Waking the Dragon (3 page)

“Hi.” Her vacant smile told me she didn’t recognize me.

“It’s Moira Cade. I haven’t been here in a while.”

“Oh! Hi, Miss Cade.” She straightened her spine and fiddled with her blouse. “So good to see you. Um, I apologize I didn’t recognize you. Should I buzz your father and let him know you’re here?”

She blinked rapidly. Good. She was nervous. I needed her to be so she wouldn’t question why I needed to visit Mr. Cremwell.

“Actually, no. I need to speak with Bennett Cremwell in Technology. But I’m not sure what floor he’s on. Could you look up his workstation for me?”

“Of course, I can.” Scanning her comm screen, she tapped something onto her keyboard lickety-split. “Yes. He’s on the thirty-fourth floor in Audio-Visual Systems. Room B sixteen. Would you like me to call him down for you?”

“No. Thank you. I don’t want to drag him from his workspace. I’ll just go right up.”

I headed for the elevator before she could ask any more questions. A man in a sleek, navy-blue suit held the elevator door for me.

Early forties, well-groomed, and reeking of money, he turned a confident smile my way. “Floor?”

“Thirty-four, please.” I kept my eyes straight, watching his reflection in the glossy doors when they squeezed shut. Taking in my shabby appearance, he probably thought I was a visiting friend of someone in the building. His eyes wandered the length of my jean-clad legs. I’d grown accustomed to people staring because of my height. What I could never tell by their inspection was whether a man admired a tall woman or thought them freakish. It didn’t really matter. I stood even straighter, drawing his gaze to my eyes. His lips tilted into a wolfish smile. Thankfully, the elevator dinged, and I stepped out before the cradle-robbing businessman could strike up a “casual” conversation.

I strolled down B wing, ignoring glances from workers in their plexiglass cubicles, then stopped in front of room sixteen. The young man hunched over his desk, head in hands and staring at nothing, must be my guy. I knocked three times on the open door before entering and closing the door behind me. With messy brown hair, heavy bags under his eyes, and unkempt clothes, he sat behind the desk, sagging like an empty husk.

“Hi. Mr. Cremwell?”

Glazed, blood-shot eyes stared back, searching me for recognition and finding none. “Do I know you?”

“No.” I extended my hand. “My name is Marina Creed. I have a few questions if you have a moment.” I certainly wasn’t going to use my real name. Hearing the boss’s daughter’s name might undo him altogether. He appeared to be hanging on by a thread. I couldn’t blame him.

He didn’t extend his own hand in greeting. Stress had obviously withered him down, making him fidgety and unfocused. I took a seat. “I wanted to talk to you about Maxine Mendale.”

He flinched. “Maxine?”

I nodded. “I’m a reporter for
The Herald
at Gladium University. I’ve been following the disappearances and the murders of the three women. The first two were students at GU. Was Maxine a student, too?”

Dazed, he stared at me a moment. “Um, no. Maxine worked at a salon in the Warwick District on Lexington Avenue.”

I flipped open my notebook and started jotting notes. Some of the stores in that area served both Morgon and human clientele. “Did she have Morgon clients at the salon?”

“I’m not sure. She never really said.” He leaned forward, a sad smile creasing his pale face. “We didn’t talk much about work.”

“How did you two meet?”

“We have a mutual friend who introduced us at his club, Paramour.”

I forced my eyes on my paper, refusing to show the jolt of shock that rocketed down my spine with this new discovery. Paramour just happened to be owned and managed by Mikal Lennox, my brother’s best friend. And my ex-boyfriend of three years. I frowned and scrawled a note, feeling an acute headache coming on.

“Was the owner, Mikal Lennox, out with you on the night Maxine disappeared?”

“No. He doesn’t like the Vaengar Games.” A wave of relief washed over me. Though I’d hardly believe Mikal capable of any involvement in such a crime, it was nice to eliminate him right off the bat. “We actually started out at his club that night, but Maxine wanted to be adventurous. Said she wanted to check out the Morgons’ idea of fun. Like a lot of girls these days.”

He swallowed hard. I did, too. Poor Maxine never bargained for the adventure she would get that night. Nor did she deserve it. I reached across the desk and squeezed his hand. His weary expression softened at my touch.

