Текст книги "Irregulars "
Автор книги: Astrid Amara
Соавторы: Nicole Kimberling,Ginn Hale,Josh lanyon
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Текущая страница: 20 (всего у книги 32 страниц)
Chapter Thirteen
Returning to the safe house took longer than Deven had intended. Although he’d learned Spanish from his mother, his reading skills were paltry at best and he spoke at the level of a child. He misdirected his taxi driver and ended up being dropped off at the Tecnología Educativa Galileo instead of Galileo Street, in a different part of town. His phone had long since died without recharging and he didn’t have the local Irregulars’ office number anywhere else.
He couldn’t find another empty taxi so he started walking, asking after Calle Galileo and being directed in a vague, northerly direction.
The endless traffic, colorful buildings, graffiti, and billboards merged with the noises and subway smells to make a chaos that gave him a headache and hurt his eyes even through the sunglas-ses. The walk was the second long trek of the day and nearly five miles. He felt exhausted from the simple effort of distinguishing street signs from advertisements.
A sense of displacement filled him as he walked, worse even than those first disorienting weeks on San Juan Island. Fight Arm was part of a life he’d left, and the fact that Deven had spoken with him and would see him again filled him with a nervous grief that summed up his suffering since leaving Aztaw.
After all, when he’d first left, he’d fled for his life. But within a hesitant truce between himself and Lord Knife lurked the possibility of return, as mad as the idea was. He knew it’d still be dangerous—even if he managed to ally himself with Lord Knife’s dynasty, there were rebels to fight and other lords to conquer—but the comfort of the known tugged at his gut, an unpleasant but undeniable urge, destructive and powerful in nature.
In the daily hour of television prescribed to him by his therapist, Deven once watched a show on addicts, fascinated and confused by why a person would consistently and consensually take something that made them violently ill and ruined their life. But how was that different than this urge? Aztaw was a living hell, he was friendless there, and still he longed for its hot familiarity. He wanted to be back where things were logical—where his eyes didn’t hurt all the time, where people didn’t expect him to say the right thing. Back where he had a purpose and had known how to do it.
Who was he kidding, anyway? Replacing his knives for freeze balls wouldn’t change Deven’s nature. He’d been raised to kill the enemies of those he was allied with. That was all he knew. How could anyone expect someone as fucked up as him to grow accustomed to a peaceful life? It was hopeless. And Deven only disappointed those around him by allowing them to cling to the belief he could someday be retrained into a proper human being.
By the time he approached the well-enforced gates of the safe house he’d made up his mind. He would help August and kill Night Axe, secure Lord Jaguar’s house power somewhere here in the natural world where it would remain protected from Aztaw revolutionaries, and return home. It would leave him more vulnerable—once again he would be a guardian without a house power, a target for Aztaw soldiers. But he would also no longer be the threat the other lords perceived him to be with his easily fueled house power and he would be keeping the promise he had made to his lord. He would never betray that promise—but he could no longer pretend to be normal.
The safe house blended in with the well-fortified luxury mansions and embassies that lined the shady streets of the Polanco neighborhood, but there was a definite air of impenetrability to the structure. The guard at the house carefully examined Deven’s identification before allowing him past the first gate.
At a second gate he was examined with a strobe light he imagined was similar to August’s flashlight. After passing that test, he waited as the burly guard dismantled wards and magical shields. By the time the guard finally unbolted the front door and Deven stepped into the light and spacious living room, he was emotionally and physically spent. His feet ached; his heart felt like a gaping wound in his chest.
“You okay?”
Deven spun, shocked he’d been taken by surprise. Agent August’s ability to sneak up on him was another sign of his exhaustion.
August’s naturally pale coloring was white as death and the dark bruise on his right eye looked nearly black against his skin. He was clearly sicker than he’d been when Deven had left. Still, his expression lifted a little as he offered Deven a tired smile.
“You can take the glasses off,” August told him. “They have a disk at the front and Night Axe will be spotted if he tries to enter.”
Deven folded the glasses and put them carefully in his pocket. “You look tired.”
August shrugged. “It’s hard to sleep when you feel like part of you is being sucked away.”
Deven didn’t like the anxious look in August’s eyes so he changed the subject. “Did the local agents find other sacrifices?”
August nodded. “Ortega and Zardo located twenty-nine people so far who’re attached to Night Axe.”
“Why don’t they trace the network to Night Axe and drop a bomb on his lair?”
