Текст книги "Irregulars "
Автор книги: Astrid Amara
Соавторы: Nicole Kimberling,Ginn Hale,Josh lanyon
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Текущая страница: 18 (всего у книги 32 страниц)
Chapter Nine
The following morning, it was August who woke Deven up rather than the other way around.
August looked refreshed despite the activities of the previous day. He was fully dressed in yet another suit, this one a lighter color, with a cream-colored shirt, unbuttoned at the neck to reveal a glimpse of his pale skin. His hair was clean and impeccably styled. His pale blue eyes stared down at Deven with a look of amusement.
“Wake up, sunshine.”
Deven scowled and drew back under the bedsheet he’d wrapped around himself at some point that night. He felt tired and unenthusiastic about his mission now that he knew who was involved. It had been one thing to tackle Aztaw lords he had understood. But Night Axe was out of his league; even Lord Jaguar himself had failed to defeat the Trickster. What luck was Deven going to have with nothing but a few knives in his pocket?
“Come on. Murdering monsters wait on no man.” August ruffled Deven’s hair. It was a gesture Deven hadn’t felt since before his mother died as a little boy and it brought a surge of complicated emotions. He sank further under the sheet to hide his face, afraid what he was feeling would be obvious.
“Do I have time to shower?” Deven’s voice was cracked with sleep.
August sighed. “If you’re quick about it.”
Deven emerged from under the covers and hurried to the bathroom. He showered briskly, taking advantage of the free toiletries provided by the hotel. As he hunted through his bag for clean clothes, he felt August’s gaze on his bare back like a hot iron and he wondered if it was inappropriate for him to have come out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel.
He turned. August’s eyes were locked on Deven’s body as if he were memorizing every contour.
At first Deven felt embarrassed, thinking that August must be staring at the variety of ugly scars puncturing his torso. Stab wounds, burns, and bumps from badly healed broken bones aged him.
But August’s cheeks were flushed, his eyes dilated, and as he shifted uncomfortably in his chair, Deven belatedly realized the agent was aroused by the sight of Deven’s near nudity.
Christopher, the man Deven had hooked up with four months before, had told Deven that he was beautiful. Deven couldn’t confirm if this was true or not, since he was far from objective, but he liked that he had this effect on the agent. He wondered if he should act upon it.
Because it would have been nice to touch August. His body looked so warm and inviting and his heart-shaped lips seemed engineered for kissing. But Deven had never seduced anyone in his life. He had no experience, and for all he knew, this glance wasn’t personal. Maybe August watched all semiclothed men this way.
As if suddenly realizing he was flushed and staring, August coughed and stood. He yanked back the curtains. “Hot in here,” he mumbled, throwing open the window.
Deven hesitated. He wanted to say something to August. Or would it be better to just touch him?
“You want some cream for that arm?” August asked, voice low and rough. “Looks painful.”
Deven glanced at his left shoulder. The skin was darkly bruised and it hurt to touch it, but he could move it well enough.
“I’m fine.”
“Then get ready.” August turned away completely and Deven realized he’d lost his opportunity. It frustrated him more than he thought it would.
Deven finished dressing. As August transferred his wallet, phone, and other random possessions from his suitcases into his pockets, Deven did the same, although August really had him beat when it came to carrying an arsenal. As he tried to find a pocket large enough for his favorite knife, August leveled his gaze at him.
“What?” Deven asked innocently. August raised his eyebrows.
Deven grinned and removed the knife from his belt, putting it on top of the television. “Better?”
August shook his head. “Cleaning lady will love it.”
“After yesterday, I’d assume you’d prefer I carry a knife.”
“You have two others in your pockets.” August smirked.
Deven laughed, realizing the futility in trying to hide something from someone who spent an inordinate amount of time looking at him. As August went back to loading various charms, electronic devices, and medical objects into his coat, Deven considered the craftsmanship involved in the man’s wardrobe. The suit was practically form fitting and yet it somehow managed to hide a ton of gear.
Deven realized he was staring at August’s ass and looked away. What did normal people do when they desired another person? For a moment he considered phoning his therapist for advice. It was something she’d know and he suspected she’d be thrilled with the line of questioning, rattling on about the value of intimacy and opening up to individuals.
But then he’d have to admit he was in Mexico City, despite her protests, and he didn’t feel like having that argument.
