Chronicles of Devon

by W. J. May

  After a supernatural battle had torn up the streets of London just a few years earlier, the inked community had been shaken to its core. The most fundamental magical laws had been broken, powers had been used in the open with no concern to the threat of exposure or cost. Throw in a handy bit of time-travel, and that fateful day had become everyone’s collective worst nightmare.

  Except...they had won.

  The threat had been contained, the consequences had been kept at bay, and the dangerous people intent on doing them harm had been defeated by the best and brightest of their own. It was a day for the history books. One that was remembered with a sense of the greatest triumph and relief.

  But some people weren’t satisfied with just one day. Some people wanted to have others.

  “You know the worst part?” Julian murmured, gazing into the fire. “He’s...vague. There’s so much talk of momentum, and unification, and the next big steps...but he’s vague.”

  Devon nodded faintly, staring at the candle flames.

  He may not have been the oldest person on the Council, he may not have been playing the longest, but in his experience, forward-thinking progress and ambiguity rarely went hand in hand.

  “He called me up last week,” Molly volunteered suddenly. “Never talked to him on the phone before, but he wanted to know if I was free to grab a quick lunch.”

  Rae glanced over with a frown. “Why?”

  “So we could talk, I’m assuming. Casey told me he’s been calling a bunch of people, wants to chat off the record about the direction the Council should be taking. The kinds of things that should come next...”

  Why does that sound ominous?

  It shouldn’t have. Since the moment it had been created, the Privy Council was never stagnant—it was always evolving, always setting new goals. In addition to targeting the kinds of volatile people who were a constant menace to the common world, they operated in broader strokes as well. Ending droughts, stabilizing ecosystems, discreetly innovating vaccine research based on the tireless work Alicia and the others were conducting at the Royal London Hospital.

  They removed threats, but they also promoted works of good. The kinds of things that come next was a natural question they’d been asking for over five hundred years.

  It was a question of methodology, one based entirely on that fateful night.

  What most people viewed as a dodged bullet, others saw as an opportunity—one that would allow them to operate more freely within the common world without repercussions. A broader, brazenly-open reach. One that had a slightly more militaristic feel.

  “He’s right that we can do more,” Rae inserted tentatively.

  “It’s how he wants to do it,” Gabriel murmured. “And the things he wants to do.”

  “Like what?” Luke asked, curious as to how Barnes’ speeches to the PC may have differed from the ones he’d heard at the Abbey with the rest of the Xavier Knights. “What things?”

  The assassin’s lips curved in a faint smile. “To start, I think he wants to grow some creative facial hair and watch us all goose-step around him. Perhaps he’d simply settle for a crown.”

  Rae shook her head decisively. “Nope—that’s my thing.”

  A spattering of laughter shattered the tension as each of the friends drifted back into their own conversations. The meal was winding down, and the kids were getting sleepy. Even the baby had broken his perpetual insomnia and fallen asleep in Julian’s arms.

  Devon reached over with a smile, stroking a finger down his cheek. “Thanks for dinner, by the way. I gave everything I had to the sitter.”

  “It’s no problem,” Julian answered with a yawn. “I love spending four hundred pounds on noodles...”

  Rae laughed softly, pushing to her feet. “You want to tuck him into bed?” She gestured to the baby before casually winding her arm through Devon’s. “I need to steal my husband for a second.”

  The psychic glanced up curiously, but pushed to his feet.

  “Yeah, of course. Is everything...” He turned his face, trying to hide the prophetic white clouding the edges of his eyes. “Hang on—I’m supposed to check ahead for him.”

  Rae shoved him with a grin as Devon mouthed over the top of her head.

  What is it?

  “I don’t know,” Julian answered aloud, shifting the baby onto his shoulder. “She’s literally standing right in front of me—staring at me with those creepy eyes.”

  Rae folded her arms slowly.

  “Glass houses, darling. Now put the baby to bed.” She tugged Devon towards the foyer as Julian headed up the stairs. “Pajamas are in the—”

  “—second drawer to the right.”

  Devon followed along cautiously as she guided him towards the front door, still feeling a phantom tingling in his lips and wary of getting shocked. By the time she finally turned to face him he was rifling in his clothes, wondering where he’d put the inhibitor.

  “I just wanted to—” She caught herself suddenly, tilting her head with a grin. “Dev, are you groping yourself?”

  He froze with both hands still in his pockets. “...I’ve had a lot of wine.”

  She laughed under her breath, taking him lightly by the wrists.

  “I’m not going to shock you,” she promised, kissing the knuckles of both hands. “I just wanted...” She trailed off, taking a breath. “I’ve kind of been steeling myself all night to tell you something, and I have to do it right now before I lose my nerve.”

  His first thought was she’d adopted another pet. The second was that the pet might not be strictly legal. But he kept all those things to himself after taking a single look at her face.

  Tell me, he spoke in his mind instead, trusting that she’d hear. You can tell me anything.

  She took another breath, then nodded. “You remember Holt Gereaux?”

  It was a throwaway question. Of course he remembered. The man had been the target of an active investigation for almost four years. He was a drug trafficker, one who favored using children.

  He was also one of the few missions Rae had ever failed.

