Текст книги "Irregulars "

Автор книги: Astrid Amara

Соавторы: Nicole Kimberling,Ginn Hale,Josh lanyon
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Текущая страница: 21 (всего у книги 32 страниц)

“Do you have a girlfriend?” Deven asked curiously.

August quirked his eyebrow. “Do you think I’d be flirting with a man if I did?”

Deven smiled. “Boyfriend?”

“It’s been several years since I’ve been in a relationship,” August admitted. He busied himself with folding up the map he’d drawn on. “The last one ended badly.”

“Why?”

“Because of the job.”

“Why would that matter?”

August gave Deven a look like he was being an idiot again. “Honestly, how big do you think the pool of prospective homosexual men at NIAD is?” He waved his hand over the office. “The few gay employees in the division are stationed all over the world. And the few at the San Francisco branch are not appropriate dating material.”

“Why?”

“I have no interest in screwing goblins, even if they’re trans-goblins. Way too much goblin family baggage to deal with.”

“So you’re the only homosexual human in San Francisco?”

August rolled his eyes. “Obviously not. But my other options in the division are an old bum with frightening fashion sense and a vegetarian.” August said this last word as though foregoing eating meat was even more unattractive than being a goblin. “You may have met the goblin at that Christmas party they made you attend.”

The only person Deven remembered at the Christmas party was an attractive man who had been eating cigarettes right out of the pack. Considering that, he could see why August might not date inside the agency.

“What about people who aren’t agents?”

“Dating outside of the Irregulars is too difficult.”

“Why?”

“It’s hard to constantly lie to someone you love. You can’t explain what you do, what challenges you face. They don’t understand how different the world seems, and when something bad happens and you need to talk about it, all you can do is make up some excuse about lost visa applications and hope they buy it.” August’s eyes suddenly got glassy and Deven wished he hadn’t brought up the topic.

August cleared his throat. “Let’s get something more substantial to eat, then check in on the sacrifices.” It took him two tries to get out of the chair, and as he stood, the little color in his cheeks drained once more. Deven walked beside him in case he lost his balance. August leaned into him, their arms brushing as they made their way down the hall.

August lowered his voice. “What about you?” he asked. “Have you dated much?”

“When would I?”

“You’ve been back a year. You could have met someone.”

“No.”

“So no one?” August looked at him, curious. “You’ve never been with anyone?”

Deven quickly determined that his experience with the woman Lord Jaguar had offered ranked low on the morality scale, so he skipped that story, proud of his growing sensibilities.

“A man seduced me a few months ago,” Deven told him.

August grinned. “Did you like it?”

Deven nodded. “It was nice. A little hard to concentrate.”

August threw his head back and laughed so loudly four employees ahead of them in the hallway turned and scowled. Deven was more distracted by the pale expanse of skin exposed when August arched his neck.

When he glanced back at Deven, August’s eyes were wet with tears of laughter and he looked genuinely happy. “That’s the point, Deven. I’m sure the gentleman involved would consider it a compliment.”

Deven felt his cheeks turn red and looked away.

Outside, it had started to rain. Unlike showers in the Pacific Northwest, which were cool and refreshing, this was a hot, sticky rain, combining with the heat to add a muggy layer to the normally dry climate.

Still, the rain reminded Deven of Friday Harbor with its bone-colored sky, sea, and air and its salty breezes, and windy woods. The novelty of homesickness washed over him again.

Director Alonsa was also interested in visiting the sacrifices in the NIAD ward at the Sanitorio Espanol hospital, so they drove together, stopping at another taqueria for lunch. Deven discovered that Director Alonsa and Agent August were friends, having both worked in the San Francisco branch a few years prior.

As they discussed familiar colleagues, Deven watched people stroll by outside of the restaurant window. It hurt less now to distinguish colors and objects as he visually adjusted to the urban scene. Nevertheless, something always came up that he couldn’t make out. A bright fiasco of flapping vinyl and metal wheels made him squint and he had to concentrate to figure out what it was, until August leaned over and touched his knee.

“It’s a fruit cart,” August said quietly.

“Oh.” Suddenly his interest perked up. “Oh! I want to try a watermelon.”

August gave him an indulgent smile. “Right now?”

Deven shrugged. “Well, sometime. I like fruit.” He felt the director’s sharp, inquisitive gaze on him, so he looked away and kept silent as they loaded themselves back into 72’s sedan and drove to the hospital.

