Prologue
(These events occurred just before Lamont was called in to help Giorgio and Enda, seen in Magical Beast.)
Lamont was struggling to make a decision – a vital decision considering the week he’d had. On the table in front of him was a plate of Naguib’s spicy meatballs. On another plate was a rib eye steak. And yes, if anyone asked, he was dining alone. His decision centered on which one of the meals he should tackle first.
“Stuff it,” he muttered. Picking up a fork and the meatball plate, he scraped the spicy concoction over his steak plate. It was midweek. Pier888 on the Nile wasn’t overly busy, and Lamont was hungry. It took a lot of fuel to keep his hellhound happy, especially when they hadn’t had a chance to shift for a while.
I could do that tonight,he mused as he chomped his food.Finish the food, polish off a bottle of wine, and then round off the night with a run across the wastelands.He could’ve headed out to the desert – it was a lot closer. But Lamont was feeling a tug in his soul. A feeling that set his fur on edge and made him feel as though either something was coming or he was missing something.
Lamont wasn’t a seer. It’s not like he could know why he felt the way he did, but he figured a good run under a red sky instead of a black or blue one would be the sort of thing Lord Hades would recommend.
His cover was that of a freelance journalist specializing in in-depth stories about corrupt officials, the rich and famous, historical places, and anything else that caught his fancy. His job allowed him to travel, which Lamont really enjoyed, and he had fun, especially writing lengthy historical articles about livesand places he had firsthand knowledge of. One of the reasons he loved being in Egypt was the history evident on almost every street corner.
Focus on the moment,Lamont reminded himself, pushing his empty plate away and reaching for his wine glass. Sniffing before he took a sip, Lamont smiled as the liquid coated his tongue. He wasn’t a wine buff, and most of the time he didn’t know one brand from another. But he had a few favorites, and his current bottle was one of them.
Through the windows, he could see the lights flicker across the water. Surrounded by the murmur of the other diners, Lamont thought about his latest piece, mentally tweaking sentences despite the file having already been submitted. It was a habit of his – Lamont always seemed to think of his best sentences after the writing process was done. Checking facts was second nature to him, but writing the witty and interesting prose needed to join one idea to the next usually took more time than a deadline allowed.
Half an hour later, Lamont was draining the last of his wine when he jolted. The last thing he expected to hear was his Master’s voice piercing his thoughts.
Giorgio needs help protecting his mate. Meet him at his Tuscany estate where Coda will have your full instructions.
“Damn. So much for a run downstairs.” Lamont got up from his chair, checking his table and pockets to make sure he had his phone and wallet. His meal was already paid for, so all he needed to do was take his leave. He’d have to translocate, and that required privacy – not the sort of thing he could do in a restaurant in front of the other diners.
Making his way to the entrance, Lamont was focused on his phone, checking to see if there were any messages from Giorgio.There was one message from Damon, who’d apparently gotten the same summons, and Lamont sent off a quick thumbs up, acknowledging he was on his way.
He was almost at the door when a hand on his arm stopped him. “Hey, aren’t you Lamont? You wrote a piece about that politician last year for the NYT?”
Lamont looked up. The words were in French, but the man looked American. The speaker was a slight man, with a mop of black hair and bright eyes hiding behind thick-rimmed glasses – he looked familiar, but Lamont couldn’t place the name. “Yes, that’s right,” he said, nodding slowly. “Who’s asking?”
“Sorry.” The hand left Lamont’s arm as it disappeared into the man’s jacket pocket. He pulled out a card and held it out. “Ewen Cross. I’m a journalist for The Times based in Manhattan. Look, I might have a lead for you.” Ewen glanced around, and Lamont noticed two large men scowling in their direction. “A very strong lead. I can’t talk now, but can you please call me tomorrow?Please.It’s really important…”
“Hey.” One of the men came forward, speaking in guttural English. “You’re coming with us.” He grabbed Ewen’s arm, tugging him away.
“I’m in Egypt for two more days. Call me, please.”
Shit.Every instinct in Lamont’s body – and that of his hellhound – wanted to go after the man. He was clearly in some sort of trouble and wasn’t keen on his present company.
Hey, where are you? I’m already here.
Double shit. Lamont looked at the card. Just Ewen’s name, job title, email address and cellphone number.Let’s hope this business with Giorgio gets handled quickly,he thought, tucking the card in his wallet.He wasn’t worried about any potentialleads, but he definitely wanted to know Ewen was all right. Neither of the men who’d blocked Ewen from Lamont’s sight seemed friendly.Lamont was still feeling unsettled as he found a deserted doorway and translocated to Tuscany.
Chapter One
Close to five days on the Giorgio situation, another day in Australia, a full day lost to running in the Underworld, because Lamont really needed to clear his head and stretch his legs, it was the better part of a full week before Lamont translocated back to Egypt and started calling Ewen’s number.
He’d sent texts before that – every night he’d been staying in Tuscany. The first few were letting Ewen know he’d had to go away, but he’d be back soon. Then, when the texts weren’t showing as being read, Lamont tried calling from Tuscany. The call went straight to voicemail, and as Lamont was busy with his packmate, he couldn’t leave a number for a callback.
He could’ve left his number once he was back in Egypt and he did. Lamont tried that twice. But both times, he got told the phone was either out of service or turned off. Lamont had caught a hint of Ewen’s scent when they’d met at Pier888, so starting from there, Lamont tried tracking him.
The only place Lamont could find the slightest trace of that scent was outside the restaurant. Clearly, Ewen got into a car.Willingly?Lamont had no idea, but his gut instinct was telling him that would be a “no.” Two days pounding the streets, and two nights spent calling hotels asking for “Ewen Cross,” and Lamont was left with the impression that the man had never even been in Egypt, even though he knew darn well he had been.
All he had was a faint scent on a pavement, the card Ewen had given him, and a nagging sense he needed to find Ewen as soon as possible – a need that had nothing to do with a potential lead. Lamont and his hound wanted to find the man, and Lamont wasn’t going to question why.
That was why, ten full days after Lamont and Ewen had their thirty second meeting, Lamont walked into the front doors of The New York Times.
Louise looked up from her computer screen, and her whole face lit up. “Lamont. Oh my goodness, I didn’t know you were back in New York.”
She stood up from behind the reception desk, smoothing down her bright yellow dress. The color should’ve clashed with her red hair, but on Louise it worked.