by W. J. May
BLOODY HELL!
Devon took a single bite, then froze in his chair—feeling as though certain parts of him had been dipped in fire. He made the supreme mistake of swallowing, then convulsed in his chair.
“Oh, crap...”
Julian shot him a quick look, then pushed to his feet when called—gracefully moving to the computer to type in the false wiring information to a dummy account created by the PC.
“—not accustomed to meeting face to face,” the man was saying, oblivious to the quiet disaster happening behind him, “but considering the risk for both parties involved—”
Keep it together.
Devon tried to pay attention, sucking in cooling breaths as his eyes streamed over with involuntary tears. He wiped them quickly, only to spread that burning sensation to his face as well.
“—no reason these things can’t be civil,” the man continued, watching over Julian’s shoulder as the transaction was verified. “Although we continue to place a high premium on discretion—”
The psychic nodded along, then handed back the computer. The man typed in the final few sequences, conferring with his associates as he circled around the desk and returned to his chair.
I’m trembling... Am I trembling...?
He kept his eyes forward as his partner discreetly gagged beside him.
“Devon...find a way.”
There was a flurry of nodding.
“Yep.”
Another group of men stepped inside, carrying the velvet pouch Julian had presented upon arrival—the ones with the false sapphires Rae had conjured in the kitchen before she left. There was some hushed conversation, followed by some thoughtful nods. The bag was emptied onto the desk.
Both men stared in silence.
“Is everything satisfactory?” Julian finally asked.
“More than satisfactory,” the man replied with a beaming smile. He’d clearly had a few drinks himself and was pleased with his pending commission. A bottle of Champagne was popped open behind him as he reached inside his coat. “There’s just one last thing—”
In a flash, Julian was yanked to his feet—toppling the chair behind him as two heavy-set enforcers dragged him across the length of the room and shoved him up against the wall.
The man sauntered up in front of him, pulling out a gun and pressing it beneath his chin.
“When we tried to contact your employer to finalize the sale, we found ourselves unable to reach him. All this money wired to an untraceable account. Your account. How do we know this isn’t some scheme, eh? A chance to take the money for yourself and leave us to suffer the reprisals?”
It was one of those suspended moments. The kind that could easily be laughed off as a joke, or end with an unfortunate custodian scrubbing blood off the wall.
Devon tensed in his chair, gripping the arms hard enough to imprint each one of his fingers. But Julian never lost that eternal composure—staring right past the gun to hold the man’s gaze.
“Do you think I’m an idiot?” he asked softly, just the hint of a French accent coloring the tone. “As much as you fear the man I work for...do I not have ten times the reason to be afraid?”
A ringing silence fell over the room as the men stared each other down and Devon fought to keep himself in the chair. A random memory floated rose to the surface, he and Julian playing with accents as teenagers in the Guilder dorms. It didn’t seem quite so frivolous now.
“He didn’t answer the phone because he’s at a mining camp nine clicks outside Monrovia, harvesting these gems you Englishmen like so much. He also didn’t answer the phone because he doesn’t take your calls, Mr. Gambetti. He answers only for me. So unless you’re going to shoot me with that thing, perhaps we could conclude this meeting. Some of us have a plane to catch.”
For a minute, the room was quiet. One minute stretched into two.
If you even START to pull that trigger...
Then all at once, the man burst out laughing. His men burst out laughing. Irina burst out laughing. Even the man who’d prepared the stew burst out laughing. Julian and Devon burst out laughing as well, gathering their things and saying stilted farewells as they hastily vacated the club.
They were still going strong when the friends made it to the parking lot, shared a quick look, and broke into a run. They were still going strong when the PC assault team stormed the building a few seconds later and placed the jewel-smugglers under arrest.
THE FRIENDS SPRINTED straight past the screams and the gunshots—never looking over their shoulders until they’d sped through five city blocks right back to the car. Once there, they promptly doubled over—fighting remnants of adrenaline and alcohol with their hands on their knees.
Julian started grinning a moment later, straightening up slowly as he fought to catch his breath. He was just about to speak, when Devon shoved him full-tilt into the car.
“What was that about?!”
He’d seen that expression on his friend’s face before. The psychic looked irritated and startled, even a bit nervous. But the one thing he didn’t look was surprised.