August snorted. “Nice idea. Unfortunately there’s this thing about innocent casualties that the agency tends to frown upon.”
“Right, simply killing him would be too easy, wouldn’t it?” Deven heard the fatigue in his own voice. Obviously so did August. He gripped Deven’s arm and led him to a plush cream-colored sofa and urged him to sit down. Deven collapsed back, sighing as his body sank into the cushions. August sat close beside him.
The room was expansive, the ceiling two floors up with wood fans lazily stirring the air. The room and all its furnishings were exclusively white, the only color coming from the bright red area rug under a white, glass-topped coffee table.
Deven leaned his head back, staring up at the fans. Only the occasional chirp of the security system broke the silence of the house.
“Is anyone else staying here?” he asked.
“Other than night staff, no. You’re free to molest me without witnesses.” August smirked at his innuendo, but the obvious exhaustion in the agent’s eyes belayed any hope that he might have been serious.
“What did you find out from the Aztaw?” August asked.
“He’ll discover what he can about Night Axe’s vulnerabilities and meet me at dawn. He’s confident we can poison him, making him weak enough to subdue.”
“Good.” August nodded. “I’m coming with you.”
Deven frowned. “You don’t look up to it.”
“I’ll be fine. I slept a little and dinner will revive me. Speaking of which, I went ahead and ordered something for you.”
“What a surprise.” Deven sank lower into the couch and closed his eyes. August said nothing for a bit and Deven had nearly drifted off to sleep when he felt August’s fingers touch his shoulder.
“What did he say to you?”
“Who?”
“Your contact.”
“I told you.” Deven kept his eyes clamped shut, afraid his tumultuous thoughts would show, so close to the surface.
“He said something that’s upset you. You’re tense and unhappy.”
Deven cracked open an eyelid. “I’m hunting the Aztaw bogeyman armed with two knives and aided by an injured asshole of an Irregulars agent. Why should I be happy?”
August snorted. “I’m not that much of an asshole.”
“Yes you are.”
“You like me anyway.” August closed his own eyes and slid down to match Deven’s height on the couch. His long legs sprawled out in front of him, limp.
Deven decided not to answer that. He didn’t need to complicate matters with his feelings about August.
“You want to return to Aztaw.” August said it; it wasn’t a question.
Deven opened his eyes. “What does it matter to you? If I finish the job I’ve been paid for, I can do whatever I like.”
“Of course.” August clenched his jaw. “But you’re making a mistake.”
“You don’t know what it’s like,” Deven said.
August scowled. “What? Being lonely? Feeling out of place? Not being able to relate to anyone around you? Welcome to the fucking Irregulars club, Deven. The difference is that here you have people who will help you. Friends in the division who understand that isolation. Occasionally even lovers.” Something dark crossed August’s eyes, but he blinked and cleared his expression before Deven could read more into it.
“You left Aztaw because everyone was trying to kill you,” August continued. “You think that’s changed?”
“I left Aztaw to keep a promise to my lord. If I preserve his house power here I can return.”
“And serve what cause? Show your affection to whom?”
Deven opened his mouth to speak, but someone coughed in the doorway and both he and August turned to look over the back of the sofa.
One of the front security guards stood there, holding two plastic bags of takeout. “You order this, Agent?”
“Yeah, thanks.” August winced as he stood but walked straight-backed, offering no hint of weakness. He took the bags from the guard and set up their meal on the coffee table.
Deven watched this little domestic routine, his throat feeling thick.
He pulled the pen from his hair and stared at its intricate carvings. He had not necessarily been happy back when he’d served Lord Jaguar, but he’d known who he was at least.
“Here.” August’s voice was gruff and he shoved a paper plate onto Deven’s lap with no finesse. Deven returned the pen behind his ear and steadied the plate on his knees. The food looked unfamiliar—and to his surprise, it was cold.
“Eat up,” August ordered. He dug into his own meal, which steamed with heat and was wrapped in corn husks.
Deven had to hold the soft, folded taco in two hands. It was stuffed with diced vegetables and what looked like seafood and a creamy sauce. He had no expectations, so when he bit into the sour, fatty, cool creaminess of the seafood ceviche he was startled by the complex flavors and textures. His mouth watered and he instantly craved more, stifling a groan of delight as he bit into avocado that mingled with the lime and onion and snapper so perfectly Deven thought he was in heaven.
He polished off the meal with hardly a breath between bites, and when he was done, he turned to see August had barely started eating, his gaze focused on Deven, eyes glinting with mirth.