  “They found him in a safe-house in Hallstatt, Austria. Apparently, he got some pretty major cosmetic work done after Belarus and now he’s managing his operation remotely.”

  Devon’s eyebrows rose to his hair. “So he’s still up and running?”

  That hadn’t been the problem before. The problem had been finding proof. By the look on his wife’s face, it was the same problem they were still having today.

  She nodded stiffly, one finger drumming against her leg. “His business has tripled over the last four years. And while he’s managed to stay off the grid, there’s a buyers’ market in Odessa that he’ll need to attend directly.”

  She paused ever so slightly.

  “Carter offered it to me. Deep cover.”

  Deep cover.

  Two words that hadn’t been uttered in the house since the birth of their children.

  Devon nodded slowly, trying to appear calm. “How long?”

  She bit her lip, staring into his eyes. “Four weeks.”

  He let out a silent breath.

  Four weeks. One month. They still measured James in terms of months. He’d just reached thirteen...now she was leaving.

  “Please say something,” she begged. “I know we’ve been avoiding these things, and I know everything’s crazy right now and it’s a lot to ask...but the chance to get this guy off the streets—”

  He silenced her with a kiss.

  “You don’t have to explain—I get it.” He tried to change his frozen expression into a smile, landing somewhere in between. “If I was in your position, I’d want to do the same thing myself.”

  She laughed shortly. “Yeah—and I’d probably be ticked.”

  He shrugged it off with a grin. “Probably wouldn’t stop me.”

  She smiled up at him, but it faded when she lifted a hand to his face.

  “It would stop me,” she said quietly. “If
you didn’t want me to go, if you thought this was still too soon...I would understand. I could monitor it from here, send someone else—”

  “Except it’s Holt Gereaux,” he interrupted, flicking her chin. “That one’s yours.”

  It was quiet a second, then she threw her arms around his neck.

  “Devon Wardell...you’re pretty bloody incredible, you know that?”

  He lifted her into the air, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Then stop electrocuting me.”

  “I’m serious.” She pulled back with a beaming smile, leaning into his arms. “You’re the best guy I’ve ever met. I don’t say it enough. And you’re going to do a fantastic job with the kids.”

  Crap—the kids.

  “Enough stalling with the kissing!” Molly called from the kitchen, rattling around the dirty plates. “We’re not going to clean your whole house!”

  They laughed quietly and took each other’s hands, heading back down the hall towards the rest of the house. The conversation was still going strong and Rae slipped back into the group, but he lingered a moment at the base of the stairs, staring at the back of her head.

  One month. I can do that.

  His gaze drifted nervously up the stairs.

  What’s the worst that could happen?

  Chapter 3

  Devon lay flat on his back, blinking in a daze at the shadowy figure above him.

  Beads of sweat poured through his hair, and his arms were trembling against the pressure pinning him to the floor. His hand was throbbing with a vicious burn, and his nose was surely broken from when it had collided with the stairs. He briefly considered pleading, but those acts of desperation seldom worked. Already, he could see the beginnings of a toothless, backlit smile.

  By the time he realized what was coming next, it was already too late.

  “Wait—”

  A sloppy kiss landed on his mouth.

  James!

  He pulled free with a bark of laughter, setting down the weights he’d been lifting just as the toddler spilled forward into his arms. Lately, the child was full of such tender moments, the kind that warmed his father’s heart. But they were tragically ill-timed. And unbearably wet.

  “Did your mother teach you that?” he teased, wiping his mouth as James began scratching experimentally at the stubble on his chin. “Yeah, I know—I need to shave.”

  The phone rang in the kitchen.

  “And you need to stop attacking Daddy when he’s lifting weights.” He started benching the child instead, tickling and biting as James shrieked with laughter. “Do you want to get crushed?!”

  The phone rang again.

  “Arie—can you get that?”

  An exasperated voice echoed from the living room. “I’m working on my spells!”

  He cast a fleeting glance down the hall, then pushed to his feet.

  Rae had only left a few hours before, but the little family was already feeling her absence.

  The minutes seemed longer. The bed was too easily made. Both children had asked for her at least twice—granted, it was difficult to interpret the baby’s insistent chirps. Even the house itself felt different. It took Devon a moment to realize that, for once, it didn’t smell like coffee.

  He’d promised her that he could handle it. He’d sworn that everything would be fine. Then he’d turned around only to discover five children standing behind him in an unnatural line. Where the others had come from, he had no idea. It was as if they’d simply manifested on his front porch.

  They’d smiled in unison. He’d tentatively smiled back.

  Things had gone downhill from there.

  “Hey, love.” He grabbed the phone on the third ring, pleased to see his wife’s name lighting up the screen. “I thought you’d be on a plane by now.”

  There was a crackle of static.

  “My flight got delayed,” she answered. “I’m trapped at the airport until some weather pattern clears up over the Channel. Of course, my bags are already halfway around the world...”

  He smiled out the window, hearing the scowl straight through the phone. “You want me to send a rescue? The British wing commander owes me a favor.”

  “Fear not. I’ve camped out next to a Cinnabon. I should be all right for a few hours.” She stifled a yawn. leaning against the wall. “How are things going over there?”

