Part Thirteen End
Artemis Desmond rocked slowly back and forth, his fingertip running along the edge of his knife. His eyes flicked over to his prisoner and he smiled faintly. “So,” he whispered, quirking an eyebrow at Malcolm, “do you think little Kaylen will arrive before or after I’ve removed your lovely hands?”
The investigator’s eyes narrowed and he turned away from the blond man. His gaze locked onto the wall of the old-fashioned log cabin in which he was being held prisoner. He heard Desmond stand and tensed, preparing himself to the impending torture he was about to suffer.
Just as long fingers wrapped themselves around his hair, the door burst open. “Desmond,” a surprisingly loud voice called.
Malcolm looked up in surprise, then blinked as Phoenix shifted from his dragon form to his human one. “Desmond,” he repeated, his brows drawing together in anger. “You will not hurt him. I will not allow it!”
The human laughed softly and shoved Malcolm away, knocking his head against the wall and rendering him unconscious. Straightening, he said, “You think you can stop me, little one?” Suddenly, he lunged forward, the hand in which he still held the knife sweeping in a large arc as he swung it at his target.
Phoenix dodged and then caught the wrist. He tried to pull the human off his feet, but he was surprised by how strong Desmond was. His golden eyes widened in surprise as Desmond shook off the hold. Smirking, Desmond swung the hand around again, catching the dragon across his chest. With a startled cry, Phoenix fell back. He landed heavily, his eyes falling closed and thick violet blood beginning to stain the front of his shirt.
As Desmond started to lean over his victim, a familiar voice drew his attention away. “Phoenix!” the voice called. Desmond turned toward the speaker and a sly smile touched his lips.
“Kaylen,” he practically purred, turning away from the fallen dragon. He straightened and wiped the strangely colored blood off the knife as he stepped closer to the little elf. “So you did make it to the party.”
Night’s eyes darted to the fallen dragon and, as they flicked back up, Desmond closed the space between them. With a startled squeak, the elf was shoved back against the doorjamb and held in place a foot off the floor by just one of Desmond’s hands. “Let go,” he whispered, his feet kicking futilely as he tried to gain the leverage against the wall that he needed to throw off his opponent.
Desmond chuckled softly and he whispered, “There’s no one to help you now, is there, little one.” His slipped the knife into his belt and then set a hand against the elf’s side. “What do you suppose I should do, now that I’ve got you?” he said, leaning close to Night’s ear.
The elf turned away, shivering subconscious at the feel of the man’s warm breath on his neck. He took a deep breath and then hissed, “How can two people - twins - be so different? You - you’re nothing like Apollo!”
Artemis laughed, a sharp, cold sound and shoved the elf away, causing him to land in a heap on the porch just outside the front door of the cabin. “My brother,” he spat. Shaking his head, he said, “My brother’s always been weak.” He laughed and said, “Even when we were children, he was a crybaby - a wuss!”
“He’s a good person,” Night protested, shaking his head firmly. “He… he actually cared about you and you! How did you repay his kindness? You framed him for murders that you committed!”
“Yeah,” Artemis said, chuckling coldly. He shook his head and said, “The look on my dear little brother’s face when those agents arrested him.” He laughed and closed his eyes briefly, murmuring, “Such fun.”
“Why? Why’d you do it?” the elf said, drawing him back to the present. Night shook his head, tears coming to his eyes and threatening to spill out onto his pale blue cheeks. “And how’d you do it? Who did you… who helped you?”
Desmond smirked and tilted his head to one side thoughtfully. “I guess you deserve to know the whole story before I kill you,” he mused. The gray-green eyes locked on Night’s and he said, “It’s your own fault. Apollo figured out that it was me who’d killed that wench of yours, so I had to get him out of the way.”
He chuckled and shook his head. “It was all so very easy,” he breathed. “Agent Linthil was so unhappy with his work, so bitter about people like you getting promotions instead of him.” He shrugged and said, “So, he switched the prints when those fools took them so they could verify our identities.” He laughed again and said, “Not even the people in the oh-so-mighty Agency could tell us apart without them, except for you and I scared you off, didn’t I?”
His gaze flicked back to the elf and he was surprised to see that Night didn’t seem the least bit afraid now. In fact, he was smiling faintly and the tears that had stained his cheeks only moments ago were gone from the clear brown eyes. “Why are you so damn happy?” he hissed.
