Dagger, Page 2

  “Uh, just so we’re clear, Reinaldo. I dumped you.”

  He lunged at me, fangs bared.

  I grabbed the closest thing. A long, jagged shard of glass. Before he knew what was happening, I jammed it through his ever-thickening neck. His crimson serpent’s eyes blazed with surprise and rage.

  Blood, too dark and thick to be human, poured out of the wound. Reinaldo staggered backward, pawing at the glass lodged in his throat, before collapsing in a convulsing heap, until he twitched no more.

  That was for Connor.

  I walked over and scooped up the chip where he’d dropped it. Safe and sound at last.

  Navigating through the sea of shards, I went back inside and reactivated the communicator.

  Base Ops, this is the Greek Avenger. The package has been acquired. Target neutralized. I need a medic and a cleanup crew stat.

  A green glow indicated the message was received. The poltergeist team materialized in a few minutes, scurrying about like three Tasmanian devils, wisps of smoke on speed, cleaning up the mess so as not to freak out the clueless humans. One of them was healer-rated, applying a stinging yellow salve to the back of my head and my battered body. In this line of work, even the dead made good recruits.

  I was exhausted. It was almost three a.m. My summer was definitely over.

  Within thirty minutes, I was relatively cleaned up, dressed, packed, and on St. Michel, where I caught the Metro to Charles de Gaulle Airport. I boarded the private jet waiting to whisk me back to Miami, and my next exhilarating ordeal:

  The first day of senior year.

  Chapter Two

  Despite my jet lag, I sprinted across my dorm room’s parking lot, tearing through the morning mist shrouding the Spanish-style compound that was Montefuego Academy. Tentacles of ivy slithered across the façade like varicose veins. With its dark, arched windows, and moss-covered turrets, it resembled an inquisitorial castle.

  Then again it was a boarding school.

  Rumor had it our fine educational institution had, in fact, been an actual institution, as in mental, which didn’t surprise me, considering the amount of brainwashing that went on here.

  Now it was considered a magnet school, attracting more than just the mostly affluent artsy Miami Beach crowd. Yep, we’d set a new bar in cultural diversity all right, ranging from Multi-Ethnic-Americans to Deceased-Americans. You see, Montefuego was officially haunted, though students and faculty alike attributed the fleeting shadows, flickering lights, and strange creaking noises to heat exhaustion, hangovers, and job stress.

  I knew better.

  Dashing up the steps and into Montefuego’s maw, I glanced at my cell for the umpteenth time since leaving Paris. Nothing. Surely, they’d analyzed the chip by now?

  “How’s it hanging, Officer Vega?” I nodded at the tubby, middle-aged security guard sitting sentry just inside.

  Before he could answer, I pressed a button on my backpack’s strap, activating the Perception Distorter. A warm wave of energy radiated outward and cloaked my gear from the metal detectors. I couldn’t risk eight hours without any hardware.

  “Hmmph,” Vega grunted, holding up an unenthusiastic hand, never tearing his eyes off his magazine. Probably Penthouse.

  “Have a good one.” I sailed past his checkpoint, smiling.

  The halls were jam-packed with students, bustling about like ants, recapping each others’ summers and comparing course schedules. I exchanged a few “hi’s,” “sups,” and “yo’s” as I wound my way through the throng to the second floor, where I found my locker.

  Movement down my row caught my eye. This tall lanky dude, maybe four or five inches taller than my own six feet, stood hunched over his open locker. I’d definitely never seen him around before. Damn, he was gorgeous. He made pre-reptilian Reinaldo seem almost homely.

  Strangers, even hot ones, made me nervous. I whipped out my cell and pretended to check messages, discretely aiming the phone’s scanner at Lanky. I punched in a code, activating the Facial Recognition Software. Hundreds of records, representing the entire student body and faculty, whizzed past the screen, searching for a match. The montage disappeared, and the screen flashed a message:

  Identity unknown.

  Maybe Lanky was just new and not in my database. But why hadn’t I seen him move into the dorms? Stop. I was getting too paranoid. It was the chip. I shoved the phone in my pocket and studied him. My suspicions weren’t the only thing aroused.