“So where the hell is my temporary masking kit?” August mumbled, rifling through his belongings with increasing frustration.
“What does it look like?” Deven asked.
“Small, black leather case...”
Deven sat on his unmade bed, yawning and wondering if he could catch a few more minutes of sleep.
There was a curt knock at the door. “August, open up.” Agent Klakow’s voice sounded annoyed.
“Christ!” August yanked the door open and glared at his fellow agent. “What are you doing here?”
“Forensics found a trace,” Klakow said, entering the room. His eyes darted to Deven. “Hi.”
Deven raised his eyebrows but didn’t bother saying hello, more intrigued by the temper August was building toward his personal belongings.
“Fuck,” August muttered, “I swear I had it when I left San Francisco...” He tossed an eclectic variety of items withdrawn from his suitcase onto his bed. There was another glamour bomb, some latex gloves, several pens, business cards, yesterday’s medical kit, and a bundled set of wires. Not finding what he needed, August grabbed a nylon bag out of the nearest suitcase and began tearing through that before chucking away the bag itself in disgust.
“So, forensics—” Klakow began only to be cut off by August.
“What are you talking about?” August began to go through his pockets, tossing the contents, including his utility knife, onto the bed. Deven retrieved it and pulled out the light. He flashed it on August’s shirt. Nothing supernatural revealed itself.
“The tests,” Klakow said. He moved farther into the room, frowning at the mess on the bed. “They came back.”
“And?” August demanded.
“They found a trace.” Klakow closed the door behind him.
“Of what?”
“I don’t know,” Klakow said, shrugging. “You’re supposed to go in to the office and see for yourself.”
“When you speak, you offer nothing of value to the world,” August muttered. He turned to Deven. “I’ll have to get another masking kit from the inventory this afternoon.”
“What is it for?”
“For you, in case we run into any watchbirds, soldiers, or underworldly employees trying to find you.”
Klakow moved toward Deven with a smirk. Deven noticed his right leg dragging behind him.
“You hurt yourself?” Deven asked.
“I hurt every time I see Agent August,” Klakow replied with a cold smile.
“Funny, asshole.”
As casually as he could, Deven shone the light on Klakow’s leg. As the light hit his leg they both saw it ended in an exposed shin bone.
Horror choked off Deven’s cry of alarm.
Klakow lunged. He gripped Deven by the throat. With shocking strength, he lifted Deven one handed and shoved him against the wall, knocking down a picture of sailboats. It shattered on the floor.
Deven pulled a knife from his belt, but Night Axe swatted it out of his hand instantly.
Deven couldn’t breathe. He felt the muscles in his throat convulse against the unrelenting pressure of Night Axe’s fingers as they pushed into him, cutting off his breathing.
I want the pen.
Deven’s body shuddered at the scraping sound of Night Axe’s voice. He still resembled the Irregulars agent, but his grin was monstrous. Deven kicked against the wallpaper. His hands grappled with Night Axe’s chilled flesh, but he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t break free.
Night Axe reached for the pen in Deven’s hair.
August threw his shoulder into Night Axe. They both fell sideways on and over the side of Deven’s bed. Deven dropped to the floor. With shaking hands he grabbed the pen and shoved it down the front of his trousers.
August fumbled his hand over the bed and grabbed the first thing he made contact with, another glamour bomb. He smashed it into Night Axe’s teeth. An explosion of glittery particles coated them both and Night Axe retched horribly. His face contorted in rage. With a roar of fury, he punched his fist through August’s chest.
August’s body shuddered with the force. Nausea swelled in Deven at the image of Agent Klakow’s arm rotating deep inside August’s torso, as if wringing August’s heart.
August went white and his body convulsed as Night Axe shoved him off, yanking his arm free. His fingers closed as if pulling an invisible thread from August’s jacket. August let out a breathy gasp and arched his back.
Deven scrambled to his feet and hurled his knife just as the creature’s body transformed into that of an owl. The knife hit the hotel wall and clattered to the ground. The owl screeched and took to the air, circling Deven’s head.
I’ll find you.
His voice shrieked through Deven’s consciousness like nails on a chalkboard. Night Axe flew out the window and Deven slammed shut the window behind him, knowing the futility of the gesture but unable to stop himself.
Chapter Ten
“Agent August!”
