Light of Dawn Page 3

  Garrick grumbled on the other end, and Ulric knew why. There was an unspoken tension between himself and Dalris, and things had been that way for seventy-five years. It was a tension Ulric usually masked with lame jokes, but he actually didn't like talking to Dalris for long due to paranoia over the way his brother regarded him.

  That wasn't to say Ulric disliked the elder Draconian—far from it. He respected and admired Dalris. But he got the feeling Dalris had connected the dots and knew, in a general sense, what happened to him during the two years he'd been missing, making Ulric paranoid that he looked down on his abilities in hunting and stealth.

  So Ulric kept his distance.

  “Don't worry about it, Garrick. I'll call him myself,” he started. “So let me go find Isadora and see what she has.”

  “Okay, be safe, little brother.”

  Ulric put the phone back in his pocket when the call ended, looking at the parking lot in his rear view mirror and the building beyond it. It was a mortal strip club, and briefly, he wondered why Isadora had asked him to meet her in such a place.

  Maybe she wanted to be discreet. After all, no one would ever suspect an impotent fae to show up at a mortal strip club.

  Exiting his car, he shut the door and walked through the lot to the front of the building where two bouncers had a group of people waiting outside, barring their entrance. Ulric produced a wallet before reaching one of them, tugging out a fake, but well made identification card which he handed over, then waited as the bouncer made up his mind.

  After a moment, the man handed the card back with an approving nod, and in exchange, Ulric slipped him a twenty for the cover charge while considering how amusing it was to be carded when you were over three centuries old.

  Such was life in a mortal realm.

  While storing his ID card in his wallet, Ulric detected a particular scent lingering amongst the crowd socializing outside the entrance, being that of magic, and wasn't so sure he appreciated it showing up here.

  Still, he casually walked inside. If someone was going to cause a problem, they'd get on with it soon enough, and he'd do better feigning ignorance to draw them out instead of tipping them off that he was suspicious of foul play beforehand.

  Inside the club, the lights were flashing in different colors, the music pumping out a deep bass beat strong enough to vibrate the floors. The dancers were moving in sync with it, their hips swaying to entice their viewers as items of clothing were discarded in teasing fashions.

  The audience showed their appreciation with howls and money stuffed into whatever miniscule garments the dancers continued wearing. But Ulric paid none of them any mind, looking for a woman who wouldn't be on stage.

  Finally, he spotted her sitting on a table surrounded by several men she'd charmed so thoroughly that they were completely ignoring the strippers. Mortals were easy for fae like Isadora to charm, and oftentimes they did so without even realizing it.

  Ulric, on the other hand, wasn't tempted to look at the disrobing dancers simply because he wasn't interested, and hadn't been for nearly a century.

  “Yules!” Isadora called happily when she noticed him.

  Some of the men looked back, stepping aside to offer passage with jealous expressions.

  He ignored them to ask, “What the hell are you doing here?”

  The fae flipped her mane of chestnut hair over her shoulder, revealing a pointed ear—which the mortals in the place were blind to—and replied with a decidedly British accent, “Just working the crowds. Felt like having some fun tonight.”

  “At a strip club?”

  “Why not? More men,” she grinned playfully, and the men around her chuckled.

  Ulric smirked, wondering why she even bothered. All fae were impotent unless they'd found a mate, but maybe Isadora just appreciated the physical appeal of the opposite sex. Most fae were incredibly curious by nature anyway.

  “If it makes you happy,” he pointed out.

  Isadora grinned, hopping off the table and telling her admirers, “Sorry boys, I need to talk to my friend. But if you wait right here, you'll see me again soon.”

  The men looked disgruntled, requesting she return quickly. Isadora playfully blew them a kiss, then headed across the lounge to an empty table in the corner where the lights were dimmed, taking a seat.

  “When I arrived, there was something in the air outside, so I cast a protection spell on this table to make it safe to talk,” she explained. “Still, you may want to be careful when you leave.”

  “I know,” he confirmed as he sat across from her, then got to the point. “So you said you had a vision. What was in it?”

  “It wasn't the box if that's what you're thinking.”

  “Isadora,” Ulric grumbled. “How can you be sure I'm going to find the box if you can't even see it?”

  “Don't be so impatient, I'm getting to it,” she chided before continuing more enthusiastically. “It stumped me for a while, how to track an object that was made to be untraceable, but I finally got around it by checking the paths that will lead you to your ultimate goal, which is payment for the job, right?”

  “What else would it be?”

  “Well then! That path goes up to Pennsylvania where, and this part is a little more sketchy, you should find the box in the hands of a mortal woman. But even if you don't, she'll lead you to your payment.”

  That sounded ambiguous. The box was recently in Georgia, so hearing it was all the way up in Pennsylvania now seemed strange.

  “How the hell did it get that far up north? More lupines?”

  “I don't think so,” Isadora muttered as if figuring it out had been a real pain in her ass. “I just know you need to find a woman named Charlotte Mulligan.”

  “Who is she? Just an average mortal?”

  “Seems to be,” she confirmed, her expression growing thoughtful as she added, “though, there's something strange about her. It's a good strange, but I can't place it.”

