Agents of Order Page 14

  The message waiting when he’d reactivated his phone had increased his worry all the more. Murray had sent him several texts and resorted to voice messages when they’d failed to connect. His presence was requested—meaning required—at a dinner for the human inner circle. He’d only had time to stash the straw and capsule in the hidden compartment Hank had added into the dashboard and speed through rush-hour traffic to reach the restaurant at the indicated hour.

  It was a private room in a large bar-restaurant downtown that specifically didn’t cater to the business crowd. The place was usually rowdy downstairs and always rowdier upstairs. They had the private bar at the back of the main floor to themselves, with permission to enter through the kitchen to avoid drawing attention. He was relieved to see he wasn’t the last to arrive as he walked into the space. The broad rectangular table in the center was only half-filled, and Murray’s black outfit made him seem quite natural in his position behind the bar.

  The man slid a drink to him as soon as he approached. It turned out to be a perfectly mixed Manhattan, with exactly the right amount of Vermouth and a top-shelf bourbon. Sloan sipped it appreciatively and raised the glass in a toast. Mur gave him a half-smile, but there was a concerned edge to it. He pushed his magic but as usual, it failed to provide results on demand.

  A seat sat empty at the head of the table, and a cluster of people was already seated near it. The arrangement pointed to something he’d anticipated—Marcus’ return from his mysterious “business trip.” Only Murray knew where he’d been, although Sloan had some suspicions. The other man remained extremely tight-lipped on the subject, however, and he’d quickly abandoned the attempt to get him to talk.

  Their leader appeared through the rear door and looked much healthier than when they’d dragged him from the stadium field covered in burns. Marcus had ranted the whole way back to the humans’ hideout and banished Sloan from his sight. He’d momentarily feared for his life but assumed that as long as Murray was around, there would be a voice of reason whispering in their leader’s ear.

  The human leader of the Remembrance wore black pants and a white dress shirt rolled up to the forearms. He called for the others to come to the table, including the small gaggle of henchmen who had followed him in, and they took their seats with him selecting the open one at the end. Huge plates of food arrived immediately, a family-style serving of pasta, a couple of varieties of chicken, and salads in addition to a bowl of Italian wedding soup for everyone.

  The conversation remained light while they ate, but there was an edge in Marcus’s eyes that inspired concern. Shit. This isn’t merely a social occasion. He has something planned. None of the others seemed to pick up on it, though. His talent triggered when he glanced at Murray and revealed that he was filled with anxiety. Sloan had thought about what his being outed as a spy might invoke in the man who had looked out for him since the early days and decided it would involve regret and guilt, neither of which he felt emanating from him. So it’s not me. Probably.

  He did what he always did in such moments and ate a little extra and drank a little extra, deciding he deserved the luxury if he was about to die. Finally, after desserts were consumed and cappuccinos delivered, Marcus leaned back in his chair with a satisfied sigh. “It’s good to be with you all again. The last week has been as boring as all hell.” The remark drew a laugh, and smiles appeared on several faces, only to vanish with his next words. “For me, that is. For some of you, though, it appears that it’s been very exciting indeed.”

  Sloan straightened involuntarily as that particular statement could refer to him. He covered it by leaning toward the man like a good soldier would to focus completely on what he was about to say. Marcus grinned, but it was a vicious thing that promised trouble rather than enjoyment. “It seems that there have been some…what might be called extra-curricular activities going on while I was away.” He dragged his gaze over each person at the table, and the Face imagined the others might also feel concerned, even when they knew it couldn’t be them. Probably. That look and tone of voice should make everyone feel guilty about something.

  Marcus wiped his lips with a napkin and discarded it as he rose. “I don’t ask for much, but I do demand absolute loyalty from those I run with. Sadly, two of you have chosen to freelance, which means you are no longer welcome at my table.” He raised his hands and pointed at one person on each side. They scrambled up with protests of innocence that were quickly lost in the sound of the electricity that engulfed them and the screams it engendered. The attack ceased and they collapsed to moan pitifully on the floor as the pain overwhelmed them.

  Their leader pointed at several of the men at the table. “Get them out of here. We’ll give them a fighting chance and throw them in the river. If they survive, they’ll hopefully be smart enough to stay in whatever downstream podunk town they wash up in.” It was only when he followed the man out for a separate meeting—one with only him, Murray, and a couple of others—that what he’d seen registered in his brain.

  Two fingers. Two hands. Two arms. Two mechanical arms. Holy shit, he got upgrades.

  Chapter Twenty

  Cara cursed as her force shield failed under the barrage of shadow. She’d had a moment of warning and rolled aside to rise on one knee with a barrier of fire to block the continued attacks. Nylotte scowled and changed methods to deliver a rain of ice against it. The Drow had explained once before that it cost more energy to defend against an opposite and the difference was palpable.

  Her teacher yelled, “Enough,” and Cara rose warily to her feet. The Dark Elf paced and shook her head as she muttered to herself, which was never a good sign. Diana sat on a pile of crates outside the combat area of the basement and watched the white-haired woman with an amused twist to her lips.

