Dragos Goes to Washington (Elder Races #8.5)(34)

Very good, Dragos said. Leisurely he stood. “Thank you for coming, Ben. Can I pour you a drink?”

The president laughed. “You’ve been very generous with the alcohol this evening, Dragos. I think I’d better pass on any more until we have some dinner.”

“About that dinner,” said Dragos.

As he spoke, he moved to the liquor tray, refreshed his drink and poured a second scotch for the president. With a quick glance at Pia, he raised his eyebrows at her in inquiry. She looked tense again, and very pale. Dark patches of feverish red touched her cheeks. Twisting her fingers together, she shook her head.

Johnson laughed again, only this time he sounded uneasier. He looked back and forth at Dragos and Pia. “Don’t tell me there’s been another kitchen accident.”

“No, there hasn’t.” Dragos turned to face the president, holding both drinks. “I’m going to ask you for one thing—only one, but it’s going to be hard for you for a little while.”

“What’s that?” President Johnson’s intelligent expression had turned closed and wary.

Walking over to him, Dragos held out a scotch. “We need to have a frank, tough conversation, you and I. And whatever you may think, or however you may react while we’re having it, I need for you to hear me out.”

Chapter Nine

Johnson searched his gaze then turned to study Pia’s anxious figure. His gaze fell to her twisted hands. “Okay,” he said simply, reaching out to accept the scotch. “I believe we can have a civilized discourse. Now, what’s this about?”

Here goes, Dragos thought. He met Pia’s gaze as he said, “In the last hour and a half, one of your humans murdered the vice president’s husband, and they tried to make it look like a Wyr did it.”

Johnson’s eyes narrowed, and his frame stiffened. “Murdered—Victor is dead?”

“Very dead,” Dragos told him bluntly. He swallowed scotch. “His body is in a hall closet. The killer used some kind of glove with either razor blades or knives attached to the end of the fingers and thumb. My staff is looking for the murder weapon now. The motion used was an inward, slashing one, as if the killer went to grab Colton’s throat one-handed, only instead of strangling him, he closed his fingers and yanked. The carotid arteries on both sides of Colton’s throat were cut. He bled out within ninety seconds, tops.”

Outside the library, someone called out. Dragos could hear the vice president’s voice in the distance, asking, Have you seen Victor?

Dragos tuned her out.

Johnson remained standing where he was, his tall, distinguished figure vibrating with reaction, expression blazing with shock and outrage. “Victor is dead, and you’re claiming that a human did it?!”

“It’s a fact, Ben,” Dragos said. “I can prove it.”

Turning, Dragos walked to the desk, set aside his scotch and began to unwrap the large piece of meat on the tray. When he had opened the package, he discovered it was a leg of lamb, nicely covered with a thin layer of white fat. Excellent. The fat would show every mark.

Pia moved to sit with a plop at one end of the sofa. Both she and Johnson watched Dragos, their expressions filled with fascination and repugnance.

“The killer was cunning,” Dragos told them. “He put a great deal of planning into the murder. He dodged security cameras and made a murder weapon that would simulate a Wyr’s capabilities. But he was stupid too. The murder weapon didn’t simulate a Wyr’s talons. Wyr handgrips are stronger than humans. Maybe he was concerned his human grip wouldn’t be able to strike a killing blow. If I were him, I would have wanted to make sure I could cut the carotid arteries, so I would have been focused on making sure my blades were very sharp. That’s what he did. Watch closely now—these are what my talons look like.”

As Johnson and Pia stared, he held out one hand and made the slight shift that brought out his talons. Splaying his fingers, he held them up for the others to see.

Johnson said, “I’ve never seen that in person.”

“Most people haven’t,” Dragos told him.

The president looked at Pia. “Do you have talons like that too?”

She shook her head with a smile that looked strained. “Only predator Wyr have talons like that. I’m an herbivore. I don’t have the nature or the personality for it.”

“You’re perfectly safe, Ben,” Dragos told the president. “You can step closer, if you like. Do you see how the talons are shaped?”

Fascination overtook Johnson’s shock and outrage, and he took a few steps toward Dragos. “They’re curved and angled to a point, from the fingertips to the tip.”

“Exactly. They’re extremely sharp, but they’re also natural. They’re made of a hard protein called keratin—which means they aren’t exactly uniform either, not like a manufactured blade is. Watch what happens when I make a wound like the ones that killed Colton.”

Striking quickly, Dragos grabbed hold of the leg of lamb. He had to pin the meat to the tray with one hand while he tightened his grip and pulled with the other. Flesh tore underneath his talons. Both Johnson and Pia flinched back, but when he was finished, they moved closer to stare at what lay on the tray.

Stepping away from the lamb to give them a little space, Dragos let his talons retract as he pulled out a handkerchief and wiped off his hands. It was getting noisy outside. Questions were being asked, along with demands.