Hidden Dragons (5 page)

Tony frowned at the edging of rain spots on the windshield. The car wasn’t bright, but Rick thought he might be blushing.

“Tony—”

“You know, Rick, if you were getting laid yourself, you wouldn’t worry so much about my sex life.”

Rick not getting laid was true, but that was nothing new. Ironically, he wasn’t as smooth with the ladies as his brother. The real source of his concern was that Tony had come out in a city of notoriously macho supes. This wasn’t San Francisco. Not stepping on the wrong boots was going to be a challenge—and never mind finding happiness. Rick had taken some time to adjust to the news himself. Now he wanted Tony to understand his big brother supported him.

“You could tell me if you met someone special,” he tried again.

“Oh God,” Tony moaned.

“You could,” Rick insisted. “I wouldn’t be rude to them.”

“Just give me a chance to get my sea legs, would you?”

Did this mean Tony hadn’t popped his gay cherry yet? Or what if it meant he was sleeping with every Tom, Dick and Hairy he tripped over?

Rick had reached the end of the D Street Bridge. Gripping the wheel with way too much tension, he turned at the four-way light onto Elm. Unsure if he should drop the subject, he shifted in his seat. Try as he might to be open minded, there were some doors he didn’t want to look behind.

The radio crackled, causing Tony to snap upright.

“RTA requests assistance,” came the dispatcher’s voice. “10-34 M at the Elm and Fifth north station. Witness describes two perps going at it with long swords.”

RTA was the Resurrection Transit Authority. A 10-34 M was an assault in progress that involved magic. The subway stop the dispatcher named was only two blocks away. Rick and Tony weren’t uniforms. They weren’t obliged to take the call. Like most cops who liked excitement, they damn well were tempted.

“Swords,” Tony mused, giving Rick a look he had no trouble interpreting.

“Not unheard of,” Rick said. “But intriguing.”

Tony grabbed the radio. “Car 65 responding. We’re two minutes out, no more.”

“10-4,” Dispatch acknowledged. “Be advised the suspects are fae.”

Rick’s adrenaline pumped higher. Faeries with swords. This
would
be interesting.

Tony reached into the back seat to grab their vests, which were both bullet- and magic-resistant. Once his own was secure, he readied Rick’s for him to slip into. “You packing electrum loads?”

“Yup. You got your depowering charms?”

Tony said he did, and Rick swung the wheel hard right. The Buick hopped the curb like a bunny at the grassy Elm and Fifth Plaza.

Rick’s vest fastened with Velcro straps. He had it halfway on before he was out. They slammed the Buick’s doors behind them, and then he and Tony were loping across the plaza in nearly the same strides. The lights that marked the north subway entrance weren’t broken out. Rick’s inner wolf caught a whiff of blood, but the scent wasn’t from nearby.

“Maybe the fight started underground,” Tony panted.

He wasn’t winded; he was amped up.

“Be careful,” Rick said, and then—like some huge sparkling dove startled from its roost—the faerie burst up the subway stairs.

People talked about stunning beauties, but for pureblood fae, the meaning was literal. This guy was a slender angel: silver hair, electric blue eyes, grace like a song spun from bone and muscle. No glamour dimmed his glory. His skin was white and shot sparks where it was exposed. His centurion-style armor leathers were plain brown but, boy, did they show off how perfectly shaped he was. For a couple seconds, as Rick took this in, his mind was blank of anything but awe.

The giant long sword the faerie held ran with gore.

The pureblood seemed surprised to encounter him.

“Fuck,” Tony cursed, seeing Rick was frozen.

The escaping fae could have come at them. Killed them too, possibly. Werewolves weren’t harmless puppies, but even exhausted from a fight, the fae radiated more power than either of them had been this close to. Luckily, rather than attack, the pureblood cut left—too tired to fly across Elm Street but moving fast.

“I got this,” Tony cried, peeling off after him.

Rick didn’t think he’d catch him, but his heart still stuttered. Tony was the baby. “Call for backup!”

“Will,” Tony threw over his shoulder, across all four lanes by then. “Find out who he gutted!”

A gutting seemed likely. Rick followed the strengthening scent of blood down the subway stairs. Resurrection’s public transit ran twenty-four/seven, but the staff station booth was empty. As he jogged toward the turnstiles, a human woman in a waitress outfit ran up to him.

