Tempest’s Fury

“The remains arrive in York via armored hearse, from where they were visiting in Leeds,” read Anyan, from off the pamphlet.



“I have a team of my strongest Alfar guarding that caravan,” said Griffin. “Er, my Leader has a team. They have been in place since we learned the bones’ true identity. They check in every half hour. So far they have seen nothing.”



“Morrigan’s undoubtedly nursing some wounded pride along with her actual wounds from our last encounter in Paris. She’ll be a little more cautious this time,” said Blondie.



“But she has to have people here too,” I said. “Even if she plans on swanning in at the last minute, they have to be doing what we’re doing.”



Blondie nodded. “I’ve got Hiral on it. He’s got a talent for nosing out a spy.”



“So the relics are in a caravan. What happens then?” Jack asked Anyan.



“When the relics arrive,” Anyan read, “an honor guard removes them from the hearse and formally places them into their display case. Then there’s a mass for invited local dignitaries and media, and then the exhibition begins.”



“So when do you think Morrigan will make her move?” I asked.



Anyan shrugged. “She’s definitely going to be more cautious after Paris.”



“But she obviously doesn’t care about being inconspicuous,” Blondie warned.



“Yes, but being conspicuous did not work out so well for her last time,” Griffin added. For once, I agreed with an Alfar.



“I don’t think she’ll let the dragon out again,” I said. “At least not initially.”



“Not after you whooped it,” Anyan agreed, giving me a wink.



“How did you whoop it, again?” Daniel asked. His voice was carefully neutral, and I told myself he was only asking out of academic interest and not out of complete and utter disbelief.



“Water,” I said. “The Red’s made up of fire and air. It’s vulnerable to water, at least in that dragon form. Not sure about its human form, although I would think it would be immune, then. Morrigan did take showers after all.”



“I’ll mobilize the local fire brigade,” said Daniel. “They can be at the ready with hoses. And we’ve got the local territorial army ready to engage. We’re using the excuse of the protesters to up the ‘police presence,’ but the police are really my men in disguise.”



Daniel stepped away to make a few calls, and I caught Blondie watching him with a predatory smile on her face. Only then did I realize Daniel was a good-looking man, and I’d seen no sign of a wedding ring, or anything.



I think someone’s going to end up in the wardrobe, I thought, as we turned back to the pamphlet.



“So we need lots of water, in case Morrigan comes as the Red. Fire engines will be good,” I said, “but any chance we can do this…”



I trailed off as Blondie’s phone went off. She pulled it out, telling us Hiral was calling.



“Hello?” she said. Then she listened, her lips curving into a smile.



“Brilliant news. We’ll be there in fifteen. Keep an eye on him, yeah? Call me if he makes a move.”



She hung up the phone and then beamed at us.



“Hiral’s caught our spy. He’s holed up right across from the Minster, keeping an eye on everything. He used the same kind of nullifier we use, so Hiral just looked for a blank spot.”



I shook my head. “Clever Hiral.”



“He is, at that,” said Blondie, as we mobilized to troop down the hill. The walled inner city of York was tiny, and it was only a ten-minute walk to the Minster from Clifford’s Tower, but it took us fifteen as we dropped off Jack and Luke at the hotel. Their seconds didn’t want to risk them on an actual operation. Daniel insisted on coming with us, however, although I think that was partially because he just wanted to see some real mojo in action.



When our remaining group was just in sight of the Minster, Blondie stopped and scanned the locale.



“Dampen your magic,” she warned, just as Hiral popped up right in front of us. I jumped about a foot in the air, only just managing not to thwap the little gwyllion with a mage ball.



His grin revealed rotten, black teeth, and he looked quite pleased with himself.



“Your man’s up there, in the York Minster Hotel,” he said, jerking a thumb towards a building a few blocks away. “He’s in the loft room facing the cathedral, number thirty-two. There are two staircases, main and servants’, and an elevator.”



Having told us his info, the gwyllion strode off without a backwards glance.



