Deacon followed my gaze to the pictures on the wall. “I think you’re right. Still, he’s got this compartment here for a reason. Once you get it open, let me go in first.”

  I steeled myself to work on the spell. It was simple, a job so easy I could do it half asleep, but the cuff on my wrist didn’t mitigate the pain of altering my magical imprint based on the skill level used. It was a binary thing: if I used magic, it hurt. The more I used, the more it hurt.

  My magic reached out to the enchantment and pain ripped up my arm and through my body. I’d never been struck by lightning, but I assumed this was close to what it felt like, only this pain was sustained for however long I used magic. In this moment, I changed my mind. I wanted a partner, a sorcerer, someone who could perform this simple magic for me.

  The enchantment fell away from the floor. The strands of magic concealing and latching the trapdoor unfurled and dissipated into nothingness. As the strands unraveled, the outline of the door appeared on the floor. Despite the beads of sweat forming on my forehead as I endured shocks throughout my body, I marveled at the simple beauty of magic. In Elustria, I had taken it for granted. Magic was everywhere. It was as much a part of me as my skin and blood and bones. No one ever thinks of those things. But here on Earth, magic was a beautiful and precious rarity. And in my line of work, I usually saw its uglier side.

  “Rest for a bit. I’ll go take a look.” Deacon’s hand on my arm pulled me from my thoughts. As soon as I stopped releasing the magic I held inside me, the pain subsided, but the memory of it lingered in my muscles. Tiredness washed over me. I nodded my thanks to Deacon and took a seat. When I’d worked with Sasha, she’d taken care of all the magic, and I’d been left strong and able to charge onward. In the last couple of days, I’d done more magic than I had in ages. I usually only used it to check on Julien, and in those instances I had a night to sleep it off before working. My partnership with Deacon would take getting used to in more ways than one.

  The door opened easily to reveal a basement. Deacon descended the stairs. I couldn’t detect any magic, but I waited for the all-clear from Deacon. My senses weren’t anywhere near his level.

  A light flipped on. From my vantage point, it looked like Christoff had a little workshop of some kind. “What do you have down there?” I called out.

  “There’s some dormant magic down here. Just a sec while I check it out.”

  Deacon rustled something around and then gave me the all-clear to join him.

  The room was the same size as Christoff’s office but much cruder. The cinderblock walls didn’t even have a coat of paint on them. A workbench stood at the far end with shelving on each side. A single light bulb hung from the ceiling. The workbench had a power strip on it, so Christoff had needed electricity down here. I’d expected this to be his magic sanctuary, in which case electricity would be superfluous.

  “Don’t touch any of these.” Deacon waved his hand over a pile of palm-sized triangular metal frames, each with a stone suspended in the middle. Each stone had a green gem embedded in the center. “They’re not active, but they’re the source of the dormant magic.”

  It took all my concentration to detect the slight magic emanating from the devices. I grudgingly had to admit that Deacon’s presence here likely saved me if these devices were designed to attack a sorcerer who touched them.

  On the workbench were some wires, plastic casings, a soldering kit, and other human items I wasn’t familiar with. If I didn’t know better, it looked like Christoff had a hobby of some kind. Whatever the Directorate had planned, these materials played a role in it. With any luck, taking them would foil whatever they had planned for the Feast of the Dragon.

  I’d never been lucky.

  “I’ll take these. You grab those magical items. Let’s get out of here. We’re not going to figure anything out standing around.” I opened my satchel and stuffed the materials inside. Trevor might be able to tell me something about them.

  In the middle of packing everything up, Deacon stopped and stood rigid. “Shh.”

  I paused, the silence in the room surrounding me until my heartbeat and breathing seemed deafening. The front door opened and closed. “Shit.”

  16

  Christoff’s office was in disarray. If his widow walked by, she’d know we were here. The only thing going for us was that with the layout of the house, no one would pass by the office on the way to somewhere else.

  “Port us out of here.” Deacon’s hand rested on the small of my back. He had packed all the stone objects into his bag and stood ready to go.

  I mustered my magic to port us, but I was still weak from the earlier magic. I hated this stupid cuff and the restrictions it placed on me. Taking it off wasn’t an option since it was likely the Directorate would have agents combing this house eventually. With my diminished strength, if I attempted to port us both, there was a chance I’d only succeed in getting myself out. If that happened, I wouldn’t have enough energy to return for Deacon. “I can’t. I don’t know that I have enough magical strength to take you too.”

  “So we’ll do this the human way. It’ll be fun.” He smiled and walked to the stairs.

  I tried not to fault Deacon for his attitude. He may be a dragon shifter, but he was still a rookie, and I didn’t have the heart to argue with him. If Christoff’s wife saw us, there would be nothing fun about the consequences. The Circle would view her and her child as Directorate sympathizers who had compromised us. I wanted the Circle to protect them, and I’d have no chance of convincing them if she found us out.

  I grabbed his arm before he ascended the stairs and whispered, “We have to put his office back in order.”

  Deacon nodded his understanding, and I followed him out of the workshop, turning off the light as I went. Once I cleared the doorway, he closed the door and placed the rug back over it. Then we each took one side of the desk and lifted it back to its place.

