Legacy: The Niteclif Evolutions, Book 1 (6 page)

His answer sounded ominous.

“What do you mean?”

He slid lower in his seat and laced his fingers together over his hard abs. “There are no other children, so you’re it. No one else can pick up the mantle of servitude to the supernatural community. It means that chaos will reign and justice won’t be meted out fairly.”

“And what happens in between generations when no one takes responsibility for this job?” I asked, making little finger quotes.

He steepled his fingers together, putting his elbows on the chair’s arms, and sighed. “The High Council hands down rulings and enforces sentences, but like your political systems, it’s not without its own forms of influence and corruption.”

I scooted on the bed so that my back was against the headboard, tucking my legs under me.

“So how do I change that?”

“Niteclif word is taken as general law. You are the ultimate voice for justice, and you are deferred to in all investigations. Your findings may be challenged by either the guilty party or any member of the High Council, but Niteclif logic has never failed.”

“Ever?”

“Never, Maddy.” Bahlin’s eyes narrowed as he watched for my reaction.

My mouth was suddenly dry, and I couldn’t generate enough spit to even swallow. No pressure. Then Bahlin looked at me, and that look from earlier passed over his face. There was something he wasn’t telling me.

“Spill it, dragon,” I said, getting a weird rush from calling out his species name.

“What?” he asked.

“Whatever you’re withholding. You’ve made your plea for me to take the job. You’ve spelled out the most basic foundation in the history of job descriptions for me. But you’ve got tells. Your eyes get tight, giving your perfect visage little lines at the corner.” I looked him over carefully and girded my mental loins. “Your eyes drift to the left, just over my shoulder, and you answer whatever I’ve asked without looking at me. You put your feet flat on the floor. You get preternaturally still in all other ways. Oh, and your head turns to the left, but only a bit.”
Huh? Man, I was good, and I hadn’t even tried. Maybe I
could
do this.

He dropped his hands and, if a dragon could gape, he gaped. “Amazing,” he muttered. “No one’s called me on those points since Aloysius.”

And then it dawned on me: Bahlin being here when I arrived at the hotel. Bahlin leaving a note for me. Bahlin invading my dream. Bahlin being relentless in his delivery of my family history. Bahlin’s intimate knowledge of my great-granddad. It suddenly all made sense.

“You were his sidekick,” I yelled. “You’re Watson!”

“No need to yell,” he said on a sigh. “Yes, I was. And yes, I am.”

I stared at Bahlin, amazed at him. He was incredibly attractive, unarguably intelligent, and
way
older than I had estimated. Not early thirties by a long, long,
long
shot.

“I made a promise to Aloysius when he left his term that I would become the guardian of whoever took up the Niteclif service.” Clearly resigned to his personal history having been outed, Bahlin wasn’t remiss to speak. “By the way, you’re the first person to make the connection between the fictional character and the man for either Aloysius or myself.”

I wasn’t so sure about the man comment. I didn’t know enough about dragon mythology to know what they considered themselves. A different species? A sub-group? Humans with extra options, like a car with a sunroof and GPS?

I sat there looking at this creature in the chair opposite my seat on the bed, and I felt a strange empathy for him. He’d made a promise to someone he had obviously cared about, and he was bound and determined to keep it. But he’d given me an out, an opportunity to turn away from family history and obligation and he would honor my wishes. I don’t know why, but this touched me. Was it his selflessness in the dereliction of a promised duty or the fact that he cared enough about the Niteclif name to want the legacy to continue? The word
honorable
whispered through my mind.

“How does it work if I accept the ten-year, uh, sentence?” I asked.

He never moved, never blinked, just stared straight at me, his mouth mostly hidden behind his resteepled fingers. It was like he was making a concerted effort to not reveal any of his thoughts now that I’d pointed out his little tells. I stared harder.

“Exactly how old are you?” he finally asked.

“Twenty-eight.”

He sighed, dropping his arms to rest on the chair’s arms. “The ten years generally begins when you turn thirty, but the catalyst of your family tree’s revelation has already occurred. So, to be perfectly honest, I don’t know when your ten-year sentence,” he made little finger quotes, “would begin. Possibly upon acceptance, possibly when you turned thirty.”

