Page 3 of Dragon’s Rogue

Instead, she focused her attention on the spell she was about to cast.

She touched the King of Swords, and began her incantation.

Chapter 2

Zane Greystone and his adopted brother Tyr stood on a balcony at the back of Blaze McKenna’s house, wearing their breaking-and-entering clothes.

Light glowed through the curtains that covered the floor-to-ceiling windows in the French doors, leaving no chinks where a curious burglar could peer inside.

“Tyr,” Zane whispered. His brother, standing at the railing, didn’t respond. He was gazing out over the spectacular view. The whole cityscape of downtown Portland spread out before them, nestled between the tall, forested Vista Ridge where this house was perched, and the Willamette River to the east. The half-wheel of the Fremont Bridge sparkled in the north, ushering the highway 405 traffic over the river, and the glowing ribbon of the Marquam Bridge completed the beltway in the south. Five more bridges spanned the river at street level.

They’d both seen that view many times before—from even greater heights than this—but it never failed to mesmerize Tyr. He’d spend whole nights perched on top of the ridge, staring out at the lighted city. Zane always wondered what he was thinking about when he did that, but Tyr never said.

And now was not the time for them to get lost in rumination. They had a house to burgle.

Zane glanced again at the curtained windows, his skin itching with impatience and unease. They’d waited until they thought their target would be in bed. The plan was get in, get the artifact they needed, get out. Go home and have a beer. And maybe some cake. Because nobody needed a reason for cake.

Except she was still up, dammit. Standing in the way of their mission: to find the Three Seals of the Draken Lord Vyrkos, take them to his magical prison under Mount Hood, and stop him from breaking free and raining fire down on the entire Willamette Valley.

And time was running out.

So far, of the Three Seals, they had found zero. Which meant they sucked as heroes—not exactly news to Zane. But the personal failings of him and his fellow dragons didn’t matter; they had to get their hands on the Seals. Beg, borrow, buy or steal—whatever it took.

This art dealer was the first real lead they’d managed to find in forever. She did a low-profile, high-end business in art and artifacts, ancient and modern.

And a black-market business in magical artifacts, some of them powerful as hell. Their oldest ‘brother,’ Thorne, had been tracking one particular artifact for months now, buyer to buyer, clandestine deal to clandestine deal. The Dragonfly of Morocco. It could well be the Dragonfly Seal—the first of the Three Seals. The trail stopped here, with this reclusive, secretive woman.

Thorne had tried to buy it from her—they had enough treasure in their hoards to pay whatever she wanted without even making a dent. Trouble was, she’d refused all Thorne’s offers to meet and discuss the piece. Finally, desperate, they’d had to resort to… this.

Burglary. And now Zane’s partner in crime was lost in a trance.

TYR! he shouted, in the mind-speech they used when they didn’t want to be overheard. Tyr jumped. Zane said, Take a picture, for fuck’s sake, and help me get this party started.

Tyr turned, leaned his hips on the railing and flipped Zane the bird with his black-gloved middle finger. We can’t start anything. She’s not even in bed yet. What the hell is she still doing up?

It’s only one o’clock, Zane pointed out. Grown people often stay up that late. Hell, maybe she’s a vampire, stays up all night and sleeps in her coffin during the day.

That’s all we need, Tyr said. Although, it is weird that we couldn’t find any pictures of her. Even her DMV photo is blurred.

I told you. Vampire, Zane said. That’s why she refused all of Thorne’s requests to meet with her. She probably looked him up online and figured he’s as dry and tasteless as he looks.

There’s no pictures of him online, either, Tyr pointed out. Or us.

True. The Greystone brothers were notoriously reclusive and camera-shy. Otherwise, it would be hard to explain why they never seemed to age.

Tyr drummed his fingers impatiently, looking at the sliver of light between the curtains. What’s she doing in there? Why doesn’t she just go to bed instead of keeping us waiting? Rude.

Hell if I know. Why don’t you make yourself useful and move the curtains a little, so we can see?

Tyr started to look interested. Maybe she has a date and they’re doing it on the coffee table. I’d watch that.

Zane rolled his eyes. Perv.

Tyr flicked his fingers at the curtains. One of them slowly moved a fraction, creating a small gap. Telekinesis—moving objects without touching them—was one of Tyr’s special powers. Nice if you were spying on someone—not so much when he levitated your bacon off your plate at breakfast and ate it himself.

I guess you’re not as useless as you look, Zane said.

Tyr shrugged. Let me know if there’s anything worth watching. Like nakedness. But Zane saw him glance sideways, out over the balcony railing, as if he were still hearing the call of the cityscape.