They made their way through a hectic entrance where close to a hundred people lingered in the crowded, hot reception. The rain had brought everyone indoors and an earthy, unpleasant odor of humanity filled the space. Several babies were crying and Deven felt claustrophobic.

Fortunately, they didn’t linger there for long. Director Alonsa flashed a badge and they descended into the bowels of the hospital. The laundry churned out heat and chemical odors. But next to it lay the smaller waiting area and a narrow hallway of the NIAD hospital rooms.

Director Alonsa checked in with Agent Zardo, who reported a young man named Honesto had volunteered to have the risky surgery. He had been told the procedure would facilitate removing the toxicity in his blood. The other living sacrifices huddled in frightened groups, speaking in whispers. They were strangers to each other, scared or angry at their forced separation from the rest of the world. Only Deven and the other sunglass-wearing agents could see the remarkable weavings of arteries that entwined them all. The blood vessels tangled as they flowed between bodies.

“Night Axe might sense that,” Deven said, pointing to where all the arteries bundled and exited the heavy stone foundation wall.

“Sense what?” August pulled on his sunglasses. He frowned at the exit point. “Not much we can do at this point.”

As they waited for the results of the surgery, August volunteered to venture out in the rain and fetch watermelon from the nearest fruit stand. Deven stood to follow, but August held out his hand, holding him back.

“No, stay.” He eyed the cluster of arteries in the wall. “You know what to be on the lookout for if Night Axe comes.”

Deven nodded and sat back down on a hard bench. He lost track of time in the fluorescent-lit basement. He wondered how far August had wandered.

Agent Ortega approached Deven with a toothy grin. “It’s done,” he said. “Honesto survived. They had to cauterize the wound with an energy burn, but his bleeding is under control.”

“Can I see?” Deven asked. Ortega nodded and the two of them walked down the hallway toward the operating room.

The hairs on the back of Deven’s neck stood on end. Deven watched the arteries streaming around them for movement hinting at Night Axe’s presence, but they neither tugged nor changed direction.

A smell of rotten flesh filled his nostrils. He reached for one of his knives.

“Something’s wrong,” he told Ortega. “Get everyone in their rooms. Now!”

Ortega studied Deven’s expression for only a second before nodding and bursting into action. He shouted a flurry of Spanish and people began to move, first slowly and then in greater urgency as Agent Zardo rushed down the hall, echoing Ortega’s command.

The smell intensified and Deven glanced up. The ventilation shaft grate burst open and clanged to the floor, inches from his head. The four tzimimi shrieked into the hallway, their loose, leathery breasts flapping as they flew. One swung her obsidian-studded baton at Deven’s head. He ducked out of the way and she didn’t linger for another attempt. All four shot through the window of the door of the operating room, shattering the glass. A scream burst out of the room. It sounded like someone was thrown against the wall.

Deven ran forward and yanked open the door. One of the night spirits slashed at Deven’s face with her clawed hand. He pulled back and threw his knife upward, hitting one of her shining eyes. She fell to the floor with a crunch of breaking bones.

Deven leaped upon her, plunging his second knife between her ribs and deep into her black heart. He saw Agents Ortega and Zardo run past him, firing needle-thin shard bullets at the other night spirits.

The one beneath him cursed in Aztawi and writhed as Deven drove his blade deeper. The serpents between her legs hissed and tried to bite at him, and with his last plunge, the spirit contorted, raking her taloned foot down Deven’s spine. Her glowing skin shriveled and burned like paper around his blade.

Once her struggles stopped and she died, Deven clambered to his feet. A sharp ache pulsed from his bleeding back. But there were still three more of the monstrosities, and even though Ortega and Zardo were on the offensive, he could see they were all too late. Honesto lay shredded on the bloody hospital bed, his eyes, nose, and mouth ripped from his body to expose his bare skull underneath.

Thin bullets strafed the tzimimi. They retreated to the corner. One threw a jade glyph on the hard hospital floor and fire ignited, licking the bloody bed sheets and spreading up to burn Honesto’s fingers.

Deven quickly crushed the jade glyph beneath his bootheel and spat on the fragments. The fire gutted instantly but the odor of burnt hair lingered.

One of the tzimimi crumpled to the ground and another quickly followed. Ortega moved closer to shoot point-blank at the spirits’ bodies.

“Aim for the heart!” Deven shouted. He grabbed one of the fallen batons and flung it at the last night spirit, downing her on the bed, on top of poor Honesto.

Deven grabbed her by her grass skirt, dragging her off the patient. He drew his knife across her throat, sawing through her spine and stepping back as she gave one last cry before dying.

