Stranger Souls Read online

  It was Carla Brooks, Dunkelzahn's chief of security, who had interrupted the dance so that Dunkelzahn could take a private telecom call. It must have been extremely important. Dunkelzahn graciously excused himself to find a private chamber, leaving Nadja alone in the midst of the many dancing couples. Feeling naked without the dragon's thoughts in her head.

  Normally, she spoke for him because he disliked assuming human form unless absolutely necessary. Like tonight. Now, she stood in the small crowd listening to Damien Knight speak. "Is that it for our new president then?" he asked. "I suppose he is getting on in years." Knight paused for laughter from the other suits. Then he looked directly at Nadja, his hazel eyes boring into her. "How old is the president anyhow, Miss Daviar?"

  Nadja gave Knight a smile, making a conscious effort to maintain the illusion of confidence. She suspected that he knew how much she disliked him, but this was a social occasion and the press was present. All the proper graces must hold true. "That's confidential," she said. "Dunkelzahn is a little sensitive about it, really. He keeps telling me he's not a day over twenty-nine . .. thousand."

  All the men laughed, including Knight, but Nadja knew it was more political than genuine. Everyone around her was highly adept at the art of kissing hoop. And there certainly was no end of powerful targets in the ballroom tonight, huddled in tight groups amid the masses of the voting public who had shown up to celebrate Dunkelzahn's victory and eat the free food.

  The group around her was a Who's Who of Ares Macrotechnology, all here because Ares had been a major contributor to Dunkelzahn's election bid. Knight, who had helped Dunkelzahn choose Kyle Haeffner as his running mate, was the CEO of the megacorp, one of the six most powerful transnational in the world. He stood just shorter than her two meters, and was broadly built, with salt and pepper hair and a rugged face that was quite attractive. A platinum-plated datajack gleamed discreetly on his temple, almost hidden under his perfectly coifed hair.

  Next to Knight was his aide, a balding human of about forty-five, with blue eyes and a winning smile that seemed almost genuine. His name was Gerrold Watkins, and he paid close attention to everything Knight did, probably recording it via an internal video link.

  Also present was Roger Soaring Owl, CEO of Knight Errant, a short man with a modest paunch and a slight rusty brown tint to his skin, indicating some Amerind blood. Soaring Owl had an excellent sense of humor, but he seemed inhibited by Knight's presence as though he were playing lackey to the Ares president. Knight Errant was an Ares subsidiary, and Knight involved himself in its operations on a regular basis. Nadja had heard stories of friction between the two, and perhaps that knowledge, if true, could be of use to her at a later time, but she hadn't seen any hint of it tonight.

  On her other side and slightly behind her stood her own aide, Gordon Wu, carefully recording everything on his headware so that it could be analyzed later if need be. Promises made could not be accidentally forgotten, and even though Nadja's memory was photographic, she didn't take chances.

  Nadja looked around the ballroom, secretly trying to catch sight of Dunkelzahn's human form. She hoped he wouldn't leave her stranded for too long; she hated having to make small talk with these corporate sharks. The Watergate Hotel's ballroom was spacious and elegantly appointed. Thick curtains of purple velvet hung along the walls, and chandeliers of smoky crystal illuminated the chamber. At one end, a dais had been erected, and upon it stood a massive trideo display showing a recording of Dunkelzahn in his true form, giving his victory speech on election night.

  Even the huge display couldn't capture the dragon's size as he crouched on the platform. His blue and silver scales shone under the spotlight, tendons and muscles sending a rainbow of colors across the screen as he adjusted his position and his scales rippled.

  Nadja saw herself on the screens, standing in front of him, a tiny figure next to Dunkelzahn's bulk. A necessary and crucial element of the show as she spoke the dragon's words. She was his voice as he perched behind her and grinned as wide and full as Lewis Carroll's Cheshire cat.

  In the trideo, her voice rang out. "This is not my victory. It belongs to everyone who voted for what I represent—hope, progress, a brighter future for all of us. A new golden age."

  The words were Dunkelzahn's, but Nadja believed them as though they were her own. The dragon was the most noble creature she had ever met. Dunkelzahn wanted to make the world a better place, wanted to give hope to the downtrodden and cynical metahumans of this age. And he had a plan to make it happen. Nadja was totally committed to him, and she had grown to love the dragon. He was her closest friend.