Deven rushed to where the man had fallen on the opposite side of the bed. He dropped to his knees beside August’s body.
August’s appearance was warped and distorted by the glamour bomb. He looked Mexican, with dark black hair, a full beard, and brown eyes. His suit glimmered with powder that made it appear like he was wearing jeans and a pale blue dress shirt. The fragments disoriented Deven and he had to blink several times, straining to concentrate and see what was actually August.
August writhed in pain and his breath shuddered out of him. It was obvious even through the illusion that he was bleeding. Deven brushed off the masking spell glitter, trying to get to the man underneath. His fingers touched hot, wet blood even though he couldn’t see it.
Deven had no idea what to do now; saving people was not something he did. He’d watched hundreds of them bleed to death and die, and he’d never lifted a finger to their aid. He hadn’t even bothered to try and save the lives of fellow soldiers in Lord Jaguar’s army; death was something you let happen.
But now he felt terror at the prospect of August’s death, coupled with the guilt of knowing he had been Night Axe’s target.
He ripped the sheet off his bed and used it to brush away the particles of masking spell glitter covering the agent’s face and torso. When he got enough of the spell off he saw August’s true face, contorted in pain.
The front of his suit was a mess of blood. Deven unbuttoned August’s coat and struggled to work open the slippery buttons of August’s shirt. But as he pulled the shirt open he saw no wound. He ran his fingers over August’s pale, hairless chest, terrified this was still part of the masking spell’s illusion. Although blood coated everything, it was already coagulating. Only a perfectly circular bruise marred his skin, directly over August’s frantically beating heart.
Deven recognized the mark. It was the same one they’d seen on Carlos and Beatriz Rodriguez’s bodies. But it didn’t look immediately fatal and Deven felt relief. August wasn’t going to die.
Yet.
“Can you sit up?” Deven reached behind August and cradled his head to help him up. His fingers tangled in August’s damp, sweaty hair. Once he was sitting up, August opened his eyes and glanced down at his chest. A look of panic crossed his eyes.
“Oh God,” he said, his voice weak.
“I think we can guess why Carlos and Bea were searching for Night Axe,” Deven said.
August glanced to the door. “Is he gone?”
“He flew out the window.”
August’s eyes widened. “He can fly?”
“He turned into an owl.”
“Aztaw lords can do that?” He scowled.
“Transformation is his house power.” Deven glanced at the closed window. “As soon as he gets that glamour bomb out of his mouth he’ll be back, you know.”
“I know.” August breathed heavily, wincing. He rested his shaking hands over his bruise. “How does he even know who Klakow is?”
Deven frowned. He had no answer to that.
There was a knock on the door. August’s muscles tensed under Deven’s hand.
“I doubt he’d knock twice,” Deven commented.
“Probably not.” August nearly fell as he attempted to stand and his face went sheet white.
“Are you in pain?” Deven asked.
“I just feel weak.” August slumped onto Deven’s unmade bed. A bruise was beginning to form over his right eye, where he’d slammed into Night Axe’s hard skull.
The person at the door knocked again. Given the destruction of their room, Deven hoped it wasn’t housekeeping.
He picked up his knife from where it had fallen and peered through the door’s peephole.
Agent Klakow stood there, looking pissed off.
“Hold your ID up,” Deven ordered.
“You have to be kidding me.” Klakow grimaced.
“Do it!”
“Fine, fine...” Klakow muttered as he fumbled with the identification in his back pocket. Instantly, Deven relaxed. Night Axe might be able to mimic the look and sound of a person, but he wouldn’t know one’s habits or gestures.
Still, he waited until Agent Klakow held up the badge before opening the door.
Klakow stepped inside and gaped at the disarray. “What have you two been doing in here?”
At his entry, August leaped to his feet, looking stunned. Klakow glared back at August. His eyes caught the bloody mess of August’s clothes and remaining particles of glamour, and his haughty expression faltered. “Jesus Christ, what happened to you?”
“Had a visitor,” August growled, sitting back down. His body slumped against the wall. “Looked like you, actually. Have you been downstairs in the lobby long?”
“Fuckin’ ages. The front desk wouldn’t tell me your room number, no matter how many times I asked. I had to call the field office to get the info.”
August’s eyes closed. “And you came directly from the field office, I presume.”
“Of course.” Klakow moved to August’s side. “You sure you’re okay? You look like shit.”
