The Dragon Conspiracy Read Online Free PDF

they arranged strategically timed encounters.
    “Mr. Kain has acquired an additional escort this evening,” Rake noted. “I would almost be jealous except he did it by wealth, not charm. There’s no challenge.”
    Viktor Kain and his now
two
ridiculously beautiful dates had the attention of everyone in the room as they made their way to the Temple of Dendur and the case containing the Dragon Eggs.
    “You know anything about Viktor Kain?” I asked Rake.
    “I know many things about our Russian friend.”
    “He may be a friend of yours, but he’s not one of mine.”
    The goblin gave me an indulgent smile. “Is that because dear Vivienne told you he’s a stranger you shouldn’t take candy from?”
    “She only said that about you.”
    The smile widened to give me a peek of fang. “I’ve never offered you candy,” he said with the slightest emphasis on the last word.
    Time to take a sharp left turn from that topic. “Viktor Kain probably sleeps on a pyramid of gold bullion. You’d think he’d have enough fun money lying around without selling that sparkly handful of pebbles over there. What’s he up to?”
    Rake glanced casually around the room. I wasn’t fooled; goblins didn’t do anything casually, and Rake normally avoided large gatherings of supernaturals like the plague—unless there was something in it for him, like the possibility of retrieving a certain stolen goblin diamond.
    Rake took a sip of champagne and smiled. “Besides luring the baser elements of our cozy little mage community out this evening to be a pain in the backside of your equally draconic employer?”
    “Yes, besides that.”
    Rake gave an elaborate shrug. “Any move a dragon makes has at least twenty motives. They’re delightfully inscrutable. Schemes on top of plots, with intricate maneuvering running underneath.” He raised his glass in an admiring salute. “I can only aspire to be as devious.”
    Typical goblin answer. A lot of pretty dancing around a topic. Except for sex. That was the one thing a goblin would get right to the point about, and keep harping on it until they got what they wanted—their target between the sheets, or against a wall, or on a—
    That was when it happened.
    I heard a long, low groan. It sounded human, almost. Considering my present train of thought, that was uncanny timing.
    Instantly, Rake’s attention was on a spot past my right shoulder. He slowly set his glass on the table and held out his hand to me.
    “Darling, step away from the harpies. Now.”
    I’d never seen Rake’s eyes as large as they were right now. That was the first and only clue I needed to drop my plate on the table and move my butt.
    I spun to face the statue and froze in disbelief, disbelief that quickly spiraled down to “Oh shit.”
    That statue of three harpies wasn’t a statue anymore. What seconds before had been stone was now flesh with wings of bat-like leather. Only the claws looked just as hard, sharp, and deadly as they had before they’d turned.
    Turned.
    A statue had come to life in the middle of the Metropolitan Museum of Art on a major exhibition’s opening night. Hundreds of people were in the Sackler Wing, hundreds of now absolutely silent, regular, normal, everyday people whose eyes were witnessing an event their brains were telling them couldn’t possibly be real.
    Rake Danescu had hit the nail on the head.
    Harpies. Real, honest-to-God harpies. Or, in this case, real honest-to-Hades harpies.
    “Finally, the evening gets interesting,” Rake said.

3
    HUMANS seeing a monster for the first time generally had one of three reactions: scream, run, or faint. This was New York, so while half of the guests were engaged in one or more of the above, the other half had their phones out and were clicking away, camera flashes firing at the harpies like strobes.
    The harpies didn’t like being treated like paparazzi bait. So, like a married celeb caught coming out of a cheap strip joint, they attacked.
    At