The Dragon Conspiracy Read online

  PRAISE FOR

  THE GRENDEL AFFAIR

  “Lisa Shearin always delivers a great story. Fresh and exciting, humorous and action-packed, The Grendel Affair is urban fantasy at its best.”

  —Ilona Andrews, #1 New York Times bestselling author of Magic Breaks

  “Throw Stephanie Plum, The X-Files, and tequila in a blender and experience it all explode in your face with murder, mystery, the supernatural, tea-drinking dragons, and a hot partner who always has your back (and he might have a little more if given half a chance). Nonstop action, hilarious klutziness, romance, and lethal Lotharios everywhere. What could be better?”

  —Rob Thurman, New York Times bestselling author of Downfall

  “In Lisa Shearin’s SPI Files series, seer Makenna Fraser brings Southern sass, smarts, and charm to the mean streets of Manhattan as she battles monsters and other magical beings. An action-packed mix of monsters, magic, and mayhem that will keep you turning the pages.”

  —Jennifer Estep, New York Times bestselling author of Black Widow

  “One of the best parts of being an author is getting to read books like The Grendel Affair before they’re published. One of the most frustrating parts is sitting here asking, ‘When does the next one come out?’ before book one is even in print. This was great fun, with engaging characters and plenty of fast-paced action. But seriously, when does the next one come out?”

  —Jim C. Hines, author of Unbound

  “One of the strongest parts of this book is the humor. It is deadpan and had me laughing out loud.”

  —Fiction Vixen

  “Light, bouncy, and just fun to read, this book is the perfect antidote for doom and gloom.”

  —Bookyurt

  PRAISE FOR THE RAINE BENARES NOVELS

  ALL SPELL BREAKS LOOSE

  “Exceptional . . . Shearin has proven herself to be an expert storyteller with the enviable ability to provide both humor and jaw-dropping action.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  “All Spell Breaks Loose not only lived up to my expectations but was even BETTER!”

  —Dangerous Romance

  CON & CONJURE

  “Tons of action and adventure, but it also has a bit of romance and humor . . . The complexities of the world that Ms. Shearin has developed are fabulous.”

  —Night Owl Reviews

  “Action-packed and fast-paced, this was a fabulous read.”

  —Fresh Fiction

  “A great addition to a wonderful series.”

  —Dear Author

  BEWITCHED & BETRAYED

  “Once again, Ms. Shearin has given her readers a book that you don’t want to put down. With Raine, the adventures never end.”

  —Night Owl Reviews

  “Bewitched & Betrayed might just be the best in the series so far! . . . An amazingly exciting fourth installment that really tugs at the heartstrings.”

  —Ink and Paper

  THE TROUBLE WITH DEMONS

  “Lisa Shearin’s fun, action-packed writing style gives this world life and vibrancy.”

  —Fresh Fiction

  “Lisa Shearin represents that much-needed voice in fantasy that combines practiced craft and a wicked sense of humor.”

  —Bitten by Books

  ARMED & MAGICAL

  “Fresh, original, and fall-out-of-your-chair funny, Lisa Shearin’s Armed & Magical combines deft characterization, snarky dialogue, and nonstop action—plus a yummy hint of romance—to create one of the best reads of the year . . . Shearin [is] a definite star on the rise.”

  —Linnea Sinclair, author of Rebels and Lovers

  “An exciting, catch-me-if-you-can, lightning-fast-paced tale of magic and evil filled with goblins, elves, mages, and a hint of love interest.”

  —Monsters and Critics

  “Dazzling wit and clever humor. It’s gritty, funny, and sexy—a wonderful addition to the urban fantasy genre . . . From now on Lisa Shearin is on my auto-buy list!”

  —Ilona Andrews

  “An enchanting read from the very first page . . . [Shearin is] definitely an author to watch!”

  —Anya Bast, New York Times bestselling author of Embrace of the Damned

  MAGIC LOST, TROUBLE FOUND

  “Take a witty, kick-ass heroine and put her in a vividly realized fantasy world where the stakes are high, and you’ve got a fun, page-turning read . . . I can’t wait to read more of Raine Benares’s adventures.”

  —Shanna Swendson, author of Kiss and Spell

  “[Shearin] gives us a different kind of urban fantasy . . . Littered with entertaining characters and a protagonist whose self-serving lifestyle is compromised only by her loyalty to her friends, Magic Lost is an absolutely enjoyable read.”

  —C. E. Murphy, author of Shaman Rises

  “Fun, fascinating, and loaded with excitement! Magic Lost, Trouble Found is a top-notch read of magic, mayhem, and some of the most charming elves and goblins I’ve ever encountered. Enthralling characters and a thrilling plot.”