“You knew he was going to do that!”
Julian peeled himself off the car, raising both his hands. “I knew there was a chance—”
“Completely unacceptable!”
“Just calm down—”
“I’m not going to calm down! You SAW that was going to happen!”
“And I deemed it an acceptable risk!” Julian fired back. “While you were getting drunk and choking on your soup, I deemed it an acceptable risk. Dev, we got the fence—”
“What if our positions had been reversed?” Devon interrupted angrily. “Would you have deemed it an acceptable risk if it was me with a gun to my head? We have rules, Julian.”
“I know we do, but there wasn’t—”
“Would it have been all right if the gun was on me?”
Julian paused a split second, then flashed an infuriatingly patronizing smile.
“You didn’t get clairvoyance,” he said patiently, gesturing to his partner’s arm. “You got that exceptionally quick hamster. Now, if the fates had seen fit to gift you anything of importance—”
“Give me your wallet.”
“My wallet?” Julian glanced reflexively at his jacket. “...why?”
“And your phone.”
The psychic hesitated, and Devon took a step forward.
“Now, Julian.” He flashed a dangerous smile. “Or me and that hamster will take it from you.”
There was another moment of trepidation then the psychic handed them both over, looking slightly confused. “What’s going—”
Devon climbed into the car, firing up the engine. “See you at home.”
A MISSION DIDN’T END the second the target was in cuffs. There was equipment to return, recordings to transcribe. Extensive, unending notes to annotate.
By the time Devon got home that night, it was already after dark.
“Hello?” he called softly, pushing open the front door.
“In here.”
He padded down the hallway to see Molly settled on the couch. Both children had gone to bed thirty minutes before, and she was up to her waist in case reports of her own—nursing a cup of chamomile tea in the light of a dwindling fire.
“Where’s Jules?” she asked.
Devon shrugged out of his jacket. “I left him stranded in Hackney.”
She snorted softly, glancing down at her papers. “Lovers’ quarrel?”
“Something like that.”
He eased onto the couch beside her, handing back the jacket.
“Keep it,” she said automatically, gathering up her things. When it continued to hang between them, she added, “Seriously, Dev. What am I going to do with a men’s coat?”
Their eyes met and she took the jacket.
“You’re right. I’ll find some use for it.”
He chuckled softly, stretching out his arms with a yawn. “You want some coffee or something? We cou
ld have a work night.”
She pushed to her feet, tying back a knot of messy hair. “I should get some sleep. And you should take a shower,” she added, sniffing delicately in his general direction. “You smell like a distillery.”
Better than soup.
He pushed back up with a grin. “I’ll walk you out.”
The two friends wandered slowly down the hallway—one of them prattling on about her day of baby-sitting, the other practically falling asleep against her arm.
“The kids are fine, they’re both asleep. I had to confiscate some ‘ceremonial herbs’ from Aria, but she took it pretty well. Anyway, there are leftovers in the fridge and I preset the coffee—”
Devon pulled them to an abrupt stop.
“Wait a second...there are leftovers in the fridge? You preset the coffee?” He stared down at her—all fiery curls and enormous eyes. “Molly, you don’t know how to preset the coffee.”
She shrugged casually, refusing to give anything away. “I called the tech department at Guilder. Not a big deal.”
Of course you did.
“Not a big deal,” he repeated, eyes twinkling as he looked her up and down. “Molls...did my wife tell you to check up on me?”
She flushed, but held her ground. “My partner may have asked me to look in,” she said evasively. “Consider it a mission assignment, Wardell. I certainly did.”
He laughed quietly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Thanks for today. You want a ride to Guilder tomorrow? We could...”
He trailed off, catching sight of his reflection in the mirror by the door. Aside from the dark circles and general sense of fatigue, there was a smear of scarlet lipstick on the side of his neck.
Molly saw it at the same time, meeting his gaze in the mirror. She flashed a tight smile, then patted him on the back as she walked outside. “See you tomorrow?”
“Yeah, see you tomorrow.”
He locked the door behind her, then sprinted up the stairs—shedding his clothes as he went before rinsing the entire day off in the shower. The second he was clean, he slipped into a pair of pants and headed back into the seclusion of his own house—grateful for the dark and the quiet.