“I just got fisted in all the wrong ways.”
Klakow grimaced. “You’re a perverted fuckhead.” Despite his tone, however, he looked concerned. “I’m calling a field team ambulance—”
“Not yet,” August interrupted. “We’ve got a lord of the underworld in the form of a bird who plans to flap back here and finish the job he started five minutes ago.” He endeavored to sit up and then gave up, slumping back against the wall. “Deven, you still have your pen?”
Deven reached his hand down the front of his trousers and pulled it out.
Klakow made another face. “You keep stuff in there?”
Deven put the pen back in his hair without commenting.
“Would you hand me a clean shirt?” August asked.
Despite not fully unpacking, August had still managed to hang up all his clothes the night before. Deven picked out a dark-colored dress shirt in case blood seeped through the fabric. He also chose a pair of trousers, because it made Deven’s eyes hurt interpreting what was his suit and what was leftover glamour residue.
He fetched a wet washcloth and handed it to August. The agent offered him a weak smile. “Thanks.” He started undressing and cleaning himself off, moving slowly.
Klakow stared out the window. “You want me to see if we can trace the glamour trail?”
“He’ll come back for us, we don’t need to look for him,” August replied. “What are you here for anyway?”
“Elia in forensics sent me. She ran further tests on the filaments attached to the obsidian particles from Rodriguez’s sister’s and identified the visual spectrum.” He handed August a small card with a barcode on it. “The monster’s hidden lair, revealed.”
“About fucking time.” August’s hands still shook and he struggled to button his clean trousers.
Deven found himself staring and looked away. “What about the ambulance?” Deven asked.
“The doctor is next. I’m not a masochist. But I’m tired of being surprised by this bastard. Let’s see what he sees, without relying on moody serpents.” August finished dressing and, with a bit of exertion, stood and squared his shoulders. His change of clothes improved his appearance. But the bruise darkening his right eye looked garish against his deathly pallor and there was blood in his hair. Still, he winked at Deven. “Let’s make some magic, shall we?”
“Oh brother,” Klakow groaned.
***
Over the next hour, Deven developed a new respect for the talents of Irregular agents, if only for their ability to memorize proper procedure.
He never thought bureaucracy had a place in magic, but that was the indissoluble effect of government, it seemed. The Irregulars had converted the supernatural into a set of standard operating procedures.
“Wrong!” August slapped a wire from Klakow’s hand. “Damn it, didn’t you ever read the Occult Agency Guidelines? You can’t transfer energy until all safety bindings are in place.”
Klakow’s hand made a fist, but otherwise he didn’t respond. The three of them sat on the floor, gathered around a piece of bone Deven had extracted from his sacred bundle, August’s computer, and the wires from August’s pocket. They programmed the bar code spectrum into the laptop, wiring the bone to the machine. Blood was needed to seal the spell, but Deven had learned his lesson and didn’t volunteer to go first. He nearly laughed at the regimented procedure by which both Klakow and August calmly produced sanitized needles and small plastic receptacles, extracting only a few drops from their fingers.
August handed Deven a clean needle. “Leave your tongue for more pleasant uses.”
Klakow shook his head. “You know, Deven, this qualifies as sexual harassment and you can file a complaint.”
“Maybe I like it.” Deven’s face flushed with the admission and he didn’t miss how August’s eyes snapped to him. Deven jabbed the tip of his finger and let a few drops of blood mingle with the agents’. He accepted a bandage from Klakow.
Definitely less painful than dragging a thorned cord across his tongue.
The blood was collected on a thin slide that had a USB port and fit into his laptop. August rustled around in another of his bags and withdrew a box of small, half-dollar size disks.
“Quartz, you think?” August asked Deven. “Or jade?”
“What?”
“What stone works better for Aztaw magic?”
Deven shrugged. “Jade is everywhere in Aztaw and used in nearly every spell. Obsidian is predominantly for weapons, although it does have reflective properties.”
August selected a several small green disks and fed them one by one into his hard drive, burning the spell onto them. Deven found the entire process fascinating. They truly had distilled the ethereal qualities of magic into a universal form.
“Nice gizmos,” August mused.
“Housekeeping!” A loud knock at the door startled all three of them. Deven tensed, holding his knife.
“We’re busy!” Klakow shouted back. “Come back later!”