  —Linnea Sinclair

  Ace Books by Lisa Shearin

  The Raine Benares Novels

  MAGIC LOST, TROUBLE FOUND

  ARMED & MAGICAL

  THE TROUBLE WITH DEMONS

  BEWITCHED & BETRAYED

  CON & CONJURE

  ALL SPELL BREAKS LOOSE

  The SPI Files Novels

  THE GRENDEL AFFAIR

  THE DRAGON CONSPIRACY

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) LLC

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

  USA • Canada • UK • Ireland • Australia • New Zealand • India • South Africa • China

  penguin.com

  A Penguin Random House Company

  THE DRAGON CONSPIRACY

  An Ace Book / published by arrangement with the author

  Copyright © 2015 by Lisa Shearin.

  Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.

  Ace Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group.

  ACE and the “A” design are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) LLC.

  For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) LLC,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-101-61843-1

  PUBLISHING HISTORY

  Ace mass-market edition / February 2015

  Cover illustration by Julie Dillon.

  Cover design by Judith Lagerman.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Version_1

  For Derek

  CONTENTS

  Praise for Books by Lisa Shearin

  Ace Books by Lisa Shearin

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3
<
br />   Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Monday Morning, SPI Headquarters

  About the Author

  1

  I was working, but if this was work, then sign me up for triple overtime.

  This was my kind of Halloween party—cool jazz, a hot date, and a little black dress I’d paid way too much for, but refused to feel guilty about. It was my treat to me. My first Halloween in New York was shaping up to be one to write home about.

  The jazz band was playing “That Old Black Magic.” I wondered if they knew how appropriate that was.

  My hot date was my partner, Ian Byrne. No, not that kind of partner; the kind that works with me battling the forces of evil. He was a senior agent; I was the newbie. But his job title didn’t keep him from being the ultimate arm candy.

  He was tall, dark, lean, and born to wear a tuxedo.

  It was Friday night at the Metropolitan Museum of Art on the night before Halloween and we were posing as a hoity-toity Manhattan couple with an invitation to the season’s most anticipated opening night at the Met’s newest exhibit—Mythos.

  Gods and goddesses, beasties and monsters, myths and legends, all safely represented in painting, sculpture, or artifact—all of the thrills with none of the danger.

  I say danger, because monsters are real.

  My name is Makenna Fraser and I work for SPI—that’s Supernatural Protection & Investigations for those in the know. Those in the know consisted of the supernatural community in Manhattan and throughout the outer boroughs.

  SPI was headquartered in New York, but had offices and agents worldwide. It was founded by Vivienne Sagadraco in 1647. And no, that wasn’t the boss lady’s ancestor. It was the boss lady herself. Vivienne Sagadraco was much older than she looked, less human than she appeared, and a lot larger than you could ever imagine.

  I imagine there were plenty of people who called their boss a dragon lady and meant it as an insult.

  My boss was a real dragon—and a true lady.

  Right now, she was . . . Well, “holding court” was about the only way I could describe it.

  In her actual form, she’d have cleared the room; every human in the place would have been screaming and stampeding for the nearest exit. But as Vivienne Sagadraco, wealthy socialite and generous philanthropist, she drew a crowd of admirers wherever she went—especially admirers who had a cause or event they needed funded.

  A mural of frolicking dryads was currently framing her slim and elegant figure. Whether intentional or not, the mural’s jewel-toned tiles of semiprecious stones couldn’t have provided a more flattering backdrop for her.

  Though I shouldn’t have been surprised if she had chosen it on purpose. Not because it made her look good, but because it looked good to her. Dragons loved their sparklies, and Vivienne Sagadraco was no exception.

  In fact, it was her love of shiny things (and uncanny investment skills) that was behind SPI’s funding. Monster hunting and protecting humans and supernaturals from one another—and keeping humans in the dark about all of it—took the latest technology, developed and run by the most brilliant minds, and seemingly bottomless financial reserves to pay for all of it. Toss in a financial management staff of scary accurate clairvoyants, and Vivienne Sagadraco’s net worth would probably put the treasuries of many first-world countries to shame. Not to mention it made all of us agents warm and fuzzy to know that our 401k accounts were in the best hands.

  Ian Byrne and I weren’t here on a date.

  We were here to prevent a robbery.

  When it came to art with supernatural provenance, value wasn’t always measured in money. There were a handful of items in the exhibition that could cause a lot of trouble if they fell into the wrong hands.

  That’s why SPI was involved.

  So while we had some idea of what items the thieves were after, we had no earthly clue how anyone could steal any of them, especially tonight.

