Page 71 of The Demon's Fire
A wide grin spread across Chay’s face.
Margo’s mouth flopped open. “Am I doing that?”
“You are. Now, here’s a question, Red. Do your eyes ever look violet?”
She wrinkled her nose. “No. They’re green. Always.”
“Not anymore. You stirred up your inner mage, Red.”
He hugged her until she gasped, pounding on his shoulders. “Too tight.”
****
Cerberussettled into the armchair, rolling amber fluid around in his glass. The smooth taste, the spicy notes of ginger, dried fruit, and orange zest relaxed him. “Your hacker’s recent information paid off, Dante. We have captured Margo Hunter. Her blood sample is being tested.”
“How were you able to get her to Scath?”
“Since we can no longer clone portal jumpers, I developed a source in the Ministry of Compliance. They issue us real ones which they fail to log into their records.”
Dante crossed his legs, picking at a speck of lint on his sharply creased trousers.
“A slight glitch, though. A Scion Firebrand was at her apartment. He could represent a wrinkle, a signal the Temple is on to us. My people tell me she is ylve-struck. If so, his presence could be happenstance. Nonetheless, we have them both. If the results from her test disclose she is descended from the legendary line of mages, we will keep her with the other two we hold captive. If she is not … there is always the slave market. It was a clever, lucrative ruse once. It can be again.”
Dante set his tumbler of scotch on the table. “I jolly well don’t give a damn what you do with the rejects. If you want to run another slave ring, do it. Leave me out of that part. What I don’t like is hearing a Firebrand was with her. What if they are on to us? It could ruin our plans.”
“You worry too much, old friend. Even if they are, they cannot stop the hunt. This race goes to the swiftest, the most powerful. The warriors and the Temple of Justice have grown sloppy over the years. They can impede neither me nor the prophecy. As it is written, the world will be one realm where all species walk together. And of course … you and I shall benefit from any economic gains.”
Cerberus stopped himself. Because of his hubris, he had almost exposed his true goal. With no barriers between realms, the inferior humans would become an unlimited supply of food for Aeternals, the sweetest fodder for his species.
For now, he needed the Englishman. Though Cerberus had amassed huge sums of money over the centuries, Dante’s wealth was an added blessing. Raising an army on Scath, housing it, feeding it, and supplying it was an enormous drain on resources. To say nothing of the cost to curry the support of Aeternals by greasing their palms, planting the seeds of rebellion. Yes, for now, he needed the extra funding. The human’s capital. His connections. His labor on Earth.
With a warm smile, Dante tilted his glass toward his lips. “Have you taken care of the Skyler Maxwell situation yet?”
“No, but I am close. She made an unexpected trip to Darque, where we have trapped her.”
Dante sipped his Macallan. “I leave the matter in your capable hands.”
Cerberus finished off his drink and unfolded from the chair with the grace of his breed.
ChapterEighteen
MillerNash forced the burner phone tight to his ear. “Bollocks. You need to prepare better than I did. Acquire multiple dwellings now. Establish new identities. New lives. Pack a bug-out bag. Have a stash of money. Cash. That’s where I made my mistake. We’ve run the drill. You’ll do fine if the need arises. After all these years, I’m on the lam. Everything is arse over elbow, but I’m going to find out why. Keep your pecker up, mate. … Me? I’m heading off to the nearest pub to get bladdered.”
Miller had called to check Braelyn James’s claim. Tossing the phone in the trash bin and the chip into a different can, Miller did as he stated. He opened the door to a noisy, crowded bar, a Patriot’s cap pulled low over his eyes, slipping onto a stool in the dimmest section. The bar top was well-worn, chipped, marred, slashed. It had character. It looked, smelled, and sounded just like an Irish pub in Boston should.
A cheerful barkeep nodded at Miller, wiping the counter with a damp rag which had possibly never been washed, the rancid odor eye-watering. “How are ya keepin’?”
“Feelin’ a bit knackered. A Kilbeggan will help. Bring a glass along with the bottle, mate.”
The bartender disappeared, returning with a tumbler and half-empty bottle of Kilbeggan Irish Whiskey. “Slainte mhaith, pal.”
“Thanks.” Miller threw back the first shot, poured a second, and downed it. He punched numbers into another cellphone. His call was answered quickly. “Before I get too squiffy, I thought I should touch bases. I’m ready to meet… No. I’ll decide on the place. …I’ll reach out in a few days with the city, an exact location. … Yeah, well, I must shake these blokes off my six. … Come alone. I’ve seen your picture. … Okay. Bring the hubby. What’s he look like?” Miller laughed. “Big doesn’t scare me. Don’t forget the money from Daddy’s paper. I’ll be collecting, luv.”
Braelyn was legit. Still, he trusted few people completely.
****
Chayspun to face Margo. “I gotta think.” He rubbed his unshaven chin while he paced. Grabbing his chain in both hands, he stopped to tug on it, somehow sure it would snap free this time. When it didn’t, he rattled it to the ground in frustration. “The lock on the cell. Check it out.”
