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

genetic build. Some felt she was made too powerful and wanted a fail-safe so she could be killed when necessary.” Coyle swallowed her drink and caught the automaton’s attention for another.

“Easy now, Coyle,” Vonteg said. “That’s a lot of alcohol.”

“Please. I’ve had quite the day,” she retorted, ignoring the strands of hair covering her eyes. The liquid courage kept her tongue loose, and the chance to think out loud for a change felt freeing. And brave. Mostly brave. And smart.

Very smart.

Yes. She would show them how her mind worked, show them just how capable she was, just how important she was to the team.

Coyle stared at the far wall that tilted sideways, trying to keep her thoughts straight and orderly.

“We’re going to have to make a list of people working against us,” she said.

“Fang, of course,” Bolt said. “Coyle, aren’t you paying attention?” He motioned to the others. “I thought she was a smart detective.”

“No. Fang’s not against us, see? She’s the one who killed Trevin, the head collector,” she said. “Ugh! Trevin was a horrible, horrible man. Kept heads in glass jars. Why? Why did I go into that room?” She slurped from the glass. The walls kept trying to turn sideways.

Duone shook his head. “Those drinks are gettin’ to ya, friend.”

“See, Fang killed Trevin because... Hmm. They... Well, see, let’s try this instead. He stole the book with the impostor, and they—” She stopped and covered her mouth in shock.

“Coyle, I believe you’ve had enough drinks. It has been a long day for you,” Treece said. “The doctor said—”

“No, no! The Baldwin mansion. Hear me out. The Baldwin mansion.” She snapped her fingers. “Treece, you said the woman who attacked me was probably fae and could probably impersonate other women, right? Tell me I’m right. Yes? Good. Of course I’m right, I’m a detective. Of sorts.

“Listen, listen. The impostor fae woman-thing impersonates Fang. Fang! She slaughters the dinner party. They want her to... They frame her. Right? Yes! Why? Because she’s the best operative Moreci created, his shining example of what he could accomplish, and how did they thank him? The Templars tried to kill him. But he’s alive—somehow. So many mysteries here.” She chewed her bottom lip, her mind slipping through different possibilities of how Moreci had survived and who could have helped him.

“Doesn’t it make sense? Do I have to explain everything? I mean, come on, isn’t obvious? But, no, they don’t want a lady detective working with them, really.”

“Miss Coyle,” Treece said.

She ignored him. “Moreci wants to get back at the Templars, at the people, at everyone who betrayed him! That’s why he took the book and framed Fang. For revenge.”

“And then?” Bolt asked.

She snapped her fingers and pointed at Poes. “And then the real Fang found out about their plan, I don’t know how, perhaps because she’s an amazing... person at what she does, right? She’s amazing. And she hunted down Trevin at the pub. Boom!” Coyle used her hands to tell the story. “She shot him with the amazing gadget that only Treece could have designed for her. Did you see it? No. Did you find it? No. I did. But never mind, they don’t want a lady detective. Heaven forbid they solve more crimes.”

A few shot glances toward Treece, before he said, “Yes, Dawn’s Industries designed the special weapons meant for Templars. It appears Moreci supplied her for his own purposes, but let me assure you: Fang has never been, nor will she ever be a Templar. She is a vile monster, and besides, one can never trust a vampire.”

“Unn-unn,” Coyle said. “Never say never, silly.”  She wagged her finger at Treece and steadied herself.

“She’s completely smashed,” Duone said.

“Amusing, though,” Poes said. “And it is a great hypothesis.”

“They took the book! Moreci and—what was her name, the one who attacked us? Veiul or Veil or something—they took it. They’re working together, you know?” she stammered.

“Veiul? How did you know her name was Veiul?” Bolt asked.

“Fang told me, but that’s not important now,” she said. “They didn’t like the way they were treated, Moreci and Veiul and the others. After all their hard work, see? What was that thing, that saying, Poes?”

“Quaerite et conteret.” He smiled.

“Quote and concert. That one,” she said, and smiled at him. “Seek and destroy. You know Latin. I like that. Latin’s a nice word, isn’t it? But, as I was saying, they wanted revenge for being betrayed. Just like me.” Her fingers reached up to the buttons on her blouse. It would make more sense if they all knew about the scar and Ronan the Ripper.

Right?

“Miss Coyle,” Treece said, rising from his seat. “Let’s retire for the night, shall we?”

“Not before the airships,” she said, dropping her hands to her sides.

“What?” Treece asked.

“I found the papers, big papers for this many airships. Down underground. Trevin’s big papers,” Coyle said, holding up three fingers.

“She found blueprints for airships,” Poes said.

Coyle tried to stare at Bolt as she named each one, but his chair kept moving around. Or maybe it was her head. Or maybe it was her eyes.

“The Starlighter, the Aurora and the Dawn’s Edge. Which one—which one of these is in the air tonight?” She pointed at Bolt but looked around the spinning, tilting, maddening room for Poes. She grinned when she found him. Why was she looking for him? Oh, that’s right. There was something she wanted everyone to know. It was about him, about her. About them.

Bolt frowned before answering. “The Dawn’s Edge is the flagship of Dawn Industries. It left port this morning. It’s en route to Chicago.”

“For?” Coyle hunched her shoulders.

“To participate in the dedication ceremonies for the World’s Columbian Exposition, set a year before it opens,” Treece said.

“So, so Dawn’s Edge is headed for a big city.” Coyle shifted her feet. “Big city with a lot of people with a bad book.”

“For a major event,” Quolo whispered.

“Sounds like a perfectly grand opportunity to murder a plethora of innocents,” GEM said. All eyes stared