  SPI had received intelligence that there would be a robbery. Tonight. Smack-dab in the middle of a museum gala with hundreds of people in attendance. As to the identity of our potential thief, none of the supernaturals or humans were behaving suspiciously. It looked like a perfectly normal thousand-dollar-a-head museum exhibit opening on a Friday night in New York. People and not-people were out and about, seeing but mostly being seen, looking at ancient art and artifacts, and admiring the pretties and the sparklies from behind velvet ropes and bulletproof glass.

  Stealing anything from this exhibition would be humanly impossible.

  Inhumans, on the other hand, just might be able to pull it off.

  That was where SPI came in.

  Or, more to the point, me.

  I’m what SPI calls a seer.

  Most of the members of my family could see supernatural creatures for what they really were. We could see through any magical veil, ward, shield, or spell any supernatural could come up with as a disguise. I could identify every supernatural present at this little shindig. It wasn’t in the least bit surprising that supernaturals were among New York’s glitterati. When your life span was measured in centuries, you could accumulate wealth in quantities unimaginable to all but Middle Eastern sheiks, Silicon Valley entrepreneurs, or Kardashian divorce-settlement recipients.

  What passed for figments of peoples’ overactive imaginations, or things that went bump in the night and day, were SPI’s bread and butter.

  Fact meets fiction.

  Science meets entertainment.

  Myths and monsters. If the museum hadn’t wanted to tap into that, they wouldn’t be officially opening the Mythos exhibition to the public on Halloween.

  Most of the supernatural guests were the vampire, elf, and goblin variety. Naturally they were veiled, meaning they had used small magics to conceal their most distinguishing features—or at least those that would be most alarming to humans. That meant fangs for the vamps, upswept ears for the elves, and both of the above plus silvery skin tone for the goblins.

  I could see them all, but I’d learned at a young age to keep that knowledge to myself. Most supernaturals didn’t want to be seen for what they really were, especially by a human, which many of them viewed as a sub-creature, dinner, or both. I’d always made it a point to avoid being seen as either one.

  An unremarkable-looking, middle-aged couple gazed with obvious disdain and quiet, derisive laughter at one of the promotional posters the Met had liberally spread around town on buses, subway stops, and anywhere else people couldn’t help but notice them.

  The couple were vampires.

  In honor of the gala, a few of the more popular posters had been expanded into banners and hung suspended from the ceiling in all their glossy glory. In honor of Halloween, and people’s seemingly never-ending fascination with vampires, one banner depicted what the Met’s Marketing department knew humans wanted to see if confronted by a vampire—a breathtakingly beautiful, darkly seductive creature, with just a hint of fang visible, and deep bedroom eyes that assured their victim that their primary intent was merely to boff them silly. Yes, t
here was that tiny, insignificant thing that involved driving those fangs into the side of your neck and essentially ripping your throat out as they drained your blood and left you to die in an alley, darkened park, bathroom in a SoHo nightclub, or wherever they’d found you when the mood to munch took them. But because you’d be so hot and bothered by their sexy selves, you’d enjoy the hell out of the throat ripping while they did it to you.

  Though most vamps were discreet in their selection of dining partners, and unless they were feeding for the first time, they didn’t need to drain their victims dry. Regardless, it still felt like a pair of nails being hammered into the side of your neck. There was nothing sexy about that; I didn’t care what you were into.

  I looked again at the banner and had to agree with the vampire couple. The depiction was highly inaccurate. I guess I should just be glad that the damned thing didn’t sparkle.

  I turned to the man on my arm. “How about a spin around the dance floor? Just one song.”

  My ever-vigilant partner continued scanning the crowd for any oddity, something out of place that would signal a team of paranormal thieves getting ready to make their collective move. “We’re not here to dance.”

  “No, we’re not,” I agreed, not about to give up that easily. “But we were told to blend in. A lot of people are dancing, therefore dancing blends in.” I had new shoes to go with my new dress, and my new shoes wanted to dance.

  “And a lot of people are not dancing,” Ian countered. “They’re going through the exhibition, which is why we’re here, remember?”

  How could I forget?

  Change of tactics. Ian was always telling me that a good agent is flexible. “Okay, then. Think how many more people you could see from the dance floor.” I lowered my voice conspiratorially. “It’s raised.”

  Ian continued his surveillance. “I noticed.”

  “Of course you did. But I bet even you can’t resist that song. It’s perfect.”

  Ian didn’t respond, at least not with words.

  Quicker than a takedown in one of our hand-to-hand combat lessons, Ian swept me onto the dance floor.

  I yelped. Fortunately the music covered it up. “You could warn a girl.”