Chapter Twenty-Eight

Callum

“T hat’s not good enough,” I growled, standing my ground.

The receptionist frowned. “Sir, I’m sorry, but they aren’t here yet.”

“Then. Get. Them.” I bit the words out one by one, letting my displeasure be known. “This has been going on for over a week at this point. There’s no good reason for it to take this long.”

I was out of patience. The administrative section had dragged their feet for too long, and I was done letting them give me excuses. Kindness just wasn’t working with these bozos, so it was time for a different tactic.

“There’s a waiting list,” the receptionist said. “We process it in order of arrival. When we get to you, we’ll get to you.”

I pointed behind his desk to the door that led to the archives. “They’re right in there. It will take a few minutes of searching. No more. You know it as well as I do.”

“Your request is in the queue. When it's your turn, we will find the files you’re looking for.”

“No.”

“No?”

“Exactly.”

I walked around his desk and started toward the doorway.

“You can’t do that!”

“Actually, I can,” I called over my shoulder as he pushed back his chair and raced after me. “I’m a palace guard. I have authorization to be anywhere. Including your precious archives. Even if I didn’t, I still would. But you can’t really stop me.”

I pushed open the door.

It didn’t budge.

“You need a key to go in there,” the receptionist said haughtily as he arrived at my side, looking very pompous and full of himself.

“A key?” I asked, trying to sound ignorant and confused.

“Yes, a key, like this one,” he said, jingling the hanging from a lanyard around his neck. “It opens doors. It means you have permission to be in there.”

“Great, thanks,” I said, grabbing and pulling it free. “Guess I have permission now.”

Before he could protest, I slid the key home, flung the door open, and stepped into a room full of filing cabinets. I had no idea where the reports might be. But they were in here. I just had to find them.

“Listen, asshole,” the receptionist snarled, following me in and dropping all pretense of nicety. “You may be a guard, but that still doesn’t give you permission to barge in here and do this. There will be consequences.”

I smiled broadly, showing all my teeth. “Go ahead and try. Whatever you do, when it’s discovered you’ve been actively interfering with this investigation, you’ll be in a lot more trouble. I guarantee you that much.”

The man’s eyes narrowed until the blue was barely visible.

“Where are the guard reports?” I asked, scanning the titles of various cabinets to see what was held within.

“Why would I tell you?” he spat.

My hand shot out, grabbing his neck and hauling him close until I could see the whites of his eyes. “Because if you don’t,” I snarled, “I’m going to make your life very uncomfortable. Got it?”

The man opened his mouth to say something that very much was not the answer I wanted, so I squeezed. His eyes bugged out a little, and he subsided into silence before looking off to my left.

“Better,” I said, throwing him to the floor and following the row of filing cabinets until I found the ones I wanted. Then I had to start searching by date. It took a few minutes of rifling through, but I found them.

“See?” I said, pulling them out and setting the papers on top of the other files. “Now, how hard was that? You could have done this in thirty seconds when I first asked a week ago.”

“Fuck you,” the receptionist snarled from behind me before snatching the files and taking off.

“Sonofabitch!” I cried, giving chase.

I hadn’t heard him sneak up on me, nor had I expected him to take off with the reports to try to keep me from reading them. Maybe there was something to the theory that the receptionist had been actively impeding my efforts. I’d assumed it was due to being lazy or disliking me from the start.

As I chased him out of the archives and into the palace hallways, it was evident that there was much more to it than incompetence.

Although it was slow going, I gained on the receptionist with every turn and straightaway. Soon, he was only a few steps ahead, the papers clutched tightly in his right hand.

“Give me those!” I leaped for him as he slowed to start his turn.

Grabbing him around the waist, I tackled him to the floor, whipping my body around and dropping my hip as I flung him down.

There was an explosive whoof as the air was driven from his lungs, and papers went everywhere, falling around us like snow in a snowglobe as we wrestled.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I hissed, slamming my forearm down into his face. “Cease!”

“Fuck you.”

Flame appeared in his hands, and I yanked my head to the side as fire filled the air around us. I rolled clear and came to my feet, but by the time the curtain of red-orange flame had dissipated, the receptionist was gone.

All that was left were the few embers floating from the sky that had belonged to the reports filed by Dyson and Felix.

“Callum?”

I looked up as Cleye came charging down the hall.

“What the hell was that? Are you okay?” He extended a hand, helping me to my feet.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I said, brushing ash off my shirt.

I filled him in about the receptionist.

“He must be in league with Dyson,” Cleye said.

“I’m inclined to agree with you after this.” I waved my hand around. “But why? Is this a larger conspiracy? Did Noa stumble onto something she shouldn’t have?”

“You think that could be what this is all about?” Cleye asked.

“Maybe. I don’t know why else the receptionist would do this. Do you?”

“No.”

I grimaced. “We’re running out of options here, Cleye. I’ve only got a couple of ideas left. If none of those pan out …”

He nodded solemnly, understanding that there would be little else we could do to find his sister’s killer. “What’s next?”

“Next,” I said slowly, “is questioning Dyson’s family. See if they know anything I don’t. If maybe he was acting weird before he disappeared, anything like that.”

Cleye nodded. “Smart. Do you want some help?”

“Maybe.” I shrugged. “Once I figure out the avenue of attack, I’ll let you know.”

We parted, and Cleye continued on, but I stayed in the hallway for some time, thinking it over and trying to puzzle it out.

All I got was a headache. There were too many questions and exactly zero answers.

Whatever I did next, I vowed, would produce results.