  “Something strange?” Ulric regarded Isadora thoughtfully, asking, “Is it going to effect my hunt? Or do you even know?”

  “I didn't see any negative effects from meeting her, but I need to warn you about the presence of danger during your journey. It's nothing you can't handle, just some vampires, and knowing you, that's more incentive to go.”

  “You know me too well,” he admitted, considering everything.

  Vampires were definitely no problem, and he didn't even care why they'd be attacking—as long as he got a chance to kill them. But what could've been so strange about a mortal woman living in Pennsylvania?

  Whatever it was, he trusted Isadora, having known her for nearly a hundred years now, and she'd never led him astray. So if she said to go north, that's what he'd do, and hope in the meantime that this mortal didn't know what she had in her possession and somehow manage to open the box.

  The only condition of getting payment for his job was that the box had to be sealed and the contents intact when it was delivered. But it seemed unlikely that anyone would be able to open it when all curse boxes had odd stipulations attached to the endeavor.

  Dalris relayed that this one was speculated to need the hand of a halfling on sacred ground to break the seal on it, and Ulric's first thought had been so a gnome in a church? Of course, it sounded farfetched, but he figured most mages came up with their ideas while hitting a pipe.

  “I guess I'll be taking a day trip then,” Ulric announced.

  Isadora smiled brightly. “I wish I could take a day trip. But I'm going to be busy for the next few days.”

  “With what?”

  “Diplomacy,” she replied vaguely. “Actually, when your job is concluded, I may have something for you to do, but I won't know the details for a few days yet. All I can promise is good pay.”

  Smirking, Ulric remarked, “You only need to ask. So, do you have this mortal's address?”

  Slipping him a piece of paper with the information written on it, Isadora answered, “She lives alone
in an apartment building on the tenth floor. You may want to check me on that however.”

  “Fair enough,” he acknowledged, taking the paper to store in his pocket. “Is there anything else?”

  “Nope, just get there and do your thing!” Isadora smirked. “Be safe, Yules. I'll expect a forty percent royalty of any platinum you accrue for this job.”

  “Forty?” he asked incredulously as they stood.

  She merely grinned and headed back to the group of men she'd left earlier, calling, “Oh boys, still have room for me?”

  Ulric shook his head, deciding to barter with her later, and slipped out of the club through an emergency exit near the restrooms in the back due to the suspicious scent surrounding the front entryway.

  But when he stepped into the alley behind the building, that same smell hit his nose again. Ulric slowed to a stop in response, just as a woman standing nearby called, “Hey there, handsome.”

  He glanced over to see a blonde not far from the door, wearing a tight, red cocktail dress that made her look like sin personified—and she was definitely the source of the scent he'd detected.

  Ulric didn't say a word, watching her intently as she tossed her cigarette to the ground, and his silence prompted her to playfully suggest, “I hope you're staring because you can't take your eyes off me.”

  He let a smile lift his lips and quietly walked over. Once close enough, he slowly slipped an arm around her back, then tugged her in with a demanding jerk.

  She gasped, smirking while sliding her hands up his sides.

  Ulric's skin crawled in response.

  “Actually,” he murmured, “I was wondering what back alley witch gave you a concoction to mask whatever the hell you really are, because if they told you it'd be undetectable, you should get a refund.”

  The blonde's eyes went wide, but before she could say a word, he'd tugged a large dagger from inside his jacket and pressed it to her throat.

  The blade had runes etched into the steel, as did the black hilt, and the woman's expression changed completely when she noticed them as Ulric suggested, “But I'm taking it you're a mercenary looking for … something specific. Something you're hoping to seduce the location of from me.”

  Such a tactic wasn't uncommon among mercenaries hunting the same items, and she tried to jerk away at the suggestion.

  Ulric stopped her by tightening his hold and digging the runed blade into her neck, just enough to draw blood. In response, the woman let a sharp cry that was much more agonized than it should've been for such a small wound—and steam began rising from her flesh.

  Ulric looked enlightened. “So, you're a vampire, maybe a demon. Let's see.”

  He drug the blade slowly along her skin as she grabbed his wrist, futilely attempting to stop him.

  “Don't!” she hissed, her canines growing sharp and blue eyes turning blood red.

  “Definitely a bloodsucker,” he announced plainly.

  “Fuck you, Draconian.”

  Ulric ignored her retort, mercilessly sliding the blade back in the opposite direction to cut deeper while inquiring, “Tell me exactly what you're after, or I'll carve these runes into your flesh and let you rot away slowly.”

  “The curse box!” she rushed out, proving she was likely young, or she would've held out longer. Then again, the runes on his weapon were meant to cause all vampires a hell of a lot of pain, and the agony it put them through usually got an answer pretty swiftly.

  “Wasn't so hard, now was it?” Ulric asked as if having an idle chat, letting his blade come to a stop. “Who hired you?”

  “A demon, but he didn't give me his name,” she grunted, still trying to pry his hands away, but the runes weakened her. “He's an Ancient, that's all I know!”

  An Ancient? Ulric snarled his next question threateningly. “What realm?”

  “This one! Now stop!”

