Chapter 2
Zane Greystone and his adopted brother Tyr stood on a balcony at the back of Blaze McKenna’s house, wearing their breaking-and-entering clothes.
Light glowed through the curtains that covered the floor-to-ceiling windows in the French doors, leaving no chinks where a curious burglar could peer inside.
“Tyr,” Zane whispered. His brother, standing at the railing, didn’t respond. He was gazing out over the spectacular view. The whole cityscape of downtown Portland spread out before them, nestled between the tall, forested Vista Ridge where this house was perched, and the Willamette River to the east. The half-wheel of the Fremont Bridge sparkled in the north, ushering the highway 405 traffic over the river, and the glowing ribbon of the Marquam Bridge completed the beltway in the south. Five more bridges spanned the river at street level.
They’d both seen that view many times before—from even greater heights than this—but it never failed to mesmerize Tyr. He’d spend whole nights perched on top of the ridge, staring out at the lighted city. Zane always wondered what he was thinking about when he did that, but Tyr never said.
And now was not the time for them to get lost in rumination. They had a house to burgle.
Zane glanced again at the curtained windows, his skin itching with impatience and unease. They’d waited until they thought their target would be in bed. The plan was get in, get the artifact they needed, get out. Go home and have a beer. And maybe some cake. Because nobody needed a reason for cake.
Except she was still up, dammit. Standing in the way of their mission: to find the Three Seals of the Draken Lord Vyrkos, take them to his magical prison under Mount Hood, and stop him from breaking free and raining fire down on the entire Willamette Valley.
And time was running out.
So far, of the Three Seals, they had found zero. Which meant they sucked as heroes—not exactly news to Zane. But the personal failings of him and his fellow dragons didn’t matter; they had to get their hands on the Seals. Beg, borrow, buy or steal—whatever it took.
This art dealer was the first real lead they’d managed to find in forever. She did a low-profile, high-end business in art and artifacts, ancient and modern.
And a black-market business in magical artifacts, some of them powerful as hell. Their oldest ‘brother,’ Thorne, had been tracking one particular artifact for months now, buyer to buyer, clandestine deal to clandestine deal. The Dragonfly of Morocco. It could well be the Dragonfly Seal—the first of the Three Seals. The trail stopped here, with this reclusive, secretive woman.
Thorne had tried to buy it from her—they had enough treasure in their hoards to pay whatever she wanted without even making a dent. Trouble was, she’d refused all Thorne’s offers to meet and discuss the piece. Finally, desperate, they’d had to resort to… this.
Burglary. And now Zane’s partner in crime was lost in a trance.
TYR! he shouted, in the mind-speech they used when they didn’t want to be overheard. Tyr jumped. Zane said, Take a picture, for fuck’s sake, and help me get this party started.
Tyr turned, leaned his hips on the railing and flipped Zane the bird with his black-gloved middle finger. We can’t start anything. She’s not even in bed yet. What the hell is she still doing up?
It’s only one o’clock, Zane pointed out. Grown people often stay up that late. Hell, maybe she’s a vampire, stays up all night and sleeps in her coffin during the day.
That’s all we need, Tyr said. Although, it is weird that we couldn’t find any pictures of her. Even her DMV photo is blurred.
I told you. Vampire, Zane said. That’s why she refused all of Thorne’s requests to meet with her. She probably looked him up online and figured he’s as dry and tasteless as he looks.
There’s no pictures of him online, either, Tyr pointed out. Or us.
True. The Greystone brothers were notoriously reclusive and camera-shy. Otherwise, it would be hard to explain why they never seemed to age.
Tyr drummed his fingers impatiently, looking at the sliver of light between the curtains. What’s she doing in there? Why doesn’t she just go to bed instead of keeping us waiting? Rude.
Hell if I know. Why don’t you make yourself useful and move the curtains a little, so we can see?
Tyr started to look interested. Maybe she has a date and they’re doing it on the coffee table. I’d watch that.
Zane rolled his eyes. Perv.
Tyr flicked his fingers at the curtains. One of them slowly moved a fraction, creating a small gap. Telekinesis—moving objects without touching them—was one of Tyr’s special powers. Nice if you were spying on someone—not so much when he levitated your bacon off your plate at breakfast and ate it himself.
I guess you’re not as useless as you look, Zane said.
Tyr shrugged. Let me know if there’s anything worth watching. Like nakedness. But Zane saw him glance sideways, out over the balcony railing, as if he were still hearing the call of the cityscape.
Zane knelt on the concrete and peered through the gap in the curtains.
At first he didn’t see anyone, just a wall of shelves and glass-fronted cabinets, stuffed full of ancient, leather-bound books and rows of glass jars—large ones full of herbs and smaller ones holding different-colored liquids. Other shelves held handmade candles in a rainbow of colors; antique chalices of silver and gold, pewter and wood; crystals and colored stones in all sizes and shapes, from huge spheres a foot across to bowls of tumbled and polished pebbles.
He gave a soundless whistle. This was the private workroom of a powerful, well-trained sorceress.
Now that his attention was focused, he could sense the accumulated magic of everything in the workroom, pulsing against the protective wards designed to mask the power. There were other wards, too. Magic to keep away thieves. Sorcerers. Vampires. Shapeshifters.
Unfortunately for her, they wouldn’t keep him out.
The large table in the middle of the room looked like it had been sliced from a giant tree trunk—a huge irregular oval with the bark still on the edges, and the inner rings polished to a high gloss. Its four thick legs were carved in the form of dragons.
That made him smile. At least she had good taste in decorations.
But dealing with a human of power could be… difficult. If she’d collected the Seal because she knew what it was, things could get complicated. Especially if she belonged to one of those cults who wanted to free ancient Draken Lords like Vyrkos, hoping to get on their good side and share their power.
Unfortunately for them, ancient Draken Lords didn’t have a good side.
Zane shifted over, changing his angle of sight, trying to get a glimpse of her. The mysterious Blaze McKenna. The woman without a past.
According to Thorne’s background checks, Blaze McKenna had only existed for five years. Before that, nothing. No early history. No court records of a name change. She was either in the Witness Protection Program—which was highly unlikely—or she really was a vampire, starting a new life every twenty years or so.
That would suck—in more ways than one.
He slid a few more inches to his left, straining to see the far end if the table… and felt like he’d been punched in the gut.
She was the woman of his dreams.
And not only in the woman-I-have-sex-fantasies-about sense.
He’d literally dreamed about her for over a century.