“I know this is difficult. Just a few more questions, if that’s okay with you.”

“I already talked to the police about all this.” He pulled away, combing his hands through his hair, his brow scrunching into a deep frown. “How did you know I was Maxine’s friend anyway?”

He
would
have to make that astute realization now. I hated lying, but I couldn’t tell him I had one of my best friends snooping around at the precinct for me.

“I have a few close friends in Nightwing Security.” Actually, I was related by marriage to the owners, but general knowledge was better at the moment. “They were there that night. They found out your name.”

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing, his hands clenched together on top of the desk. “It was Morgons that did that to her,” he whispered, voice laced with hatred.

“I know, Bennett, but I can guarantee you it wasn’t the likes of my friends. The Nightwing clan wants justice for Maxine and the other girls, just as I do.”

He must’ve seen the sincerity in my eyes. I hated to push people when they were stifled by grief, but time was of the essence. These killers wouldn’t wait for us to mourn one girl before taking another. And I feared the repercussions of not capturing them soon. Gladium had become a haven for both races in recent years, a place where fear and ignorance had slowly faded into the background. And now, the Devlin Butchers were bringing all the prejudice and fear back to the forefront, rebuilding a wall we’d successfully torn down, brick by slow brick.

I implored Bennett with an expression I hoped conveyed both sympathy and earnestness. “Please.”

He cleared his throat and gave me a short nod. “What else do you want to know?”

A swell of triumphant air filled my chest as I sped through the rest of my interview. I’d have good ammunition to get the favor I needed from my sister at dinner tonight.

Jessen swung the door wide and wrapped me in a bear hug. “Muffin!”

“Are you ever going to come up with another nickname for me? I feel like I’ve grown out of Muffin.”

“Never.”

She ushered me through the foyer and into a split-level living room on the top floor of Nightwing Tower One. The top floor served as the residence, the second and third served as the guest suite and servant quarters. The remainder was used for whatever business and commerce the clan happened to own. Morgons counted from top to bottom as opposed to bottom up, so I currently stood on the first rather than the 103rd floor. The Nightwings owned several such skyscrapers in Gladium.

The warmth of my sister’s home always welcomed me. Dark hardwood floors, a soft area rug woven in gold, red, and brown. A crimson velvet chaise and matching sofa, both scattered with plush cream and gold pillows. Flickering light from the six-by-ten foot fireplace and scattered candlesticks gilded the room in a warm glow.

Jessen took my coat and scarf as she closed the door, scanning my attire with a critical eye. Though several years older and a few inches shorter, she was my mirror-image in complexion—moon-pale skin and long, black hair. The one striking difference was my eyes—hazel-gold rather than deep brown. Still, we couldn’t stand in a room together without everyone knowing we were sisters.

Those brown eyes were currently giving me the maternal once-over.

“What? What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

“Nothing. You look great, but…”

“But?”

“Why don’t you ever wear a dress or something? Aren’t those faded jeans like a hundred years old?”

“These are my favorite jeans. Besides, you said this was a small get-together. Family and friends.”

If she was up to her matchmaking schemes again, I was going to kill her. In a silver chiffon dress, black heels, and sparkling stud earrings, she looked a tad overdressed for a family dinner. However, she also appeared to be the elegant hostess and lovely wife of Lucius Nightwing. Just as stilettos and diamonds suited her, denim and boots suited me.

I narrowed my eyes as we moved farther into the room. “Is there someone specific I should be dressed up for?”

“No one special. Just Sorcha and—I just never see you dress up anymore. Such the grunge student these days. Do you need some money for shopping?”

I breathed out a heavy sigh, not ready to become embroiled in my struggling-college-student status again. “Who did you invite, Jess?”

Ignoring me, she called into the house. “Julian! Come see who’s here!”

“Aunt Moira!”

Unable to stop the throaty laughter at the sight of my four-year-old nephew, I held my arms out to him. He was proof-positive that the Morgon DNA was dominant, beyond any shadow of a doubt, when the races intermingled. Standing a foot taller than the average human four-year-old, wearing only a pair of blue pajama pants, his mop of black hair flopped in his face as he ran to me. His thin black wings flapped furiously, lifting him like a glider when he leaped into my arms. Giggling, I held him low on the waist as he barely had control of his fluttering wings.

