Old Dark (The Last Dragon Lord Book 1) (18 page)

“You’ll do great,” Miri said.
 

“No,
you’ll
do great,” Laner said. He produced a sheet of paper. It was a government order with the seal of the Magic Hope Government on top and the governor’s signature at the bottom.
 

In the effort of expediency, I, Ennius Grimoire, appoint Magic Hope University as a liaison in the investigation at the Ancestral Bogs.

Be it known that Dean Argonne Rosehill has elected Professor Miri Charmwell to lead the investigation and be a resource to government officials at this time.
 

Miri vomited on the floor. It splattered and hit Laner’s shoe. He jumped back.

“Yikes. You really need some rest.”

“I … I can’t do it today,” Miri said. “I’m sick.”

“This is the opportunity of a lifetime,” Laner said. He searched the kitchen for a mop.

“Behind the fridge,” Miri groaned.
 

Laner returned with paper towels and a mop. He started working on the pool of filth. “You’re not telling me you’re going to turn it down.”

“Hello,” Miri said. “I’m not in the greatest shape right now.”

“That’s the beauty,” Laner said. “You’ve got twenty-four hours to accept. Start sobering up.”

Laner wasn’t going to take no for an answer. He never did. Normally that was his greatest personality trait in a faculty full of old-timers who insisted on the traditional way of doing things. And in any other circumstance, Miri would have said yes—screamed it as loud as she could, jumped up and down and hugged him.
 

From the disappointed look in his eyes, she could tell he’d expected that response. A few years ago there had been some chemistry between them, but she found out that he had been divorced and that the details were quite messy, and he just wasn’t the right fit for her.
 

“Will you at least think about it?” Laner asked softly. “Miri, you can’t possibly say no to this. Dean Rosehill argued for you. The governor hates your guts, and honestly they probably would have picked me instead.”

“Then you should do it,” Miri said.
 

“You’re the most qualified. You have background in geography, magical sciences, and history. If Rosehill wanted you first, then I’m not going against that.”

“I’ll talk to Rosehill.”

Laner shifted from one foot to the other. “I promised I’d call him when I found you.”

“Not now. Laner, I—”

He patted his pockets and pulled out a worn smartphone. Miri tried to stop him, but he dialed and put Dean Rosehill on speakerphone.
 

“Miss Charmwell, where have you been?” the dragon asked. His fussy voice came through the phone in full definition, and there was no mistaking that he was annoyed.
 

She ran a hand through her hair and composed herself.
 

“Dean Rosehill, please forgive me.”

“You’ve been out partying like the students, I presume? Last day of summer vacation and all.”

“Yes. I’m ill.”

“Have you seen the good news, Miss Charmwell?”

“Yes, it is an honor.”

“Do you accept?”

“I have to think about it. To be honest, sir, I’m under the weather, and I may not be able to give this project the mental clarity that it requires.”

Dean Rosehill growled, and the vibration shook the phone. “Listen, girl. I pleaded with Governor Grimoire to give you this position. I promised to help you get your doctorate back, but you’re not working with me. Do we have a problem, Miss Charmwell?”

Miri gulped. “No, not at all. I—”

“You have until four p.m. to make your final decision. I recommend that you rest and do whatever you need to make yourself correct. Because you will be accepting. This is a glorious day for the University and you will not ruin our prestige. Goodbye, Miss Charmwell.”

The call ended.
 

“Good thing he didn’t want to do a video call,” Laner said. “You look like hell.”

Miri opened the door. “Laner, I need time to think, please.”

Laner got the message and exhaled dejectedly. “What is there to decide? But okay, whatever.”

He left.
 

She shut the door behind him and leaned on it. “This is bad.”

Earl, who had been standing like a sentry in the kitchen, relaxed and started walking around the apartment, inspecting it. “Yes, Miss, I’d say you’ve got a problem.”

“I need to talk to Lucan.”

“He’s got engagements all morning.”

“What about Celesse?”

