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

And what have we done? Who did we think we were to change the course of her destiny? Our own hubris is but a stalk of dried wheat compared to the fiery Seat of Judgement that awaits. I would do anything to keep this girl named Fang whole, to keep her safe, to keep her away from the evils of this world. But I fear I’ve done too much already, and these hands of clay are not worthy to protect her cherished soul.

Another entry, dated June 1871:

The other operatives, Veiul particularly, tell us something is wrong with Fang.

It is said she makes conversation with the air, with someone unseen. Whether it is an angel for good or a phantom for ill, Fang won’t tell us. But I know Fang is suffering either way, and it tears me apart to know this was our doing. Prof. Moreci is certain the invisible companion is nothing more than Fang’s guilty conscience. He says she killed her little sister and can’t find a way to navigate through her own storm. Despite my earnest objection, Prof. Moreci pushes to take advantage of her malady by creating a psychological tool to control her.

The last entry was dated November 1889:

Fang has become unusable. She has left many of her peers to die in the field, especially after their campaign in Afghanistan. No one trusts her, prompting her to be shut away in confinement until her broken mind can be repaired.

After much discussion with our psychologists, Fang believes the visage of her sister is real and no device, either psychological or physical, could separate them. The spirit of Embeth is wholly in Fang’s hands, heart and mind. She will protect her younger sister, whether phantom or memory, with fierce loyalty. I have little doubt Fang would destroy entire armies to protect the treasured girl. I once asked Fang what Embeth was worth. She replied without hesitation, “More than all the stars in the sky.”

Coyle looked outside, past the clouds, past the bright screen of daylight. She knew the stars were there but couldn’t see their brilliance. Just like she couldn’t see her own worth. She tried to imagine what it would be like to be valued so tremendously, so powerfully.

After last night’s exhibition of debauchery, she was positive she would never know. She would not feel that esteem from any of her team and especially not from the One she prayed to.

She closed her eyes, her mind searching for answers. Fang had been ten when she and Embeth traveled across the Atlantic. Then tragedy struck: Fang killed Embeth. But how? Why? And how was Embeth intertwined with Fang’s psyche? Or was she really a spirit? Was she benevolent or venomous? Embeth had to be benevolent; otherwise, Fang wouldn’t protect her so.

“You’re the epitome of disarray.”

“You don’t know the half of it.”

And where was Fang now? Why was there no evidence of her whereabouts? She said she would keep in touch, and yet she hadn’t. Did she change her mind? Did she and Embeth leave and find somewhere else to live out their days?

She shook her head and refused to believe Fang had completely disappeared. After she killed Trevin, she would be in pursuit of the other people responsible. In fact, Fang was much like Coyle. They were cut from the same cloth, weren’t they? Each pursued the men responsible for destroying their lives.

A chime rang seven o’clock. Coyle chose the black silk dress with matching light-gray coat and gloves. The neck was high, just under her chin, but the cut accentuated what few curves she had. It fit perfectly, just like all the other clothes. The shoes fit comfortably, and the heel gave her small frame a lift. She glanced in the mirror and removed the choker before stepping outside. The attendant popped up from a chair with a tight smile.

<Watch door,> Coyle signed.

<I will.> the girl nodded and stared at the floor. Pink bloomed on her fair cheeks. Coyle walked a few steps and felt the tug of a missed opportunity on her conscience. She turned back.

<What is your name?> she asked.

The girl frowned and pointed to her chest. <Gibby.> she spelled her name out.

<Age?>

<Almost twenty.> Gibby smiled.

<Where are you from?> Coyle asked.

<San Diego.>

Coyle gave her another once-over and met her eyes. <Your hair smells like cheap cigars. Dark scuff on your left sleeve from brass rail. Stay away from saloon! Men in bars don’t want to carry you to your future—they want to carry you to their bed. Stay away from them, understand?>

Gibby nodded and Coyle left the girl frowning, sniffing her hair, and noticing the dark smudge on her left arm. She was young and naive, but if Coyle could try to steer her in the right direction, then maybe Gibby could have a chance at bettering herself.

The hallway was spacious enough for guests to pass each other comfortably. Passengers walked back and forth throughout the cars, enjoying eateries, shopping, small galleries, and museums. Coyle didn’t mind the exercise and enjoyed people-watching. Children chased each other back and forth while their parents and nannies chatted with new acquaintances. Younger women than Coyle giggled and blushed at young men.

She wondered if she would be doing the same if—no. Definitely not. That’s not who she was. Not anymore. Trying to be the first female detective in the state cemented her place in the astonishing tales of women breaking the mold. No man would have her now. Not even Poes.

She suddenly realized something about last night was nagging her, something about the secret. But what? Something about his eyes, the cologne he wore, his strong arms. Nothing was falling into place. Not yet. She shook her head and kept walking.

Superior engineering kept the cars quiet, and the experience was like riding on air. She took a deep breath and smiled. Freshly baked bread and smoked meats were being prepared for dinner. The thought of buttered rolls with blackberry