The Dragon of Falconer by Taylen Carver (ebook smartphone TXT) 📕

And now Hopson was watching Campbell von Havre. Even Akicita, who was a politician and could read personalities, was wary of him.

It matched with Harley’s impression of the guy, too.

“Why did he come north?” she asked.

“I wanted to know the same thing, so I asked around. There’s nothing official on him, not after he changed.”

“Yeah, I get it. What happened?”

“Beatings, at first.”

Harley grimaced. Beatings, muggings, were status quo for most newly turned old ones. Lots of humans didn’t like being reminded of what might be in their own futures and took out their resentment with their fists and more. “Lemme guess, he stuck around anyway.”

Hopson scratched his chin. “He stayed to protect the wife and kids, who were all still human.”

Were. She felt sick. She could already see where this was going. “And…?”

“House fire,” Hopson said. “Alarm didn’t go off, so it was across the whole house before anyone noticed. The fire department in Havre said von Havre walked back inside three times, right through the flames.”

“He’s a dragon,” Harley pointed out. “Why three times…?” She closed her eyes. “A body each time,” she whispered.

“Yep.” Hopson straightened. “Eight months later, he shows up in Falconer, dropping cash like it was going out of style and setting up that CBD farm. Even though they’re legal, now, we still keep an eye on ‘em. That’s how we got to know about him.” He gave Harley a friendly smile. “If you’re policing in Falconer, you can keep an eye on him.”

Harley straightened. “And keep you informed?” she suggested lightly.

“We are the official police here.”

“Even if he’s doing something illegal, you can’t process him.”

Hopson didn’t like that. “There’s the letter of the law—”

“And the spirit of the law,” she finished.

“And I could easily take exception to you running your own little vigilante outfit over there,” Hopson said.

The threat, loud and clear.

Harley drew in a breath. Then another. She painted a friendly smile of her own on her face, forcing it. “I’ll let you know what I find out.”

“I’d appreciate that,” Hopson said.

•

WHEN BOHDAN CRANKED DOWN THE window on the driver’s side, letting in a blast of Arctic air, Harley said, “You could always turn down the heater, if it’s too—” She halted as her gaze shifted to the heater controls on the dash. The heater was shut off.

“I think it’s you doing all the heating, ma’am,” Bohdan said, his tone apologetic. His face was red and shiny with sweat.

Harley let out a sigh. “I’m angry. Sorry.” She opened her own window an inch, to create a cross breeze. “I’m still figuring out how to…you know…”

“Control it?”

She nodded. That was as good a term as any. “Didn’t know I could heat up a space until just now,” she muttered. “Not from just being pissed off about something.”

“It makes sense, though. You being fire element and all. The Staff Sergeant…he didn’t care, I’m guessing.”

“Oh, he cares. He just can’t care officially. Not about Campbell. Or Martin ap Golden.”

Bohdan thought that through. Shook his head. “That’s fucked.”

“Because the rest of the world isn’t already there,” Harley replied. She glanced at the dashboard. It wasn’t even noon, yet. They were just coming into Falconer.

“What now, ma’am?” Bohdan asked.

“We’ll stop at the hospital and talk to Dr. Pranee, and arrange for the body to be taken to whatever the Mayor has set up for a morgue. Then you get to write up your first official notes.”

Bohdan rolled his eyes. “Joy.”

“Hey, you wanted to be a police officer.”

He shook his head. “I wanted to help the town.” He glanced at her and away and if his face hadn’t already been red with heat, she suspected his cheeks would have flushed. He was telling the truth.

“Write up your notes and then you’re done for the day,” Harley told him. “I’ll take Mojag with me tonight.”

“To where?” Bohdan said. Then, “You’re going to sneak around the arena, aren’t you?”

“I want to find out what Campbell is really doing in there.”

•

THE BACK OF THE ARENA was just as featureless as the front. Dark green metal cladding, a concrete wall for the last five feet, and a yard covered in a foot of snow that had tire tracks, boot prints, and animal spore all over it. Even with a new moon, the snow glowed. They didn’t need a flashlight.

“Deer,” Mojag said, pointing at a set of tracks. His breath fogged the air in front of him. “Their numbers are increasing now.” He seemed pleased about it.

“Sea containers.” Harley pointed to the long, low bulky containers at the back of the yard, by the chain-link fence. Then she pulled the cloak in around her and shivered.

“Why would he need sea containers?” Mojag said.

Harley grimaced. “One thought comes to mind.” She headed for the containers. There was no need to worry about leaving tracks in the snow. It already had too many to distinguish new ones. “Lots of the old races who get tossed out of their country, or leave voluntarily, end up in containers heading for Spain.”

“That refugee camp in Toledo?” Mojag said. “Think I’d rather take my chances living off the land.”

“That’s because it’s something your ancestors knew how to do. Some of the folk heading for Toledo don’t get the choice to stay. The others find the idea of fending for themselves with just an axe frightening. At least in Toledo, they get shelter and food and medical help.” She moved up to the front of the container and pointed at the precise arc of snow pushed back in a mound. “It’s been opened recently.”

Mojag lifted the bar holding the container closed. “Padlock.”

She rapped her knuckles against the molded steel wall and listened carefully to the echo coming from inside. “It’s not empty,” she decided.

“Can we bust the lock?”

“This is supposed to be a reconnoiter,” she reminded him. “To see what we can see without Campbell breathing over our shoulder.”

Mojag nodded and stepped back from