Star Eater
Chapter Five

“The Sharpes have made another acquisition,” Silas growled as he and his brother Joseph walked down from the main house.

The two brothers were close in looks despite the age difference. Silas was nearing fifty-five and it showed in the grey streaks running through his short brown hair. Joseph barely hit forty. The dramatic age difference was typical in many daemon families, however, when there were archdaemons around.

“I saw,” Joseph said.

He was of a height with his brother, around six feet, but Joseph was leaner, his face longer like his mother’s. Silas, on the other hand, had a broad forehead, like a bull’s. When he was in his daemon form, that’s where he was double-crowned with horns, a king among them. They both bore the famous red skin of their family blood, but Joseph did not have the hereditary crown of horns that most of his male family bore. He did, however, have wings—another genetic gift of the Wrights. sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ FɪndNøvel.ɴᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“I think it’s time we branched out,” Silas said.

“I agree. There are a few places I have begun making inquiries to expand our enterprises,” Joseph said.

Silas nodded. “Take Mason under your wing,” he said. “The boy gives me a headache.”

Joseph looked at his brother askance.

“He’s untried,” he said. He glanced at his own second, Cole, a daemon he’d chosen to groom since chances of his breeding another heir were slim.

With his mate passed, the percentage of a sexual encounter producing a male child had slipped to under thirty, or so the daemon scientists said. It was possible. Joseph, himself, was proof enough of that, but it was just so rare he’d already moved on to another strategy. He, at least, didn't need to produce an heir. He wasn’t head of the family. That was Silas’s job and he’d managed it three times. Unfortunately for them, the only one left was Mason. More’s the pity, Joseph thought, studying Cole.

Cole was a powerful male with ambition and intelligence. His breeding was good and he’d proven a loyal and willing soldier. Joseph had watched him detach another daemon’s head with an upper cut once. It was a beautiful example of power. Beside him, Mason seemed young and sheltered.

“Tonight, I’ll indoctrinate him,” Silas said. “The blood will prove true and then you’ll have someone you can mold properly.”

They were almost at the cars now. Joseph didn’t argue with his brother, but he didn’t agree. Mason had spent far too much time with the women. Joseph privately suspected he might even be gay. Daemons wouldn’t follow a gay leader. The Wright clan certainly wouldn’t. But how to broach this gently? Or was it better to set Mason up for failure, and then let his disgrace be reason enough to step away from the family business? Perhaps that would be kinder. Joseph glanced at Cole again. Perhaps Mason’s death would make a new archdaemon. Not of the blood, true, but if he were given to one of the girls, Ava maybe, then the circle could be closed.

Joseph’s mind began working out the details as a minorling opened the door for Silas. The minorling’s suit was wrinkled and Joseph frowned at him. He motioned at Cole who, knowing his master, already understood what had displeased him. Cole took the minorling aside to make a comment on it—a comment that would occur out of sight and the minorling may or may not survive. Honestly, they were going to a business meeting. None of the minorlings could look in poor order.

Silas slid into the car. Before Joseph could follow, the front gate of the compound burst open and a crowd of armed men charged inwards. The minorlings all reached for guns as men screaming, “FBI! Put your hands up!” surrounded them.

Joseph shook his head at the minorlings, and put his own hands up.

Silas slid back out of the car. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded.

One man, in a cheap suit with a bulletproof vest over it, stepped forward, waving a pair of handcuffs.

“Silas Wright, you’re under arrest,” he said, flashing a triumphant smile.

Both Silas and Joseph knew Agent Matthews. They paid a great deal of money to keep tabs on anyone who was investigating their organization. But there had been no rumors, no mention of a raid, let alone the FBI having enough evidence for an arrest.

“On what charges?” Joseph said.

“Murder,” Agent Matthews said.

Joseph moved to block the federal agent from touching his brother. Just as quickly, another fed walked up and blocked him. “Sir, step away,” the uniformed FBI agent pushed Joseph’s chest, a gun in his other hand, ready.

Joseph took stock of the other minorlings and then locked eyes with his brother. As they handcuffed and read Silas his rights, his eyes remained on Joseph’s. A ripple went through the minorlings, aggression permeating the air. The humans felt it, their shouting becoming more insistent, trigger fingers more flighty.

Cole looked ready to do serious violence. Joseph felt his own blood temperature rising, felt the urge to let his wings break free, but bit it all back. They could not break the Daemon Treaty. They might win the battle, and the bloodbath would be glorious, but they’d be hunted for the rest of their lives by the other clans. The Sharpes would revel in it.

Joseph ground his teeth. The Sharpes were probably the ones behind this. Planting evidence or, worse, delivering real evidence to the authorities so that the Wright organization fell. The Sharpes were devious enough to do that and had the magical resources. Joseph couldn’t focus on that now. There would be time later for revenge, but for now he must focus his energy on freeing his brother. Joseph barked orders for the minorlings to stand down. He found Silas’s eyes; saw him struggling with his own instincts. Joseph gave a small nod. He would free him.