  “Good,” he answered, yawning himself. “Aria’s developed some latent interest in becoming a Wiccan, and we need to teach James the rules of consent, but aside from that—”

  “Oh—did he kiss you?” she gushed. “One of those gross, sloppy kisses. I love those!”

  He laughed quietly, wiping again at his face.

  “They’re disgusting,” he countered. “And, yeah—I love them, too. You should have seen him with Angel last week at the park. Put his entire mouth over her nose—”

  “Now boarding, Flight 413 to Salzburg.”

  “Ah—that’s me!” she cried. “Listen, I just called because Aria has that project due on Wednesday, and I can’t remember if we still have some construction paper in the closet or if I was just planning on conjuring some. They’re supposed to be making these brochures about the last place they went on vacation, but after that incident with the kelp Mrs. Brody decided to limit their supplies—”

  “I’ve got it,” he interrupted soothingly. “You just focus on the mission and don’t worry about the home front, all right? We’re going to be fine.”

  “Miss, there’s a limit to the number of carry-ons.”

  “Dev, I’ve gotta go. They’re trying to confiscate my muffin.”

  He opened his mouth to answer, then closed it with a smile.

  “Love you.”

  “Love you, too.”

  The line went dead.

  He stood there in the kitchen for a moment, enjoying the brief respite, trying not to imagine what pyrotechnics might be reshaping Heathrow Airport, then wandered down the hall.

  Construction paper...

  “Hey, Arie?” he called, moving towards the closet. “I’m not trying to interrupt your ceremony, but have you started that project with the—”

  He pulled open the door, then froze perfectly still.

  “—brochure?”

  Between the hangers and winter coats a red-haired boy was hanging upside-down in the closet, skinny legs curved over the pole. His eyes opened to little slits when the door opened and Devon immediately swallowed any question he might have about paper.

  They stared a moment in silence, then a tiny hand shut the door.

  Devon took a step back, followed by another.

  “I’m going to...work from home,” he announced aloud, possibly as way of grounding himself. “That’s normal, right? People do it all the time.”

  On the off-chance his daughter was still listening, he called out again.

  “Arie, about that brochure—”

  “They don’t have brochures in my dimension!”

  Yeah, work from home. Behind a locked door.

  After securing the baby with some toys in a playpen, he jogged down the hall towards his office—grabbing a water bottle from the fridge on the way. Considering how much time he spent leaping from low-flying airplanes and running down getaway cars, there was a surprising amount of paperwork that went with his job. In the months since James had come into their lives, there had been an ever-growing stack of case reports piling up in his office. Might as well tackle a few of those today—

  “Bloody hell!”

  He slumped back against the wall, clutching at his chest.

  He’d expected the office to be empty, but the second the door opened the chair behind the desk rotated in a slow circle to face him—already occupied by another little boy whose feet were unable to touch the floor. The child leaned back with a smirk, sliding a pair of stolen sunglasses into his hair. At this point, Devon half-expected to see him blowing smoke rings from a cigar.

  “Morning, Uncle. You owe me money for that swear.”


  I’m getting them all fitted with little bells.

  “What are you doing in here?” Devon demanded, simultaneously scanning the desk to make sure he hadn’t left out any questionable materials. “You know the office is off-limits.”

  Jason shrugged, rifling through some papers.

  “But rules are just constructs, aren’t they?” he replied with unnerving composure. “They exist only within our minds.”

  Definitely Gabriel’s son.

  “Jason,” he repeated sternly, “what are you doing?”

  The child glanced up with a bright smile.

  “I’m playing spy.” Before his uncle could contest this, he added a quick, “How about we talk about the money you owe me?”

  Devon clenched his jaw—torn between a smile and a scream.

  “How about you get your feet off my desk?”

  A pair of tiny sneakers vanished.

  “You’ve got a pretty questionable organization system,” the boy mused, tilting his head as he squinted at the hastily-scrawled script. “That’s assuming there’s a system at all...” He brightened again, sensing an opportunity. “Want me to go through these files? I could sort them by fatalities, or time-zones, or even—”

  “Does your dad know you’re over here?”

  There was an imperceptible pause, followed by a charming smile.

  “There’s a chance we got off on the wrong foot. How about we forget the debt and just focus on your case reports? There’s one mission in particular I wanted to discuss—a prison break in Saint Petersburg.” Jason thumbed quickly through a manila folder before staring up with wide, inquisitive eyes. “What’s exsanguination?”

  Crap.

  “That’s it!” Devon was around the desk in a flash, scooping the boy from the chair and setting him down with a plop beside the door. “Out—you’re not supposed to be in here.”

  Jason landed with as much dignity as he could muster, then took his time straightening out his clothes. “Uncle, there’s no need to be abrasive.”

  Devon pulled in a deep breath, trying to rein in his temper.

  Ever since his arch-nemesis adopted the orphaned son of a friend almost a year and a half ago, they’d been giving the family a lot of latitude in terms of finding their stride. It was enough of a revelation that Gabriel had brought home an American ballerina and promptly declared his undying love without adding a sudden child into the mix, and there was bound to be an adjustment period.