  He had longish dark hair, which shone like silk. His profile belonged on an ancient Greek coin, very dignified, with high cheekbones, a rugged jaw complete with chin cleft, and a long refined nose. Striking dark eyebrows framed steel gray eyes. His skin looked real smooth and unblemished, though a little on the pale side. Definitely not a native. A cobalt-blue, short-sleeved button-down hugged Lanky’s chest and arms. Denim jeans clung to him, accentuating his firm, round butt, the gravy in an already delicious meal. I pried my gaze from his backside to find him looking right at me.

  Awkward.

  “Hey there.” I smiled and nodded, securing my lock.

  He glanced at me, gave me a look like he didn’t understand what I’d just said, and turned back to his locker.

  Either he’s shy, stuck-up, not interested, doesn’t speak English, or any combination thereof.

  I was about to walk over and find out, when an icy-cold wave of air hit me in the face. My attention shifted from Lanky to the overhead fluorescents, which flickered and dimmed, casting distorted shadows down the now deserted corridors on either side.

  Shadows of a horned silhouette, astride the shape of a fanged beast.

  Reinaldo’s birthmark.

  The chill dissipated. The light resumed its steady burn, wiping the shadows from the walls. Montefuego was definitely trying to tell me something

  I turned back to Lanky. He was gone. Probably to first period where I should be. Whatever. I wasn’t sure if I felt relieved or disappointed. I hurried down a few doors to Delacroix’s class, slinking inside.

  Delacroix’s chair was still empty. I grabbed a textbook off the pile on her desk. Everyone was shooting the shit, taking advantage of the last few minutes before the bell extinguished the festivities.

  “Hey! Dag! Get your butt over here!”

  Cassie.

  I moved to the back of the room, slid into the desk next to hers, and gave her a peck on the cheek. Even this early in the morning, she managed to look smoking. Curly brown hair, almond eyes, just the right touch of make-up to bring out the natural highlights of her oval face, and clad in a barely legal skirt and blouse combo that complimented her curves and long legs.

  “I heard you were spotted talking to a hot new guy.” She flashed her contagious, Hollywood-White smile. “Are you steppin’ out on Reinaldo?”

  Before I could deliver the DUST approved version of Reinaldo’s departure, the classroom door flew open and Marco strolled in, the third member of our Triumvirate. He looked quite the Abercrombie & Fitch surfer boy, messy platinum hair contrasting against sun-tanned skin. He hadn’t even bothered to take off his sunglasses.

  “Marco!” I avoided Cassie’s question, waving him over.

  “Hey Guys. What’s up?” He shuffled over, scooted his desk in closer to us with his butt, and plopped down.

  “Dag was just about to spill about Reinaldo,” Cassie answered.

  “Oh. Him.” Marco wrinkled his nose.

  I shrugged. “There’s really not much to tell. We’re history. He turned out to be a real snake.”

  Cassie exhaled a long breath. “Oh, thank God. I’ve been telling you for months he wasn’t good enough for you.”

  Marco placed his hand on my knee and squeezed. “Are you okay?”

  I smiled and patted his hand. It was Cassie’s theory that Marco had developed a crush on me, but I didn’t want to go there. Friendship was much more durable than romance. I needed something solid to hang onto in the midst of all the craziness. Marco and Cassie were my lifeline.
Without them, I was lost.

  “I’ll be fine, Marco. Thanks.” I gave his hand one final squeeze, using the opportunity to return it to his lap.

  It killed me I couldn’t tell them the truth about Reinaldo. But my life in the agency was off-limits, both for my sake, as well as theirs.

  “So what’s the deal with the new guy?” Cassie prodded, already moving on.

  Marco peeked over the rims of his Hugo Boss’s. “You mean the guy Dagger was sexually harassing by the lockers?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Great. Is there anyone who doesn’t know about that?”

  “No!” came a collective answer from the class. Despite DUST’s sophisticated spy and surveillance ware, it had nothing on the Montefuego student body’s grapevine.

  I lowered my voice. “You should have seen him. He looked every inch the dysfunctional bad boy. Just my type.”

  Marco frowned. “Puleeze. You need a man, not a project.”

  “I think he might be some kind of exchange student. Not sure he speaks English.”