“What?” Deven asked, clearing his throat. Some juices from the taco stained his fingers and he licked them clean.
August smiled but didn’t say anything. A contentment sank through Deven’s tired bones as he leaned back against the couch and relaxed into his calorie high. He watched August’s long, beautiful fingers deftly manipulate the husk wrapping his tamale. He made mundane gestures look elegant.
His fondness for August must have shown, because August stopped his gestures and gave him an open, curious look. The two stared at each other for a long moment, and something warm and tremulous tugged at Deven’s heart, made him flush with contentment.
Just this, he thought. Maybe this could be enough.
August reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind Deven’s ear. The touch vibrated through Deven’s body, sharp and shocking as a wound and almost equally as painful in its brevity.
August turned back to his dinner and Deven glanced at his empty plate, wishing there was more. He might even consider abandoning his new plan to ally with Lord Knife for the prospect of a second ceviche taco in his future.
This shows why people become obsessed with food, he thought, and then he corrected himself.
More likely, this showed that he wasn’t entirely convinced he wanted to return, if it took only a taco to convince him otherwise.
***
Deven slept solidly for several hours, luxuriating in the secure setting and the privacy of his own room for the first time since he’d arrived in Mexico. He charged his phone and its alarm awoke him an hour before sunrise.
He expected he’d have to rouse Agent August so he was surprised to find him awake, dressed impeccably as ever in a pressed suit. He sat at the kitchen table with a steaming cup of coffee, flipping through screens on his phone, the odd greenish tone of the screen contributing a ghastly shade to his already pale face.
“Trouble sleeping?” Deven asked, yawning. He shuffled into the dark kitchen. Only a dim light over the oven was turned on.
“It’s uncomfortable,” August admitted, and Deven didn’t need to ask what “it” was.
“You sure you feel strong enough to meet with Fight Arm?”
“Is that his name?” August smirked, but there was no warmth to it. “I’m fine. 72 is waiting outside.”
“Don’t the starys ever sleep?”
“They have a hibernation schedule.” August refilled his coffee and handed a cup to Deven.
“Thanks.”
“Stay alert,” August ordered.
It was still dark outside and Deven nervously fiddled with the knife at his belt. He wondered what Lord Knife’s reaction had been to the news of Night Axe’s return and Deven’s presence. He couldn’t imagine what Aztaw was like now—the revolution had radically changed the place in only a few years. For all he knew, every dynasty seat could have burned to the ground, the villages eradicated, the fields left untended.
Or something more positive could have sprung up in the place of destruction, as August would have hoped, although what such a reality would look like was unimaginable to Deven. Aztaw had always been endless dark, punctuated with grand palaces for the lords, pyramids of sacrifice, and the frightening tombs where humans waited to be bled. With all those elements under siege, Deven suspected anything could rise up and take its place.
72 parked his black sedan behind El Angel Hotel. Although Deven’s spectrum-enhanced sunglasses altered the colors of the world around him, he still saw pink in the sky as daylight broke. A murky smog hovered over the city. August and Deven passed once more through the service entrance toward the lobby.
Inside the hotel, all was quiet. A solitary, bleary-eyed woman attended the front desk, watching a telenovela with the subtitles turned on and the sound turned off. She offered a disingenuous smile as they crossed to the front doors.
There were no watchbirds. There were no people. At that hour only a few cars passed by, the rest of the city sunk in sleepy early morning silence.
They stepped through the revolving hotel doors. Deven turned and recognized Fight Arm as four tzimimi lowered torches to his trussed-up body and set him afire.
Chapter Fourteen
Fight Arm’s screams shattered the serenity of the morning. His body whooshed, covered in accelerant. He was bound in traditio-nal Aztaw funerary style in a squatting position, rope binding his thighs and arms tied behind him so he was unable to flail.
Deven rushed forward. He threw one knife at the nearest flying spirit, but all four of them took flight, talons clenching at the morning air as they streaked into the dawn.
Deven tried to help Fight Arm, who shrieked as he struggled. Heat rolled over Deven’s body, and August grabbed him by the shirt and wrenched him back. It was already too late. With a last howl Fight Arm’s efforts ceased and the flames charred his paper-thin translucent skin to ash.
“My God! I call police!” cried the hotel lobby clerk, breathless from her run outside.