“Where he goes, she goes.”

Miri walked behind the divider in the room. She changed into a rose-colored blouse, a baby blue blazer jacket and denim jeans. As she dressed, she sensed Earl’s discomfort, even though he couldn’t see her.
 

“What’s next, Earl?” she asked, putting on a pearl necklace as she rejoined him.
 

“We stay here until the boss gives his speech.” Earl tapped his watch. “Fortunately, it’s in ten minutes.”

“Then what?”

“I’m under orders to take you through every back road in the city in a circuitous route.”

“What? Why?”

“In case anyone’s followin’. Because after, I was told to take you to Old Dark.”

Miri grinned. “Then what are we waiting for?”

XXVI

Lucan and Celesse walked quickly through the rear courtyard of the Hall of Governance. The massive building, with hundreds of spires and an exterior that resembled the rock wall of a cavern, rose majestically in front of them. The courtyard was spare, with freshly watered grass and rows of flowers rimming the perimeter.
 

Years ago, the gardens had been one of the most beautiful places in the city; visitors came simply to relax and enjoy marbled sculptures, hedge mazes and fragrant floral displays that inspired perfumes.
 

But Governor Grimoire believed in slashing budgets, and when he took office, the first thing to go was the extravagance of the Hall’s grounds. He insisted on perennial plants that would grow back without the need of magic or a gardener, he sold the statues to the museum (causing a firestorm), and he had the hedge mazes torn down and the gardening staff laid off. The grounds were still attractive, but not what they used to be.
 

Now few people visited anymore except politicians, the media, and anyone who had business there.
 

Lucan always found it funny how the media said the governor did these things to save money. Lucan knew how much money the gardens cost. It was an infinitesimal fraction of the overall budget, but the public never paid attention to the real numbers even though they were always available. Lucan knew that stripping down the courtyard was the governor’s way of distancing himself from the people so he could rule them better.

As they walked, Celesse worked on her tablet. She had the news on mute in one window and email in another. She tapped furiously, the digital keyboard clicking with every stroke. Celesse never took her eyes off her tablet, yet still managed to keep up with his quick stride. They had both been to the Hall so many times that she could have navigated the place blindfolded.
 

Lucan stared up at his former home. Deep within the Hall was the governor’s residence, where he had grown up, almost like a prince. He thought of his father. When he had been governor, he had taken care of the building like a man takes care of his own house—all half million square feet of it. He had been a true elven elder until cancer took him.
 

Lucan shifted his thoughts back to the Hall. He hadn’t been to the residence in over seven years.
 

His uncle had probably taken care of it, no doubt. Spotless floors, anti-dust spells, and probably
more
domestic workers on staff because his uncle and aunt hated domestic work, with their ten children still living in the Hall.
 

But he couldn’t help but wonder what it was like on the breakfast terrace right now, dining with the entire city waking up below. Or to walk through the halls with the paintings of former governors on the walls.
 

“This has to be quick,” Celesse said, not looking up.
 

“You think I want to be here?” Lucan asked as they climbed a long staircase toward two large bronze doors.

He didn’t want to be here. He wanted to figure out what to do with Old Dark. But his long list of appointments kept him away from the dragon, and it would be late before he would be able to return to the factory.
 

After his appointment with Moss, Lucan had ducked into the limo and told Celesse how everything went. His phone rang, and he recognized the number—the Hall of Governance. When he’d answered, a secretary told him to hold for the governor.
 

His uncle came on the line. “I want you in my office. Now.”

Lucan had cracked a joke about them not being on speaking terms, and the governor had responded that if he wasn’t in the Hall of Governance in an hour, his security detail would come find him. Whatever it was, it couldn’t wait, and the governor refused to say any more and promptly disconnected the call.
 

He hadn’t wanted to go, but he couldn’t refuse the meeting. He needed to know if his uncle knew anything that could hurt him.
 

