Page 38 of The Silver Spider
“It’s not my problem. Being kidnapped—that is my problem. What do you think my family is going to do when they find out?”
“The dragons?”
She shook her head. “My mother. My mother is…not entirely sane, when it comes to her children.” She snapped her mouth shut, realizing she’d made a mistake.
“Children? There are more than one of you?”
He didn’t look surprised, which rang alarm bells. Serephone said nothing and he flicked his fingers. “Never mind. That, too, will be dealt with. I cannot have you running around the Dome unbound, and untrained. I inform you, regretfully, that your childhood is over. You now belong to me.”
He slid the paper in front of her. She stared at it. “I can’t read that.”
“No? A shame. I suppose I’ll have to see to some rudimentary education as well.” He rose. “Etienne.”
Serephone locked her jaw against her own surprise when the study door opened and the blond patron walked in. He stopped in the middle of the room as she rose and turned towards him.
“You,” she said. “Small town, right?”
The man said nothing, simply watched Dawnthorne, who moved slightly, gaining Serephone’s attention.
“You asked how we are related?” he asked. “Etienne is my grandfather’s brother’s offspring—”
“Your cousin? Is it hard to just say cousin?”
“I was surprised you didn’t know him.”
“Why would I know him?” Her body tensed, the kind of tightness that comes when the mind is expecting a nasty surprise.
“Serephone,” Etienne said.
She looked at him. Met the pale blue eyes that she’d thought, fleetingly, were familiar, and the masking spell he’d had over his appearance dissipated. Her eyes widened, breath coming faster, until she forced her emotions back down into the lockbox, in which she kept them stuffed.
He’d been under no illusion—he was still tall, blond, and lovely. But the spell was one to convince others that he was a stranger. She analyzed the effects, filed them away for later, a kind of coping mechanism while she processed through the sudden, jarring, unexpected truth.
“Father.” And her arm lifted, a few guttural words to her spiders sending them in a sudden, rushing stream toward the man, who had abandoned her all those years ago.
* * *
Amnan leftthe club when it was apparent Serephone had given him the slip. Damn her. Anger was easier than worry. Serephone was headstrong, but she wasn’t duplicitous. There was an honesty even to her attempts to evade him. He’d let her be the remainder of her shift, knowing it best to give her space to cool her head after he’d revealed far more of his feelings than he’d wanted—after she’d revealed more of her feelings, to herself, than she wanted. Wariness wasn’t the reaction he wanted from her—and a dragon circling a woman, wanting a woman, was frightening enough even if she welcomed the hunt.
He opened the freshly laid bond connecting them. For it to work most effectively, they needed at least a day in close proximity. He hadn’t planned on her taking off. The tug of her mind was faint, and the best he could do was follow a rapidly fading psychic trail to where the strongest sense of her presence stopped, indicating she hadn’t progressed any further than that spot. He paused on the sidewalk, turning slowly. It was a less-traveled street, some of the cobblestones broken, signs on the reclaimed brick buildings proclaiming this was more of an industrial block. A news printer on one side, a shoemaker on the other. Goods that were no longer mass-produced in factories, were now made in small batches with small machines and the hands of craftsmen.
He glanced at the news printer, the white letters on the glass door declaring it to be open from 6am to 2am. Crossing the street, he entered the shop and glanced around.
“Can I help you, sir?” the clerk asked. Medium height, with stained fingertips and dark circles under his eyes as if he’d pulled an all-nighter, his hair mussed.
“Your sign says you’re open until 2am,” Amnan said, and smiled. Then wiped the expression from his face when the man paled. Sometimes his smile didn’t quite work.
“Yes, sir. Papers are out fresh every morning. We print for the—”
“Yes, I’m sure you do an admirable job. Maybe you can help me.” Amnan watched him closely. “My sister was traveling home from work a few minutes ago. A tall woman, with dark hair and a narrow face. A foul disposition. By chance did you see her come this way?”
The clerk began edging away. “No. Been working all night in the back. I didn’t see anything.”
Amnan didn’t move. The creature was already afraid. It wouldn’t do to scare his prey shitless. “Are you certain?” he asked, voice gentle.
The man looked down, hands resting on the counter in front of him. “I don’t get involved in immortals’ business. Ifshehas, she’s either a fool or unlucky.”
“Just tell me what you saw. No one will know, no law enforcement will be involved.”
“Have you read the Seattle Gazette? It’s our best seller.” He worked a paper from the already bundled stack at his elbow, slipping it open several pages then folding it back. “Our society section is the most popular with the ladies. Your sister might like a subscription.”
The clerk handed Amnan the paper. He took it, glancing down at the printed article and black and white image at the top. It was a piece on home decor—fae style, with speculation that certain Lords were making a fashion of hand stenciled custom pieces. Was it a sign Mr. Dawnthorne was ready to settle down and find a nice society girl to marry?
“She might indeed enjoy a subscription,” Amnan said, rolling up the paper. “This looks like quality reading. Thank you.”
The clerk nodded and Amnan left, feet pointing him in the direction of the quarter. But it would take too long to walk. Looking up at the sky, traffic looked clear. Airbuses weren’t allowed inside the Dome, and he’d seen few dragons in the air over the last several days.
Stepping into an alley, he stripped efficiently, bundling his clothing for travel in a way that came with centuries of practice, and emerged out into the street, naked. And shifted.
Flying would be much faster.