“I don’t suppose there’s enough empirical evidence to make an educated decision,” I mumbled. I flinched, and knew then that I was wrong. The decision wasn’t mine to make any more than it was to decline. I was already speaking in detective-ese. Fate had made me her bitch. Great.

Bahlin saw my flinch and leaned forward, dropping his forearms to his knees. He looked up at me as I was sitting on the tall bed, putting me a full head and shoulders above him. I could see his mind working, and it was evident he came to the same conclusion I did.

He stood, total grace in motion, and said, “Shall we go down to the lobby restaurant and get you something to eat or would you prefer to order something from room service?”

My stomach growled loudly at the promise of food. I hadn’t eaten in more than thirty-six hours.

“About that,” I began, then paused, unsure how to broach the tactless subject of money. I slid off the bed, the satin sheets sliding with me in a quiet hiss of noise. Bahlin deftly picked up the fallen bed linens and tossed them carelessly on the bed.

“Yes? You have a preference regarding your meal?”

“No, not really. It’s just, this hotel was my one splurge. I’m here for a week, but I’m assuming I’ll have to find somewhere to stay for the remaining three weeks while I work out how I’m going to fulfill whatever my duties are from the United States. Look, I don’t know a delicate way to say this…”

“For the love of this country’s Queen, woman. Spit it out.”

“Can the attitude, Bahlin.” I crossed my arms over my chest and leveled my best hard stare at him. “I can’t afford to live large because you decide you want room service or whatever. I have limited funds, I’ve quit my job and I refuse to use my retirement account to fund this psychotic side trip.”

He gaped at me, the second time in less than an hour. I was betting that this was a personal best for him because he didn’t seem like the type to gape at all. “Maddy, there are things we need to discuss. I’d prefer to do them in public so that you don’t crack my jaw again or render me a eunuch. So we’ll do it in the dining room. Dinner’s on me.”

I was immediately defensive. “I don’t do charity. I can swing dinner, surely, but you need to know where I’m coming from.”

“Sweetheart, we’ll talk about it over a nice red. Consider it a job perk.”

“Stop calling me sweetheart,” I muttered, moving past him and reaching for my sneakers. I slid my feet into the shoes and stood, finding myself face to face with him. I could smell his cologne again. It was the same as in the dream—both sunshine and moonlight, clean air after a rainstorm and something beneath it that was all Bahlin. No matter where in the world I ended up, the smell would always remind me of him. Wondering at my moroseness, I turned toward the door and he followed close behind. He reached around me and grabbed my room key before I could reach for it, his speed impressive.

“Show off.”

He laughed and reached around me again to open the door. Stupid dragon hearing.

It was going to be a long night.

We rode the elevator down in silence and stepped out into the lobby. Tonight it was busier, with men in suits and women dressed from semi-formal to formal roaming about. I suddenly realized I was miserably underdressed and hunched my shoulders defensively, worried about standing out.

“What’s the matter?” Bahlin asked. He put his hand on the small of my back and directed me with the slightest pressure toward the restaurant. I could feel his fingertips like a brand, and I fought the urge to rub against his hand like a cat. Instead I arched my back away from him.

“Oh, I don’t know.” My voice was caustic. “You’ve encouraged me to come to dinner in the Friday night equivalent of my jammies. Why would that bother me?”

He chuckled, dark and sexy. “I’m in jeans and sneakers. Not to worry.” He winked at me. “I think they’ll let us in.” Bahlin approached the tuxedo-clad maitre d’, and without a word the man picked up a pair of menus, pulled open the heavy doors and escorted us into the quiet hush of the restaurant. He led us straight to a private booth in the back without any verbal exchange, which I found odd given the foot traffic in the lobby. The booth was a high back, deep cognac leather and the table was the same mahogany color as the wood in the lobby. The walls were a gray so dark they seemed to absorb the light offered by the individual chandelier over our table and the candles held in the wall sconces. There were sliding brocade curtains to close off private booths intimately, lending a false air of privacy to the seating arrangement. It was romantic and slightly eerie at the same time. In fact, the vibe the place gave off left me with the uncomfortable sensation of being watched, and it took all my self-control not to rub the back of my neck in an attempt to dispel the feeling. I didn’t like that the entire encounter with Bahlin left me jittery with nerves. Maybe food would help.