  Finally, Nylotte stopped pacing and turned to her first student. “Shut up, you.” Then, she addressed Cara. “If I didn’t know better, I would say that you want to fail at everything but fire. Do you?”

  She was stunned by the harsh accusation, and an immediate denial rose within her. Before she could voice it and without warning or effort on her part, she suddenly stood in a clearing with trees blocking the view to either side. She crouched instinctively and turned in a slow circle with her hands raised in a defensive fighting stance while her brain scrambled to catch up to the moment. “Nylotte? What are you doing?”

  The forest noises she’d barely noticed vanished, and crashing sounds began to emanate from all directions. She reached for her daggers but they weren’t there. Cara still wore her normal training clothes and immediately missed the protection of the tunic she’d traded for a concert t-shirt. She’d worn heavy metal shirts exclusively with demonic references on them when working with the Drow simply to tease her, and today’s Motley Crue shirt was one of the most effective. Maybe that’s why she’s being so witchy.

  When the figures burst out of the foliage, she was both shocked and repulsed. They looked like a drawing figure for a full-sized troll, with long limbs and giant bodies. Worse, they were flat and featureless, hairless, muscleless, and—the worst, as far as she was concerned—faceless. She knew that if she waited, she’d be surrounded in moments so she attacked.

  The first waved its arms at her as she dove beyond it, exploiting a gap in the slowly shrinking circle. She bounded up and kicked the creature in the back to propel it along the line it was already taking. The enemies reacted slowly and although they advanced and launched attacks, she found it fairly easy to avoid them and connect with counterstrikes.

  The problem was that there were so many of them, and her punches and kicks entirely failed to damage them. Fine, so it has to be magic, then. Screw you, Drow witch. She assumed that the woman wanted her to push herself to use different kinds of power, so she tried as hard as she could to fight with force and ice, the ones she’d had middling success with thus far. After several moments of that nonsense, though, she went back to what she was good at.

  Cara summoned long wh
ips of flame in each hand and used one to keep extra enemies from closing while she shredded single opponents with the other. She didn’t realize how much she was enjoying herself until half her foes had been eliminated and the rest suddenly froze in place. She resisted the urge to destroy them while they were immobile and concentrated on breathing deeply to prepare for whatever her teacher threw at her next.

  When it came, it was unexpected.

  Demon sauntered out of one side of the forest and clapped slowly. “Well done. A very effective use of fire, Bearer.”

  Angel’s melodic voice sounded from the opposite side of the clearing as she broke the tree line. “You are powerful indeed. We made the correct choice in allowing you the opportunity to win us.”

  The two beings stopped in front of her, Angel at Demon’s right hand as always. The latter asked, “So, did you enjoy yourself?”

  She frowned. “You did this?”

  He turned his head to his sister—she wasn’t sure they were actually related in any way, but since they were essentially identical twins, she’d decided that they would be brother and sister in her thoughts, whether they liked it or not—and laughed. “She’s quick on the uptake, no?”

  Angel grinned. “Indeed so. But she’s still getting used to us.”

  Cara interrupted before he could make fun of her again. “So this is a mental projection again, right?” They nodded in unison. “What’s going on out there?” She waved in the general direction of the sky.

  He scratched his nose and looked bored. “Less than a second has passed outside. You are still planning to offer petty excuses for why you fail with other magics in order to appease your teacher.”

  She blinked, unsure of what to say. Angel filled the silence. “We brought you here because you are suffering a disconnection.”

  Her mind grasped the last word, and she pictured the paths that Diana and Nylotte had shown her and imagined gaps that kept her from accessing the other magics. “Can you help me with that?”

  The dark figure turned to his mirror image. “She still doesn’t understand. Are you sure she was our best option?”

  Angel laughed and smacked him in the chest with the back of her hand. “What he means is that the disconnect is not in your magic. It’s between your heart and your mind.”

  Now, she was well and truly confused. She ran the conversation through her mind again and still couldn’t come up with a clear answer. “So…you’re telling me that my brain wants one thing, but my heart wants another?” Angel nodded and she laughed. “You’ve just described every romantic relationship I’ve ever been in.”

  The other figures joined in the mirth, and Cara shook her head. “I don’t see what you’re trying to say. I’m sorry.”

  Angel and Demon both smiled. He stepped forward and touched her face with his hand, and security and surety flowed from it to curl deep into her core and banish her worries. “Fortunately for you, Bearer, we are here to look out for your best interests. She will explain. Again, you succeed, knowing what you do not know and being willing to admit it. Well done.” He vanished from sight, and she turned to the woman in white with a smile.

  Angel’s words caused that smile to grow large enough to hurt. “Your brain is telling you that your teacher is right—that all users of magic should have access to all the forms of magic. But your heart is made of flame, Bearer, and fire is a jealous power. Sometimes, like Demon and I, a being is meant to be a master of one thing instead of a student of many.”

