ALEXANDER STORMED THROUGH THE WAITING ROOM outside his office. The Knight of Flame was here. I could have had him. A sizzling glare locked the new secretary in her seat before she had a chance to move. He slammed the door behind him, threw his jacket on the lounge chair in the corner and smacked both palms into the thick glass of the window. Head lowered, heart pounding, breath hissing in and out, Alexander raged.
The audacity, coming here.
He spun back to the room and blasted the chair with a stream of black shadows that stripped the varnish and ate the wood, reducing it to a pile of dust and splinters.
Gothrodul’s laughter intruded upon his mind. You are behaving like a child. Get a hold of yourself, Lord of Shadow.
Lord of Shadow. The title calmed him slightly, but the rage burned inside. He lowered his arm, took a deep breath and willed his body to relax.
There. Isn’t that better?
Do not mock me, lizard. Alexander said, in no mood for Gothrodul’s sarcasm or condescending wit. Where are you?
Elsewhere, but I heard your mental screams.
Blast. He hated to show weakness in front of anyone—his father, brothers and especially his underlings. He must be strong, flawless, and, above all, powerful.
The Knight of Flame still lives.
Silence.
Alexander shielded his thoughts. Either Gothrodul was mastering his own twisted emotions, or he already knew about the Knight.
Gothrodul?
A loud knock interrupted his chain of doubt.
“Be gone.” Alexander shouted.
“But, sir, the men from Deep Services are here.” The muffled voice of his temporary secretary seeped under the door.
“Right. Send them in.” Alexander unlocked the bottom drawer of his desk and removed a twelve-by-twelve wooden box. Parts of the slender walls had burned away, revealing the play of lightning streaks against the dark, curved surface of a shadow orb.
The doorknob jangled.
“Sir, the door is locked.”
“Use your key!” Alexander blasted back and tucked the box under his arm. Humans—what a monumental waste.
The door opened and the temp guided the brothers in.
Alexander handed the box to the grubby-handed elder brother. From the sight of them—slumped shoulders, red, puffy eyes, mysterious dark smudges on their arms, cheeks and brown coveralls—and their offensive odor, the boys had spent the night doing their homework.
At least somebody takes me seriously.
“You was right, suh.” The elder brother’s voice sounded tired, weak. “There’s all kinds a things crawlin’ ‘round down there.” He rubbed a greasy hand across his bald pate. “We dropped more bait, but they ate it up like corn bread.”
The younger brother nodded.
“We ain’t never seen nothin’ like it.”
Thargen delivered as promised. Alexander read the elder brother’s name tag.
“Randall, my friend, that box I just gave you contains the future. A vermin free future.”
The brothers blinked at him.
“That box contains the new pesticide I mentioned. It contains one treatment only, and I need you to set it up in the sewer junction below St. Matthew’s hospital. Tonight. The mayor requested this himself.” He paused to let the lie sink in. “He said St. Matthew’s is having a huge problem and wants it taken care of it before the ceremony tomorrow.”
The brothers nodded. Killing small creatures in the sewers was something they could understand.
“I knew I could count on you two.”
“Uh, suh?” Randall spoke up. “The answer is forty eight hours. It will take us a straight forty eight hours to bait the sewers.”
Two days.
“Very good. I will collect the supplies. Be ready for my call.”
A red-faced, older man in a tight brown suit and power tie charged through the doorway with Alexander’s apologetic assistant in tow. Nudging his way between the brothers, he brandished a finger at his quarry as he brushed down his sparse white hair.
“Gray!”
“Mr. Tomasin. What can I do for the ex-CEO of Seagren Chemical?” The promise of death to come had lightened Alexander’s mood, so instead of filleting this cretin on the spot, he viewed his hostility as comical.
Security guards emerged from the stairwell and flanked the blustering executive, but Alexander waved them off. He didn’t need their muscle to deal with this situation.
“Why have you changed all my shipping orders, Gray?”
“Your shipping orders?”
The executive pushed into Alexander’s personal space, met him nose to chin.
“Don’t play coy with me, Gray. You’ve ground my business to a halt.”
“You mean my business, Mr. Tomasin?”
Tomasin sputtered. A drop of spit struck Alexander on the cheek.
While his mood may have changed, he had his limits.
“The only reason I bought your excrement-producing company was for its global transportation system.” Alexander poked the man in the chest hard enough to back him up. “I rerouted everything in support of another project.”
“We are losing money.”
“Not to worry, Mr. Tomasin. Your problems will be solved by tomorrow.” Alexander laid a companionable hand on his shoulder and turned him toward the elevators. “Guaranteed.” A gentle nudge in the right direction and he stumbled out the door.
There’s a new entrée on the menu. Alexander thought to his ever-present companion.
Let me guess, Gothrodul replied, fat executive.
Take him and his family. Destroy the house. Leave nothing.
Mmmm. Sounds like fun.