  Now, Nadja looked away from the trid screens and continued her discreet scan of the ballroom. She wasn't used to being out of Dunkelzahn's presence for very long and had grown quite attached to having his thoughts in her mind. Then she saw him emerging from one of the private anterooms. His presence was diminished somewhat in human form, but he radiated power nonetheless. It was almost a joke that secret servicemen swarmed around him, accompanied by the dragon's own private security. Carla Brooks walked alongside, a tall, black-skinned elf who was in charge of the security arrangements.

  His personal power far exceeds the combined strength of those forces, thought Nadja. But I suppose it just wouldn't look right without the show of security. She smiled at the execs around her. "Please excuse me," she said. "The president has returned."

  Dunkelzahn's human form was striking without ostentation; he stood shorter than Nadja, and he had a broader build. He looked very young, perfectly proportioned, like Michael-angelo's David, with olive skin and curly brown hair. Only his eyes betrayed his supernatural origin—metallic blue and silver with pupils that were unnaturally black, like pinpoint windows into a deep void. Nadja noticed that nobody would meet his gaze for long.

  She felt his thoughts touch her as he stepped into the crowd and faced Damien Knight. I must take my leave of you, Nadjaruska. The dragon's thoughts passed over her like a static charge, and she understood them, not as words, but as an extension of her conscious mind. She did not draw herself up and enter the trace-like state that allowed her to translate, but she had been with Dunkelzahn for many, many years; her mind and his had become connected.

  Dunkelzahn spoke, his voice smooth and young, "I extend my thanks and gratitude to you, Damien. You are to be commended for such an exquisite celebration."

  Knight extended his hand. "You're leaving so early?"

  Dunkelzahn shook Knight's hand, "I'm afraid something urgent has come up, and I must return to Prince Edward Island at once."

  "Goodbye then," Knight said. "Congratulations once again."

  Dunkelzahn nodded, then took a brief moment to take his leave of the others. The secret servicemen cleared a path through the crowd in front of him as he made for the double doors.

  Nadja followed on his heels, out of the noisy ballroom, down the escalators and into the lobby of the hotel. Beyond the crowd of trideo cameras and reporters, a limousine awaited on the curb, but Dunkelzahn stopped just outside the door.

  He turned then and touched her on the shoulders. When he looked into her eyes, she saw sadness in the depths of his ancient ones. His thoughts entered her mind. I have received distressing news, Nadjaruska. News that I must act upon before our enemies destroy us. I will send for you in a few days.

  Nadja simply nodded.

  Until then, you will be my voice, Nadjaruska. Goodbye.

  Dunkelzahn gave a photogenic smile to the crowd, then slid into the open door of the waiting limo. A secret serviceman closed it behind him, and the procession got underway. Two motorcycles in front, followed by a security limo, followed by Dunkelzahn's limo. More police and secret service came behind.

  Nadja stood stunned, the humid Washington air closing down on her. What was so urgent? Even though Dunkelzahn was given to sudden, unannounced departures, Nadja had grown accustomed to participating in his decisions, especially in the recent months as she had managed his presidential
campaign.

  Carla Brooks stepped up beside Nadja as the trid cameras swiveled to follow Dunkelzahn's limousine. The security chief was taller than Nadja by a good ten centimeters, and significantly stronger despite her willowy stature. Brooks looked slightly uncomfortable in the midnight blue dress she wore, her muscular arms and legs seeming to strain against the confining fabric. Brooks was enhanced with the latest cyber and bioware, and she was quite striking; snow-white hair, deep brown skin, blue eyes. Almost the antithesis of Nadja's porcelain skin and black hair.

  Nadja saw that Brooks moved her mouth slightly, though no sound came out; she was subvocalizing instructions to her security teams through her internal headware. Nadja also noticed the micro-thin fiberoptic wire that connected Brooks' datajack to a tactical computer hidden inside her dress. Mimetic tape made the wiring nearly impossible to see, but Nadja was trained for such observations. She always had to look perfect for the cameras. Perfect meant no augmentation, no blemishes. No cyber. Dunkelzahn himself had been adamant about that, and since he was paying the bills, she obliged.

