Soul of the Dragon (8 page)

“Alexa.” Her boss’s deep voice sounded as clear as if he was standing next to her. But she knew better. “Are you over your foolishness yet?” he asked.
 

“Why? Do you need me?” She clipped her suit pants onto a hanger.
 

“We always need you.”
 

She didn’t respond.
 

“Alexa, what’s going on? And don’t tell me you’re burned out. You love this work more than I do.”
 

“Yeah, right. Where are you, Beirut?”
 

Rock chuckled. “Close. But we’re talking about you.”
 

She hung the suit in the closet and bent for last night’s sleep shirt. “No,
you’re
talking about me. I don’t want to talk about me.”
 

“Well, I do.” His tone firmed. From friend to supervisor in three easy words, she thought, amused.
 

“I want to know when this leave of absence will be over.”
 

“Ha!” Alexa tossed the sleep shirt toward her pillow. “I resigned, Rock. That doesn’t get reversed.”
 

“I didn’t accept your resignation.”
 

Alexa sighed. “Rock, I appreciate that you value me. But I don’t know how long this is going to take—”
 

“How long what is going to take? Why won’t you let anyone help you?”
 

Alexa pictured Rock’s face if he ever saw Cyrgyn. He was skeptical and disbelieving even when he saw it with his own eyes. Confronted with a giant golden dragon, Rock Davis would be searching for the power source and remote control.
 

“It’s too personal, Rock. But thanks for the offer.”
 

He waited, but she had learned from him and kept silent. Finally his sigh hissed through the speaker.
 

“Okay. But you can come back when you’re done. You know that. We’ll always take you back.”
 

“Yeah? Your boss feel that way, too?” It was an impulsive question, and Alexa never acted on impulse. There was a good reason for that.
 

“My boss? Colin?”
 

“No, forget it.” Yeah, like he ever would.
 

“Colin feels the same way, you know that.”
 

“I wasn’t talking about Colin.” She pulled the phone away from her mouth. “Shit.
Shit
. Shitshitshitshit.” She kicked the side of the bed. “Look, Rock, I’ve got to go. I’ll call you. Eventually. Like on your birthday.”
 

She broke the connection and tossed the phone onto her messy bed, dropping onto her back next to it. Rock was worse than a bulldog. She had no hope he’d let this go.
 

* * *
 

The rest of the day passed quietly. Alexa got frustrated trying to find something useful on curses. Everything was fictional, or fanciful, or historical. She found a lot about talismans and counter-curses, but nothing on reversing a curse once it had been cast. And everything had a tongue-in-cheek or speculative attitude.
 

Cyrgyn slept, then left as soon as it was dark enough for him to cloak. She wanted to ask about the extent of his abilities—like why cloaking didn’t work during the day—but he held on to his annoyance and she didn’t think he’d be receptive to questions. Especially when Tars hadn’t made his move, and she didn’t know what hers was going to be.
 

The dragon had enough dexterity to press the button operating the hangar door, and when she heard it rumble she went downstairs to close it behind him.
 

He glided out onto the tarmac without looking back at her. She watched his wings unfurl and his neck stretch. He inhaled and snorted, and she could see his tension easing as his movements became more graceful. He lifted his forefeet off the ground, flapped his wings once, silently, and pushed off with his hind legs. Despite his twenty-foot wingspan she could barely hear the beat of those wings. She felt her throat swell at his beauty.
 

Then, suddenly, she couldn’t see him anymore. She wondered if he could only cloak in the air. It worried her that if he could, it would increase his vulnerability.
 

Tactics, she thought, slamming her hand on the button to close the doors. Not emotion.
 

* * *
 

Tars didn’t call, and she went to bed tired of the game. That annoyed her. She liked the games. She had to, or she wouldn’t have lasted in the spy business very long. Usually, she was good at them. But then, nothing was usual about this quest.
 

She had no trouble falling asleep. That skill hadn’t deserted her, at least. She was able to sleep soundly for three hours before the phone rang, jerking her to alertness.
 

In the dark she couldn’t tell which phone it was. Not the number she’d given Jolie Smith, the one Tars would have. And it wasn’t her regular GenCom phone, one he could get. She fumbled in the nightstand drawer and grabbed her only personal unit.
 

“Hello?”
 

“Lexa?”
 

“Aunt Ethel?”
 

“Oh, dear, I’ve awakened you. I didn’t know where you were, of course, so I couldn’t calculate a time difference.”
 

Alexa pressed the button to illuminate her watch. Three o’clock. “It’s okay.” She didn’t question how her aunt had known she was asleep. She’d been perfectly alert, no grogginess apparent, but aunts—especially aunts who’d helped raise you—could hear things normal mortals couldn’t.
 

“Is everything okay?” she asked.
 

“Oh, of course. Everything’s fine. Well, mostly fine.”
 

Alexa sighed. Mostly fine meant everyone was fit and healthy, but her little brother was in deep shit.
 

“What did he do now?”
 

“He who, dear?”
 

“Aunt Ethel…”
 

Ethel breathed deep. “Okay. I really didn’t want to call you. But your father insisted, and I knew the conversation wouldn’t go well if I let him call.”
 

Paul Ranger was not a tactful man. And he had no tolerance for his son.
 

“What happened?”
 

Ethel hemmed and hawed for a good minute before blurting, “Peter is getting married.”
 

Stunned, Alexa switched ears. The left one must be clogged with sleep.
 

“He’s what?”
 

“Getting married.”
 

“To who?”
 

“To whom, dear.”
 

“I don’t know
whom
. That’s why I’m asking.”
 

“No, I mean—“
 

“I know what you mean, Aunt Ethel. Sorry to be cheeky. Who is he marrying and why is it a problem?”
 