“I’m with the police,” August told her, flashing his Irregulars badge. Deven hovered helplessly over Fight Arm’s burning corpse, the glow of his bones hidden under the flames and blackening ash. Deven glanced up, but the tzimimi were long gone. He saw no signs of any of Night Axe’s minions, and it looked as though nothing remained of what Fight Arm might have brought with him to their meeting. The only unnatural presence he could detect with his sunglasses was the thin ribbon of blood coursing out of August’s body and hovering down the road.
“Go back inside!” Deven heard August yell. He saw the hotel clerk rush indoors, fearful. August mumbled something under his breath, then came to Deven’s side.
“She’s going to call the cops.”
“Didn’t like your badge?”
“Didn’t like my attitude.” He glanced upward, his sunglasses reflecting the early light. “Did you see where they went?”
“The tzimimi? It doesn’t matter.” Deven leaned down and picked up his knife.
“We have to fucking capture them,” August growled. Deven remembered that August still held them accountable for Carlos’s death.
“They’ll no longer be a threat once we get Night Axe,” Deven assured him. He glanced back at the clerk. “Should we stop her from calling?”
August was already texting furiously on his phone. “Too late. I have to preempt the police force. Damn it!”
Deven kicked through the smoldering remains, hoping some piece of Fight Arm was left to save. He found his enemy’s jade necklace and lifted it carefully with the toe of his boot, separating it from the wreckage. He glanced at the glyphs carved on the jade. It was covered in a distraction spell, the one that had been keeping him unnoticeable. Deven pocketed it, fury throbbing through him. Fight Arm and Deven had spent thirteen years fighting for their lords and had survived war, assassination attempts, famine, and a brutal revolution. For Fight Arm to have died on a simple fact-finding mission on Deven’s behalf made Deven sick to his stomach. But he needed a clear head. He would kill Night Axe, at all costs. He didn’t care about the official Irregulars policy.
Given the lack of traffic at that hour, the Irregulars’ cleanup team arrived quickly and consoled the hotel clerk with their more authentic-looking Mexico City police identification. August spoke with one of them at great length, leaving Deven crouched beside the smoking remains of his nemesis, feeling a greater sense of loss than he should have, given the situation.
On the drive back to the embassy, Deven said, “There’s another way we could attempt to weaken Night Axe. We could bleed him.”
August seemed distracted. It took a few seconds for him to focus his attention on Deven. He scowled. “What?”
“Night Axe. If we bleed him out, he’ll lose the blood he needs to fuel his transformation house power.”
“Bleed him? How?”
“We cut loose the other sacrifices. Losing blood from twenty-nine severed arteries would weaken him. Then we use the connection to you to hunt him down and behead him.”
August looked disgusted. “Are you fucking nuts?”
“It would work, August.”
“No. I’m not sacrificing two dozen civilians, Deven. Think for a minute!”
August turned back to the window, angry. Deven swallowed, realizing he’d fucked up again. In a vague sense he understood August’s protests, but honestly, those other people were strangers, and meaningless, just casualties of a war.
But August was worth saving.
At the embassy August was immediately called into the office of a woman who looked as finely dressed as August and equally as pissed off. Deven made to follow, but the woman in the pinstripe suit held out her hand and stopped him.
“No. This is a private conversation, no consultants.” She slammed the door. Deven noticed the window was marked Director’s Office and realized that, indirectly this woman had hired him. He wondered if he should thank the person who gave him a job. He doubted the traditional Aztaw gift of a pulsing human heart would be welcome, but honestly, he had no idea what kinds of gifts were exchanged in the natural world, and other than distant memories of Legos and toy trucks for Christmas before his mother died, he hadn’t received any gifts except from Lord Jaguar.
Deven wandered the halls of the NIAD branch office, unsure how to occupy himself. Across from the director’s office he found a staff kitchen and ate several sticky pastries, putting one aside for August. He then considered visiting the armory but assumed the pixie would be as welcoming as the director.
A tired-looking older agent with an attractive profile and impressively shiny white teeth entered the kitchen and watched Deven for a few moments. He had a trim, graying moustache and pepper-gray hair. He didn’t wear a suit, but the badge clipped to his belt showed he was also an agent.
“You the Aztaw consultant?” the man asked, his accent thick.
“Yes.”
The man poured out two cups of thick black coffee. He offered one to Deven. “I’m Agent Rafael Ortega.”
Deven took the coffee. “Thank you.” It tasted like burned tar and he had to grimace a smile to stop from spitting it out. “You located the other sacrifices?”
Agent Ortega nodded. “Zardo’s bringing them to the hospital now.”