  Brooks leaned close to Nadja. "That call," she said, her voice pitched low, barely audible. "It was Quicksilver." She looked at Nadja questioningly.

  Nadja shrugged. She didn't know anything about Ryan's current mission. He never told her and she'd learned not to ask. She did miss him, though. More than she cared to admit. A sudden surge of loneliness passed over her. Their last parting had not been on the best of terms.

  She sighed, deciding to put it out of her mind and get on with the business of extracting herself elegantly from the party so that she could get a little sleep before beginning the White House conversion. Dunkelzahn actually planned to do much of his work there, and he wouldn't want to stay in human form unless it was absolutely crucial.

  "Only Dark Tooth knows what Quicksilver was doing," Brooks said, her gaze tracking Dunkelzahn's procession as it crossed Virginia Avenue. "I was just hoping—"

  An explosion ripped the night in front of them. Dunkelzahn's limo vaporizing in an instantaneous fiery blast. A spiked sphere of plasma and searing orange heat, flashing for a second.

  Then the fire was gone and only its effects remained.

  What the frag?

  In the moments before the blast wave hit her, Nadja saw the security limo in front of Dunkelzahn's car lift into the air and fly forward, riding an invisible swell of heat and shrapnel. The maple trees along the median were bowed from the blast, branches and limbs stripped off, leaves turning instantly to charcoal though no fire touched them. They atomized in the burning wind.

  Nadja felt a single beat of her own heart, and she knew she was going to die. The explosion was too close, the bomb too powerful. No time to move. No place to go if she could move.

  Time slowed in those final instants. She saw Dunkelzahn in dragon form, his body a ghostly white behind the flash spot on her retina. He was a see-through specter, without substance. The detailed scalloped ridge of each scale glimmered with white fire, but there was no solidity to him. Nothing left, only the outline, writhing in desperate agony as his ancient flesh disintegrated.

  The white glow dimmed as Dunkelzahn bellowed in pain, a thunderclap of telepathic agony exploding in her head before the physical sound of his scream reached her. A blood-red shimmer tinged his vaporized flesh in the final moment.

  Then he was gone and the blast wave hit her, a wall of heat and sound, lifting her off her feet and hurling her backward through the hotel's genuine glass façade. The windows crashed into shards around her, cutting her in a thousand places as she landed inside on the plush carpeting. Still alive. Still in one piece.

  How?

  Brooks jumped to her feet next to Nadja, brushing glass from her body while she subvocalized commands to her security forces. She bent down over Nadja, indicating for her not to move. Brooks scanned Nadja for injuries, and when she had determined that there were no broken bones, she helped Nadja to her feet.

  What happened to Dunkelzahn?

  Nadja tried to see through the crowd and shattered front doors to get a glimpse of the aftermath, but her line of sight was blocked by an ork security guard who came rushing up to her. He was tall and bulky with cyber and augmented muscles, a first-aid bag in his hands.

  "Jeremy," Brooks told the ork, "get Ms. Daviar cleaned up and out of here fast. She's got some cuts, but nothing serious."

  "What about you?" Nadja asked.

  "I'm fine," Brooks said. "I don't know how or why, but I have sustained no serious injuries." Brooks narrowed her blue eyes on Daviar. "That explosion should've killed us," she said. "Should've taken the whole front of the hotel with it."

  "Why didn't it?"

  "Not sure yet. I'd suspect a magic shield, but it'd have to be more powerful than anything I've ever seen. And some of our security say they saw the blast reverse itself. Like there was some sort of implosion."

  "What about Dunkelzahn?"

  Brooks shook her head. "That's what I'm going to find out." With that she turned and picked her way through the crowd, joining a team of her security people.

  "Ms. Daviar?" It was the ork, Jeremy.

  "Yes?"

  "I'd like to bandage this cut on your shoulder," he said. "Then I think we should get you away from here. There's a car waiting."

  "Sure."