“Her name is Victoria Chambers and your father is certain she’s a gold digger. Peter doesn’t have the best track record, you know.”
 

Alexa knew Victoria Chambers. She was a sweet, shy girl two years younger than Peter. Alexa had tutored her in math one year. She came from a relatively poor family, though a hard-working one. Alexa had thought Victoria had abusive or alcoholic parents—all too common in the poor families in the suburb of Seattle where she grew up—but her fears had been unfounded. But unless the girl was a brain surgeon or corporate attorney, her father would never be convinced she wasn’t after Peter’s trust fund.
 

“Let me talk to Dad.”
 

“Thank you.” Aunt Ethel’s relief was clear.
 

“Alexa.” Paul Ranger had a fairly peaceful voice and calm demeanor. Few people sensed the cauldron of anger that boiled several inches below the surface. “Where are you?”
 

“I’m working, Dad.”
 

“I talked to Rock. You’re not working.”
 

Alexa scowled. “What do you mean, you talked to Rock?”
 

“He called looking for you. Told me about your resignation.”
 

Heaving a sigh, she tried to dodge. “What’s going on with Peter?”
 

“We’ll get to that. Why did you resign?”
 

“I had something personal to take care of.”
 

“It had to be pretty important for you to leave that damn company.”
 

Alexa caught a hint of fear in her father’s voice. That didn’t make sense. He hated GenCom, badgered her every visit to quit.
 

“Aren’t you glad?”
 

“I’d be glad if I didn’t think you were into something more dangerous. You have no backup.”
 

“Kurt’s helping me out. I also have a pretty big partner.”
 

“What are you doing?”
 

“I can’t tell you.”
 

“You mean you won’t tell me.” His voice had hardened.
Anger bubbling up. Volcano about to erupt.
He was so predictable.
 

“You wouldn’t believe it, you’d try to stop me, it would ruin everything. Multiple lives.”
 

“The only life that matters is yours. Your mother—” He halted. Alexa perked up. This was a new twist on an old theme. He never, ever mentioned her mother.
 

“What about Mom?”
 

“Nothing. I need you to come home and help me fix Peter.”
 

Alexa laughed. “He’s not broken, Dad.”
 

“He will be if we don’t stop this wedding.”
 

“I’m not stopping it—even if I could—unless Peter gives me a reason to try. Where is he?”
 

“He’s
living
with that
harlot
. In an apartment in The Hills.”
 

Alexa whistled. The Hills was the ritzy development in Addison. Even if Peter had gotten a raise, his veterinarian technician job wouldn’t pay enough to live there.
 

“What does Victoria do?”
 

“She’s an operations manager for some small company. They’re subletting from a friend of Peter’s. But she obviously has expensive taste. She’s after his trust fund.”
 

“He doesn’t even get it for another year.”
 

“Thanks to you, it’s big enough to wait for.”
 

Alexa absorbed the hit, because it was true. When their mother had died—Alexa had been twelve, Peter six—her personal fortune had gone into a trust for each of her kids. Alexa hadn’t needed hers. By the time she turned twenty-five, the year she could access it, she had enough money to live on and a job she loved. She’d folded most of her trust into Peter’s—against her father’s wishes, of course. Peter had understood why she did it but insisted she have access to the interest if she needed it.
 

“Have they set a date yet?” she asked.
 

“Not until next year,” he mumbled.
 

“What was that?”
 

“They picked a date next year. May.”
 

“Dad, I’m exhausted. It’s three in the morning here. I don’t know why you felt it
necessary to call in the middle of the night, but I can’t do anything about it now, and there’s plenty of time to do something if something needs to be done.”
 

“They just left,” Paul explained, his voice wheedling now. “I didn’t even think about the time.”
 

“Obviously.” She didn’t bother to stifle her yawn. “I’ll call you when my job is done.”
 

“Alexa—”
 

“Good night, Dad. I love you.” She felt for the “end” button and disconnected the call. Within seconds, she was back to sleep.
 

* * *
 

Cyrgyn hadn’t returned when she woke two hours later. She went for her run and fell into the zone so sweetly she went an extra mile. The sun was just peeking above the horizon when she returned. Exhilarated, she lengthened her stride, stretching into the morning. She hit the tarmac outside the hangar just as a downblast of wind signaled Cyrgyn’s arrival.
 

“Inside,” he urged when she stood still, absorbed in watching his slow fade into view. “I am uncloaking.”
 

She rushed to open the hangar door, then closed it behind him when he slid through. He moved to the far end where his mattresses awaited. “Long run this morning,” he said.
 

“Were you watching me?”
 

A shrug. With the rippling of muscles from shoulder to flank to tail, it was less of a casual move than it should have been.
 

Alexa tossed her keys on the nearby table and began stretching before her muscles cooled too much. “How long are you going to be mad at me?”
 

“As long as you keep underestimating your enemy.”
 

A flash of heat in her chest warned her to concentrate. There was enough tension between them now. She didn’t need to lose her temper.
 

“I don’t underestimate my enemy.”
 

“As long as you think you can fool him, trick him, you underestimate him.” The dragon settled into a coil and sighed with the weariness of his age.
 

“I’m not foolish,” she snapped, stretching her right hamstring. “I know the risk. I don’t know if it’s worth it. I want to discuss it. Rationally. Not be ordered like a five-year-old.” Oh, lord. She’d degenerated quite a bit since yesterday. “Sorry. I got a call from my father this morning. He sometimes makes me act like a child.”
 

“I know.” His smile seemed fond, if that was possible on his beastly face. “He has been quite protective since your mother…” He trailed off less abruptly than her father had.
 

“What about my mother?” Alexa straightened and strode toward her friend. The friend she’d had since childhood. Who’d “known” her family as well as she had. Better, because he had the perspective of an adult, while her perspective had changed. “Since my mother what?”