  Footsteps approached. I motioned for Deacon to flatten himself against the wall next to me, out of sight from the open office door. The footsteps stopped. Did she see us somehow? My breathing sounded unnaturally loud in my ears. Every beat of my heart was a pounding drum. This wasn’t like a regular job. If she saw us, it meant having to bring an innocent into the situation. I silently willed the woman to move away.

  The air conditioning kicked on, and the footsteps retreated. I breathed deep, making up for the lack of oxygen I’d taken in during the last few seconds. My eyes darted around the room, checking for any sign of our presence. Finding none, I crept to the window. It slid up easily, and I popped the screen out and climbed through. Once Deacon was out, I lowered the window and replaced the screen. Good as new.

  When we got to the sidewalk, Deacon grabbed my hand. The casual intimacy of the action startled me. I looked up at him, and he nodded across the street. A woman was pushing a stroller and walking with one of her kids. In front of us at the stop sign, a couple rounded the corner, hand in hand. He was trying to blend in. I relaxed into his grip. It’d been so long since I’d had any physical contact with someone who wasn’t a mark. The warmth of his hand, the rough texture of his palm—was that from calluses or just the rough skin of a dragon shifter?—were strangely comforting. I wondered if he felt the excited buzz of our magics mingling. Did it reverberate through him the way it did me, urging us closer? If it did, he didn’t give any sign. I pushed it aside. My magic was simply oversensitive because of its long confinement. I refused to let it be awkward. No matter what tension existed between us, we were partners who’d just performed well.

  At the car, Deacon didn’t go to his side. Instead, he held out his other hand, palm up. “You drove us here. I’ll take us home.”

  “No, thanks. I’m fine.” I pulled my hand from his and fished the keys from my pocket.

  “If I drive, you can relax and even take a nap.”

  “I don’t need a nap. Driving is my only joy in this magic-cursed world. I’m not giving it up.” The fact that I’d slipped and used an Elustrian phrase should tell him how non-negotiable this was. If my words didn’t convince him, then my gaze smoldering up at him would. Deacon’s eyes bored into mine, his resolve seemingly just as strong. I continued, “Don’t think I won’t make a scene here. If you want these keys, you’re going to have to pry them from my hand yourself.”

  “You stubborn sorceress. Just like the rest of your kind.” He broke eye contact and walked to the passenger side of the car.

  A few seconds later, the engine purred to life, and I took off, leaving the top up so we could talk more comfortably. “What makes you say sorcerers are stubborn?”

  “Experience. You’re always convinced you’re right.”

  “We usually are.” I shrugged. “It’s not our fault we’re more connected to the magic of Elustria than most.”

  “A little humility never hurt anyone.”

  I scoffed. “Dragons being known the world over for their meekness.”

  He chuckled and his face relaxed, the fight going out of it. “What is it with you and driving anyway? To me it’s nothing but a mundane chore. I’d think for someone used to porting wherever they want, it’d be worse.”

  I swear my blood leapt in my veins at the mention of teleporting. Travel time had to be factored into everything in my life now. It created a completely different relationship with time itself. Humans rushed and rushed, road rage consuming them. It would seem strange that I relished something they all hated. “Not using magic is unnatural for me. Imagine never being able to shift. It builds up inside until I think it may burst out of me all by itself, shredding my skin as it escapes. My kind of magic was not meant to be contained. I’ve only found two things that take the edge off: running and driving. Something about the speed makes me feel like I’m releasing some of the pressure, even if I’m not.”

  Deacon nodded, and I could see understanding in his eyes. “The thought of never shifting again is torturous.”

  “It’s probably worse for dragon shifters than others of your kind. I don’t know how a beast that large and magnificent can be contained in your human form.”

  He smirked, seeming to enjoy the compliment. “Very carefully.”

  As I laughed at his joke, I felt the start of a bond between us. Threads of understanding formed, ready to tie together what had been torn apart when I discovered Deacon’s role in all of this. I still wasn’t ready to tell him about my deal with Meilin. If he knew, I didn’t know which way he would break. Helping me would mean helping foil a Directorate plan, but it would also mean putting all of this Dragon Fae ridiculousness to bed.

  “Where is it I’m dropping you off? The enclave?” I assumed he lived in the magical enclave out in Queen Creek. It was close enough to be convenient to all the human things a person might want but far enough away that humans didn’t ask questions.

  “No, I’m living in a Syndicate-owned house at the base of the Superstition Mountains.”

  “The Syndicate has a presence here separate from the enclave?” Keeping themselves separate seemed counterintuitive.

  Deacon shifted in his seat. “It’s a newer development. It’s being kept quiet with the help of the Circle.”

  Meaning the Circle had loaned some sorcerers to shield and disguise them from humans and Elustrians. “How new are we talking?”

  “There have been plans for it for a while, but we only recently moved in.”

  “Dammit.” I banged the steering wheel with my palms. “The Syndicate is in on this too? How many people has Meilin and the Oracle wrangled into this scheme?”

  “It’s not like that. There’s a lot at play here that you don’t know about.”