  A brilliant white light covered her vision, occluding her dagger’s avatar. Back in the basement, Cara’s voice trailed off as she considered what had happened, then she smiled as happily as she ever had in the training space. She straightened into a respectful pose, her head slightly bowed. “With a great deal of respect for your perspectives and your instruction, my teacher, while I have not tried to fail with the other forms, I no longer wish to pursue them. Can we work instead to make my skills with fire more formidable?”

  The room was silent as Nylotte processed her words. Diana hopped down from her crates to stand beside her friend, one hand on her shoulder. She looked at her and asked, “Are you sure?”

  Cara nodded. “Never more.”

  The Drow, who had watched the exchange, huffed out a breath. “You are aware that focusing exclusively on fire will make you vulnerable to those creatures that are resistant to it, correct?”

  She nodded again. “I accept that limitation. I’ll use bullets for those.” Diana laughed and sounded unexpectedly happy and light. This place is good for her, like a fortress of solitude or something. But one with a wicked-tongued Drow instead of recordings of her parents.

  Nylotte raised an eyebrow and her stern look vanished under a broad smile. “I respect the certainty you have received, my student, and am more than willing to focus your training toward the goal you have set.” She looked at the third person in the room and her grin turned into a frown. “If only all my students could possess such mental clarity.”

  Diana laughed. “Whatever. It gives you a chance to be all superior. You know you love it.”

  Cara reached around to where her blades were sheathed on either side of the small of her back and touched the hilts. Thank you.

  The daggers’ laughter, perfectly synchronized and complementary as always, echoed in her mind. Their voices blended together as they said, “You are worthy, Bearer. Embrace your power.”

  She turned to her teacher. “I’m ready whenever you are.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Diana had brought her paperwork—all electronic and accessed through one of the secure tablets that were scattered around the office—to the fifth-floor conference room. The sun hid behind clouds and gave the space a kind of melancholy atmosphere that fit her current mood. Paperwork sucks. Too many losses and draws in a row sucks. Her mental voice added, “The fact that shadow magic keeps kicking your ass sucks.”

  She didn’t reply to the taunt. There had been further conversation about how to manage the various “selves” within as part of her training with Nylotte, but the Drow had offered the opinion that anything that helped to ground her student was undoubtedly a good thing. So, she endured and tried to draw useful information from her brain’s attempts to make her unhappy. Sometimes, she succeeded. This wasn’t one of those times, however, as her lack of success with shadow was already clear to everyone involved.

  Maybe I should be like Cara. Specialize. Even as she thought it, she knew it wasn’t a viable path for her. Personally, because she craved the possibilities that came with expanded power options. Professionally, because she needed to be the front-line defense against magic, which required as much flexibility as possible.

  She sighed and returned her attention to the tablet to signing documents and verify purchases. Why the hell does Kayleigh need another 3-D printer? She shook her head and authorized the request. Hire good people and stay out of their way. Especially when their AI has control of your house’s defense systems.

  She was a half-hour into the mind-numbing task when Tony appeared unexpectedly. He snagged her coffee mug and refilled it from the machine on the counter, then filled a cup of his own and sat across from her. She took a long sip of the bitter brew and sighed. “I think you saved my life.”

  The former detective chuckled. “Well then, I’ve accomplished one good thing today, so that’s something.”

  She tilted her head. “Problems?”

  “Nah. Only too many options and a decision-making disorder.” He set the mug down and leaned toward her with his elbows on the table. “I think it’s time to take Starsky and Hutch through a few training sessions. They have potential and have more than shown their willingness to leave the PD behind and go private company. We could use the bodies.”

  She frowned. “Not for ARES stuff, right?”

  He leaned back and shrugged. “Now? No. In a few years, once those two have really learned the ropes? Maybe.”

  “But you’ll keep church and state
separate until then, right?”

  He laughed and nodded. “Is the Pope Catholic?”

  “Okay, then, you have my approval. And my envy. I’d like to get over there more.” While her agents still managed the occasional training session in the impressive facility behind the facade of Two Worlds Security Consulting, her free moments were taken up studying with Nylotte or hanging out with Rath. While the troll would be fine with spending time together in the space, the blocks of freedom she had weren’t large enough to make it work. “Hey, consider taking Hank and Anik along. And think about running some with Rath, too.”

  Tony rapped his knuckles on the table twice. “Of course. Everyone must train.” He rose and studied her for a moment. “You’re looking tired, boss, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

  She looked up from the tablet to spear him with a glare. “I do mind you saying so. Didn’t your mother ever teach you to be polite?”

  Tony laughed. “She taught me to be honest. That’s why I became a detective—because so many people failed to learn that lesson. And you still look tired.”

  Diana shook her head. “Noted. Get out.”

  He waved as he departed, and she let out the laugh she’d held back. Yeah, I look tired. But I’m getting stronger every day, physically and magically. So it’s worth burning the candle at both ends a little.