“Good work, Hiral!” Blondie called after him, and he acknowledged her words with a perfunctory backwards flap of his hands.



Keeping our magic down, we moved towards the hotel individually or in groups of two, trying to blend in with the crowd or, better yet, stick to the shadows or under awnings of the buildings. We didn’t want to tip off Morrigan’s spy.



Once we were all huddled around the door of the building, we did a quick strategy session. I would take the elevator with Anyan while Blondie and Lyman took the main set of stairs, leaving Griffin and Daniel to take the back stairs. That way, even if our man decided to wander off just as we went in, he wouldn’t get too far.



“What do we do when we get to the room?” I asked.



“What we usually do. Claim to be room service,” said Blondie, right before she turned on her heel and stalked forward into the building.



“Is that the whole plan?” I asked Anyan, as we headed to the elevator.



The barghest nodded, seemingly unperturbed by the fact our “plan” consisted of a single idea.



The elevator came soon enough, and we listened to it creak and groan—it was an old elevator—carefully keeping our magic banked. When the door pinged for the top floor, it opened up onto a small hallway. There was a sign marking that rooms thirty to thirty-four were to our right, so we headed that way. Motion behind us made me turn around, and I saw Blondie and Lyman breach the top of the stairs. When we got to the T in the hallway, Daniel and Griffin joined us from our right, and we all turned left as another sign, marked 33-34 with an arrow to the left, told us to do.



Soon we were all standing in a semicircle around Blondie, we looked at her expectantly. She rolled her eyes at us, and then stepped forward to give the door a confident knock.



All that greeted Blondie’s knock was silence.



So she tried again, even firmer this time.



“Room service!” she called, using what I think was supposed to be a French accent but made her sound like she was imitating Pepe Le Pew.



Blondie had just raised her hand to knock one last time when Anyan hissed out a warning.



“Shields up!” he cried, pulling me backwards towards him even as he pushed the others away.



Then everything went dark as a huge mage ball came crashing through the hotel room door, slamming into the wall behind us with a fiery, smoking thud. Fire poured forth from where it had landed, blackening the hallway, but Anyan and Blondie were already pushing their way in the room. I could feel a huge exchange of power going on in front of me, and I pulled the human, Daniel, towards me and behind my shields. He was white-faced and wide-eyed, but he was also eagerly looking towards the door as if he wanted to get in there too.



Griffin made sure Daniel was safe with me, and then he walked forward, his Alfar power blossoming around him in a wave of force. Within a few seconds of him entering the room, Anyan shouted “All clear!” and in walked Daniel and me. Lyman came in last, protecting our backs.



“Holy shit,” I said, before I started coughing. Someone wasn’t getting their security deposit back. If they charged two hundred pounds for smoking in a room, I could only imagine what they charged for lighting the room on fire.



Then I saw who it was Griffin was pinning to the bed using his immense Alfar strength.



“Funny seeing you here, Graeme,” I said, once I’d stopped coughing. As I walked towards the incubus, his beautiful blue eyes watched me, burning with malevolence from out of his waxen features.



The incubus wasn’t able to move, so instead he spit on my shoe. It landed on the plastic toe of my Converse, luckily, which I wiped off easily enough on the carpet.



Add that to his bill, I thought.



“So you are working for Morrigan now,” I said. “I figured you were. I hope she’s paying you well because you’ve landed yourself in quite a pickle.”



Graeme ignored me, but he wasn’t able to ignore Anyan’s picking his head up by his hair and forcing him to look at Blondie.



“What are you doing here?” the Original asked, her voice mild. Yet the hair on my arms rose, nonetheless.



Blondie meant business.



“I repeat, what are you doing here?”



Graeme ignored her words, but it was Blondie’s turn to get spat at. His aim was better, this time, and she had to use her magic to bat his phlegm ball away before it hit her face.



“You are going to tell me what I want to know,” she said, acting like the spitting had never happened. “Either the easy way, with you volunteering the information, or the hard way, with me taking what I want. But you are going to tell me what I want to know.”