She appeared desperate for someone to help her.

“She’s dying!” she cried frantically. “I called the ambulance, but I don’t think they’ll arrive in time.”

She?
Rick thought, vaulting the locked turnstile. He’d assumed the battling fae were men. Had a bystander been injured? He flashed his badge at the scared woman. “Is anyone still fighting? You see any weapons beside the swords?”

She shook her head. “The other faerie ran away. He stuck his sword straight through her. The RTA guy is giving her first aid.”

“Okay,” Rick said. “Stay here. I’ll have questions for you later.”

He left her wringing her hands and urging him to hurry. He hoped this meant she’d hang around long enough to give a statement. A second broad flight of cement steps took him to the platform. There, a burly guy in a blue RTA uniform pressed a big wad of bandages against a slender female’s midsection. Rick suspected her delicacy was misleading. Power mattered more than size for faeries. This one lay on her back near the tracks, her black-garbed feet edged into the yellow hazard line. Nearby, the plastic case for a first aid kit was clamshelled open. Rick didn’t see the sword she’d been fighting with.

The RTA guy’s expression as he looked up conveyed what he thought of his patient’s chances of survival.

“Thank God,” he said huskily. “Are the EMTs behind you?”

Rick had no joy for him on that score. He heard the sirens approaching, but they were miles away. He turned his wolf senses around the platform and down the tunnel. They confirmed what his eyes told him. The threat was over. The woman lying on the cold station floor was fallout.

He stepped to the subway employee’s side. The woman was a pureblood faerie but in no danger of stunning him right now. Clearly in pain, she moaned with her eyes screwed shut. Her fist was clenched beside the subway guy’s wad of bandages, as if she wanted to shove him off but knew he was trying to help. Her wound looked too grave to staunch. She’d been stabbed at an angle all the way through her torso—and maybe sawed at for good measure. Though it was cool in the underground, the RTA guy hadn’t dragged out the first aid kit’s heat-reflecting blanket. Maybe he hadn’t dared let up on the pressure he was using. The blood that pooled under the injured woman was turning to faerie dust.

That wasn’t a good sign. Rick had seen faeries die before. Those heaps of sparkles were all they left behind.

Not sure what else to do, he knelt. Though it seemed pointless, he added his left hand to the RTA staffer’s white-knuckled two. The injured fae let out a noise that made him feel bad for trying. She wasn’t wearing armor, leather or otherwise. Looking a lot like a ninja, a black silk tunic and matching pants clung to her pain-tensed form. The cloth’s gold dragon pattern was familiar.

Knowing he might only have minutes, he wrapped his right hand gently over the woman’s fist. Her skin was icy under his.

“Ma’am,” he said. “Can you tell me who attacked you?”

His voice penetrated her pain stupor. The female faerie opened her eyes.

Her irises were as black as obsidian, her lashes a sable fringe over which two diamond teardrops welled.

“
You
,” she said, blinking the jewels away. “Thank the gods you’ve arrived.”

“I’m a cop,” he said, wondering if she mistook him for someone else. People did that before they passed sometimes, probably because they wished their loved ones were there. “Hold on for us, okay? Medical help is on the way.”

She winced, then fixed her gaze on him. “You’re the one. You have to protect her. You need to warn her she’s in danger.”

“Who’s in danger?” he asked softly.

Her eyes cut to the subway guy, as if she didn’t trust the very person who’d been trying to save her life. Her fist turned beneath Rick’s hand. Her delicate fingers opened, the subtle movement pressing their palms together. Her hand wasn’t empty. Something rounded and metal pushed against him.

“You’ll know,” the faerie said, silently urging him to take it. “You know already. The universe chose you for a reason.” The faerie coughed, the sound a crackling inside of her. “Don’t trust anyone. They’re watching.”

Rick couldn’t control the gooseflesh that swept his shoulders.

“Shit,” said the RTA guy. The faerie’s wound had begun to glow. A scent like a field of flowers times a thousand rose pungently around them.

“Hang on,” Rick pleaded, wanting her to live more than he could explain. “I’m a shifter. I have energy you can draw on to heal yourself.”

He didn’t know if this would work, but offering seemed worthwhile.

The faerie smiled like a resigned angel. “I thank you for your kindness, but the sword our enemy stabbed me with was spelled. The moment the enchanted steel pierced my heart, he doomed me.”