“Because,” Night replied, his voice low and musical. “Even if Linthil could somehow convince the ‘fools at the Agency’ that the box you sent me somehow came from a copycat or Apollo while he was in prison, there’s no way they can argue with your confession.”
Desmond’s eyes widened as the little elf pulled back one side of his jacket to reveal the wire he was wearing. “A friendly word of advice, Desmond,” Night said, his eyes closing in a dreamy smile. They opened again and the elf gave him an intense glare. “Don’t mess with Agency technology and communication experts. We’re the ones who give the others all those fine toys to play with.”
Roaring in anger, the man surged forward, but the action was stopped short when he was suddenly tackled to the ground by a large, immovable body. As he struggled against his attacker, something wrapped around his legs, pinning them together. “It’s not wise to cross dragons, either,” a sweet voice said into his ears. “How does the saying go? ‘Meddle not in the affairs of dragons, for you are crunchy and taste good with catsup’?”
Desmond screamed in rage as a long forked tongue brushed against his ear. Night’s laughter was soft and musical, as the elf pulled himself up with both hands on the doorjamb. “Phoenix, you don’t even eat meat,” he said in Faerie, shaking his head in amusement.
“Ah, but Artemis Desmond does not know this,” the dragon replied in the same language, winking one golden eye. “He does not know our ways or even speak our language.”
Leaving Phoenix to secure their prisoner, Night turned and hurried back inside. Kneeling beside Malcolm and pulling the gag out of his mouth, he said, “Are you hurt?”
“Nothing serious,” the investigator replied. He smiled faintly and added, “It’s a bit… embarrassing, being rescued by a lounge singer and flaky dragon.”
“We’re both agents - or were,” the elf said, shrugging slightly.
Malcolm laughed and said, “That’s even more embarrassing!” He shook his head and held up his wrists for Night to untie. “I never even suspected Phoenix was an agent.”
“He works undercover,” Night said, pulling at the knots on the rope that bound his former partner. “It is sort of important for an undercover agent to not look like an undercover agent.”
“Well, yeah,” Malcolm said, nodding. He shook his head and said, “It still feels a bit like I was rescued by Neville Longbottom, though.” He began rubbing the feeling back into his wrists, as Night finally managed to untie the rope.
The elf’s eyes closed briefly in amusement and then he heard a loud crash from outside. Gasping, he stood and bounded over to the door. He was surprised to see Darian leaning against a tree for support as he laughed hysterically. A few feet away, Phoenix was floating up into the air and hovering away from a fallen man, looking very sheepish for having knocked him down.
“Detective Southlake?” Night said, tilting his head to one side, as the police detective sat up. “What are you doing here?”
“We came,” he said, sounding a bit cross, “to rescue you.” He stood and brushed the dried leaves off his pants, then crossed the clearing to stare accusatorially at Phoenix. Southlake scowled darkly, shaking his head in shock. “He… he tried to kill me!” he practically shouted, waving his hand at the dragon.
“You say that as though it were a bad thing,” Malcolm replied, shaking his head slightly as he came up to stand beside Night. He sent the dragon a wink and then turned back to the frustrated police detective. “Honestly, detective, how was Phoenix supposed to know that it was you? He thought it was a maniacal killer, come to do grievous bodily harm to someone he’d decided to protect.”
“You would prefer that I was killed because Phoenix was overly cautious?” Night said, managing to look hurt and incredulous at the same time.
“Well, no,” Southlake replied, blinking slightly. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair and said, “I guess, put like that, it was sort of justified.” He looked back at Phoenix and said, “I would sort of appreciate some kind of apology though.”
“I’m sorry that I pounced on you with my claws at your throat,” Phoenix said, tilting his head to one side and sounding more than a little uncertain about the whole thing.
“Right then,” Southlake said, grinning brightly. He turned to Desmond and said, “We’ve got a cozy little cell all picked out for you, Artemis Desmond. It might seem a little familiar, since your brother’s been spending the last several years there in your place.”
Night sighed softly, relieved that everything seemed to be resolved without anyone else dying. He looked up as Darian managed to get control of himself and said, “What are you doing here?”
The singer bit his lip and shrugged. “I’m… called Gryphon,” he said, sounding a bit sheepish. “Also, sometimes called Insider. Anyway… I’m with the Agency. Phoenix is - or was, is more appropriate, I guess - Phoenix was my partner.”
“Who else is in the Agency that I didn’t know about?” Malcolm asked, shaking his head and looking frustrated. Winking at Night, he whispered, “Must be I’m losing my touch.”