Deven turned to confront the other night spirits, but they were dead, shot with so many shard bullets their bodies shimmered metallic with enchanted copper and silver. Ortega’s forehead and hair were matted with blood; one of the tzimimi had struck him before dying.

Ortega moved to the beside and checked Honesto’s pulse. He quickly dropped his hand.

“He’s dead.”

The aftermath of the attack reminded Deven of Lord Jaguar’s sacrificial altar. The heavy odor of metal and blood permeated his senses, and for a moment he was transported back, kneeling at the feet of his lord, watching in silence as women, men, and children were silently led to the altar to have their throats slit.

He’d learned how tricky it was to walk through slick pools of blood in corn-husk sandals, and now he walked to Honesto’s side, treading carefully.

All of the tzimimi must have shredded the man with their claws. Deven picked up his sunglasses, which had come off in the struggle, and he saw the bulging incision where Honesto’s connection to Night Axe had been severed. The end of the vessel was charred black.

“Oh Jesus,” Director Alonsa said, stepping in the room, sounding breathless. She looked flushed, as if she’d run in from the other end of the hospital. She took in the bloodbath, shaking her head.

“Jesus! Luis,” she said. Only then did Deven notice the body slumped in the corner of the room. It was Dr. Ramos, the back of his head smashed in, pieces of obsidian blade glinting in the fluorescent lights between the matted blood and hair.

“Honesto would have lived,” Ortega said, panting. He wiped blood out of his eye. “The surgery was a success.”

“But it alerted Night Axe,” Deven said. He turned to the director. “We can’t do more. For all we know, he senses the other sacrifices have been gathered here and is on his way. We must act now.”

Director Alonsa looked to Agent Ortega. “Go upstairs and get a doctor to stitch up your head. Zardo, call a cleanup squad.” She looked helpless as she stared at the mess. She reached over and squeezed Honesto’s ankle, the only part of him that hadn’t been raked open.

She then turned to Deven and her eyes narrowed. “Where are you hurt?”

“Me?” Deven remembered the talons in his back and reached around. His white T-shirt was wet with blood. “It’s all right.”

She hesitated as if she didn’t believe him but then nodded. “Where’s Silas?”

“Outside, getting me a watermelon.” He felt embarrassed admitting it. While innocent people needed the Irregulars, one of them had been out fetching Deven a treat.

Director Alonsa led Deven out of the bloody room and firmly shut the door behind them. Pieces of glass broke from the shattered window and she quickly withdrew her hand to avoid the shards.

“Don’t let Agent August see this,” she told Deven.

“Why not?” Deven didn’t imagine August was the kind of man to be squeamish.

“The way that young man is sliced up looks too similar to how Silas’s lover died,” Director Alonsa said.

Deven visualized the mangled remnants of Honesto’s face, imagining how he’d feel if that face had belonged someone he loved.

“His lover was cut up?” Deven asked.

Director Alonsa nodded. “A faerie assassin sliced him to pieces.”

Deven remembered the glassy expression on August’s face when he’d talked of hiding his career from his lovers. “Did his lover even know August was with NIAD?”

Director Alonsa looked at him blankly. “Silas wasn’t an agent. His lover was. Silas thought Jake was an immigrations officer. Only after witnessing Jake’s assault did he learn of the agency and was invited to come on board.”

That wasn’t what Deven had been expecting. “Why was he invited? He doesn’t have any magical ability.”

“He was a top-notch investigator for the DEA, and we were looking for more expertise in investigation over magical abilities. Equipment can handle magic; it takes intelligence to resolve crimes.”

“How long ago was Jake killed?”

“Why, you interested in taking his place?” Director Alonsa asked.

“Not his place as a casualty,” Deven clarified.

“Be kind to him,” Director Alonsa said.

“He’s a jerk.”

“Yes. And he is a great investigator and agent, and a friend of mine.” Director Alonsa squeezed Deven’s arm. “He’s not as hard as he appears. He’s just damaged and lonely.”

“But I make up for it with impeccable fashion sense.”

Deven swiveled at August’s voice. August’s hands were full with two enormous slices of red, dripping watermelon. Deven wondered how long he’d been standing there, listening.

Director Alonsa gave Deven a pointed look and walked off.

“What happened?” August snapped, smile fading as he took in the cries of the other patients and the broken window on the operating room door.

“Honesto’s dead,” Deven said. “Come on.”