  “I kinda met someone, too,” Cassie cooed. “When I was leaving the beach yesterday. We didn’t really get to hang much, but he was a total hottie, let me tell you. Buenisimo.” She sighed. “But of course, he doesn’t live here.”

  I chuckled and bumped Marco’s shoulder. “Tell me more. Tell me more—”

  “— Like does he have a car?” he finished.

  She laughed, slapping my arm. “Pendejos. I say we forget men, have a little fun, and chill. This Friday night we do South Beach.”

  Marco shook his head. “Not sure if I can. Gotta work.” His hands gripped his laptop.

  Cassie’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not still hung up on that conspiracy crap, are you?”

  Conspiracy? My stomach twisted. I had enough of those in my work life. “What’s the deal, Marco?” I did my best to sound as casual as possible.

  Cassie answered for him. “While you’ve been honeymooning and divorcing, Marco’s been working on some top secret bullshit exposé for the school paper.”

  Marco got in her face. “It’s not bullshit,” he whispered. “Something’s going on at this school. A huge cover-up. Tampering with standardized tests—”

  The bell shrilled, cutting him off. I was numb. If Marco had somehow stumbled onto DUST’s test screening procedures … Great. Something else to worry about.

  The door creaked open.

  Everyone scrambled to their seats like in musical chairs.

  Delacroix’ shadow preceded her into the classroom. Short, olive-skinned, long dark braid. And she wasn’t alone.

  Lanky was right behind her.

  Standing next to Delacroix, he looked like an exotic giant, dwarfing her five-foot frame.

  “That’s him,” I whispered to Marco and Cassie. “The guy I saw at the lockers.”

  “You mean the guy I met at the beach.” Cassie whispered back, shooting me the I saw him first look.

  It was a testimony to the strength of our friendship that I didn’t utter “Back off, bitch.”

  Marco lowered the sunglasses down his nose and scrutinized Lanky. “He’s all right, I guess.” He shot me a look. “You can do much better.” He cleared his throat and repositioned the glasses, flipping open his laptop.

  Delacroix stood like a drill sergeant, feet spread, and hands behind her back. “Welcome, everyone, to what I’m sure will be yet another thrilling school year. We have a new addition to our—” she scanned the room— “illustrious student body. All the way from Juno, Alaska.” She motioned Lanky forward. “I’ll let him introduce himself.”

  “Hey Guys. Name’s Alexei Dimirov,” he said in a sexy English baritone. “My father’s side of the family is from Russia, but I grew up with my relatives in the UK.”

  His announcement was greeted with a few claps and mumbled greetings. Lanky, a.k.a. Alexei, grinned, his dimples lighting up the room. That much cute had to be illegal.

  Delacroix went on. “I’m sure you’ll all make Mr. Dimirov feel welcome.” She turned to him. “You can sit by—” her eyes volleyed between the last two empty seats.

  I didn’t need any more complications. I squeezed my forehead. Other side of the room. Other side of the room.

  “—Cassandra Reyes,” she finished, pointing at Cassie.

  Alexei nodded, his sparkling smile widening as he strutted over and sat in the desk to Cassie’s left. “Hello again.”

  “Hey, stranger,” she replied, a little out of breath. “I thought you said you were leaving?”

  He put a hand on her shoulder. “I had a last minute change of plans. I’ll tell you all about it during break.”

  She turned and blew me a subtle kiss before returning to bask in her new neighbor.

  I was sure the janitor was going to have to mop up the drool.

  “Very well then. Open your books,” Delacroix commanded.

  I checked my phone again. Still no messages. Shit. Between the chip, Marco’s conspiracy theory, and getting cock-blocked by Cassie, I was trippin’.

  I glanced past Cassie at Alexei. His wolf-gray eyes were trained on me like a predator. His lips glowed moist. Caught in those eyes, I found myself in awe of his intensity.

  He winked at me (or was it at Cassie?), and turned his attention to his textbook. My nerves tingled. Actually, it was the vibrating of my cell.

  I whipped it out, scanning the text message.

  Chip analysis complete. Code Red. Briefing STAT.

  Code red. Hell. Alexei would have to wait.

  I raised my hand.

