Silver Quarrel Read online

  SILVER QUARREL

  by

  J.R. RAIN &

  MATTHEW S. COX

  Alexis Silver Book #3

  Other Books by J.R. Rain and Matthew S. Cox

  WINTER SOLSTICE SERIES

  Convergence

  Containment

  Catalyst

  ALEXIS SILVER SERIES

  Silver Light

  Deep Silver

  Silver Quarrel

  MADDY WIMSEY SERIES

  The Devil’s Eye

  The Drifting Gloom

  SAMANTHA MOON ORIGINS

  New Moon Rising

  Moon Mourning

  SAMANTHA MOON CASE FILES

  Blood Moon

  VAMPIRE FOR HIRE

  Moon Master

  FOUR ELEMENTS SERIES

  The Elementalist

  Silver Quarrel

  Published by Rain Press

  Copyright © 2019 by J.R. Rain & Matthew S. Cox

  All rights reserved.

  Ebook Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Reading Sample: New Moon Rising

  About the Author: J.R. Rain

  About the Author: Matthew S. Cox

  Silver Quarrel

  PART ONE: SEAWOLF

  Chapter One

  Myths

  Anxious at the ramifications of the CIA being aware of my existence as a mermaid, I spend a moment standing there outside the gym, staring at Agent Michaels’ card.

  Trisha waves at me as she drives by on her way out of the parking lot.

  “I realize it may come as quite a shock for you to learn we know of you,” says Agent Michaels. “A matter of utmost delicacy has arisen, and people much farther up the totem pole than me made the decision to contact you in hopes you would be willing to offer your assistance.”

  “With what?” I ask, still studying the card in my hand, and fighting a general sense of panic. It’s never fun when one’s great secret is no longer a secret.

  “The situation is both urgent and delicate, a matter of national security.”

  I glance up at him. “Isn’t it always a ‘matter of national security’ with the CIA?”

  He smiles. “My agency doesn’t typically get involved when people jaywalk.”

  “A fair point.” I tuck the card in my purse. His smile has a calming effect on me. Maybe, just maybe, my life hasn’t just been completely turned upside down after all. “So what happened?”

  “I imagine you’re likely capable of plucking it out of my head if you cared to, but if you’re not inclined to work with us, I am prohibited from sharing any details.”

  The tiniest of glimpses at his thoughts reveals the phrase ‘nuclear missiles.’ Gads, talk about a floorer. Nukes? It’s not silver, but something tells me complete vaporization of a body would destroy me—or any supernatural—just as well. And, of course, kill hundreds of thousands of people on top of that.

  “Let’s say I’m inclined to help. What’s next?”

  “Due to the urgency involved, I’d ask you to come with me now. We can get your Jeep back to your house.”

  “I shouldn’t be shocked the CIA knows where I live?”

  Agent Michaels smiles again. “No, you shouldn’t be.”

  “Should I leave the keys with it?”

  “If you like. Might make it a little easier for them, but then someone else might steal it.”

  His blasé attitude about the keys doesn’t surprise me. Stealing cars is probably run of the mill for the CIA, especially these days with all the technology inside. In fact, the manufacturers probably do something to the cars that simply allows the government to get in whenever they want.

  I leave the keys anyway, and give him a ‘let’s go’ nod. Not like I couldn’t afford to replace it, honestly… but I’ve got no small bit of sentimental attachment to my Rubi. He leads me across the parking lot to an ordinary Ford sedan painted in a particularly drab shade of government silver. We get in at the same time. Maybe I should be more worried, but it’s kinda thrilling to have the government approach me. Makes me feel like a female Humphrey Bogart or James Bond.

  Be careful, dear, says Licinia in my head.

  I mentally nod. It’s not like I sought the government out and revealed myself. They already knew about me… for who knows how long. Good thing for me I’m a reasonably well-behaved mermaid. Since Agent Michaels doesn’t appear interested in talking on the road, I spend the ride wondering how much the CIA truly knows about me… or others. Are they aware of vampires, werewolves, and things that go bump in the night? Where did I slip up that they noticed me? I suppose living on land vastly increased the risk of being detected. Perhaps I should be thankful it took this long. If the government found me out years ago—like during the McCarthy scare, people would likely have tried to burn me as a witch. The establishment still isn’t terribly comfortable with women who have power, and someone like me with ‘real’ power would terrify them.

  Licinia sighs. It is an absolute wonder how humanity has evolved to the point it has, since so many react to things they do not understand with violence.

  Yeah. Her comment gets me thinking of the Salem Witch Trials. What a mess that was. Not one woman or girl they killed had been an actual witch. Any genuine witch would have dealt with ignorant people rather easily—either sending them on their way or blasting them out of their boots before moving to a new town. Then again, from what I remember, those trials had been more politically motivated than any real attempt to get rid of actual witches. People accused neighbors or rivals they didn’t like of witchcraft as an expedient means to remove them.

