will be until the whole dimension collapses, although the elves seem to think less than a year.
“Yeah, in about an hour,” I confirm, trying to sound confident and secure and not like a kid who’s going to Disney World. Can you blame me for being a bit excited? It’s another fucking dimension. How often am I likely to get an opportunity to see another dimension?
Probably never again.
The science nerd in me can’t wait.
“I don’t like it,” Kirsch admits. “I wish you’d take a team with you.”
“What?” I blink, surprised. “Why would I need a team?”
“For protection.” The duh is heavily implied.
“I’m a combat sorcerer,” I remind him. “I’m the one who does the protecting.
” Not that anyone will need to be protected.
I’m going to meet the elf king so we can make plans to save his people.
It’s a peaceful diplomatic meeting—the worst that will happen is my pen running out of ink because I’m taking too many notes.
I’ll have a backup pen, of course.
“Huh, you are. I always forget that. I’ll get a report written up,” he promises and strides away, leaving me feeling vaguely frustrated.
Just because I enjoy planning and researching doesn’t mean I’m not the most dangerous badass motherfucker around.
If anything, it makes me more dangerous, because I know things and I’m organized.
For instance, I’m one of only a handful of combat sorcerers in the world who know about the weaves of the Camaranth Assassins, a long-extinct society of—you guessed it—assassins.
Most people didn’t know they existed even when they did exist. Nearly three thousand years later, they’re all but forgotten, except by people who like to research.
Like me. That makes me deadly and dangerous.
And also a whiny baby, if my thoughts are anything to go by.
I make myself let it go and continue toward my office. If people want to forget that I’m a physical threat, well, that plays in my favor.
“…important to check there isn’t some bizarre mating ritual. What if they’re like giraffes, who smell each other’s urine to know if they’re ready to mate?”
Again? I stop in the office doorway. This happens way too often.
For a while, I even wondered if there was a camera in the hallway and they were deliberately baiting me with these weird conversations.
Then I realized that’s just the type of people they are.
My closest friends and colleagues, the ones who have my back and who I rely on in the direst of situations, are the type of people who sit around discussing giraffe mating rituals, degrees of best-friendship, and anal beads.
It doesn’t make sense to me either. But I wouldn’t change it.
“Alistair, you’re not allowed to adopt a giraffe,” I say, channeling as much authority as I can. “No giraffes.” I’m not sure why they were discussing giraffe sex, but it’s best to cut these things off before they turn into full-fledged plots. I learned that the hard way.
Surprisingly, my colleagues all jump away from their huddle around Sam’s desk, looking varying degrees of guilty.
Uh-oh.
“What’s going on?” I ask, crossing to my desk and waking up my computer.
“Nothing’s going on,” Sam sputters. “Why would you think there’s something going on? Nothing!”
Uh-huh.
I look over at him, and he must guess that I’m suspicious—who wouldn’t be—because he lifts a takeout cup from his desk and holds it out to me.
“Coffee? Still hot. And look, fruit toast! Also still warm.” He gestures with his free hand to a paper bag stamped with the name of the coffee place down the street.
Their fruit toast is my favorite, and now that I’m thinking about it, I can smell it…
along with the melted butter smeared on top.
My stomach growls.
“Thanks,” I say, trying not to sound desperate and pitifully grateful as I go over to take it. I don’t want any of them guessing that I’ve been sleeping in Percy’s office. “What’s the occasion?”
“What do you mean?” Sam asks innocently— fake innocently—as I take a sip of the coffee and try not to moan.
“Well, you don’t normally bring in breakfast.” I glance around at the staring eyes of my friends.
Yeah, this isn’t suspicious at all. “Has everyone else had theirs already? How is mine still hot?” Are they trying to soften me up so they can breed giraffes or something?
Because as weird as that sounds, I wouldn’t put it past Alistair and Andrew.
“Is it good?” Andrew asks, strangely intent. If I didn’t know they’d never do such a thing, I’d wonder if they’d drugged my coffee.
Although, just because they’d never drug it doesn’t mean they haven’t put something else in it. I draw back for a second and examine the cup.
Meh. Who cares? It still tastes good.
“Yeah, sure. It’s good. What’s going on?”
“And the toast?” Ellie pushes, a gleam of laughter in her gaze. “You haven’t had the toast.”
Yeah, okay, I can’t keep ignoring this. I put the cup down on Sam’s desk, and—I kid you not—they all groan . Even Gideon!
“What have you done to my food?” I demand. “Don’t screw with me.”
“We didn’t do anything,” Alistair protests, giving me puppy eyes. You’d think it would look ridiculous coming from a six-foot-five tank of a man, but he always pulls it off. Must be the hellhound in him.
“Then why are you all watching me like I’m about to ingest the formula for eternal life? And nobody answered me before—what’s the occasion?”