“What? What happened?” August strained to look through the window. Deven grabbed his arm and led him away. He snatched one of the pieces of watermelon out of August’s hands.

“He survived the operation, but the tzimimi got him.”

“What?” August’s mouth curled in a snarl.

“They’re dead,” Deven assured him. “Agents Ortega, Zardo, and I got them all.”

“About fucking time.” August frowned. “Are you bleeding?”

“A little. It’s not bad.”

“Like hell it isn’t. Hold this.” August handed Deven his slice of watermelon and lifted the back of Deven’s T-shirt. Deven’s skin prickled with the sensation of August behind him, touching him.

“Christ, Deven. This looks awful. Let’s find a doctor to sew this up.”

“There’s no time. We have to go after Night Axe now.”

“What about detaching the others?”

“Night Axe knows what we’re doing. Besides, the doctor is dead.” Water from the watermelon dribbled on Deven’s hand and he licked at it. “Thank you for the fruit,” he told August.

“Yeah...well, no problem.” August still scowled at Deven’s back.

Deven took a bite. The fruit’s sweetness and watery, crispy texture shocked him. He realized the watermelon had been the first gift he’d been given in the human world since his mother died and felt a sudden, overwhelming rise in temperature as he flushed with happiness. Even with bloody rakes in his back, obsidian shards in his hair, and a renegade Aztaw lord to stalk, someone had voluntarily given him a gift and that, at least, was worth sticking around for.

August’s expression was somber, almost haunted, as he took in the marks on Deven’s back. Deven polished off his watermelon in four quick bites, then grabbed hold of August’s hand. “Come on, let’s get Night Axe before he kills anyone else.”

August squeezed his hand and, for once, followed Deven.

Chapter Fifteen

It was nearly dark by the time Director Alonsa assembled her raiding party, so Deven suggested they reconvene at dawn, when daylight would weaken Night Axe’s wards. Some quiet exchange occurred between Alonsa and August, and she agreed that August could continue another day.

August and Deven returned to the safe house. Deven slept little, his body already charged with the adrenaline rush of impending conflict.

The house was quiet at the early hour, with only the security system humming in the background. Deven showered and dressed, and when he emerged from his room, one of the guards informed him that Director Alonsa had phoned and was on her way to pick them up.

Deven made his way down the hall to August’s bedroom. He knocked, but there was no answer. “Agent August?” he called. He received no response.

Fear seized him. He rushed through the door but exhaled in relief when he saw August had merely slept late again, face as pale as the bedsheets on which he slept.

He appeared to be deep in slumber, but he didn’t look peaceful. He twitched and jerked in his sleep, hands drifting unconsciously to his chest and the connection that linked him to Carlos’s killer.

Deven sat at the edge of the bed and gave in to his urge to run his hand through August’s dark curls. He’d never seen such a thick, chaotic, beautiful head of hair before. It was wild and almost childlike in its resistance to order.

August’s eyes slowly opened as Deven stroked his fingers along his scalp. August appeared confused for a moment, but then the confusion disappeared and he simply stared into Deven’s eyes.

Desire, sharp as an electric charge, sparked through Deven. His breathing hurt. He stared back, heart racing, terrified and elated and unsure what to do next.

August seemed to be waiting for something. He froze, unmoving, as Deven continued to stroke his hair. His lips parted and he took in a hitching breath.

The sight of his soft, wide lips was too much to resist and Deven leaned down closer. His heart hammered in his chest. He still feared he had misread the agent, up until August closed the distance between them and kissed him.

Deven gasped and opened his mouth and August plunged his tongue inside. The feeling was like a shock, pleasure bolting down the nerves of his spine, pooling in his groin. Hot pulses of desire flooded him and he opened his mouth wider, pushing his tongue back into August’s mouth.

Who would imagine such a strange, wet, and slick sensation could be so intoxicating? August tasted like toothpaste and sleep. He wrapped his arms around Deven and pulled him down, flush against his body. Despite the thrusting urgency of his groin, August’s touch was surprisingly gentle.

But the moment Deven’s hard cock rubbed through his pants against August’s a flare of need dismantled all other thoughts and he began gracelessly rubbing against him. Their kiss intensified, mimicking the pulsing of their hips, August’s hands deftly moving to Deven’s belt, unbuckling it without looking.

Deven had been nervous when touched the first time by Christopher, but he wasn’t anxious now. The slow, simmering arousal that had built all week burned through any fear. He brazenly ran his hands down August’s slender body, stroking the contours of his hips, drawn to the hard heat between them.