  Things like that really make me question the collective intelligence of humanity. Tie her to a big rock and toss it in the river. If she sinks and drowns, she’s innocent of witchcraft, but if she floats—which is physically impossible—she’s a witch and ought to be executed.

  They did actually manage to kill several legitimate young witches, dear. Girls not yet strong enough to defend themselves.

  Okay, that sucks.

  Indeed.

  After a bit of a drive, Agent Michaels breezes us through the checkpoint gate of Naval Base Kitsap. Soon, he parks by a nondescript building with few windows. His demeanor has changed somewhat since our first meeting… now he’s giving off mostly a sense of rushed determination, having abandoned the overt politeness.

  “Come on, there isn’t much time.” He gets out of the car and waves for me to follow, more like I’m a junior officer than a civilian—or supernatural being. I don’t think he intended to treat me as a subordinate, merely racing the clock.

  While I’m not used to being ordered around, and not particularly fond of it, he had been thinking of nukes… so I swallow my pride, get out of the car, and follow him. He badges the door open and leads me down a plain grey corridor that could’ve been
inside any ordinary corporate office—from the seventies. What is it about government installations that everything looks old?

  Six doors down on the right, he ushers me into a small conference room, sits at the table, and turns on the presentation system. A flat-panel TV motors up from a cabinet near the table, facing away from the door.

  “What I’m about to tell you is considered top secret. We would appreciate it if you kept it that way.”

  “Of course.” I nod. “I may be… more than human now, but I was still born in the US. This is my home.”

  He nods. “Very well. Please, have a seat.”

  I do.

  “We have lost contact with the North Dakota, designation SSBN-774.”

  “A ship?”

  Agent Michaels shakes his head. “A submarine. Specifically, an Ohio-class ballistic missile attack sub carrying twenty-four Trident II nuclear missiles. The Ohios are the largest subs in our fleet.”

  “Ouch.” I cringe. That explains the nuclear missiles he thought about in the parking lot. “What do you think happened and what—other than my ability to work underwater—brought you to me?”

  He clicks the mouse a few times and an image of a submarine appears on the TV. “The North Dakota transmitted a brief distress call prior to going radio silent. The message indicated a ‘large hairy beast’ had gotten on board somehow and was tearing things apart, and also mentioned an attempted mutiny by the ship’s XO—executive officer.”

  “Well… a large hairy beast could be anything. My mother used the term to describe the rats that sometimes invaded our kitchen.”

  Agent Michaels gestures at the TV and clicks another button, changing the image to that of a man in his early forties. He’s a reasonably average looking guy in a Navy uniform, though he does have quite a bit of beard stubble, like he’d gone a few days without shaving. His eyes are his most striking feature. Some might’ve called them pale hazel, but they look almost yellow to me. Between that, and a certain feral quality to his features, I’m pretty sure he’s a werewolf. Hey, I spent a few years married to one. Patrick—oh hell. He calls himself Kingsley now. I will never get used to that.

  “This is First Lieutenant Nathaniel Maddox,” says Agent Michaels, gesturing at the screen. “He is the current executive officer of the North Dakota.”

  “He’s your problem.”

  “You got that just from one picture?”

  I glance over at him and pull my hair away from my eye. “I have been an investigator for a long time, Agent Michaels.” That, and I know a fellow freak when I see one.

  He stares at me briefly before saying, “There’s more,” and poking the keyboard.

  The picture changes to the same guy in a green Army uniform, sitting on a pile of sandbags with jungle-like greenery in the background. The picture has a dated quality, all the colors somewhat faded. Pretty sure I’m looking at a photo taken in the late sixties, most likely in Vietnam—though it could be the Fifties and Korea. Maddox has a large machine gun across his lap and a big, goofy grin on his face that only makes him look even more like a werewolf. And yeah… his canines appear enlarged.

  “Look familiar, Ms. Silver?”

  “It’s Nathaniel Maddox from roughly sixty ago, but he appears about the same age. Is that during the Vietnam War?”

  “It is.” Agent Michaels taps a key and both photos appear side by side. It’s clearly the same person to me, though his older self appears somewhat less buff. “In fact, the second picture is of Sergeant Robert Hahnemann, who served in the US Army during the Vietnam Conflict.”

  Yup, definitely a freak.

  I cringe a little inside, but don’t let it show on my face. Werewolves can be a real pain in the ass to deal with. Fortunately, in the absence of a full moon, they can only transform into giant dogs, rather than hulking, two-legged wolf-men. I say only, but they’re almost eye-level with a grown man while standing on four legs. That’s bad enough, but they are far more dangerous when they lose control, which is why I used to lock Kingsley in a werewolf proof safe room each month. I’m guessing that’s his current vampire girlfriend’s job now. Or maybe he’s hired help after we parted ways. Can’t say I’ve been that interested in spying on him to find out. Anyway, the man-wolf shape is bigger, hungrier, angrier, and has much larger claws, but that only happens under a full moon. However, it’s debatable if those claws are genuinely worse than the enormous maw of the wolf form. In wolf form, Kingsley was much more tame, although he had been known to run off into the woods for a few days. And lick himself endlessly.