“The EMTs are
here
,” Rick insisted, hearing the ambulance screech up to the square above them. The faerie’s eyes were glowing at their center like her wound was. “At least give me your name. Who we should notify.”

He should have known no faerie would tell him that.

“Be brave,” she said. “You must not fail as I have. The destiny of your city depends on it.”

A number of things happened simultaneously.

The faerie’s body dissolved in a bright burst of radiance. Robbed of his support, the RTA guy fell forward, catching himself on hands now buried to the wrist in fine sparkles.

“Shit,” he breathed in a mix of dismay and awe. The faerie’s shimmering remains were beautiful.

They were also too volatile to last. Rainbow trails drifted from the heap as it began to evaporate. The subway employee gaped, barely noticing the four gear-toting EMTs who clattered down the stairs onto the platform.

“Shit,” said one of them—the word of the hour, Rick guessed. “Get that canister working, stat!”

One of his colleagues pulled a sleek handheld vacuum from a big shoulder bag.

“No,” Rick said, jumping instinctively to his feet.

“We’re licensed to do this,” the first medic insisted. “Faerie dust doesn’t retain forensic evidence.”

This hadn’t been Rick’s objection. Still in protector mode, he hadn’t wanted the faerie harmed further. He stepped aside reluctantly, frankly uneasy watching the EMTs suck the dissipating remnants of his victim into a hose nozzle. He knew faerie dust was an irreplaceable component in many medical treatments—and quite hard to come by. The medics weren’t being ghoulish, just practical. They knew better than he did how many non-fae this dust would help.

“Shoot,” Tony said, just then arriving at the foot of the platform stairs. A cluster of uniforms followed him. He had called for backup apparently.

“You okay?” Rick asked. His brother looked fine, just out of breath.

“I lost Sword Guy.” Tony shook his head dolefully. “I mean, no surprise, but I hoped I could stop him from catching his magical wind longer. He disappeared himself about a mile from here, outside that motorcycle repair on Elm. I requested a department psychic to see if he left any trace of where he went.”

This was good thinking. Fae were hell to nail for crimes. They glamoured witnesses, they disappeared, and they poofed away evidence. Hopefully, this one had been in too much of a hurry to erase his tracks completely. If he had, it could save the night from being a total loss.

“We’ll escort whoever they assign,” said one of the uniforms.

Rick nodded. His throat felt tight, so he cleared it. “Anybody see a waitress up on the next level? She called the bus, she said.”

“Compton’s taking her statement,” the same uniform answered.

“Good.”

Sensing he was off, Tony stepped closer to his brother—not to touch but just to be near. It was something pack did without thinking. Rick was glad for it right then.

“I’ll talk to you,” he said to the dazed transit guy. The big man was shivering slightly from his ordeal. “We’ll get you a coffee, and go over what you saw. I assume you can get me access to the station’s surveillance.”

The man said he could, steadying a bit at having a task to do.

“Where’s the female’s sword?” Tony asked, thanks to his cop’s aversion for leaving dangerous weapons unaccounted for.

Rick kicked himself for forgetting. “I don’t know. I didn’t see it when I came in.”

“We’ll search the tracks,” assured the uniform. “We had Transit halt the trains.”

Out of reflex, all the cops glanced around—as if the missing sword were going to conveniently reappear. As they did, Rick realized his hand was fisted around the metal object the faerie had passed him. It was evidence: his only evidence right then. He started to show it to Tony, then remembered the faerie’s words.

Don’t trust anyone. They’re watching
.

Tony wasn’t anyone of course, but who knew what else might be lurking invisibly? With its policy of letting any race that could play nice qualify for visas, the city had no shortage of sneaky residents.

Rather than show his hand, Rick shoved his fist into his pants pocket.

~

The detective squad Rick and his brother worked for operated out of a magically warded basement bunker in their precinct building. Their cousin, Adam Santini, was their alpha and lieutenant. Werewolves comprised the bulk of the RPD. Organizing squads along pack lines made such instinctive sense few cops ever questioned the arrangement. Rick was Adam’s second—his beta, as it was termed. He liked the position. Adam was a good leader as well as someone he cared about. Having his best friend’s back plus authority over the others suited Rick’s personality. To him, being number one was too much pressure. Being number two was perfect.