The elf chuckled softly and Phoenix said, “Detective Southlake is an agent too. He was our handler.”
“I was not,” the detective said, his eyes narrowing in anger. He shot Darian a look and the agent chuckled softly.
“No comment,” the singer said wisely. Stepping over to where Desmond still lay, having been tied up by Phoenix, he said, “I’ll just get this garbage into the car, detective. You can take care of things here, right.” He chuckled softly and tugged Desmond to his feet, as Southlake glared at him again. Half-pushing, half-pulling he brought the criminal towards the car.
“How’d you even find us?” Night asked Southlake, shaking his head.
“You have Malcolm to thank for that,” the detective said, holding up a piece of paper. “It was his drawing that gave us the clue we needed to find this place.”
The private investigator stepped off the porch and looked at the scrap of paper. Taking it, he said, “How… how did a drawing of… a puppy help you find this place?”
“A puppy?” Southlake said, scowling in confusion. He shook his head and said, “You mean… that’s not a picture of a cabin by a lake?”
“No,” Malcolm answered, crumpling the paper in his fist. “I… It was just… I had been messing with it earlier. It must have fallen out of my pocket.”
Southlake chuckled softly and then turned, heading back towards his car. “Oh, my God,” he said, laughing so hard that he was having trouble walking straight. He wheezed and chuckled, shaking his head. “It was… a coincidence!” he called to Darian. “He didn’t even leave it on purpose! He was trying to draw a puppy!”
“My artwork is not that bad!” Malcolm protested, looking very hurt. He kicked a stone and glared at Night, who was grinning brightly. “Stop laughing,” he snapped. “My artwork is not that bad!”
“Don’t feel bad,” Phoenix said, his voice gentle. He touched Malcolm’s shoulder and said, “Only think, if your artwork was better, Darian and Southlake would not have found this place.”
Malcolm shook his head in disbelief and said, “Who cares about them? You two were the ones that rescued me!” Stalking away, he said, “Like being rescued by Neville Longbottom! Unbelievable!”
“Neville… Longbottom?” the dragon said, tilting his head slightly. Looking at Night, he said, “Why does he compare me to a character from children’s literature?”
Night shook his head and said, “Let’s just go home, Phoenix.” He smiled faintly and sighed, starting forward. “I’m tired and I want to see my daughter.” Nodding brightly, the dragon scampered away from the cabin.
The investigator’s eyes narrowed and he turned away from the blond man. His gaze locked onto the wall of the old-fashioned log cabin in which he was being held prisoner. He heard Desmond stand and tensed, preparing himself to the impending torture he was about to suffer.
Just as long fingers wrapped themselves around his hair, the door burst open. “Desmond,” a surprisingly loud voice called.
Malcolm looked up in surprise, then blinked as Phoenix shifted from his dragon form to his human one. “Desmond,” he repeated, his brows drawing together in anger. “You will not hurt him. I will not allow it!”
The human laughed softly and shoved Malcolm away, knocking his head against the wall and rendering him unconscious. Straightening, he said, “You think you can stop me, little one?” Suddenly, he lunged forward, the hand in which he still held the knife sweeping in a large arc as he swung it at his target.
Phoenix dodged and then caught the wrist. He tried to pull the human off his feet, but he was surprised by how strong Desmond was. His golden eyes widened in surprise as Desmond shook off the hold. Smirking, Desmond swung the hand around again, catching the dragon across his chest. With a startled cry, Phoenix fell back. He landed heavily, his eyes falling closed and thick violet blood beginning to stain the front of his shirt.
As Desmond started to lean over his victim, a familiar voice drew his attention away. “Phoenix!” the voice called. Desmond turned toward the speaker and a sly smile touched his lips.
“Kaylen,” he practically purred, turning away from the fallen dragon. He straightened and wiped the strangely colored blood off the knife as he stepped closer to the little elf. “So you did make it to the party.”
Night’s eyes darted to the fallen dragon and, as they flicked back up, Desmond closed the space between them. With a startled squeak, the elf was shoved back against the doorjamb and held in place a foot off the floor by just one of Desmond’s hands. “Let go,” he whispered, his feet kicking futilely as he tried to gain the leverage against the wall that he needed to throw off his opponent.
Desmond chuckled softly and he whispered, “There’s no one to help you now, is there, little one.” His slipped the knife into his belt and then set a hand against the elf’s side. “What do you suppose I should do, now that I’ve got you?” he said, leaning close to Night’s ear.
