Agent Fenric looked out of the window of the Bell helicopter as it swept low over the George’s Island coastline, descending toward Fort Warren. Dirt kicked up in a swirling cloud beneath the hammering rotation of the helicopter blades, wind buffeting the sleek exterior of the aircraft. Without a word, she opened the door and stepped out, bracing the downward wind with the curve of her arm, striding swiftly across the makeshift landing pad. Various construction vehicles littered the island’s surface, piles of shorn up dirt stacked in various locations, a cement mixer slowly churning in preparation for laying the foundation of yet another building. They’d only occupied the island for a month or so and had already converted much of it to a state of the art Paranormal Sciences Research Division complex. But there was still plenty of work to go around.
Fenric was intercepted by a young man in a suit and tie, a tablet clutched firmly in his right hand as his finger hovered over the touch screen.
“Sitrep on the Salem event,” Fenric barked in a clipped tone, her voice elevated above the dwindling roar of the helicopter rotors.
“Trace elements of mystical discharge are still being detected, though they’ve lessened day-over-day. The source of the event was located west of the Montague property and we’re trying to work on getting a warrant to access the premises.”
“Under what auspices?”
“Our cover story is that a prisoner transport broke down and we believe a dangerous individual escaped. We’re looking for permission to explore the grounds surrounding the pavilion. We’re not asking for interior access.”
“And we need a warrant for that?”
“We are— not being allowed on the premises without one.”
Fenric shook her head as the two of them approached the double-door entrance to the interior facility. Both doors hissed open and they stepped through, immediately surrounded by chilled air and the background hum of servers and recirculated ventilation.
“Why do these people have to be so difficult?”
“I couldn’t say.”
They continued walking through the smooth, metal-paneled hallway. A trio of battle clad operatives approached, nodding curtly as they passed.
“Talk to me about the ship.”
“Cornerstone Logistics?”
Fenric nodded.
“It seems to have— departed overnight.”
Fenric stopped, both fists anchored at her hips. “Say that again?”
“We checked the berth at Conley Terminal this morning. It was empty. We’re not sure when the ship left, but it did.”
“Reach out to the Coast Guard,” Fenric said, not even turning toward the well-dressed man next to her. “Call Customs and Border Protection. The TSA. I want them all on a conference line in my office in fifteen minutes, understood?”
“Absolutely.” The young man nodded curtly, stabbing at the touchscreen with a finger. Fenric left him behind and strode down an adjoining hallway, then dragged her badge over a wall-mounted reader, which revealed another panel. The door slid open, a rush of more cool air surging out into the corridor and Fenric stepped into the bracing wind. The door clanked closed behind her, the small room blinking into illumination with automated recessed lighting.
There was a low hum of machinery just on the other side of the far wall of the small room she occupied. A desk and a personal workstation stood to her left, a series of bookshelves to her right, and just ahead of her a small built-in table that extended from the far wall. Made of reinforced steel and supported by a pair of thick, fold out legs with a single swivel chair pushed in beneath it. Her footfalls echoed within the confines of the tiny room as she approached the table, looking down at what rested atop it.
There was an aluminum case, folded closed, a biometric lock sealing the case tight. Fenric pressed her finger to the biometric reader and a pale, green light winked, signifying its silent approval of her fingerprint. The case clicked as it unlatched and she pried it open, looking at the contents.
It was lined with foam from side-to-side and end-to-end, protecting what was held within. Fenric leaned over and plucked one of the items from the foam, holding it gently in two hands. The knife blade was long and slender, the color of slate and if she squinted really hard, she could barely make out the etching of ornate runes along the edge of the dark blade. She’d seen Savage handle this knife with a strange sort of clumsy grace, sweeping it in the air, using it to shoot— flames or something from its end. There were enchanted qualities built within the blade, of that she was certain. Placing it gently in the foam insert of the case, she lifted the second blade and inspected it in much the same way, seeing traits that were similar, yet slightly different.
Like the first blade, there were etchings along its surface, the hilt was shaped somewhat differently, the heft and balance a little heavier and more awkward. She placed it in the foam and looked at both knives as she shut the lid and snapped the locking mechanism closed. Finding the knives had been a coup within the wreckage of that old brick building in Milton, the site of the fire that had set she and Gus on the collision course. She’d saved his life, to be sure, but she’d managed to take a couple of souvenirs as well.
Payment for services rendered.
She lifted the case from the table and walked back out into the hallway, sealing her office closed behind her. Moments later she entered the massive laboratory, the one she’d given Gus a tour of a few days ago— a tour he hadn’t been all that impressed with.
Give her time, she thought— just give her time.
“Agent Fenric.” A middle-aged balding man in a white lab coat nodded at her as she stepped inside.
“Dr. Peron.” She nodded back and lifted the case. “I’ve got what you were looking for right in here.”
“The knives?” He looked almost hungry.
“The knives.”
“Excellent.” He took the case from her, carrying it with two hands as if it was a suitcase bomb that might detonate with even the slightest jostling. She crossed her arms, watching the busy hustle of activity throughout the lab, smiling her soft, self-satisfied smile. She’d given Gus Savage every opportunity to work with her— beside her— to be with her instead of against her. Time and time again, he’d rebuked her offers.
Now, she had his knives.
Soon, she would have his secrets.
The End
Or rather, the end of this book.
Turn the page or scroll down to see what happens next.