  “We think he’s some manner of supernatural being. As to why Maddox has decided to start a mutiny on the North Dakota, we’re drawing a blank. His record is, as far as we have been able to tell, clean. Also, Sergeant Hahnemann disappeared in 1984 and remains an active missing person case. His record also had nothing to suggest any affiliation to foreign enemies or domestic threats. Assuming they’re the same person—”

  “They are.”

  Agent Michaels coughs. “Assuming that, neither man appears to have a motive to commandeer a ballistic missile sub. Can you offer any insight as to what might be going on here?”

  “Other than his most likely being a werewolf, I’d only be guessing. They are just as likely as normal humans to lose their marbles. Maybe he went stir crazy at being cooped up in a sub?”

  “Maddox has been a submariner for most of his Navy career, going back to 2002. He’s had ample opportunity to leave the service or transfer duty if the confines of a sub bothered him. And… werewolf you say?”

  I smile. “Yes. Between the message you received mentioning a giant hairy monster and what you’ve shown me, I’m quite sure the man’s a werewolf.”

  “What exactly have I shown you?” He raises an eyebrow.

  It’s telling that he didn’t even flinch at the word ‘werewolf.’ Perhaps he’d already suspected as much. “Two men sixty years apart who appear to be the same individual. Also, the color of his eyes, the shape of his canine teeth, certain subtleties in his features… Notice how Lieutenant Maddox appears a bit beefier than Sergeant Hahnemann? Werewolves have a tendency to grow larger as the years pass. I don’t think he was a big man when he was changed.”

  “Changed?”

  “We were all humans at one point.”

  Careful, dear. No need to give them too much information.

  I smile to myself while twisting a lock of hair around my finger. Agent Michaels stares at me for a moment before catching himself and going slightly red in the face. If I do wind up saying too much, it’s fixable. Michaels is, after all, a man. Even now, he was thinking thoughts and having feelings that he wasn’t quite prepared for. It was, of course, the Siren in me.

  He cleared his throat and tried to gain control of his inappropriate thoughts. “As I’m sure you can imagine, a mutiny on board a submarine with nuclear weapons is a matter of utmost urgency.”

  “Yeah, that sounds like a bad situation for everyone involved.”

  “Are you capable of dealing with this problem, Ms. Silver?”

  I tap a finger to my chin, pondering the potential results of getting into a scrap with a werewolf. Licinia contemplates there being a ready supply of men to eat if we get injured… assuming, of course, Maddox hasn’t already devoured them.

  He doesn’t look like the sort of fellow who has a taste for seaman.

  Ugh. I bury my face in my hand. That was horrible.

  I’ve been spending too much time in this head of yours, dear. You are rather fond of puns.

  “Something wrong?” asks Agent Michaels.

  “Yes, quite a lot… but merely a bad thought.”

  So what do you think? asks Licinia.

  I think nukes are bad. Nukes in the hands of a crazy werewolf are even worse. Also, I’d like the government to continue to pretend I don’t exist. While I can likely do whatever I wanted to Agent Michaels from a memory-wipe standpoint, the CIA has more than one person and it’s an almost-certainty that e
nough of the wrong people know exactly what’s going on here, so if this guy starts acting all loopy, they’re going to trace that straight back to my doorstep. Better they think I’m on their team. And to a point, I am. While I have stepped beyond the cares of mortal society, I was born American and I still like living here. Even a mermaid can do her patriotic duty, right?

  “Yes, Agent Michaels. I believe I can fit him for an eternity box.”

  Agent Michaels tilts his head. “Pardon?”

  “I presume you’re asking me to eliminate Maddox if he is a threat. The military justice system isn’t exactly equipped to cope with werewolves.”

  “Well, we do have a rather small division that’s dedicated to dealing with the, umm, ‘myths.’ The government is aware that a number of beings believed to be mythological are, in fact, real. However, it’s understaffed, underfunded, and pretty much no one takes them seriously. But you are right, the NCIS couldn’t handle a werewolf. If he does turn out to be one, are you capable of dealing with it?”

  “It isn’t easy for us—meaning supernatural beings—to permanently kill each other, but it is possible with certain specific methods.”

  “Silver.”

  I sigh. “Yes, that is one…”

  “If need be, we can arrange some manner of silver weapon for you.”

  “Thanks, but I’d prefer other ways. I’m not comfortable being around the metal that can kill me for good.”

  Agent Michaels raises an amused eyebrow. “Normal people carry guns, knives, and such all the time.”

  “Yes, but that is a little different. For one thing, a human dying would only be losing decades—not centuries. For another, if a normal person dies, they will eventually reincarnate. We’re goners.”

  “Yet you’re willing to umm, fit this werewolf for a what was it you said? An eternity box?”

  I smile. “I’m not saying all supernatural life is too sacred to lose… just mine. Besides, my country needs me. Anyone who would use nuclear missiles probably ought to be kicked out of the gene pool.”