Coyle and Fang: Curse of Shadows (Coyle and Fang Adventure Series Book 1) by Robert III (great books for teens .txt) 📗

And that wasn’t the half of it.

She stepped back, looking into the empty dining room. Everything was—different. No bodies. No gore. No blood-splattered walls. The furniture was missing. The walls were vacant of oil paintings, and the house smelled like dust and old wood. Warm sunlight poured into the empty spaces through bare windows.

“Am I...? Am I in the real Baldwin mansion?” She swallowed. Her eyes darted around the empty space. “How on earth did this happen? And where is everyone else?”

She stepped toward the front of the house, but the door opened, making her stop. A tall cloaked man stepped inside, flanked by two masked men with pneumatic rifles at their sides. They raised their weapons at her.

Her strength evaporated, and her knees trembled. She raised a hand to her mouth. The man closed the door behind them.

No one to help me.

The cloaked figure stood taller than the others. His bald head was covered in scars, and a brass-and-steel mask covered his mouth and nose. Thin tubes ran from the mask to a heavy contraption on his back. A small speaker-box rested under his chin. Eyes the color of sea grass displayed a bright, intelligent fire.

“So good to see you,” he said. His mechanical voice dragged like an iron bar on a gravestone. “My name is Sigfried Moreci, and I’ve just learned your name is Sherlyn Coyle. Pleasure to meet your acquaintance.”

She shook her head. “This isn’t happening. This can’t be real.” She stepped away from him all the same. “Vonteg? Duone? Treece? Someone?” Her voice bounced off the walls of the empty house.

“It’s quite the shock to realize you’re alone, isn’t it, Miss Coyle?” he said. He lowered his chin and stared at her.

“You’re not real. None of this is real.”

“Give your rifle to her.” He nodded to one of his men.

“Sir?” the man asked.

Moreci said nothing.

The gunman lowered his rifle, walked to her and handed over the weapon. He pulled out a semi-automatic handgun from his hip-holster and stepped back to Moreci’s side, glancing up at him.

“Does that feel like a real rifle to you? Test its weight. Smell the gun oil.”

She glanced down, shifting the rifle in her hands. It felt real. She blinked.

“Use it. Pull the trigger.”

She tried to swallow. The strangers stared back at her. She lowered the weapon until it dropped to her side.

“Shame.” He held out his hand, and the gunman handed him the pistol.

She tensed, her heart caught in her throat.

Moreci raised the weapon and shot the gunman in the head, spraying the wall with gunpowder and brains. The man dropped in a heap. Coyle backed into the wall and the rifle clattered to the floor.

“Now that we’ve uncovered the reality before us, let’s change the subject. I heard you were interested in acquiring a detective position, but you failed. You’ve also failed to believe you’re capable of killing when given the chance.” He shook his head and chuckled. “You’re not cut out for this. And it’s not for lack of testosterone. It’s more about the need, you see?”

“The need? To kill?”

“To survive.”

“What do you want?”

“A chance to prove myself in the world.” He held his hands behind his back. “Isn’t that what you want? Yes, of course it is. And is it any wonder that we both get what we’re looking for? We have a lot in common, you and me. Both of us have needs, desires.”

“I don’t think so.” If she could buy just a few seconds, maybe she would be rescued.

“On the contrary, Miss Coyle. We both need something very important. I need a special key called the Reciter. It’s used to read certain ancient tomes written in the fae language. We thought it was in Trevin’s home until your excellent detective work popped up. You didn’t think Treece and his ilk were the only people interested in what you could find, did you?”

The only people?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her gaze flashed around the room, and she inadvertently pressed her fingers against the ring in her pocket.

“Treece is the worst kind of backstabber you can imagine. He uses all his money to get what he wants, and when he’s finished, he’ll destroy you.” His eyes hovered over her pocket.

“That’s not true.” She hoped.

“I have proof.” He motioned his hands to present himself. “Here I am, barely alive.”

“Yet able to slaughter innocents.”

“Tell me. Is there anything you need so desperately that you would do anything in your power to get it?”

She paused too long. “No.”

“Don’t take me for a fool.” He stepped forward. “I certainly wouldn’t take you for one.”

“If you’re not a fool, then who are you?”

“The long answer is that I was once a good, hard worker. Treece noticed something in me that others didn’t and hired me to do his work. Does that sound familiar? But I digress. He wanted me to create an army, one that could fight against the powers of darkness that plagued mankind—under his control, of course. And I created marvelous soldiers for him, absolutely marvelous. Stunning showcases of what could be wrought from my laboratory. Alas, my brilliance was overshadowed by my naiveté, and by the time I realized I was expendable, it was too late. Treece was finished with me, and I was discarded like a used tin can.

“I survive now with the help of oxygen scrubbers and medicated baths. I certainly will never forget the enormity of what happened to me, of how he changed me. There’s real power in change, isn’t there? Why, you have the same look in your eye, as if someone changed you. Yes, curious. For the better, I hope. Yes, I think so, I think so. For now we have this power within us. It’s our impetus for change, swooping in to capture and strangle what was so close to destroying us. Yes, you and I are the same, aren’t we?”

“We’re nothing alike.”

“We’re more alike than you care to perceive. It is curious, though.