Invincible (A Centennial City Novel) - By Fionn Jameson Page 0,46
Adrian.
He was, after all, my handler.
If I couldn’t trust him… “Look, everything’s okay. It’s all under control. You need to let Elder Chang know this. I’ll call him. Today.”
He let out a slow breath and then nodded. “You do that. As soon as possible.”
I managed a small smile, although it felt wooden and somewhat painful with my cracked lips. Winter in Centennial City was not forgiving, nor welcoming. I almost preferred the warmth of Los Angeles, even though the vampires and other creatures had all but overrun the city. “I will. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”
He nodded once, tugged down an invisible hat and strode out, his low boot heels clicking on the meticulously scrubbed concrete floors.
Adrian was worried, that much was obvious.
But it seemed like such a mundane issue. I had been called to assassinate a vampire lord, but there were…adjustments. Surely, I was not the first hunter to make such changes to a plan that had never been concrete to start with.
That the Fellowship would worry to such an extent to bring me back into the proverbial fold…something did not feel right.
I mulled this over, eyes open, but not quite seeing anything except for possibilities that eluded me, like shadows in fog, until a thin, scratchy voice pulled me back to the present.
“Dear, do you mind if we use this booth?”
A pair of elderly gentlemen smiled down at me, trays in their hands heaped high with hash browns and pancakes.
It didn’t occur to me as to why they would ask such a question until a quick perusal of the diner revealed a lack of tables. Indeed, there were people waiting for seats to open up.
His partner smiled, revealing very white, very bright dentures. “I’m sorry to push you from your seat, but we haven’t got the joints we used to. We could sit across from you, if you wouldn’t mind?”
I rushed up from the seat. “I beg your pardon. Please. Sit down.”
A flurry of apologies followed, but they did take their seats and I left the diner, more questions than answers could possibly be had.
I hated that.
***
A few hours later, I unlocked the front door of the quiet bungalow, the curtains not yet drawn to let in the morning sun that felt sublime on my face.
Jason’s door was shut. Locked, as well.
I’d checked.
But not before calling out. He didn’t answer and if the door was locked and there seemed to be no signs of forced entry. That and I couldn’t sense anyone’s aura since we walked in.
The place was quiet and calm as a tomb.
I walked around the house and pulled free all the curtains, tugged up all the shades, did everything but open up the doors to let in the sunlight that seemed to scare away the shadows that had lingered in this home for too long.
I decided it was time to use the new cell phone.
Someone answered, a high feminine voice, vaguely British in the accent, but I couldn’t tell for sure. “Yes?”
I stared out the window at the older gentleman who was shoveling his walk with a snow shovel that seemed bigger than he was. “It’s Hwang. I need to speak with Elder Chang.”
There was a pause.
I hated pauses.
“There…” I heard her swallow on the other line. “There has been an…incident.”
An incident.
A pretty phrase to mean things had turned out nasty. “Explain.”
She swallowed again. “I don’t think I…that is to say, perhaps I wouldn’t be the best…”
There was another pause and distant voices, or maybe someone just put their hand on the speaker to mask the conversation.
“Is this Hwang? Ran Hwang?”
A new voice.
A voice I recognized. But not one I particularly welcomed. “Malcolm. I would say it’s a pleasure, but we both know I’d be lying.”
He drew in a deep breath and then let it out. When he spoke, he almost sounded friendly. Almost. “There’s been a situation. Nothing to worry about.”
I had asked to speak with Elder Chang, but got Malcolm, the head Guard instead. This did not bode…well. “Is he dead?”
“It’s a— what did you say?”
My eyes saw the old man struggling with the snow shovel, but nothing registered in my mind. “I asked you if Elder Chang is dead.”
He laughed. Nervously. “What would make you ask such a thing?”
He was stalling for time.
I rubbed the back of my neck, feeling the painful beginnings of a tension headache chip away at the corners of my vision. “You asking me that makes me fear the worst. Is he or isn’t he dead?”