They entered the lobby with its checkered floors and chandeliers that hung like stalactites. After speaking with a secretary, she ushered them to a private elevator that took them to the fifth floor—the governor’s wing.
 

The place smelled slightly of varnish. The walls were gray and filled with pictures of the governor posing with famous people around the city.
 

In one he held a massive hot dog, pretending to eat it. On the other end, a little girl held the hot dog up, laughing.
 

In another, he stood with a signed bill in his hand, the entire Governance behind him. The Magical Lands Act.

In another, he posed with several dragons who glowed in the image as if they were animated. The dragons had severe countenances, and like they were about to burst out of the photo and attack at any moment.
 

In the next room, another secretary sat at a desk in front of a silver door.
 

“The governor is waiting for you,” the secretary said. She pressed a button under the desk.
 

A few seconds later, the door flew open and Ennius Grimoire stood in the doorway. The man was almost taller than the doorframe, his bald head barely missing the top.
 

“Get in here,” he growled.
 

“Remember what we talked about,” Celesse whispered. “Don’t lose your cool.”

Lucan nodded.
 

He entered the office, which was decorated with more pictures and a mahogany desk with the family pentagram carved into it. Two tall, curtained windows on both sides of the room let in natural light.
 

Ennius Grimoire stomped through the office and overturned the two chairs in front of his desk.
 

“Someone’s angry,” Lucan said.

Ennius wheeled around and pointed at Lucan. His face was flushed, as if he had been stewing for a long time. “You don’t get to sit.”

“That’s fine. I’ll be sitting at your desk when I win the election anyway.”

“What the
hell
did you do?”

“That’s an open-ended question. Rare from you. We’d be here all day if you want my entire life story, Unc.”

“I’m not your goddamned ‘Unc’!”

“Then what do you want?” Lucan yelled. He couldn’t control the outburst. His uncle knew just how to push his buttons. He remembered Celesse’s advice and tried to hold back ... and then he thought,
Screw it. This is going to be epic, and I don’t even know what we’re fighting about.

“Don’t play stupid,” Ennius said. “The news report. You had something to do with it.”

“Oh come on,” Lucan said. “I was in the city last night.”

“Is that right?” Ennius asked. A few seconds of silence followed as he opened a drawer in his desk. He beckoned, and Lucan approached the desk slowly with his hands in his pockets.
 

Ennius slid several photos across the desk. They were all of black sedans at different locations.
 

“That’s my entourage,” Lucan said, shrugging. “What kind of camera took these photos? The lighting is gorgeous.”

“No,” Ennius said, annoyed, “It’s not your entourage, seeing as you’re not
in
any of these photos.”

Lucan’s stomach knotted.

“You think I don’t keep tabs on you? You’re twenty points behind in the polls, but you’re still a pain in my ass.”

Lucan knew that his uncle often sent cars to follow him, but that’s why he had hired Earl—he could lose anybody, even in a chase down a dead-end street.
 

“So you’ve been following me, probably with government funds, which is against the law by the way.”

“I used my own funds.”

“Still illegal last time I checked.”

“I heard that you missed all your events in the afternoon, so I got curious. But you were nowhere to be found. My men trailed seven cars that they thought were yours. All over the city. But you weren’t in any of them. Neither was your campaign manager.”

“Your guys weren’t trying hard enough. I told you, you gotta stop hiring just anybody in your secret service, old man.”

“Where were you?”

Lucan puffed. “Winning an election.”

“I doubt that.”

“The voting blocs don’t.”

“Ha!”

Ennius paced around the room with his hands behind his back. “I turned on the news this morning and saw a report that you would be making a statement against me, and I thought, well damn, that’s an awfully strange coincidence, isn’t it? You go disappear for a night and then come out swinging. And I thought to myself, why don’t I call you to my office so you can tell me what you’re up to. Or, tell me: is it all in my head? Is this a coincidence?”

Ennius approached Lucan, and Lucan got a whiff of his talcum cologne. Lucan didn’t step back; he stared his uncle in the eye.