Dragon Heartstring(10)

“Wouldn’t be much of a sport,” grumbled Pierson.

“That’s absolutely true,” I said. “There are few instances in our society where guns are meant for a guaranteed kill. If there’s an intruder in your home, you want to stop them, wound them. Even the Gladium Police Precinct does not sanction the use of Volt guns. Have you ever wondered why?”

Terrence waved a hand with a grunt of disgust. “That’s just politics. If we could remove all the red tape, they’d be allowed to use Volt guns. I mean, how do we know when these savages plan to turn on us? We’ve got to be ready.”

Silence fell across the table. The head of the board shuffled his papers again. I stood, glaring down the table at Terrence.

“And there you have it gentlemen. Bigotry at its best.” I buttoned my suit jacket and walked toward the door. I turned once more to the hushed group of men. Human men. “But you’d better take a look around and consider your own motives, gentlemen. Gladium has been declared by law an equal opportunity state. While I stand here in this room, I see not one Morgon representing their own kind while you make your accusations against them. Perhaps that’s because no Morgon would choose to keep a weapon on the market that murders their own kind so they can make another buck.”

I didn’t bother to excuse myself but stormed out before I lunged across the room and punched Terrence in his perfect white teeth. I could hardly think straight as I made my way to the parking garage and clicked my fob to unlock my black SUV. As soon as I settled behind the wheel, my car comm bleeped. My secretary was calling.

“Answer,” I commanded my voice-activated car comm, one of my most successful products since I took over Cade Technologies.

Nadine popped on-screen, smiling brightly as usual. The woman was never in a bad mood. “Good morning, Mr. Cade.”

“Morning, Nadine.”

“You’ve had a request from Aron Grayson’s office for an appointment tomorrow morning. Your schedule is clear, but I know you often make your rounds at the stores on Thursdays. I wanted to check with you first.”

Aron Grayson wanted an appointment with me? What a coincidence after the Chamber of Commerce meeting I just left. I hadn’t spoken to the man since I’d left him in the burn unit at the hospital four years ago. I’d seen him at charities, but had stayed well away from him to avoid conflict.

“Sir?”

“Uh, yes. Go ahead and schedule him in. And move whatever else I have this morning to tomorrow. I’ll go into the city today for my site visits.”

“Very well, sir.”

Curious why Aron was reaching out after all this time, I clicked off the comm. But I was fairly sure I knew the answer. We’d been friends once. But our friendship died long ago.

Switching my thoughts and my direction toward the Warwick District, I smiled. Today would be a good day to drop in on our tech shop there, one block over from Sable Street.





Chapter 4





“Carra, where’s the Weber chart?” I asked before stepping in to see the last patient still waiting.

“Oh, sorry, Ms. Icewing. I thought I’d put it in the door cubby.” She popped off her chair and pulled the file before I could beat her to it. “Right here.”

“That’s fine. Thank you.”

I’d hired Carra with the hope that a kind, human face in the front office would diminish the fears of our few human clients who risked coming to a free clinic run by Morgon healers.

“What’s the injury? No broken bones, I hope.”

“No. A stomach ailment only, his mother said.”

“Good,” I said with a heavy sigh. “I’m fatigued from healing this morning’s construction workers.”

Using Morgon magic to heal always drained the Icewing healer. The greater the injury, the more energy was required and the more tired we’d become. The two Morgon men whose legs were crushed under a fallen pylon needed extensive healing. I was nearly wiped out for the day.

Carra returned to the cabinet where she was filing charts from this morning’s patients. “You should take the day off tomorrow to rest.”

“Yes. I probably should.” I glanced at the human child’s chart, noting he was a new patient, but the mother had been into the clinic before. “This one should be quick, though,” I said, entering room three where Daniel Weber sat, clutching at his stomach. His mother straightened when I entered.

“Hello, Ms. Weber. Good to see you again. How is your hand?”

“Fine. Much better, thank you. Doesn’t hurt at all.”

She lifted her hand and showed me the shining, starburst-patterned scar spanning from her knuckles to her wrist where an overturned pot of scalding water had given her a severe burn. After I’d healed her with cold-fire, the pain had vanished, but I’d certainly left my mark.

“And Daniel, it seems you have some sort of stomach bug?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he mumbled.

His face was pale, and his palms were cold when I knelt and took hold of his hands.

“Okay, Daniel. I want you to look at me and relax,” I said, placing one palm on his belly and the other on his forehead. “I’m just going to see what’s going on with your tummy. You won’t feel a thing.”

He nodded.