  Four other guards joined Jeremy, and they all escorted Nadja through the shattered remains of the front doors. Jeremy held her arm as she stumbled onto the glass-littered walkway and stared at the destruction. Evidence of the explosion radiated from the center of the avenue—a massive crater in the road, at least five meters in diameter and three deep. The trees around the crater's perimeter were uprooted and bent over, all leaves stripped off, the grass around their burned trunks turned black from the heat. Taxis and limos lay strewn like flipped turtles, and the nearest hotel windows were shattered, blown in.

  Was there any way Dunkelzahn could have survived? Nadja didn't think so, and the shock of that realization made her knees weak.

  The damage stopped after a point, however. Windows two stories up were completely intact, and the trees past an imaginary radius were healthy and green. The grass lush and verdant. It's as though the blast just stopped.

  Nadja followed the arc that traced the edge of the destruction and noticed that she and Brooks had been standing on the very rim. Lucky, she thought. Yet again.

  An image of Ryan came to her mind, his copper brown hair blowing in the ocean breeze as they walked hand in hand. Maui. He had told her then that they were connected in some way and that luck was part of it. It had something to do with their luck. Both of them seemed to have exceptional luck.

  Oh, Ryan, what did you say to Dunkelzahn? Do you know anything about this?

  Jeremy rushed Nadja into a limousine and then climbed in next to her. Her world came crashing down around her as she sat, the blood from her cuts sticking against the leather seat. She put her head in her hands, and blackness crept into her vision. She didn't know if it was shock or loss of blood, but she nearly blacked out.

  What would she do if Dunkelzahn were gone? It felt like he was. That telepathic scream. How could anything, even a great dragon, survive that blast? Dunkelzahn was all she knew, all she cared about. The dragon had been her life. Her whole existence had been devoted to him.

  Now, all that had changed.

  * * *

  Ryan tumbled through the black sky. Plummeting. Ground rushing up, invisible in the darkness.

  He heard the dragon's voice in his memory as he fell, pivoting in the air, executing a perfect layout double somersault. Trying to slow himself. Dunkelzahn's voice was crisp and urgent in Ryan's mind, ". . . this next assignment will be the most important of your life . . . The fate of the world rides on this mission . . .

  "Do not fail me."

  Blackness loomed in the heat around Ryan. I can't die, he thought. Because then there will he no one to carry out Dunkelzahn's plan. He braced himself, anticipating imminent
impact. I refuse to fail you, Dunkelzahn. I will not die here. Any moment now . . .

  He covered his head and face with his arms when he hit the branches. Live oak and pecan trees snagged his back and legs. He crashed through the smaller twigs first, then a large limb smashed into his shoulder. And another caught his thigh.

  Then he was through the trees, and the ground rushed up like a maglev train. Black and unyielding.

  Ryan tucked into a ball as he hit. Pain exploded in his shoulder and back as he rolled. The trees must have slowed him a little because he rolled downslope somewhat effectively, sliding and careening. And when he finally rustled to a halt, he focused on his pain and used magic to channel it away. Then he stood carefully and examined himself. His shoulder was the worst, dislocated from the impact. But he'd otherwise sustained only bruises and scrapes. No internal injures that he could determine. No major flesh wounds.

  3

  It's that luck thing again, he thought.

  Ryan concentrated on his shoulder for a minute as he lifted his bad arm into the fork of a tree branch. Then he probed the socket with his good arm, and with a jerk popped the ball of his bone back into place. Be good as new in a few hours; he healed exceptionally fast.

  Ryan checked his equipment to make sure none of it had jarred loose. The chest holster of his Walther PB 120 jutted a little from the webbing that held the gear around his midsection, but the minigrenades and his belt of throwing darts were still in place. He tucked his pistol back into position and slowly pulled the leaves and twigs from his clothing; they would make silent movement difficult.

  The helo overhead scanned the tower and the trees with its bright white feeler as Ryan crouched in the undergrowth. He took in the hillside around him, using his magically enhanced eyesight to see infrared and heat signatures, but he came up dry. Nothing. Then he looked into the astral plane.

  The trees glimmered around him, and he could see no movement. No spirits or people. Then he caught a glimpse of a figure floating above the trees, hovering against the blue-black sky. The figure looked like a human, with glowing red robes that sparkled all over as though he was surrounded by a galaxy of silver stars.