“¿Qué?”
“Volver mas tarde,” August called out. All three of them froze, as if waiting for the door to break down.
After a moment of silence, the woman said, “Sí, señor,” and they heard a cart squeak as it rolled away.
Deven felt the tension drain from him. “This is the busiest hotel room I’ve ever been in.”
August still looked panicked, even after the woman had left. “Let’s get these on.” He fumbled through his belongings once more.
“What are they?” Deven asked.
“Spell projectors. They work with special glasses, adding visual spectrums to what your eyes naturally see.” August held a small plastic device, no bigger than a credit card, and slipped one of the green jade disks into a thin slit at the top.
“Put it in your pocket, then put these on,” August ordered, handing Deven the device and a pair of sunglasses.
“Why do you carry two projectors?” Klakow asked, shaking his head. He had his own device in his hands and snapped another of the jade disks inside, clipping it to the side of his sunglasses.
“This one’s Carlos’,s” August said softly, holding a pair of sunglasses in his hands. “He’d left it in my car.” August shook his head. “He always left behind the most important equipment.”
“Well, he was on vacation,” Klakow countered, but there was no bite to the comment.
Deven put on the shades and looked around the room. Nothing noticeably changed at first, although his eye muscles strained as they adjusted. He caught the faint whiff of ozone.
As he turned his head he saw something trailing out the closed window like a maroon streamer. As the image solidified, he saw it was a thicker than ribbon, circular, and it pulsed. It went straight through the closed window and into the room. Liquid surged through it.
Deven moved closer but didn’t touch it. The texture looked rubbery. He realized he was looking at a blood vessel, which stretched out down the road as far as he could see.
His eyes followed the artery to August’s chest and understood that it was connected to the agent about the same time August did. But August’s reaction was quite different.
A look of revulsion crossed August’s face and he gripped the artery in both hands and pulled.
“Get this off of me!” His hands grappled with the floating artery, yanking. His face went deathly white as he did so, but he didn’t stop pulling. “Pull it out!”
August’s panicked breaths were shallow as he twisted the blood vessel stretching from his heart.
“Stop—don’t tug on it!” Deven gripped August’s hands, pinning them down to the carpet. “Just relax. Breathe!”
August’s head fell back against the foot of the bed. A sheen of sweat covered his features. “Oh God.” He look down at his chest again and shuddered. “I’m fucking attached to him, aren’t I?” His arms tensed, but Deven kept hold of his wrists.
“We’ll figure this out,” Deven told him.
“God,” August said again. He licked his lips and swallowed, clearly trying to bring moisture to his dry throat. “This is what happened to Carlos and Bea.” His voice was cracked. “They were feeding their blood to Night Axe. They were fucking sacrifices.”
Klakow had ripped off his glasses and dialed someone on his phone. Deven wanted to examine August’s chest and assure himself he wasn’t bleeding out, but he was afraid of letting go of August’s wrists. “If I look at your chest, will you stop trying to pull yourself free?”
August breathed through clenched teeth but didn’t answer.
“You can’t rip loose. You could bleed to death,” Deven said, sounding far more calm than he actually was. “Night Axe’s house power made this connection, so it can also disconnect it. We’ll figure out how.”
“Disconnect it?”
“House powers change the world around us but can also reverse those changes,” Deven said. He wasn’t exactly lying—he was, however, simplifying, since it would have to be Night Axe himself who would reverse his own spells. Deven didn’t think that level of detail would be welcome at this moment. “Until we figure this out, you need to not hurt yourself. All right?”
After a moment, August nodded. Deven slowly let go of August’s wrists. August didn’t try and grab the artery again.
“I promise we’ll cut you loose,” Deven said, although he had no idea how he would keep that promise.
Fury rushed through Deven at the thought of Night Axe doing this. It should have been him laying there, bleeding into Night Axe’s body. He had been Night Axe’s target. August had saved Deven and this was what he got in return.
“We’ll cut you loose,” Deven repeated. He unbuttoned August’s shirt.
With the spell projector glasses on, Deven saw how the circular bruise was the location where the artery connected August’s body to Night Axe. The rhythmic pulse of August’s blood flowed through the semi-transparent surface of the blood vessel, but none leaked, and the flow seemed small enough not to kill August outright.
August grimaced.
“Like it or not, this does give us an advantage,” Klakow said. “Now that you are linked to him, we can find him.”
