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

back. There’s danger inside, but he’s tamed it, he assured them. And he’s going to show them tricks he taught this tiger.”

The automaton arrived, served the drinks and left. Coyle took a small sip, the liquor calming her nerves. Fang continued.

“He opened the cage door, and the tiger limped out, nice and easy. The animal looked anything but dangerous. It hunched, cowered, loped in a small circle, staring at the dirt. The man was getting ready to show them the first trick when the leash snapped apart. The noise attracted the attention of the tiger, who looked at the baffled handler. And then the tiger became a tiger, slashed the man’s throat, chased the villagers and ran into the forest.”

Fang leaned in and squinted at Coyle. “I’ve seen your work. The way you study objects, people, their words. Some may call it peculiar, but you are so much more than just an adjective. You are a ravenous tiger. When they let you out of the cage, you want evidence, justice, blood. And everyone you come across is terrified of what you can do, of who you are. Because, Coyle, you’re not one of them.”

Coyle stared out the window, her mind gathering the wool set before her.

“My perception needs to change,” Coyle added.

“In more ways than one. When a tiger wanders down the street, no one needs to warn you, tell you all about its abilities and how dangerous it is. It just is, and it does what it was made to do.”

Coyle tilted her head and frowned. “A tiger never needs defending, does it?”

She swallowed the rest of her drink, prompting the mechanical waiter to offer another one. She nodded at it.

“You’re not afraid of these men, because of who and what you are?” Coyle asked.

“I respect fear—it keeps me alive—but I’m not governed by it. Are they?” Fang shrugged. “They’re not my concern right now. My concern is to find and stop Moreci. And it should be yours.”

Coyle was reminded of her decision to quit Treece’s team. Of her trivial excuses for not continuing.

“I guess I’ve been too caught up with what the others think of me, on constant alert for rejections and accusations,” Coyle said. “It’s exhausting.”

“Maybe they’re not the team for you.”

“And you—we—are?”

“Are you a tiger?” Fang smiled.

Coyle’s gaze stared past the window before shifting to the fresh drink, the unfinished chess game and the glimmer of Fang’s eyes. She chewed the inside of her cheek.

“Am I?”

“Whose blood do you want? You didn’t try to become a detective because it was a Tuesday morning with nothing better planned. You applied for that position without caring what others thought or said. And when you were denied, you made a fist and slammed it into the man who held the prize from you. Sounds like a predator to me. So whose blood do you want?”

Coyle slowly nodded. Yes. She was.

A tiger.

Chapter 15

A knock on the door disturbed her rest.

“Yes?” Coyle answered, opening her eyes in a tight squint. Soft gray light streamed through the curtains. The train whistle blew clear and shrill.

She kicked aside the pillows on the floor and slipped into a robe as the knocking grew more insistent. She grabbed the door handle and opened it, expecting Gibby.

“We’ve just had a communiqué,” Duone said with wide eyes. “Someone on the Dawn’s Edge sent an emergency transmission. All hell’s broken loose. We must leave immediately.”

Later, Coyle stood in one of the half-empty storage cars with the others, learning their new strategy. Each of them wore a special suit made by Treece’s team of engineers and tailors: navy-blue leathers with thick armor at the joints, metal knuckles, steel-toed boots, and a special helmet with built-in radio receivers—all with the Templar’s emblem.

So, then—its official is it? I’m a Templar.

She was given a bulky handgun, given basic instructions on its use. It was a special weapon, a Multi-Array Dispersal pistol or MAD for short. Three switches allowed for different ballistic options: bewilder, a non-lethal choice; sleep, for knocking out a target; and a simple skull for a fatal shot. Or something.

Coyle adjusted her multi-use goggles and caught a glimpse of molten anger in Bolt’s eyes. Although he smiled at her, his eyes confirmed her suspicions. There was no mistaking Bolt was a threat.

She looked away, trying to stay focused on the task at hand. They had done their best to convince him she meant no harm and would continue to be a great benefit to the team. But his eyes said otherwise. Fang’s assurance—that she would be close by once they got on the airship—gave Coyle a bit of something to look forward to.

“We carry the daunting task of investigating this great mystery and putting a stop to whoever, or whatever, stands in our way,” Vonteg said. “I am certain each of us knows the risks. We will arrive at our location, board the ship, and overcome any obstacle that befalls us. We have a team of experienced soldiers coming with us. We will also bring a chief crewman who knows the ship backward and forward. Together, as a team, we will succeed. Treece took considerable care in choosing us. He is a brilliant strategist and creator. He will make sure we have breathable air to succeed in our mission.”

Coyle looked down at her gloved hands, flexing her fingers. Adrenaline raced through her blood. The swell of rising panic threatened to tilt her off-balance.

Her mind picked out only a few words of Vonteg’s speech: daunting, risks, befalls, breathable air.

She closed her eyes.

You are a tiger. Act like one.

She straightened her hunched shoulders, trying to hold on to the positives, the little things, to push away the darkness that crept along the edges of her mind. But with each passing second, her mind swirled deeper into the dark storm of helplessness.

She stepped away so they couldn’t hear her labored breaths. Her hands were clasped together so tight she worried her fingers might snap.

God, why? I’m being punished, aren’t I? Why do I