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

“You’re under a lot of pressure,” Poes said as he stepped up to the bar. “The way Treece has been touting you, we’re expecting you to solve the riddle of the Sphinx.”

“Man,” she said.

“Ah, yes. Oedipus,” Poes said, blinking. “Must have forgotten my history lessons.”

“Man is probably always the answer when looking for culprits,” Treece said. “Which reminds me: we still need to find out who disabled the gate.”

“We’ve been round and round with the lot,” Poes said. “All of us are adamant about our innocence.”

“And yet all of us are suspect,” Treece added.

“Have you asked the automatons?” Coyle asked.

Both men looked at her.

“I’m not... certain one of my automatons could do such a thing,” Treece said.

“But you just said it yourself: they’re capable of many things,” she said. “Why wouldn’t they be capable of destruction?”

Treece and Poes discussed the improbabilities of her suggestion while Coyle looked back at the eight-armed automaton. Each of its arms ended with metal-tipped claws capable of holding a delicate wineglass —or squeezing a throat.

The mechanical bartender whizzed its head around, staring into her eyes with pulsing green lights. In a flash of movement, its arms snapped out, claws reaching for her. She gasped and backed away. The arms extended too quickly, she thought, aiming right at her heart.

“It thinks you want a refill,” Treece said. “It’s reaching for your glass.”

She turned to him and back at the machine.

“Did you want a top-off?” Treece asked.

She glanced down at the glass in her hands, the ice swimming amidst the clear liquid. She looked back up at the automaton, sure of its murderous intentions. But no. It was just a machine, doing its job as a bartender.

Her shoulders drooped and she took a deep breath, shaking her head. She smiled, feeling silly for—

A mechanical hand grabbed her shoulder, the strength of it unhinging her. Without resistance, she was spun around to face GEM. His heavy mechanical hands grabbed both of her shoulders, holding her firmly.

So he can murder you.

“Miss Coyle,” GEM said. “I believe your presumption was correct.”

She stared at herself in his polished dome, eyes wide with terror. She was speechless.

“Miss Coyle?” GEM asked. “Are you well? Perhaps you should have more of the ‘firewater,’ as it were.”

“No,” she finally answered. “No, I’m fine. Just startled is all. Perhaps next time you could get my attention with a light tap on the shoulder.”

“I apologize,” GEM said. “But I discovered something interesting that we should look at.” GEM tapped a button and waited until a high-pitched whine rose steadily and the room darkened. He flipped a switch on his collar, and a green-tinted projection shot out of his eyes and onto the floor.

The other men stood round the image being cast, staring with curiosity and wonder. The image displayed someone walking down a hall inside Treece’s estate. It turned a corner and stepped into a room.

“That’s the gate room,” Treece said.

The viewer approached a beautiful, carven-wood arch with wires and strange looking contraptions off to the side. Mechanical hands drew close and applied a small box to the side of the arch before pushing a lever. Sparks flew, and flames spread over the arch in a matter of seconds. The image shifted away as the automaton left the room and returned to its duties.

“So,” GEM said, “this proves Miss Coyle’s innocence and concludes the baseless accusations against her. I, for one, would appreciate changing the tone toward her. After all, she did save my life.”

“By pushing her out of a closet?” Poes asked.

“She saved my life,” GEM repeated. “And if someone wants to attack her character, I won’t have it.”

“There, see?” Treece said. “It was someone other than the lot of us.”

“Any more questions?” Coyle asked. “Or perhaps we can get on with our task, as if it weren’t unnerving enough.”

Dinner was served. Their company steered away from rampant accusations and shared stories and backgrounds before returning finally to the subject at hand. All the while, Coyle kept quiet, chewing her roasted duck without the satisfaction of tasting it. Heat radiated from her cheeks, but she kept her composure, pushing the heaviness away and keeping herself busy, listening and watching and noting every detail and nuance of the rest of the group: whether they used their right hand or left, who fidgeted when certain questions were asked, who looked down at the table or tapped the floor when uncertain about something. Shallow breathing. The pulse rates in their jugulars. She couldn’t help it.

It was her hobby.

Some women liked needlepoint, baking or gardening. She wanted to know whom she was working with. Whom she could trust. And yet the person with whom she felt safest wasn’t there.

Fang.

The one person for whom she felt a modicum of assured trust wasn’t in the room. She glanced around, peering into the dark recesses of nearby rooms and once or twice outside the window. But the vampire remained hidden from their eyes and presence. After all, everyone except Coyle suspected Fang was responsible for the ordeal. Why would she want to make an appearance? Coyle herself had barely survived another rash of accusations, and she had been handpicked by this group.

Conversation finally came down to one thing: all of them were nervous about the coming event. The task of finding Moreci and stopping him from using an ancient book of curses was outside their bounds of expertise and bordered on unreasonable. Yet, they were Templars. This is what they did. She was in the same predicament as these men, leaps and bounds out of her comfort zone. Sitting behind a desk and piecing clues together was much more her style. She would have been happy pointing out the villain while other officers made the arrest. Instead, she was in a train on its way to an airship, surrounded by men unsure of who she was and a powerfully rich man she had to impress. She wasn’t sure of what they were going to face or whether or not they