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

“I have what’s called a Tesla-Vine gate. We use the gates to transport ourselves throughout the world, and I included one on the Dawn’s Edge,” Treece said.

“We need to stop that ship,” she said, turning to Treece, but her eyes hovered on Poes, or tried to anyway. “We need to stop that ship. Bad book on big airship thing.”

“Then let’s get aboard,” Vonteg said.

Treece led them through a labyrinth of hallways. Poes wrapped Coyle’s arm around his shoulders and helped her walk.

There was something she wanted to say to him. To whisper in his ear. Something about the size of his shoulders, something about the smell of his cologne and his strong, steady gait as they walked. But the words weren’t there. She remained content with keeping her eyes on him, but the moving floors and her tumbling stomach weren’t helping. They turned a corner and stopped.

“There’s a strange smell coming from the Gate room,” Treece said and walked down the halls ahead of them.

“Burning metal and wires. Keep an eye on that one.” Bolt pointed at Coyle.

“She won’t leave my side, I promise you that,” Poes said.

“She’ll won’t leave by my side, promise me,” Coyle slurred, a wide grin across her face, her gaze searching for Poes.

The smell of hot metal overwhelmed her, and she stopped at the doorway, leaned against the wall, and got sick. Poes handed her a handkerchief and held her hair away from her face as she coughed out the rest of her guts.

“Oh no, Miss Coyle is ill,” GEM said. “I’ll retrieve a pail and mop for someone else to clean up.”

“What’s happened?” Bolt asked.

Coyle wiped her mouth with Poes’s handkerchief, trying to look into the Gate room. A smoldering arch sat in the middle of a wide room. Bits of flame covered the wood-and-metal construction, and burning wires jutted in all directions. Coyle turned away, leaning against the doorframe.

“It’s destroyed,” Vonteg said.

“Who did this?” Treece said. “Someone... someone sabotaged the gate, destroying our only chance of stopping them.”

“Well, who was alone? I’ll give you three guesses,” Bolt said.

“We can’t assume it was her,” Quolo said. “She’s obviously trying to make sense of the—”

“She’s obviously drunk! Anyone with half a brain can see what she’s trying to do: sabotage our efforts at finding the culprits,” Bolt said. The men added their opinions, each trying to shout the other down.

Coyle mumbled something nonsensical. She was weightless in Poes’s firm grip. He was so strong. She leaned closer to tell him a secret, something only he would enjoy, something only she knew about him. She looked into his eyes, and he met her gaze.

Those eyes!

She smiled, opened her mouth to tell him, but fell to giggling instead. The secret was so ridiculously, incredibly preposterous. Poes shook his head and turned away.

“Do we have another means of stopping the airship?” Poes asked.

“Besides our transceiver system?” Treece said. “Yes. As a matter of fact, a train leaves in the morning that uses a similar route as the Dawn’s Edge. We can find another way from there.”

Coyle closed her eyes as severed heads in glass jars strobed to life in her mind. She was a mess. Tonight hadn’t gone the way she’d hoped. But it was fine. As long as Poes knew the secret, then everything...

She dropped to her knees, leaned into Poes’s legs, and passed out.

***

“Is she well?”

“She’s fine, Embeth,” Fang answered.

“Is she sick?”

“Tomorrow, for certain. But right now, she’s just sleepy. Very sleepy.”

“She had a hard day?” Embeth looked in the mirror and fixed the hair that kept falling in her eyes.

“She had a hard day,” Fang agreed.

“Will she help you get the book?”

“Yes. Yes, she will. In fact, she’s helped so much already.”

“Then, maybe she’s your friend?” Embeth hopped up and down on one leg.

“I’m not sure she wants friends.”

“But you do.”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.” Fang shook her head. What would she do with a friend? People were meant to be manipulated, trust was meant to be exploited and friends were meant to be betrayed. This had been her training, and her training had kept her alive. Survival was paramount. Friendship created weaknesses and distractions. In her business, survival and the objectives were the only things that mattered. There was no room for friends.

Embeth grinned and tucked her chin into her chest. “You care about her, right?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re watching her sleep, silly.”

“I just... want to make sure she’s safe. She had a very hard day.”

“So you’re worried about her?”

“I was with her most of the day, remember?”

“But she didn’t know you were there.”

Fang shook her head. She had stayed well-hidden throughout Coyle’s investigation of Trevin’s old place. But certain things had been brought to light during Fang’s own investigation that she wasn’t prepared for. She was piecing together parts of her memory, and she wasn’t sure how to process them. Especially the memories that haunted her.

“You’re remembering things, aren’t you?”

A deep pressure grew in Fang’s chest, and she shot a glance at Embeth through blurry eyes. She nodded. She didn’t want to talk about the memories she’d discovered. Especially with Embeth.

Not ever.

“What do you remember?”

“That’s enough.” Fang pressed a finger against her lips, her voice cracking. “Let her sleep. We need to get ready for tomorrow.”

“What’s tomorrow?” Embeth’s eyes twinkled.

“We’re traveling by train.”

Embeth hopped on the bed and slapped her hands on her mouth.

“Shush! Get down!” Fang whispered through her teeth, glancing at Coyle. She expected the detective to stir, but of course not. Embeth couldn’t disturb anything or anyone because she wasn’t there. She looked into Embeth’s eyes, her bright, happy eyes, trying to understand how Embeth could be so full of joy given the situation. She wasn’t here, but yet—she was.

Her little sister hopped in her arms and they left the room. Embeth’s excited whispers made Fang smile, despite knowing she had killed the little girl.

Chapter 13

Grand stateroom of the Dawn’s Edge

Twelve thousand feet over the Sierra Nevada

Moreci stood near the row of slanted