Page 11 of Magick and Lead (Dragons and Aces #2)

CHARLIE

I sat in one of Ironberg’s many hole-in-the-wall bars at a corner table, a glass of whiskey in front of me.

I’d reached that perfect point of drunkenness where the worst of my worries felt unimportant and the full weight of melancholy that came from true self-honesty hadn’t quite hit yet.

More importantly, I was still sober enough that I could ride back to the farm tonight if I stopped drinking now.

But could I really go back? I’d been sent back to active duty, and orders weren’t suggestions. I’d face court-martial if I didn’t show up tomorrow morning. If I went back to the farm, instead, they’d find me there, probably sooner rather than later.

Of course, I could just disappear. Fly across the Olam Sea and search for Essa full time…

That was a tempting thought. Except there were no fuel depots in Maethalia.

In a matter of days, I’d be out of petrol for the plane and out of ammo for my guns.

I’d be reduced to wandering around a countryside I didn’t know with nothing but a sword and an empty belly, searching for a princess—a queen—who might not even be happy to see me when I found her—at least not until I’d done some major explaining.

The smart thing to do would be to report for duty.

To forget about Essa and everything that had happened during my time in that magical land across the sea.

But the idea of abandoning the search, of going back to my former life, as if nothing had happened…

the idea of never seeing Essa again, or Parthar…

Impossible.

And so, the glass of whiskey and I stared at one another, each waiting to see what the other would do.

“A pretty stone.”

I looked up to find a man in a black suit standing over me. He removed his hat, revealing slicked-back blond hair and a face so pale and flawless it looked sculpted of marble. I knew the guy, had seen him around McNally Air Base. He was intelligence. A spook. A spy.

Shit.

I glanced down and saw what he was referring to—I was holding an oval-shaped stone, rubbing it with my thumb.

It was the dragon stone Parthar had given me.

I’d attached it to the dog-tag chain I wore around my neck, but I had the habit of taking it off and holding it, especially when I was thinking.

I hadn’t even been aware it was in my hand, but now that I saw it, I felt its magical warmth radiating up my arm and through my body.

I could also feel the presence of Parthar—my sweet little guy—though he was still too far away to hear his voice.

That was the other reason I couldn’t stay here and disappear back into being the Silver Wraith. Although I couldn’t hear his words, I could feel Parthar’s distress. Wherever he was, he needed me.

The man—Langford, that was his name—still had his eyes on the faintly glowing stone. I quickly put it in my pocket.

“You seem troubled, Major Inman,” he said, pulling out a chair. He sat, crossing his legs and watching me.

“Just enjoying a quiet drink,” I said. “By myself.”

He flashed a cold smile. Spooks from the intelligence side were often cool customers, but this guy seemed downright frigid.

And there was something else weird about him.

.. I puzzled for a second, trying to figure it out, then it hit me.

It was his stillness. He didn’t fidget. Didn’t twitch.

Didn’t even blink. He reminded me of a snake poised to strike.

“Perhaps you’re thinking of taking another trip across the sea in that red plane of yours…” he said slowly.

His eyes narrowed, watching to see if he could get a rise out of me. But even though his words sent my heart galloping, I didn’t give him the satisfaction of reacting.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, forcing myself to take a casual sip of whiskey.

The smile he gave me was about as warm as a snake’s, too.

“Do you dream, Major Inman?”

I blinked. “Do I…?”

“Dream,” Langford said. “When you sleep. Have you ever had a dream so vivid, you almost thought it was real? So pleasant you never wanted to wake up?”

I didn’t respond. Just forced myself to look him in the eye.

“I suggest that you treat your time in Maethalia as one of those dreams,” he said.

“It was special. Magical, perhaps. And then, you woke up. And when you wake up, you go back to your life. Back to your routine. Back to work. Back to those who care about you. You are the Silver Wraith, Charlie. You are engaged to Kitty Rowley. That’s who you are. It is a very good life, isn’t it?”

“Kitty and I broke up. And?—”

He put up a hand, stopping me.

“Listen,” he said. The force of the word was almost hypnotic. It shut me up like the jerking of a noose. “You will go back to your old life, Charlie. You will burn the red plane. You will take Kitty back. You will return to duty. And you will take no more trips across the sea.”

I felt my teeth grinding together. “Why’s that?”

“Because a great many things are happening which you know nothing about. And there are powerful people who wish to limit the number of variables that might disrupt their plans. You, Charlie, are one of those variables.”

“And if I refuse?”

He gave me the broadest and most unsettling smile so far. “Why would you refuse?”

The amusement in his voice only pissed me off further. “Because I’m a contrary asshole,” I said. “And because I don’t take orders from spook pricks like you.”

Langford made a sound that was supposed to be chuckling but sounded nothing like a normal laugh—more like a hyena pretending to be human.

“I’m not going to threaten you, Charlie,” he said. “You’re too smart to require threats. But ask yourself: what do you call a man who wakes up and continues to believe his dreams were real?”

I refused to answer.

“A madman,” he said.

His eyes drifted down to my glass.

“Drink up, Charlie,” he said, tossing a bill onto the table. “The next round’s on me.”

He rose with eerie grace and walked away.

For a second, I just sat there, letting my heart slow down to its normal cadence again, taking in the space around me: the couples huddled in booths.

The bartender swabbing down the bar. The woman seated on the low stage, playing a quiet, crooning solo on a saxophone.

For a second, this dive seemed like the loneliest place on earth.

A purgatory. The muted laughter around me was like the mockery of devils.

The chatting voices were all talking about me—about what a damned fool and hypocrite I was.

God, how I hated this bar. And this city. And most of all, myself.

Cursing, I picked up my glass, downed the whiskey in it, then I raised my hand, getting the bartender’s attention.

“Another.”