Page 58 of The Dragon's Captured Heart
The man opened his mouth to say something that very much was not the answer I wanted, so I squeezed. His eyes bugged out a little, and he subsided into silence before looking off to my left.
“Better,” I said, throwing him to the floor and following the row of filing cabinets until I found the ones I wanted. Then I had to start searching by date. It took a few minutes of rifling through, but I found them.
“See?” I said, pulling them out and setting the papers on top of the other files. “Now, how hard was that? You could have done this in thirty seconds when I first asked a week ago.”
“Fuck you,” the receptionist snarled from behind me before snatching the files and taking off.
“Sonofabitch!” I cried, giving chase.
I hadn’t heard him sneak up on me, nor had I expected him to take off with the reports to try to keep me from reading them. Maybe there was something to the theory that the receptionist had been actively impeding my efforts. I’d assumed it was due to being lazy or disliking me from the start.
As I chased him out of the archives and into the palace hallways, it was evident that there was much more to it than incompetence.
Although it was slow going, I gained on the receptionist with every turn and straightaway. Soon, he was only a few steps ahead, the papers clutched tightly in his right hand.
“Give me those!” I leaped for him as he slowed to start his turn.
Grabbing him around the waist, I tackled him to the floor, whipping my body around and dropping my hip as I flung him down.
There was an explosivewhoofas the air was driven from his lungs, and papers went everywhere, falling around us like snow in a snowglobe as we wrestled.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I hissed, slamming my forearm down into his face. “Cease!”
“Fuck you.”
Flame appeared in his hands, and I yanked my head to the side as fire filled the air around us. I rolled clear and came to my feet, but by the time the curtain of red-orange flame had dissipated, the receptionist was gone.
All that was left were the few embers floating from the sky that had belonged to the reports filed by Dyson and Felix.
“Callum?”
I looked up as Cleye came charging down the hall.
“What the hell was that? Are you okay?” He extended a hand, helping me to my feet.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I said, brushing ash off my shirt.
I filled him in about the receptionist.
“He must be in league with Dyson,” Cleye said.
“I’m inclined to agree with you after this.” I waved my hand around. “But why? Is this a larger conspiracy? Did Noa stumble onto something she shouldn’t have?”
“You think that could be what this is all about?” Cleye asked.
“Maybe. I don’t know why else the receptionist would do this. Do you?”
“No.”
I grimaced. “We’re running out of options here, Cleye. I’ve only got a couple of ideas left. If none of those pan out …”
He nodded solemnly, understanding that there would be little else we could do to find his sister’s killer. “What’s next?”
“Next,” I said slowly, “is questioning Dyson’s family. See if they know anything I don’t. If maybe he was acting weird before he disappeared, anything like that.”
Cleye nodded. “Smart. Do you want some help?”
“Maybe.” I shrugged. “Once I figure out the avenue of attack, I’ll let you know.”