Silas’s eyes accepted the promise, and relaxed as much as an archdaemon in handcuffs could. With dignity, he walked to a cruiser, and allowed himself to be folded into the back seat.

Agent Matthews came to stand in front of Joseph.

“I was this close to getting both of you,” he said, measuring a centimeter between his fingers. Joseph sneered at the federal agent. Tenacious humans were the most dangerous. He’d have to deal with Matthews at some point, but now was not his moment, so he remained silent. “Who knows,” Matthews continued, “maybe when we break your boss, I will get both of you.”

Joseph allowed himself a smile, and gazed into Matthews’s eyes without fear.

“Excuse me,” he said, “while I call the family lawyer.”

Annoyance flickered over Matthews’s face, but then was quickly replaced by smugness.

“There is no lawyer who’s going to get your brother out of this,” he said, leaning close. “And no dirty agents either.”

Joseph took that as a challenge. He opened his phone to call the lawyer. After the agents cleared out, he called a variety of other contacts. Matthews had given him a brilliant idea. The FBI agent was confident in his team, but Joseph knew from past experience there was always a weak link in any organization. He began his search for a dirty agent to tamper with the evidence.

Link Palmer looked at the cream stucco buildings and their red-tiled roofs.

“What the hell is going on here?” his dad growled.

Mr. Palmer glared at the core of press swarming outside the main entrance to the school, flashing photos as someone ran through the crowd, covered by security. Whoever it was, they slipped into a sleek black car and peeled out.

“Do celebrities go here?” Link asked.

“No,” Mr. Palmer grunted. “But it’s one of the best college prep schools around. You should be grateful the principal is an old army buddy of mine.” Mr. Palmer put the car into park. “I don’t have to tell you to behave, do I?”

Link rolled his eyes and was cuffed in the head for it. It didn’t hurt but it wasn’t pleasant either.

“Do I?” Mr. Palmer repeated.

“No, sir,” Link replied through clenched teeth.

“Good.”

They both got out of the car and entered the building through the side entrance. Overhead, a bell rang and students flooded the hallways. Link could feel the curious stares of the kids on him. He tried to remain aloof, unaffected. All he felt was the bitter sting of the situation. One minor offense and it was like the entire world had imploded. This punishment definitely didn’t fit the crime.

“If I get through this school year without any problems, will you consider letting me go back to my old school?” Link asked, angry that he was trying to bargain.

Mr. Palmer glanced at him. “You are never going back,” he said. “And you certainly aren’t allowed to talk to any of those hooligans ever again.”

“You used to play golf with Jeff’s dad,” Link snapped.

“Not anymore.”

“What about my phone?” Link asked. Mr. Palmer didn’t answer. “Seriously, Dad, what if something happens. School shootings are on the ri—”

Mr. Palmer whipped around so fast, fists clenched, his eyes flashing.

“Don’t you dare say such things,” he said, his voice low and cold. He glanced around warily to see if anyone had heard, but the milling throngs of students were way too involved in their own conversations to notice. “This is not what I call behaving, and you will never speak of such things again.”

“I just meant in an emergency,” Link started.

“No, you meant so you could check your chat snap,” his father bit back.

Link didn’t correct him. Instead, he set his jaw, self-righteous indignation filling his chest.

This is absolute bullshit, he thought.

Mr. Palmer stomped to the office and Link followed, stomping as well and unaware of how similarly they stomped together. His father gestured imperiously at one of two open seats and went to go speak to the secretary. Link sat down and glowered at the floor. This was so stupid.

The secretary pointed his dad into a closed office to speak with the principal. Link breathed in deep. It felt like he could only breathe when his dad left the room, and he’d been stuck with him nonstop for a week now. He missed his mom. She’d had a temper, sure, but she was from New Jersey. That came with the territory. More importantly, she had a sense of humor. She hadn’t laughed, though, when she’d shown up at the police station to pick him up.

Opening his backpack, Link rifled through the usual notebooks, pens, and other supplies. He grabbed gum out of his front pocket, his hand inadvertently brushing against the chess piece. He pulled it out, a black king. The small bit of plastic brought a stab of pain to his chest. It was a memento from his best friend, Jeff, back in Philly. Jeff, who he wasn’t supposed to see or speak to anymore.

The door to the office opened and Link hastily stuffed the chess piece into the backpack. He did not want to be pegged for a geek in a new school. He glanced up, but the kid who’d walked in was barely awake. He yawned for good measure as he approached the secretary’s desk.

“Falling asleep in class, Kai?” she asked.

“I have a condition,” a sleepy voice said.

“The principal’s busy,” the secretary said. “Grab a seat and I’ll tell her you’re here.

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