August pulled Deven’s trousers and underwear down and quickly divested his own. His long, slender fingers grasped hold of Deven’s cock and Deven shuddered, his body blazing with a solitary, driving need—to be inside August, to fill him.

Their fingers intertwined as they grabbed hold of each other, rubbing for delicious friction as their mouths met once more.

He was drowning, drowning. He heard August gasp for air and he pulled back, worried he was too forceful, given August’s injuries. But August seemed oblivious to his own body’s torments—he pumped both of them together in a palm slickened with their mingled pre-ejaculate.

“Yes,” August mumbled against Deven’s lips. “Yes, yes, yes.” He kissed him once more and then turned, writhing out from under Deven to bend down and pull Deven’s cock into his mouth.

It felt like the place where craving and satisfaction met, a slick, hot enveloping world summoning him deeper, and Deven arched himself into August’s mouth, delirious with gratification. Nothing had ever felt like this and he knew he was completely lost now—only this would ever inspire him.

He glanced down at the site of August’s sweat-kinked hair, his lips drawn taut around Deven’s flesh, and Deven shuddered and came, muffling his cry by clenching his jaw shut.

He lay there, panting, recovering from what surely was some form of magic. August lay half on top of him, hot breath grazing Deven’s hip bone as he pumped himself in his own fist.

Curiosity and affection emboldened Deven, and he forced his heavy, sated body to turn so he could return the gesture as he assumed would be appropriate.

August watched with a fragile expression, both wary and hopeful. Deven had no idea what he was doing, but this wasn’t hard science either. It was easy to swallow flesh, to respond to the look of surprise and desire that transformed August’s face, to go faster when August’s fingers rubbed a rhythm into Deven’s hair, to pull him deeper and see how far he could go.

August suddenly jerked and his hot release filled Deven’s mouth. When Deven swallowed, he thought it tasted bitter and earthy, and it grounded him, here in this world and in this moment, so much that he smiled with relief.

Deven sat up and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. August stared, almost agape.

“Christ, that’s the hottest thing I’ve ever fucking seen.” He pulled Deven in for a sloppy kiss.

“Time to go!”

Both men jerked at the intruding loud knock against the door.

“Director’s outside!” the guard shouted.

“We hear you!” August cried back, reluctantly letting go of Deven. His hands shook and his hair was mussed. His cheeks showed a little color and his lips were finally back to the red Deven had first noticed, swollen from their kisses.

Deven touched his own lips, swollen from August’s cock and raw from August’s short stubble.

“God damn it!” August said, shaking his head. He steadied his hand on Deven’s shoulder as he sat up. “I can’t believe I slept in again.”

Deven’s heart raced. The last thing he wanted to do was leave that bed. “You needed the sleep,” Deven said, surprised by the huskiness of his voice.

“I needed what we just did more.” August offered Deven a crooked smile. He found his underwear and winced as he pulled the fabric over his wilting erection. August glanced at him with a sweet expression. “You okay?”

“Sure.” Deven felt out of breath. He wasn’t sure how to describe his feelings. Elation? Fear? Anticipation of next time? A little of everything.

August leaned down and kissed Deven once more, briefly, then clambered out of bed.

“Need help getting ready?” Deven offered.

“Yeah, want to dress me?”

“I prefer the opposite,” Deven said, feeling his ears flush red.

August laughed. “Nice to see you’re getting the hang of flirtatious banter. Klakow’s going to lose his mind.” With impressive speed given his weak state, August changed into a dark blue shirt and black suit, mumbling about alarms all the while.

Deven dressed quickly as well, smoothing the palms of his hands over his trousers, anxious some trace of what they’d just done lingered on the carelessly tossed fabric. But August didn’t seem to be worried so Deven reassured himself that this was all okay.

Besides, more pressing, and dangerous, matters awaited them out in the predawn gloom.

Parked outside the safe house was a long white van with a gas company logo stenciled on the outside. Inside sat nearly a dozen Irregulars agents, crowded on seats and on top of boxes of what looked to be ammunition and computer equipment. Everyone other than Director Alonsa in the front seat was dressed in identical blue overalls with the same gas company logo above the breast. But underneath those overalls Deven saw the width of bulletproof vests and didn’t miss the noticeable bulges in their pockets. Judging by the number of objects dangling disguised in black pouches from their utility belts, they were well armed. The firepower and sheer number in the operation relieved him but irrationally left him angry. Where the hell had they been when he was pawned off by a lunatic diplomat? He’d spent years imagining rescue from topside agents dressed in fatigues swooping in to carry Deven back to safety.

