Daemon Fire (Darkin World Book 3)

Chapter Twelve

"What we are saying," Murray Stanton, the unofficial leader of the shaman council explained, "is that you have no proof." The dirty blond shaman was tactful in his refusal of Owen's report.

Nearly two days had passed with Owen cooling his heels in a Denver hotel. The council was slow in finding time to hear what he'd discovered in Billings. It was a power play, one to show him how insignificant he was in their eyes. They wanted to remind him of his place within their hierarchy.

Unfortunately for them, Owen hadn't been cowed or idle. Instead, he met with other apprentices. Dean Thompson was the first. Quickly, the Scottish neophyte was ruled out as being compromised. Together, he and Owen began to investigate the others.

It soon became apparent to the pair that something was off about Patrick Banks, Stanton's neophyte. As a result, the apprentice and his mentor became their main focus. But others who had close dealings with either man remained on their list.

"And if I find your proof?" Owen asked. Only the chancellors were within the room. Their apprentices waited outside. He wished Dean were there, an ally in a sea of barely restrained hostility.

Spreading his arms wide, palms out, Murray said, "Well, then we'd have something to investigate."

Gritting his teeth, Owen eyed the men along either side of the table. He stood at one end; Murray sat at its head. On the lead chancellor's right was light-haired, dark-eyed Lance Payne, the second-most powerful member. On the left was dark-haired-and-eyed Samuél Zarco, third in their pecking order. Fourth had been Jakob and his seat next to Lance remained vacant, a silent reminder that Owen's mentor was gone. Across from the empty space was red-haired, dark-eyed Garrett Fitzgerald, Dean's mentor. Noel Harlin held the sixth place and Liu Xian opposite was seventh. Nearest to Owen, on his left was African-born Zuri Contee. Oliver Page was the lowest ranking member on his right.

Lance Payne noticed Owen's eye return to Jakob's seat. "Perhaps it's time to discuss Magnusson's replacement. I believe he is dead as young Walker has stated. The rest-" he shrugged.

On the surface, none of them were willing to accept one of their own had become evil. If any were prepared to explore the possibility, they were too cowardly to say so. Owen's frustration grew.

"This is a matter for the council, neophyte. You may leave," Stanton intoned.

It should've been a no-brainer. Upon his – all members were male – demise, the apprentice stepped into the vacant position. They must have been deeply disturbed by Owen's news and might believe him to have dealings with demons as had Magnusson - purportedly. If they found out about Ophelia...

After he left the chamber, Owen walked down the long hall lined with silent apprentices. There was no reason for him to stay. Dean Thompson was the only one who met his eye. Giving a slight, encouraging nod, the brunette with a Celtic tattoo above his left brow went back to staring at the wall. The Scot couldn't outwardly show any more support than that.

Soon, Owen hoped to be done with the whole affair. Then he could reconnect with Ophelia. He missed her, his dragon. Since arriving in Denver, he'd been too busy to text or call and honestly scared of how much he wanted to leave all of this with Thompson and return to her. Added to that, there were spies everywhere. He couldn't risk an overheard conversation or any other communication that could be traced back to her. As a result, they hadn't spoken since the morning she'd bitten him.

The first night after he left Billings, Owen felt Ophelia hover around his dreams. She never bypassed his ward to enter. Last night, he'd lucid dreamed, hoping to catch her so they could speak. She never showed.