“I guess the hotel likes its color schemes universal,” I said, settling into the booth. I tucked my feet on the bench to hide my battered shoes from the high-heeled crowd. The maitre d’ casually laid a napkin across my lap first, Bahlin’s second.

“Don’t you care for it?” He settled in and stretched one arm across the back of his side of the booth.

“Sure. Who wouldn’t?”

The maitre d’ bowed and backed away. “Enjoy your meal, sir.” He closed the curtains behind him as he left. Bahlin inclined his head in a very regal way, seemingly at ease in the environment. I was cowed, and disappointed in myself for it.

“So, let’s get this out of the way. Money,” he said, “is not a problem.”

“Did you not hear me earlier? I don’t do charity.” I ground it out between my clenched teeth.

“Do you have a job?”

“No.”

“Have you had a job before?”

Was he kidding? “You took a waltz through my mind. You tell me,” I snapped.

“Having had a job before,” he continued, as if I’d answered him politely, “you should recognize the characteristics of one. The primary being commitment. You’re considering committing to being the Niteclif for the next ten to twelve years. What makes you think you wouldn’t be paid for it?”

“I have no idea what the hell this job entails, Bahlin. You’ve been vague and ambiguous at every turn, answering my questions with your questions and giving me snapshots of weird shit that’s supposed to make me feel better.” I vibrated with energy. Fear? Anger? Frustration. Yes. “Why would I think it pays? And if it pays, I’m sure I’ll be expected to…”

He arched a brow at me. “Stay here” went unsaid.

“Sure you will. How can you conduct inquiries into cases here in the Isles from across the pond?” He toyed with his knife, spinning it on point on the table. “So let’s set this to rights. The High Council has always taken on the salary requirements of the Niteclif. What would you think to be a reasonable amount per annum?”

I mentally scrambled, then shot off a ridiculous salary six times greater than the job I’d left. Maybe I could get fired before I got started. Fired was better than dead, and it sounded like dead wasn’t out of the question.

“Done.”

Now I was the one gaping. “Plus housing,” I added. Why not? “And a private car so I don’t have to depend on anyone.”

“Again, done. You’ll live here at the hotel for the foreseeable future. Of course, you’ll be moved into a more suitable room.”

“Suitable how? And who are you to this place?” I asked recalling not only the maitre d’s behavior but also the desk clerk’s earlier refusal to call security.

“Why, I own it of course.” He grinned wickedly, teeth flashing in the low light of the chandelier.

“Of course,” I whispered. “Do they, the staff, know…” and I tapped my teeth first, then the corner of my eye.

The waiter appeared around the corner of the curtains and I jumped, but he was only there to present the bottle of wine. I looked at Bahlin, chagrined, and he laughed out loud. “The red, as promised.”

I couldn’t help but smile back. This was obviously going to take some getting used to. I ordered without looking at the menu assuming that, in a place like this, if they didn’t have what I wanted listed, they’d come up with it. The waiter didn’t even ask Bahlin if he wanted anything other than the wine.

“To answer your question, yes, the staff knows. More than half the staff are of the same general persuasion. Supernatural, or mythological, take your pick.”

I stared at him, schooling my face into polite curiosity. Inside I was stunned and nervous as hell. “Dragons?” I clenched my hands together under the table hard enough that the bones ground together.

“A few,” he said, smiling gently, “and a number of other flavors.” He leaned forward and reached for my hands under the table, tapping them softly with his fingertips. “Relax. Nothing’s going to happen to you here.”

I unclenched my fingers and made a show of setting them on the tabletop.

“A few other flavors?” I asked in a voice barely above a whisper. He nodded. “How many is a few?”

“That’s an age old question, isn’t it?” He settled into the corner of the booth and cocked a knee up as if he didn’t have a care in the world. “Not many in the mundane world realize what we are. Humans, or mundies, have a tendency to see only what they want to see and to go about blind to the rest of their world. There are a few of them who know about us, though I doubt anyone knows about
all
of us.” He poured us each a glass of wine, and I watched him swirl his in his glass then sniff it.