Page 85 of Dragon’s Rebel

Chapter 38

At eight p.m., Blaze and Zane arrived at Jean-Claude’s penthouse in downtown Portland. The door was opened by his very proper and very mercenary butler, Blaylock.

“Ms. McKenna.” He bowed to Blaze, looking unhappy. Was it supposed to be his day off or something?

“And Mr. Greystone.” That greeting was less unhappy, more frosty. Blaze bit back a smile. According to Zane, the last time he’d been here Blaylock had decided Zane was a boorish idiot. His opinion didn’t seem to have changed.

“Hi, Blaylock,” Zane said cheerfully. “How’s it hangin’?” Blaylock’s mouth looked like he’d sucked a lemon. This time Blaze couldn’t totally suppress the giggle.

“This way, please,” the butler said, frostier than ever. He ushered them down several shallow steps into the sunken living room. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over the city, with a view of Mount Hood in the distance.

Blaze shook her head. She used to love having a view of Mount Hood. Not any more. She had no desire to look at that mountain every day, knowing what was under it.

Blaylock offered them seats on a modern, not-very-comfortable sofa, then went to the sideboard and began pouring drinks. “Mr. D’Amboise will be with you momentarily.”

Of course. Jean-Claude D’Amboise would never be waiting for them. People waited for him.

Not for long, though. Jean-Claude swept into the room, very French and urbane. He kissed Blaze on both cheeks, and shook Zane’s hand as Zane rose to greet him.

Blaylock brought Blaze and Zane glasses of expensive red wine. Jean-Claude already had a highball glass in his hand.

He seated himself across from them. “Mes amies, what a delightful treat. What is it that brings you to visit me, so soon after the last time we met?”

Blaze started in. She was the one with the relationship with Jean-Claude, so they’d decided she would do most of the talking.

“I wish this was just a social call,” Blaze said insincerely. She’d never wished to meet Jean-Claude socially; it always felt like playing with a rattlesnake.

But it was worse now. His energy made the hairs on her arms stand up, and just like at his party a few weeks ago, she could swear she saw a black hole in his chest where his heart should be.

She pushed on. “We came out of friendship and professional courtesy, to warn you that an ancient power has recently surfaced. A necromancer named Corwyn, who’s known to have stolen bodies of the innocent and used them to house his foul spirit. He’s attacked both my stronghold, and that of the Greystones. We have reason to believe he’s trying to set up Portland as his base of power, and that, of course, concerns you.”

Blaze pulled the gift they’d chosen for Jean-Claude out of her bag and took it out of its velvet wrappings.

“If you do hear anything of his whereabouts, we’d appreciate it if you’d let us know. To that end, we’d hope you’ll accept this gift, as a token of our appreciation for any time and effort you may have to expend on our behalf.”

She rose and handed the gift to Jean-Claude. It was a superbly wrought statuette of Draken origin, made of pure gold, showing a jungle cat peering out from a tangle of vines.

It was exquisite—and priceless.

He turned it over in his hands, his expression inscrutable. “Magnificent,” he said softly. Blaze frowned. There was something… off… in his tone.

He put the statuette on the coffee table and looked at Zane. “You must have many wonderful pieces if you can give away something as precious as this for a small favor. Perhaps I will be able to see them one day.”

“Perhaps,” Zane said noncommittally.

Jean-Claude turned to Blaze. “So this necromancer you claim is such a threat. He must be quite powerful, to concern you so.”

“He is,” Blaze said.

Jean-Claude sat back. “Powerful enough to threaten dragons. That is powerful indeed.”

Zane’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. Jean-Claude waved his hand negligently. “Yes, I know you and your brothers are Draken shifters. I’ve always suspected as much, though I stayed silent out of respect. However, recent events have confirmed my suspicions.”

Zane narrowed his eyes. “And now there’s no longer a need to stay silent?”

Jean-Claude smiled. “No, mon ami. Now there is no longer a need for respect.”

Zane, who’d been about to take a sip of his wine, looked at his drink and then slowly put it down again.