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However, without hearing the full story from everyone around Thameles, the truth would remain buried.
Iron and silver dragons tended to get along well, better than most of the colors. My parents liked to break the mold, and if the other dragons came poking their snouts into my family’s business, they’d discover that a crabby navy dragon had been tamed by an even crabbier red and orange one. My father’s abilities, which involved conjuring shadows and summoning in the deepest forms of darkness possible, had passed on to me in one of the safer forms.
I never needed to worry about buying blackout curtains; I could surround myself in sufficient shadows to guarantee appropriate levels of darkness for my comfort. Outside of securing good sleep for myself, I didn’t use my ability.
At last check, my range rarely extended beyond three feet.
My mother’s parentage offered her the best of the red and orange dragon worlds, although she pretended she couldn’t breathe fire to lure people into a false sense of security.
At her whim, she could control the temperatures of her flames to the point she could reduce even bone and teeth to ash. As a child, she’d entertained me with her cold flames, too.
It had taken me a little longer than most to learn untamed fires hurt like hell when touched.
My parents would hang me up to dry if they found out I’d gone to Dragon Heights. Then they’d take the place over.
For the sake of every dragon in Dragon Heights, I needed to stay well below the radar and keep convincing my parents, through my letters, all was as well as it could be for someone accused of necromancy in Miami.
After I exhausted the easy information on the shrine killings, I investigated the city’s news outlets for word on brothel attacks, uncovering a treasure trove of reports from all wards.
A month ago, a woman had been killed, but everyone else had been mentioned as attacked with minor injuries. The most detailed of the articles described a brothel worker in the White Ward suffering from a six inch gash across her arm. The weapon had been listed as a makeshift blade.
Had I stayed in Miami, had I not been accused of necromancy, I would have transitioned to hunting serial killers. My captain had already taken the first steps to discuss my transition to specialization in the days before my departure.
My regrets continued to haunt me, and I struggled with my urge to check in on Erik and find out what sort of life he lived without me in it.
Had he found someone new? Enough time had passed he may have moved on. No, that he should have moved on. The thought of him warming a bed other than mine would continue to dig holes in my soul until time got around to doing its work.
If it ever did.
I reminded myself that helping the brothel women would pay my rent and do good in my current world. The memories the case stirred would make the work painful, but I was no stranger to doing painful but necessary things.
Leaving had been necessary, else I would have destroyed us both. He deserved to be a chief, doing what he did best.
I deserved to keep living and breathing, innocent of the crime leveled my way. Pulling out my lineage would have cleared me of charges, I supposed, but it would have exposed my parents as dragons.
Only I would face the worst of the consequences for my choices. My parents likely faced some, as we’d made a point of getting together every week for dinner. On the days Erik had off, he had come as well.
I could only hope the letters I sent them convinced them all was well enough, although I erased as much evidence of living in Dragon Heights as possible. I never talked about wards, dragons, or rains of strange critters. I’d mentioned renting from a brothel matron, a common enough practice they’d only eliminate a few prudish cities in the United States using those criteria.
The talk of pursuing work as a secretary would bother them.
From the day I’d turned four, I’d wanted to be a cop and do good for my community.
Having a chance to do good again was like breathing in fresh air after a long time in a dusty room, smothering slowly but surely.
I forced my thoughts away from Miami to my two jobs, both of which would push my rusty skills to their limits. Solving crimes with the resources of the police department had been difficult enough. What could I realistically hope to find without any help at all?
I had no choice but to find out.
* * *
Saturday, April 18, 2167
The Gray Ward
Dragon Heights, Wyoming
A tiny lemur squeaked at me from its perch on an overturned garbage can near my apartment. At a little before midnight, no one would be at the bounty pickup point, which left me with the choice of abandoning the unfortunate critter or taking it home with me.