Cloak of Dragons by Moeller Jonathan

Author:Moeller, Jonathan
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, azw3
Tags: elves, cloak games, nadia moran, morvilind
Publisher: Jonathan Moeller

Chapter 10: Machine Parts

I wanted to go to Max Sarkany’s warehouse at once, but there was some logistical stuff to do first.

For one thing, I didn’t want to leave my bike on the street for that long. Della said I could put it in the building’s underground parking, and she gave me a keycard. I collected my bike and stashed it and my helmet in the secured parking, though I kept my backpack and its tools with me.

While I did that, Della changed into clothing more suitable for surreptitious investigation.

At least, into was she thought was clothing more suitable.

I returned to the lobby and found Della, Helen, and Shawn waiting for me. Shawn and Helen still wore their suits. Della, however, had changed to snug black jeans, high-heeled black boots, and a hooded gray sweatshirt. I was willing to be that I had paid less for a few of my cars than she had spent upon her outfit. She had also donned a pair of sunglasses and a blue ball cap adorned with the logo of New York’s football team (or baseball, I get the two mixed up). She did look striking, but this was the important part – she wasn’t immediately recognizable as Della Sarkany, famous singer, unless you got right in her face.

“Ready?” I said.

“Of course,” said Della. “This way. Helen will drive.”

She strode towards the elevator, and Shawn, Helen, and I followed. I wondered if Shawn and Helen ever got days off. We took the elevator to the subterranean parking levels, and Della walked towards an expensive-looking Royal Motors SUV. Helen took the driver’s seat, Shawn the front passenger spot, and Della and I got in the back.

So. I was going on a road trip with a dragon. That was new.

Music started playing over the speakers as Helen steered out of the parking ramp and into traffic, and I recognized Della’s voice singing a song accompanied by guitars and kettle drums.

“Do you usually listen to your own songs?” I said.

“Of course,” said Della. “How else shall I achieve excellence?” Her expression grew distant. “My next album shall be in honor of my uncle. One of sorrow and loss, and singing of grief.”

I shifted a little, and I felt a twinge of guilt. “Um. I am sorry for your loss. I can see your uncle meant a great deal to you.”

“Thank you,” murmured Della, and she stared out the window, watching the streets of Manhattan go by. “It is strange. Dragons live so much longer than humans or Elves. We are stronger and more powerful. And yet…we are all made equals by grief, are we not? Long-lived we may be, but we are still not immortal. Death makes equals of us all in the end.”

“I suppose it does,” I said.

“Have you lost someone you loved, Worldburner?” said Della, still gazing out the window.

I shifted again. “Ah…my parents. They died when I was young. A very long time ago.”

Della turned her head to look at me, the green eyes keen.

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