The elf turned away, shivering subconscious at the feel of the man’s warm breath on his neck. He took a deep breath and then hissed, “How can two people - twins - be so different? You - you’re nothing like Apollo!”
Artemis laughed, a sharp, cold sound and shoved the elf away, causing him to land in a heap on the porch just outside the front door of the cabin. “My brother,” he spat. Shaking his head, he said, “My brother’s always been weak.” He laughed and said, “Even when we were children, he was a crybaby - a wuss!”
“He’s a good person,” Night protested, shaking his head firmly. “He… he actually cared about you and you! How did you repay his kindness? You framed him for murders that you committed!”
“Yeah,” Artemis said, chuckling coldly. He shook his head and said, “The look on my dear little brother’s face when those agents arrested him.” He laughed and closed his eyes briefly, murmuring, “Such fun.”
“Why? Why’d you do it?” the elf said, drawing him back to the present. Night shook his head, tears coming to his eyes and threatening to spill out onto his pale blue cheeks. “And how’d you do it? Who did you… who helped you?”
Desmond smirked and tilted his head to one side thoughtfully. “I guess you deserve to know the whole story before I kill you,” he mused. The gray-green eyes locked on Night’s and he said, “It’s your own fault. Apollo figured out that it was me who’d killed that wench of yours, so I had to get him out of the way.”
He chuckled and shook his head. “It was all so very easy,” he breathed. “Agent Linthil was so unhappy with his work, so bitter about people like you getting promotions instead of him.” He shrugged and said, “So, he switched the prints when those fools took them so they could verify our identities.” He laughed again and said, “Not even the people in the oh-so-mighty Agency could tell us apart without them, except for you and I scared you off, didn’t I?”
His gaze flicked back to the elf and he was surprised to see that Night didn’t seem the least bit afraid now. In fact, he was smiling faintly and the tears that had stained his cheeks only moments ago were gone from the clear brown eyes. “Why are you so damn happy?” he hissed.
“Because,” Night replied, his voice low and musical. “Even if Linthil could somehow convince the ‘fools at the Agency’ that the box you sent me somehow came from a copycat or Apollo while he was in prison, there’s no way they can argue with your confession.”
Desmond’s eyes widened as the little elf pulled back one side of his jacket to reveal the wire he was wearing. “A friendly word of advice, Desmond,” Night said, his eyes closing in a dreamy smile. They opened again and the elf gave him an intense glare. “Don’t mess with Agency technology and communication experts. We’re the ones who give the others all those fine toys to play with.”
Roaring in anger, the man surged forward, but the action was stopped short when he was suddenly tackled to the ground by a large, immovable body. As he struggled against his attacker, something wrapped around his legs, pinning them together. “It’s not wise to cross dragons, either,” a sweet voice said into his ears. “How does the saying go? ‘Meddle not in the affairs of dragons, for you are crunchy and taste good with catsup’?”
Desmond screamed in rage as a long forked tongue brushed against his ear. Night’s laughter was soft and musical, as the elf pulled himself up with both hands on the doorjamb. “Phoenix, you don’t even eat meat,” he said in Faerie, shaking his head in amusement.
“Ah, but Artemis Desmond does not know this,” the dragon replied in the same language, winking one golden eye. “He does not know our ways or even speak our language.”
Leaving Phoenix to secure their prisoner, Night turned and hurried back inside. Kneeling beside Malcolm and pulling the gag out of his mouth, he said, “Are you hurt?”
“Nothing serious,” the investigator replied. He smiled faintly and added, “It’s a bit… embarrassing, being rescued by a lounge singer and flaky dragon.”
“We’re both agents - or were,” the elf said, shrugging slightly.
Malcolm laughed and said, “That’s even more embarrassing!” He shook his head and held up his wrists for Night to untie. “I never even suspected Phoenix was an agent.”
“He works undercover,” Night said, pulling at the knots on the rope that bound his former partner. “It is sort of important for an undercover agent to not look like an undercover agent.”
“Well, yeah,” Malcolm said, nodding. He shook his head and said, “It still feels a bit like I was rescued by Neville Longbottom, though.” He began rubbing the feeling back into his wrists, as Night finally managed to untie the rope.
The elf’s eyes closed briefly in amusement and then he heard a loud crash from outside. Gasping, he stood and bounded over to the door. He was surprised to see Darian leaning against a tree for support as he laughed hysterically. A few feet away, Phoenix was floating up into the air and hovering away from a fallen man, looking very sheepish for having knocked him down.