“Won’t that alert Night Axe that we’re on to him?”
Ortega shrugged. “Agent August texted me. He seemed worried something might happen to them. He wants them all monitored until the investigation closes.”
Fear curled inside Deven. He suspected it had been his threat against the others that made August act to protect them, which meant he didn’t trust Deven not to act without permission. Deven was surprised how much the idea that August didn’t trust him hurt.
“What did you tell them to get them to come with you?” Deven asked.
“They all think they’ve been poisoned by a toxin.”
Deven nearly asked another question when the director’s door opened and August stormed out, for once a little color showing on his cheeks. He looked ready to commit murder. He glanced around and zeroed in on Ortega.
“You got them all?” August barked.
Ortega nodded. “Thirty-six total. A few have to be pulled from job sites, but otherwise, yeah, they’ll all be tucked up safe and sound by this afternoon.”
“Where the fuck is Klakow?”
“He was in the library last I saw him.”
August started down the hall but suddenly swayed and nearly crashed into the wall. Deven rushed to his side. August immediately righted himself.
“I’m fine!” he snapped, but he didn’t look it. His lips were almost blue.
“You’re going to pass out,” Deven said.
“No. I just can’t make sudden movements.” The fingers of his right hand trailed along the wall for support.
Deven and Ortega both watched him slowly make his way. Ortega sipped his coffee and smacked his lips. “That man is going to fall down.”
“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Deven promised.
The library was nothing more than three computers clustered around a printer and mountains of files. Clearly at one point someone had attempted to organize things but gave up halfway through, because some of the contents were color coded to match file cabinets, but other piles remained unsorted.
Klakow looked small in the middle of it, sweating despite the air conditioning and clearly out of his comfort zone.
He shoved an open, crumpled city map toward August. “Here. The circles were drawn by Zardo. It shows where the sacrifices were located.”
“What did you find out about Night Axe?”
“Not much. There isn’t any mention of him, although older references mention sightings of Tezcatlipoca, an Aztec god who was missing a foot. Thirteen years ago, eight bodies were found with their throats cut outside this building,” he said, pointing to one spot, “and another ten over here.” Klakow turned to Deven. “What did you find out from your Aztaw contact?”
“He’s dead.”
Klakow’s eyes widened. “How?”
“Burned by Night Axe’s minions.”
“Before he could tell you anything?” Klakow asked.
August rolled his eyes. “Obviously. Don’t be an idiot. Move over.” He urged Klakow out of the room’s solitary chair and sat down rather inelegantly, sprawling in the seat as if his body was no longer able to support itself. “I honestly don’t know how you ever became an agent.” August started digging through the paperwork spread out on the table. “Give me your damn pen.”
Deven reached behind his ear, but Klakow handed him a Sharpie, which seemed to be what August was after. Deven felt a little foolish and stepped back into the shadows.
August marked the locations where the bodies had been found, which were nearly central to the locations of the living victims.
August typed quickly on the computer in front of him. Deven, who still struggled with basic spelling and who found keyboards slow torture devices highlighting his lack of education, was amazed at the speed at which August typed.
“What are you looking for now?” Klakow complained.
“Information on poisons.” He studied the screen.
“What are you thinking?” Deven asked.
“You said we have to poison his blood to weaken him, right? Well, I’m connected to Night Axe, so if I ingest something toxic, it will affect him. We need a substance that’ll weaken him enough to incapacitate but with a fast enough working antidote to save me and the other sacrifices.”
Alarm zinged through Deven. “That sounds dangerous.”
“You got a better idea?” August smirked, but Deven now knew August’s sarcastic looks well enough to recognize he was faking it. Clearly this idea frightened him as much as it did Deven. “Klakow, call R&D in DC and find out what they have on toxic chemicals affecting otherworldly beings.”
“I don’t work for you, remember?”
“You are an assistant on this investigation from internal affairs. You work for me until we resolve Carlos’s death.”
“Help him, Agent Klakow.”
All three of them turned. The director stood in the doorway, watching the men. Behind her stood Agent Ortega and another shorter, bored-looking man who Deven assumed to be Agent Zardo.
“Yes, ma’am,” Klakow mumbled. He shuffled past the director. Deven noticed that August didn’t bother to look at the director. He kept typing on the computer.
“I’m Director Herlinda Alonsa.” The director held out her hand to Deven and he shook it awkwardly. She turned and faced August. “Why do you want a toxicity report?”
