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“Because it was weird, but not unheard of. The first drone I sent in was low-band, passive scans. It’s silent and fast. When that first scan came back blank, I reset it and ran it again. Still nothing. So, I switched to a modified Recon Hawk. It’s loaded with an active echo-mapping protocol.”
He switches the screen to yet another view.
“What the fuck is active echo-mapping protocol?” Silas asks, still clicking that damn pen.
I let him ask, because I’m wondering the same, and no chance in seven hells am I interrupting Dax when he’s in full tech nerd breakdown mode.
“It pings the environment like radar,” Dax explains. “Except, instead of just bouncing off surfaces, it uses electromagnetic and infrared sweeps. If anything is cloaked in magic, it makes the caster queasy. Even if the wards were placed years ago, it disrupts the resonance.”
He swaps screens one more time.
“This time it came back distorted,” he points out a new image of an aerial view, and now, it’s clear the drone was picking something up. It still looks halfway to glitching out, though.
“Weird, but not blank. Something was disrupting the signal, which is normal when there are wards involved.”
He turns to Caelan, his expression hesitant. “I didn’t like the data. But there wasn’t enough to pull you. Ward magic changes almost as fast as technology. It can vary depending on the user, the ritual, and the intention when it’s cast. When I finally started getting readings, I just assumed Varenthrall hired some new age Vamp Mage, and I hadn’t run into wards like those before.”
He sits back down, still glaring at the scans. “None of the data made me believe I should pull the op, so I gave the green light.”
“I didn’t feel anything when I was there,” Caelan adds, frowning. “No wards at all.”
Dax pins him with a look. “Exactly my point. I told you before you left that I’d run into low-level interference that might be ward-based. You told me you’d feel anything long before you walked into a trap.” He turns back to Gavran. “It could have been anything. Residual magic from an old foundation, or even a spell cast on the property decades ago. It didn’t read like a trap, so I didn’t treat it like one. I gave Caelan the information and trusted him to make the call.”
“What about tonight?” Gav pours another drink and leans forward. “What happened then?”
“I sent the first drone out earlier—before you left Redmark and as soon as you told me where you were headed. It was fine. Registered everything expected and then some.”
I narrow my eyes at him in frustration. “So what the fuck caused the glitch, then? How did those Deadwalkers get the drop on us?”
Why go through all of that shit from the recon last night if it has nothing to do with what happened tonight?
For a second, shame burns bright in our Bond, but he mutes it quickly and starts flipping through data on his screen, re-syncing it to the wall monitor.
“That’s what I’m trying to understand,” he responds coolly. “This is the scan from tonight. It’s all normal. Heat signatures, Bio signatures, all of it. Whatever was in that warehouse was so targeted that it was only affecting a maybe fifteen-foot radius.”
“Maybe we’re dealing with a different caster?” Silas suggests.
Dax shakes his head. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen anything like it. This kind of thing isn’t usually centralized. I had bio and heat signature readings from both Gav and Vae right until they stepped five feet into the building.” He blows out a long breath and frowns. “I sent the Hawk back in after you guys left, and the scans in that specific area of the warehouse were identical to the scans I got last night.”
“So Varenthrall isn’t just working with Severed,” Silas muses. “He’s got a magic-wielder on his payroll, too. Ain’t that just the cherry on a shit sundae.”
“Do we know the two are connected, then?” Caelan asks. “The warehouse and Varenthrall?”
I notice a muscle jumping in his jaw. His body’s coiled tight, and he honestly looks ready to jump out of his seat. Where does he think he’s going to go, back to Varenthrall’s to demand answers?
“They must be,” Gav reasons calmly. “Those were extremely specific pieces of magical interference that acted identically.”
“There’s something else,” My voice cuts through the room. It’s a little too loud. A little unsteady. I wince and reach for the bottle of whiskey.
Gav leans over Caelan and snags it, passing it to me without judgment. I pour myself a large tumbler full and don’t even feel bad about it. Holding the glass in both hands, I focus my eyes on the amber liquid so I don’t have to look at my teammates and packmates for this next part.
“My Curse didn’t go off randomly tonight. I didn’t just… lose my shit.”
Great job, Vaelenor. That’s totally not at all fucking overly-defensive or anything.
“No one thought you did, Vae,” Caelan says in a soothing tone that I kind of hate and kind of love at the same time. “You’ve worked for centuries to wrangle it. No one is questioning your ability to keep control.”
That makes me hesitate, just for a moment. For a single blissful second, I let myself believe him. Let myself believe that my inability to control my Curse isn’t a reflection of my control or my position with the Bloodbound.