  “That’s what’s pissing me off.” I had to trust that Meilin was a woman of her word, but with so many people involved, it’d be difficult for her to back down once I upheld my end of the bargain. The Syndicate may be small, but dragon shifters were the closest allies to the sorcerers.

  “Like I told you, this really isn’t about you.”

  “If you say that one more time, so help me, Deacon, I’ll pull this car over and force you out of it. This is my life we’re talking about.”

  Deacon took so long to respond that I ventured a glance at him. In his eyes I could see that he was trying to be understanding. “I can only imagine how frustrating this is for you. All I meant is that the Dragon Fae is an even more important figure to dragon shifters than she is to sorcerers. We’re the ones who are on the verge of extinction. For us, the prophecy of the Dragon Fae has been the reason for almost everything we’ve done. So yes, when it was discovered that you were to be the fulfillment of prophecy, the Syndicate thought it prudent to have a presence nearby.”

  We were both fighting for the preservation of our people. Deacon couldn’t save his people unless I failed and became the Dragon Fae. This was more serious than I’d initially thought. Before, I believed Meilin didn’t care whether I was the Dragon Fae or not. As long as our people were safe during the Feast of the Dragon, I thought she didn’t care either way. But this was bigger than her and the Oracle. Meilin may very well sacrifice my success on this mission to bring the Dragon Fae to pass. If Deacon knew about the deal I’d made, I didn’t know what he would choose. A part of me didn’t want to know. All I could do was focus on the task at hand.

  I accelerated down the freeway. I needed to get the materials from Christoff’s workshop to Trevor to figure out what they were along with the laptop we’d recovered. I needed answers, and right now, I also needed a friend. Trevor would provide both.

  17

  By the time I dropped off Deacon, it was only a little after nine. Plenty early to go to Trevor’s and drop off Christoff’s things. Trevor rarely went to bed before five AM, so he might even have some answers for me by morning.

  Trevor lived in the converted garage of a friend’s house in Phoenix with its own private entrance. I knocked on the door, but got no answer. The doorknob gave way, and with a standing invitation to come on in, I walked inside.

  In the far corner of the room Trevor sat on a beanbag chair with his back to me, headphones on, playing a first-person shooter on a cheap TV. He loved violent video games even though, as this situation illustrated with his back to the door, he wouldn’t last long in the real world of assassins and warfare. I’d offered to teach him some moves, but in his heart of hearts, Trevor was a peaceful soul. The games he played were nothing more than fantasy escapism—and a little harmless youthful rebellion against his father, who hated the games and thought they betrayed their Hopi culture with their violence. Trevor maintained a respect for all living things (more than once he had prevented me from killing a spider, insisting that I let him release it outside), but he maintained that pixels blowing up other pixels did not amount to violence.

  I dropped the bag of materials from Christoff’s workroom and his laptop on a long folding table against one wall then sat in the vacant beanbag chair next to Trevor. When he saw me, his brown eyes lit up and his full lips exposed a large toothy smile. He had a bit of a baby face. Life indoors spared his skin from the damaging effects of the fierce Arizona sun, making his light brown skin appear even younger than it was, and he was only in his early twenties. He wore his black hair in a long braid that reached between his shoulder blades.

  After a few minutes, Trevor lost. His attention had been so focused on the target in front of him that he hadn’t noticed the mercenary coming up behind him. He turned off the TV and removed his headset. By the time he turned to me, he had shoved aside his disappointment at the loss. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

  “Miss me?”

  “Of course. You bring me the most interesting stuff. What do you have for me this time?”

  “A laptop and a bunch of ‘I have no idea.’” I walked to the table and handed him the laptop first. “I need everything off of here.”

  Trevor opened the laptop. “I’m guessing you have no idea what the password is?”

  “None.”

  “Fun,” he said with genuine pleasure. He hooked it up to his computer. “So who did this belong to? Some badass bad guy? Did you take him out?”

  Trevor loved hearing about my missions even though I never told him much. He was the only human in my life who knew my true nature. Generations ago, a sorcerer had saved a little boy in Trevor’s clan from a fae. Ever since, the clan has known of our kind and felt indebted, though the debt had been repaid many times over. The story was passed down through his clan and they had guarded our secret as closely as they guarded their own. It had proved a beneficial relationship. Trevor provided tech assistance while turning a blind eye when needed and the Circle paid him well. Anything above a small allowance he gave himself was sent to his family on the Hopi Reservation.

  “The owner of the laptop is deceased, though not by my hand.” It was the most I felt comfortable telling him.

  Trevor started some program or something with his computer. I really had no idea. “Oh, was he a good guy then?”

  “No.” I didn’t want to talk about it. Whenever I thought of Christoff now, I didn’t think of the Directorate or the creepy cult-like meetings he orchestrated. I didn’t even picture him. The only image my mind could conjure was of a woman and boy in Palm Springs who didn’t yet know that their world had shattered.

  “Is there anything specific you want me to look out for on the laptop?”

  “I need a basic rundown of its contents. Email messages will be important. Anything related to Be Your Best Self seminars. Schedules, things like that.”

 

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