“Deven learned Night Axe needs to be poisoned in order to be weakened enough to be captured. I can poison him. I’m attached. We find something that I can survive with a timed antidote and this may be the best way to subdue him.”
The director shook her head. “You’re too weak already.”
“I’m fine,” August grumbled. “Why doesn’t anyone believe me?”
“We’d have to detach the other sacrifices,” Agent Ortega said. “Otherwise we risk poisoning them as well.”
“Dr. Ramos wouldn’t do it for me,” August said.
“That was before we were considering poisoning three dozen people with a toxic substance strong enough to bring down an Aztaw,” Zardo said.
The director nodded. “Zardo and Ortega, go to the hospital and get Dr. Ramos up to speed. We’ll attempt a separation on a healthy volunteer. We need to move quickly.”
Deven worried that detaching victims, while offering the benefit of draining Night Axe’s blood, would also alert him to their plan. But he didn’t say anything. Director Alonsa didn’t look like the kind of person who was open to suggestions from strangers, and besides, at her command the rest of the room dispersed until it was only August, Alonsa, and himself.
“One more day, Silas,” Director Alonsa said, lingering in the library doorway. “That’s all you get. Then I’m putting you on medevac back to LA.”
She left the room and August’s mood seemed to dampen further. He slumped in his seat and rubbed his eyes.
“She’s taking you off the investigation?” Deven asked.
August nodded. “She thinks I’m getting careless because I’m sick. But it isn’t me. It’s this fucking case...” He pushed at the map angrily, tossing it to the floor. August covered his eyes with his hands.
Deven sighed and walked around the table and picked up the map. He studied August’s markings. He grabbed August’s marker and put a check next to one of the locations.
August uncovered his eyes. “What are you doing?”
“Night Axe is there.”
“How can you tell?”
“He’ll be based at a crossroads. Crossroads are sources of malevolent energy for Aztaw lords and can enhance their house powers. Night Axe would rely on this additional source of power to fuel any wards or protection spells he has around himself.”
“Do you know how to dismantle his wards?”
Deven shrugged. “There are basic wards around locked rooms in Aztaw that I can pick, but more complicated ones require magic more powerful than I have.”
“There’s a ward pruner in the armory I can borrow,” August said, sounding more enthusiastic. “Whatever you can’t handle I’m sure the pruner can.”
Deven shook his head. “But it won’t be wards alone. We’ve already seen that Night Axe has soldiers.”
“The director will issue a raid,” August said. “It’s usually for cases where a dangerous artifact is located but is occasionally applied when apprehending a threatening suspect.”
“We should go to the hospital, so if the separation works, you can be detached as well.”
August shook his head. “As much as I love the idea, we need my connection, not only for the poison but to find him. The map gives us an idea of his general whereabouts, but I can still zero in on his location.”
“You’ve seen how powerful he is,” Deven cautioned. “There’ll be casualties.”
“This morning you didn’t seem to care about casualties,” August said, but he didn’t sound angry, only curious.
Deven shrugged. “I don’t care, but you clearly do. I recognize my sense of morality is...skewed.”
August barked a short laugh. “One way of putting it.”
August’s phone rang, and when he glanced down at the screen a look of fear quickly crossed his eyes before he blinked and took the call. He crossed to the corner of the room farthest from Deven, which peaked Deven’s curiosity. August hadn’t needed privacy for other calls.
While August was on the phone Deven returned to the Irregulars’ kitchen and brought the pastry he’d saved for August back to the library. August had finished his call and took the pastry with a nod, looking wrung out. “That was Teresa.”
“Teresa?”
“Carlos’s girlfriend. She hadn’t heard from anyone and wanted to know what was going on.” August pocketed his phone. Deven noticed his hands were shaking again.
“Did you tell her he was dead?”
“Of course. No benefit in lying to her.” He ate the pastry quickly and looked around as if hoping there’d be another. Deven felt guilty for having eaten the rest.
“Did you tell her how?” Deven asked.
August glanced down at him. “No. She’s aware of the Irregulars and what we do because she works in the San Francisco branch office, but I’m not going into details. That’s something no one wants to hear about the person they care about.” August angrily reached into his pocket and mouthed a handful of pills.
Deven considered what it would be like to date someone who worked in the same office. It was an unusual situation. In Aztaw, male and female couples led different lives. The women had their own society, their own hobbies and rituals and world outside of soldiering. Only in the temples did the two sexes work together, honoring their lords.