“Detective Southlake?” Night said, tilting his head to one side, as the police detective sat up. “What are you doing here?”
“We came,” he said, sounding a bit cross, “to rescue you.” He stood and brushed the dried leaves off his pants, then crossed the clearing to stare accusatorially at Phoenix. Southlake scowled darkly, shaking his head in shock. “He… he tried to kill me!” he practically shouted, waving his hand at the dragon.
“You say that as though it were a bad thing,” Malcolm replied, shaking his head slightly as he came up to stand beside Night. He sent the dragon a wink and then turned back to the frustrated police detective. “Honestly, detective, how was Phoenix supposed to know that it was you? He thought it was a maniacal killer, come to do grievous bodily harm to someone he’d decided to protect.”
“You would prefer that I was killed because Phoenix was overly cautious?” Night said, managing to look hurt and incredulous at the same time.
“Well, no,” Southlake replied, blinking slightly. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair and said, “I guess, put like that, it was sort of justified.” He looked back at Phoenix and said, “I would sort of appreciate some kind of apology though.”
“I’m sorry that I pounced on you with my claws at your throat,” Phoenix said, tilting his head to one side and sounding more than a little uncertain about the whole thing.
“Right then,” Southlake said, grinning brightly. He turned to Desmond and said, “We’ve got a cozy little cell all picked out for you, Artemis Desmond. It might seem a little familiar, since your brother’s been spending the last several years there in your place.”
Night sighed softly, relieved that everything seemed to be resolved without anyone else dying. He looked up as Darian managed to get control of himself and said, “What are you doing here?”
The singer bit his lip and shrugged. “I’m… called Gryphon,” he said, sounding a bit sheepish. “Also, sometimes called Insider. Anyway… I’m with the Agency. Phoenix is - or was, is more appropriate, I guess - Phoenix was my partner.”
“Who else is in the Agency that I didn’t know about?” Malcolm asked, shaking his head and looking frustrated. Winking at Night, he whispered, “Must be I’m losing my touch.”
The elf chuckled softly and Phoenix said, “Detective Southlake is an agent too. He was our handler.”
“I was not,” the detective said, his eyes narrowing in anger. He shot Darian a look and the agent chuckled softly.
“No comment,” the singer said wisely. Stepping over to where Desmond still lay, having been tied up by Phoenix, he said, “I’ll just get this garbage into the car, detective. You can take care of things here, right.” He chuckled softly and tugged Desmond to his feet, as Southlake glared at him again. Half-pushing, half-pulling he brought the criminal towards the car.
“How’d you even find us?” Night asked Southlake, shaking his head.
“You have Malcolm to thank for that,” the detective said, holding up a piece of paper. “It was his drawing that gave us the clue we needed to find this place.”
The private investigator stepped off the porch and looked at the scrap of paper. Taking it, he said, “How… how did a drawing of… a puppy help you find this place?”
“A puppy?” Southlake said, scowling in confusion. He shook his head and said, “You mean… that’s not a picture of a cabin by a lake?”
“No,” Malcolm answered, crumpling the paper in his fist. “I… It was just… I had been messing with it earlier. It must have fallen out of my pocket.”
Southlake chuckled softly and then turned, heading back towards his car. “Oh, my God,” he said, laughing so hard that he was having trouble walking straight. He wheezed and chuckled, shaking his head. “It was… a coincidence!” he called to Darian. “He didn’t even leave it on purpose! He was trying to draw a puppy!”
“My artwork is not that bad!” Malcolm protested, looking very hurt. He kicked a stone and glared at Night, who was grinning brightly. “Stop laughing,” he snapped. “My artwork is not that bad!”
“Don’t feel bad,” Phoenix said, his voice gentle. He touched Malcolm’s shoulder and said, “Only think, if your artwork was better, Darian and Southlake would not have found this place.”
Malcolm shook his head in disbelief and said, “Who cares about them? You two were the ones that rescued me!” Stalking away, he said, “Like being rescued by Neville Longbottom! Unbelievable!”
“Neville… Longbottom?” the dragon said, tilting his head slightly. Looking at Night, he said, “Why does he compare me to a character from children’s literature?”
Night shook his head and said, “Let’s just go home, Phoenix.” He smiled faintly and sighed, starting forward. “I’m tired and I want to see my daughter.” Nodding brightly, the dragon scampered away from the cabin.