“Careful, big boy, or you’ll lift me right off the ground.”

He beamed, eyes a brilliant blue like his father’s. His brows shot up. “You think so?”

“Well, maybe not just yet, but one day soon for sure.”

Strong, little fingers clasped around my bare neck, my hair still pulled into a messy bun on top of my head. He pressed his forehead to mine, a devilish grin spread across his face, another trait he got from his father.

“You’ll be the first one I take flying, Aunt Moira,” he whispered.

“What are you two conspiring about?” Jessen called over her shoulder as she stepped toward the kitchen.

“Nothing,” I said, giving him a wink.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

When Julian smiled, he lit me up inside, like sunshine in summer. I feared the things he would get away with as he grew older just from flashing that charming smile.

“Nothing!” I called out. He giggled, blue eyes glittering like glass.

“Come along, Julian.” Brant, Lucius’s longtime butler, valet, and all-around housekeeper had apparently added nanny to the job description. “To bed with you before your parents’ guests arrive.”

“I’ll put him to bed, Brant.”

The human male in his late forties visibly sighed with relief. “Thank you, Ms. Cade. I have a few things left to prepare in the dining room.”

“Yay!” Julian’s legs tightened around my middle, his wings flapping, blowing loose tendrils of my hair. “Will you tell me a story?”

As usual, I could deny him nothing. Sure, I wasn’t ready to settle down and have my own family like Jessen, but I could certainly spoil this darling boy to my heart’s delight.

“Sure.” I carried him down the long corridor toward his bedroom, my boots echoing on the hardwood.

He whispered, “Brant’s stories are boring.”

I laughed. “I’m sure he tries his best. What story would you like to hear tonight?”

“Tell me another about King Radomis, the dragon king of the North.”

Entering his bedroom, the chamber was bathed in serene, low light. I marveled at the cosmos above, a mirror of the night sky sweeping in slow circles on the domed ceiling. A crescent moon was beginning to rise from the left corner of his bedroom, as it surely was outside. Such a lovely invention by Nightwing Industries—a balm to send a child into sleep. So many humans categorized Morgons as creators of advanced munitions and security alarms, never seeing the simple beauty their minds could also create. Some prejudices and fear lingered long after laws tried to eradicate them.

“How about a story of the Golden Treasure in the Vale of Stars?”

“Nah. The treasure always changes.”

I lifted his pajama shirt off the dresser and held it out for him. He slipped his arms through and then gave me his back so I could wrap the flaps around each shoulder blade where the wings protruded. “That’s because no one knows what the treasure truly is.” I buttoned along the two seams under each wing.

Wide-eyed, he asked excitedly, “Is the Vale of Stars a real place? Do they have a real treasure?”

I tapped him on the nose playfully, casting an air of mystery to my voice. “I don’t know. But some say it is. No one really knows.” Placing my little charge in his big, mahogany bed, I then tucked the white down comforter at his waist.

“That would be cool if it was.” He flipped to his side, propping his head up on his hand. “I’d be the hero and go on the quest to find the treasure to save the world.” His wings lay limp against the mattress. I stretched out beside him.

He referred to the version of the story that declared the treasure would one day save the world from evil, though no storyteller ever knew how. “So you want to hear that one?”

He shook his head. “King Radomis.”

“King Radomis, huh?”

“I love your stories about him.” He snuggled his head against his pillow, angelic eyes pleading.

“How about his queen, Morga?”

“Pfft.” He waved his tiny hand. “She’s just a girl.”

I arched a brow at him.

“I mean, she’s not like you or anything.”

“Oh, really? How so?”

“Well, you’re not a girl.”

I laughed. “This is quite a revelation. Here, I thought I was.”

A blush crawled up his pale cheeks. That was one trait he did inherit from his mother, milk-pale skin, like my own.

“I mean, you’re a girl, Aunt Moira, but not a sissy girl.”

“Ah.” I bit my lip so I wouldn’t laugh, forcing my face into a grave expression. “Well, it just so happens that neither was Queen Morga.”

“But didn’t you say she was a princess that had to be rescued by the king? That he saved her from those bad men?”