  “Yes, Mr. Beaumont?” Delacroix asked.

  “I need … I’m not … feeling well. I need to go to the clinic.”

  Cassie and Marco looked at me, their expressions twin sets of confusion.

  Delacroix pursed her lips. “If it’s truly an emergency, you may go.”

  “It is.”

  She nodded, marched to her desk, and wrote out a hall pass while I gathered my stuff.

  “What’s going on?” Marco whispered.

  “I’ll explain later.” I nodded at him and Cassie and strode past Alexei’s penetrating gaze to Delacroix, who held out the pass as if she were serving a subpoena.

  I practically tore it from her hand. She grabbed my arm, gentle but firm. Her eyes softened. “Feel better.” Despite her rep as a sarcastic bitch, she had moments of coolness.

  I left the room, rounded the corner, and bolted down a long flight of steps leading to the basement and the janitor’s closet. I touched the door. A thin red laser beam shot into my forehead. The encephalogram authenticated brainwaves, which were just as unique as fingerprints. There was a slight hum and a green glow underneath the door.

  Swoosh!

  The door dematerialized and I stepped inside the closet, totally not missing the irony. I was in a stark antechamber, much larger than the space appeared from the outside. The door rematerialized behind me.

  I was bathed in emerald light as the familiar rush of energy surged around me. No matter how many times I’d been through this procedure, Soul Scanning always gave me the creeps. But it was one helluva’n effective security measure. No one got through to DUST without proper clearance.

  Three panels slid open in the walls around me.

  Hiss!

  I felt the Soulers before I saw them. The temperature must have dropped thirty degrees. I exhaled frost. Three figures emerged from the darkness behind each panel, two males and a female. They were transparent, but not to be confused with ghosts. Ghosts were people who’d lived and died. The Soulers had never lived. They were ancient spirits who’d never been granted bodies and resented human beings’ physicality. They possessed the ability to see into the soul itself, a much more reliable assessment than the CIA’s ocular or thumb print scans. Even blood tests could be altered. But you never fooled a Soul Scanner. They knew what you were thinking, and what you carried deep within your psyche.

  Lean naked bodies twisted and writhed in a psychic orgy. Their hands, palm
s outstretched, groped at me. I felt icy tugs in my head and my heart as the apparitions danced around me, and through me, faster and faster. My head spun, the blood battering against my arteries. My thoughts were ransacked like someone shuffling a deck of cards containing all my memories. Every feeling I’d experienced was violated, every secret, every desire, all the joy.

  And pain.

  My feelings for Reinaldo, injected with a poison that shattered my heart. Phillipe, torn away from me, never to be seen again, as if it were yesterday. My mother, her cold eyes, wishing it was me that’d vanished instead of my brother.

  The Soulers’ faces twisted in a mixture of torment and rage, their glacial hands passing through my throat, freezing the very air in my windpipe.

  Stop it. Get out of my head.

  When I felt like my lungs would explode, the psychic assault switched off. The Soulers faded into the walls. The green glow diminished. What felt like an endless mind-rape had only lasted seconds.

  A display screen emerged from the center of the floor. Words flashed, accompanied by an encouraging and concerned voice more suited to a male sexual enhancement commercial.

  Security scan complete. Identity confirmed. Access Granted. Please proceed.

  The far wall faded into oblivion. I stepped deeper into the closet, and into DUST.

  Chapter Three

  The security operative on detail pierced me with his cold, black eyes. “Morning, Beaumont.”

  I paused in front of his hulking form, nodding. “G’morning, Tep.” I mustered a tad more enthusiasm than he had, which wasn’t a big leap, considering he was a four-thousand year-old corpse.

  “Tep” was short for “Rahotep,” who, like most members of Security Section, was a bonafide, resurrected Egyptian mummy, chosen for their strength and prophetic dream ability. He was beefy and tanned, his jet-black hair pulled back in a neat ponytail that matched the color of his uniform. A blue scarab medallion hung from his neck. On occasion, the light would strike him a certain way, allowing a fleeting glimpse through the handsome veneer at his rotting, skeletal face.

  “They’re waiting for you,” Tep announced, actually making it to five syllables this time. These mummies were all wound a little too tight for my taste.