  But Ulric didn't stop. He just pushed the blade in deeper with an angry growl in the back of his throat, and she couldn't let a sound because he'd purposefully cut into her voice box.

  Viciously, Ulric jerked his arm to the side and took off her head completely, followed by turning the blade to plunge into her heart. Blood spattered all over him, her head flying away from her body, and he tugged the dagger back out before letting the corpse fall to the cement without concern.

  As soon as it hit, it turned to ash, as did the blood staining his dagger and clothing—which happened with all vampires' deaths.

  Unfazed, Ulric casually dusted off his blade, walking away without a second glance.

  For a brief moment, he wondered if he should've let her live. If her employer was an Ancient, the demon would've done much worse when she'd returned empty-handed. But ridding the realms of another vampire as soon as possible served everyone much better in Ulric's estimate.

  No one else followed as he headed to his car where he found Rozdra sitting in the grass not far away with something dangling from her mouth. Upon closer inspection, he realized it was the foot of a small animal.

  “I hope you feel better now that you've eaten.”

  Rozdra dropped the limb as if in offering, then chirped before lifting her wings to take off toward him.

  “No thanks,” he replied, climbing into his car as the wyvern landed on his shoulder. “I'm not hungry.”

  Pulling out of the parking lot a moment later, Ulric started his trip to Orange Falls with the things he'd learned in mind, including his curiosity over Charlotte Mulligan.

  He didn’t really think she was anything other than what Isadora said, so he wasn't worried the human had some magical booby trap set for him. Though it was strange she'd managed to get her hands on a curse box, there could be a million reasons for it.

  He'd just have to watch his step, and if Charlotte was just a human who had more information on supernatural relics than most mortals, she’d do well to watch her own.

  Either way, it'd be interesting to see what he might find at the end of his ride. Hopefully, by this time tomorrow, his hunt would be over and he could move onto something a little more exciting.

  Chapter 3

  Charlotte couldn’t shake the feeling of being followed.

  Walking home that late evening, she behaved as if nothing were wrong while casting sideways glances here and there along the sidewalk, only stopping at a corner to wait for the sign to say walk.

  But despite her worries, barely anyone was out and about, and the streets were lacking in traffic, making her paranoia hard to understand.

  Earlier, after Charlotte got home from work, she packaged the trinket box she’d received in the mail the day before and walked to the post office while a growing sense of disquiet followed. Still, she proceeded on as if nothing were wrong.

  Julian had never seen anything like the box, which was disappointing when he knew more about antiques than she thought there was to know. Then again, Charlotte's definition of antiques was old and older, so maybe she shouldn't have been too disappointed.

  But he thought the contents might provide them with some clues, and asked if she’d like to send him the box to see if he could get it open when a locksmith ran the risk of damaging it and the contents it held. They also tended to be expensive and insurance was extra.

  Something in Charlotte didn't like the idea at first, and she wasn't sure why. It was just a trinket box, but damned if she didn't feel extremely possessive of it, protective even. Still, a gentler way to open it was preferable to paying someone she didn't know who might ruin it. So in the end, Charlotte made up her mind to send it off in the mail.

  Though, if it hadn't been for the employee at the post office, she wasn't sure she would've been able to let it go. Her hand had hovered over the counter, hesitant to put the package down when the woman suddenly took it without warning.

  Slapping a label on it, she dumped it into one of the mail bins behind the counter. The package slipped inside, now irretrievable, and without thought for censorship, Charlotte had cried, “Wait!”
/>
  The postal worker gave her an odd look. “Ma'am?”

  She parted her lips to respond, then decided against it, wondering what the hell had come over her while muttering, “Never mind.”

  Charlotte left the post office quickly after that and headed to a roadside diner to try to relax, doubts racing through her head the entire time. Making matters worse, while she was drinking her tea, the sense of being watched overcame her, growing stronger until she simply had to leave.

  Now, the street sign thankfully changed to walk in quick time, and Charlotte crossed the street to her apartment building, trying to convince herself that she'd been imagining things.

  Once inside the building, she casually headed directly to her place on the top floor of the ten-story building, refusing to feed her paranoia by running or locking the door for added security. Instead, she simply settled her purse on the table next to it, then rubbed her temples.

  You're home now, you can relax. It took a few moments, but Charlotte managed to make herself believe that, feeling a little better as she turned from the door—at least, until she saw the state of her living room.

  It was a huge mess.

  DVD’s, books, games—all of her possessions were strewn about on the floor, including drawers emptied from the side tables, cabinets opened, cushions on the couch discarded from their normal position, and her desktop computer had been accessed as well. What the hell happened!

  Stunned when she felt a breeze, Charlotte slowly looked from the mess and at the window. It was open, as in, broken open with glass laying on the carpet, saying whoever did this had come in through the window.

  But how? I'm ten stories up!

  The more pressing question, however, was whether or not they were still inside. Charlotte felt her heartbeat quickening, her gaze slipping toward the hallway that led into the back of the apartment when she thought she heard a thud.

  Suddenly, an alarm went off in her head. The box.

  Unsure why—and maybe it was paranoia—but Charlotte was convinced they were after that damned box she’d sent off in the mail.