But they’d never arrived and he’d learned a valuable lesson: never again to rely on anyone else to save him. So while he was grateful for the additional eyes and weapons, he kept his knives close since they were all he really put his faith in.

He pulled on a spare pair of overalls and transferred his knives, obsidian mirror, Fight Arm’s necklace, and his jaguar skin into the large pockets, where they’d be easy to reach, as August more slowly pulled on his own overalls.

Director Alonsa made introductions as Deven and August dressed. Deven recognized Agents Ortega, Zardo, and Klakow, but the rest of the names flashed by too quickly for Deven to learn them. The only name he caught was a woman called Dr. Ruth Hansing, who’d flown in from DC the night before to take Dr. Ramos’s place as the medical advisor for the mission.

“I have liquid cyanide here,” she told August, holding out a small vial of yellow fluid, capped with a plastic top. “Drink it all. You’re going to have trouble breathing and experience seizures before you drop into unconsciousness.”

“Great.” August took the vial and pocketed it in his overalls.

“The antidote comes in three parts,” Dr. Hansing said, holding a syringe. “I’m going to have to give you amyl nitrite, sodium nitrite, and sodium thiosulfate in rapid succession as soon as the poison has taken effect, so stay close to me for the duration of the raid. If something happens to me, Agent Ortega has a full antidote kit as well.”

August nodded. The overalls made him appear younger, his curls forced into order, his black eye garish against his pale skin. He didn’t look like the sneering, domineering man Deven had met only a few days before.

He looked scared, and Deven couldn’t blame him.

The van lurched into gear and Deven struggled for a hand-hold against the corrugated wall of the vehicle. He jostled against August. Deven wanted to hold August’s hand again, to feel even just a fraction of the connection they’d shared less than an hour ago. But he worried it might look bad in front of the other agents so instead he reached out for one of the weapons piled in the center of the vehicle.

Director Alonsa leaned over the back of the front seat. “Put that down,” she shouted. “You aren’t going on the mission. You’re staying in the van with me.”

“What?” Deven and August both exclaimed.

“This is an NIAD operation. No consultants.”

Deven’s stomach dropped. “But—”

“I need him,” August snapped. “He’s the only one here who even speaks Night Axe’s language.”

“We take only vetted employees on high-risk operations,” the director said. “You know that.”

Deven felt something close to panic at the idea of being left behind. He’d finally found a role for himself in the natural world. The irony of being cut from the team because something was “too dangerous” was bitter.

“How do you plan to surprise Night Axe?” Deven asked, trying to sound more assured than desperate.

Director Alonsa shrugged. “We’re armed well enough that we don’t need surprise. But we should be able to move quickly enough to take him unawares.”

“The same connection to August that you’re using to find him will alert Night Axe to your approach,” Deven said. “He’s bound to have security wards protecting his lair. And you’ll be up against Night Axe’s soldiers. Remember what happened at the hospital.”

There was an uncomfortable silence. Deven pressed on, “But I can get you into his lair, without detection, even with the connection to Agent August.”

Director Alonsa narrowed her eyes. “How?”

“I can transport you through a portal. You’ll appear out of thin air.”

August frowned. “I thought you could only use the pen to travel between calendars, not between portals in the same realm.”

“Yes, but I can move your entire force down to Aztaw and back up using the calendars.”

Only the sound of the van’s engine could be heard as everyone digested the idea. No one looked like they cherished the concept of traveling to Aztaw.

“I don’t like it,” the director said.

“It would only be for a few seconds. I write very fast.”

“How do you know he has a portal in his lair?” Klakow asked.

“Most Aztaw lords don’t move far from them,” Deven said. “Time is sacred in Aztaw and temples and places of power are built around calendar intersection points. Besides, the evidence of the original victims’ locations, and the proximity to crossroads, suggests this is where Night Axe operates. There must be a portal nearby.”

The director studied Deven, obviously considering his proposal.

“You would have the element of surprise,” August said. “It may be the advantage we need.”

“I’d be putting a lot of trust in you, Deven,” Director Alonsa said, sighing. “My hesitance to bring you along isn’t only about liability should you get injured. I’m still not convinced your loyalties are where they need to be.”

“I’m not moving back to Aztaw.” Deven didn’t realize he meant it until he said it and felt surprised by the statement. He clenched his jaw. “My loyalties are here. I won’t let anything happen to Agent August.”