August didn’t respond. Deven carefully buttoned August’s shirt for him.
“We need to find out more about Night Axe’s arrival,” Deven told Klakow. “We must know how long he’s been here, how much time he’s had to develop his network of sacrifices.”
“Network of sacrifices?”
“Night Axe apparently has replaced killing human victims on sacrificial altars with bleeding them slowly, consuming their blood through a network of these.” Deven motioned to the throbbing artery, pumping August’s blood out the window and down the street beyond. “But this requires great effort—it must take half the power he harvests to fuel the spell alone. At some point he’d have to have first fueled his mutation with murder. If we can trace how long ago he came here, we can start to estimate how connected he is through the city and understand how hard it’ll be to kill him.”
Klakow scowled. “Deven, NIAD doesn’t condone the killing of individuals, even if they’re from fucked-up realms. We police movement and goods but we don’t execute—”
“Shut up, Klakow,” August said. “You can lecture Deven on the rules later.”
Klakow looked ready to argue, but then his expression softened and he knelt beside them, pocketing his phone. “They’re waiting for you at the clinic. I’ll take you there, then go back to the office and see what I can find out about Night Axe’s recent history.”
August nodded. When Deven handed him back his sunglasses, August gripped them tightly but didn’t put them back on.
Deven and Klakow both helped him stand, although after a few steps he shoved them both off and walked on his own. “I’m not a fucking invalid,” August complained.
Deven considered disagreeing but kept his mouth shut as they made their way to the elevators. August’s complexion was deathly white and the surges of blood that drained out of the artery were clearly taking their toll. Even though he walked on his own, August leaned against Deven for support and didn’t stray far once they reached the lobby.
A large tour group had arrived; the lobby overflowed with loud people wearing even louder clothes. Luggage spilled out to the elevator and created tripping hazards. The moving mass confused Deven and he had to take a deep breath and work to identify individual objects: a fake Grecian pillar, wrapped in plastic ivy; a chubby woman in a pink-striped skirt, watching over a pile of black suitcases; a small, black-and-white-dotted bird, hopping under one of the coffee tables.
Deven blinked. He removed the glasses and stared at the bird, who had attracted the attention of a group of women. They laughed and cooed at the little creature, snapping their fingers at him.
“Stay here. Don’t move,” Deven ordered. He held his hand against August’s chest and pointed at Klakow. He put his glasses back on and slunk to a large potted plant beside the open front of the hotel and hid behind it as he scanned the street.
Over a dozen Montezuma quail, far from their countryside habitat and hopping down the urban core of the city, peered into buildings and chirped as they dodged footfalls and honking cars.
Deven hurried back. August must have known something was wrong by his expression, for his mouth curled into an angry sneer. “Now what?”
“Watchbirds.” Deven pointed to the quail inside the building, skittering between furniture.
“Are they Night Axe’s?” August asked.
“No. They must belong to whatever lord has them assigned to track Night Axe’s movements. If they’re here, that means Night Axe has soldiers in the vicinity.”
August rolled his eyes. “This is ridiculous.” He angrily yanked his phone from his pocket. “Klakow, pull the car around to the service entrance and meet us there.”
Klakow nodded and headed out to retrieve the car.
“Why send him alone?” Deven asked.
“I don’t want anyone following you. You’re the prize, remember? Don’t forget it.” He started texting furiously, maneuvering through the lobby toward the elevators without looking, as if he knew the place like the back of his hand. “Damn it! Now we’re hiding from wildlife.”
The staff in the back of the hotel gave them strange looks but didn’t stop them as they made a beeline for the service entrance and waited on the curb alongside several employees who appeared to be taking an extended cigarette break. Klakow brought his car around and Deven helped August climb inside, wincing as he shut the passenger door through the floating blood vessel.
As Klakow drove around the corner and past the front of the hotel, Deven noticed watchbirds were everywhere. But they weren’t the only thing that caught his eye. As they passed the hotel awning he thought he saw an Aztaw soldier, visible one moment, invisible the next. The soldier reappeared, but as they turned the corner, he disappeared again.
But then the car plunged into the heavy onslaught of downtown traffic, bright signs, and blinding sunlight, and Deven pushed his new sunglasses tight against his face and closed his eyes. The soldier at the hotel would have to wait.
