Page 119 of Dragon Unleashed

Kai: Stick it to the man!

I smile and my fingers fly over the keypad.

Lorelei: I’m trying. He’s slippery.

Kai: Figured. So when I heard whispers on faenet that he’s shutting his ops down, moving out, I went digging…

The three little dots bounce on the screen for way too long.

Lorelei: Spit it out!

Kai: Making you work for it. Last meeting is scheduled and the coordinates set. The big man himself will be there. Hope you can work with that info. Sending you the details.

My head swivels from one side to the other as I try to take it all in. The buildings are straight out of a fairy tale, tall white spires with billowing flags and beautiful plants winding all the way to the very tops. A warm smell of growth permeates the air, and tiny brightly colored birds dart between the branches of the trees. Spring has come to Moyatura, and so have we.

I only got through the portal because Prof Maximillion swore blind it was for our thesis and okayed it. It is, kinda.

The greenery near the portal makes the barren red earth up ahead even more stark. Not a single weed pokes out of the ground and the birds won’t even fly across the yard. A dumpy office building sits in the middle of a series of open-ended, corrugated sheds. Thickly planted pine trees surround the buildings, blocking out light, hiding the site from view.

We’re barely in position when vehicles rumble up the dirt road toward us.

This is it.

I look over the area, scanning for threats, my gaze finally coming to rest on the P.I.G. officers hidden opposite. It took a lot to persuade them. This will make or break their careers. They might be dirty cops, but they have balls of steel to go up against the mayor of all of Venez. That and Chano’s endless bankroll helped persuade them.

A blacked-out convoy creeps into view around the last of the pine trees, coming to a halt only a hundred feet away. Three men, dressed all in black, earpieces in, clamber out. My breath catches. Is he even here? The men turn in a slow circle and my heart thumps. The shortest of the three has familiar greasy blond hair, and green eyes with a thin purple demon ring. Seth. I guess that answers my question about where my brother went. Stepbrother. I screwed his life up once, and now I’m about to do it again. If the Virrey goes down, so will his men.

A fourth man climbs out, more slowly, more stooped. He peers around, freezing for a millisecond when he looks in our direction.

Silas.

He’s made us—of course he has. After half a heartbeat, his perusal of the area continues. He didn’t give us away. My thundering pulse slows slightly. The closest officer signals everyone to hold their positions.

For a long time, no one moves. Finally, a fancy leather shoe emerges from the black interior of the middle vehicle and lands on the red earth. A second is placed carefully beside it. A man in a floor-length tweed jacket steps around the car door, his face shadowed as he turns away from us. But from his stance, from the arrogance of his pose, I know. It’s him. It’s the Virrey.

Farrell steps out from the office building and the Virrey freezes. His men bunch around him protectively, weapons appearing as if from nowhere.

I’m only just close enough to see it. Silas’ hand twitches, and the Virrey’s coat moves slightly in a nonexistent breeze.

“Father, it’s been too long. What did you do with the place? It’s a little…dead.”

The Virrey shoves past his men, vibrating with anger. “You don’t know the half of what I do for you, young man. Why are you here?”

Farrell spreads his arms wide, smiling a shark’s smile. “Wanted to prove I’m ready, Father. I’m willing to concede I might have been hasty choosing supes with no money, no following, over my own blood. But it’s time you tell me everything you’ve been doing in my name.”

The Virrey snorts, clearly not buying it.

“Make no mistake. I don’t trust you, Father. I don’t even like you. But we have people to lead to victory. Either you bring me in on everything, now, or I walk. And half your people will walk with me.”

The Virrey snorts again, less convincingly. “Hardly half.”

“Half. At least.”

The Virrey’s face contorts in a snarl. Silas tugs his sleeve, and he bends while the old man whispers in his ear. His face looks like he’s eating bitter lemon. Eventually he straightens and strides toward Farrell.

“Very well. You need me, and Silas seems to think I should give you another chance. I’ll start by explaining this operation today. Tomorrow, we’ll look at the accounts. The real accounts.”

They talk for another ten minutes. My thighs scream. Being crouched for so long is killing. Surely the police must have enough on tape by now. As I think it, the black uniforms of the P.I.G. break cover and storm forward.

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