After taking a few deep breaths to steady himself he kissed his daughter, kissed his son, then fell straight into bed—staring at the ceiling and wiping phantom lipstick off his neck.
Chapter 12
Devon slept on his wife’s side of the bed that night, sniffing her pillow, breathing her perfume. He’d tried texting a few times the night before, but didn’t get a reply.
He wasn’t worried. He’d been trained not to worry.
I’m not worried.
The phone lay innocently in his hand.
Considering how much he’d drunk the day before, he wasn’t in terrible shape. That being said, each of the friends had gotten far more reliant upon Rae’s healing tatù than they’d ever let on.
He’d gotten up early to accommodate, flooded himself with water, and got Aria off to daycare. He then settled in for some time with his son before the babysitter arrived—feeling an extraordinary sense of accomplishment, as if he’d gotten a secure hold on things for the first time.
“Hey, love...it’s finally just the two of us.”
He stretched out on the floor with a contended sigh, leaning back against the sofa as James submerged himself in blocks on the floor in front of him. They’d made an unsuccessful try for that elusive first step again that morning, but he was determined to make some headway now.
“It’s probably just your sister, right? She makes you nervous. I wouldn’t try walking with her in the house either.” He took the child by the hands, lifting him to his feet. “But it’s only you and me now, buddy, and I have some experience with this. Let’s try it again, shall we?”
James peered up at him, studying the lines of his face.
For a split second, he was reminded very strongly of the older version he’d come to know and love. The one that toppled buildings with a wave of his hand and couldn’t navigate directions if his life depended on it. The one that fired apologetic weapons at kings, gave toys to seventeenth-century babies, and sang his older sister lullabies when she was just a child, helping her fall asleep.
How was it possible the two were the same? How was it possible that in a few short years that young man would be tearing around the house, instead of the little boy looking up at him now?
James ventured a tentative smile, then abruptly went limp.
“No, no, no...” Devon lifted him again with a smile, helping him find his balance. “You’re not getting out of it that easily. You’ve got to try, all right? Just one little step...”
The child raised a foot in the air, wavering precariously, then fell backwards into his father’s hands. Another attempt and he careened in the opposite direction, lunging for his blocks.
“You can do this,” Devon whispered, kissing his cheek. “I know you can.” He brought him back to center, lifting him once more. “Just try one more time, okay?”
The phone rang suddenly on the floor beside them.
“Damnit,” he cursed softly, releasing the child in the same instant. As James bolted away to freedom, he clicked open the line. “Hello?”
There was a crackle of static.
“Mr. Wardell? It’s Brandy.”
He glanced at James before pushing to his feet and pacing to the window—scanning the empty street. “Hey kid, you almost here? I’ve got an appointment on campus—”
“That’s why I was calling,” she rushed, thoroughly out of breath. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Wardell. I don’t want to leave you in the lurch, but my grandmother fell down the stairs this morning and we’re taking her to the hospital.”
Devon’s face went still, one hand still lifted to the curtain. “The common world hospital? I could send a healer to your—”
There was muffling sound, like she’d placed a hand over the phone.
“Different grandma,” she clarified, glancing nervously behind her. “She’s not, like, in peril or anything. She just needs an operation on her hip. But I’m stuck over here, and I can’t—”
“Don’t even worry about it,” he interjected quickly. “We’ll be totally fine. You just spend the day with your family, all right?” He hesitated a moment. “And if you like...Alicia’s made calls to the common world hospitals before. She can be discreet.”
A nurse’s voice chimed, interrupting their conversation.
“Thanks, Mr. Wardell. I’ll talk that over with my dad and get back to you. And I’m really sorry about today. I called as soon as we—”
“It’s fine,” he reassured her. “It’s totally fine. Hang in there, okay?”
“Okay—’bye, Mr. Wardell.”
“’Bye, Brandy.”
The line went dead and he stared around the room.
Shit!
That sense of accomplishment vanished as he found himself suddenly—drastically—behind schedule. One hand reached automatically for the baby as he threw a panicked look at the clock.
“Jamie—let’s get you dressed! You’re coming with me today!”
He scooped up the child and streaked up the stairs, blatantly ignoring the family pledge not to use excessive tatùs when the children were involved. In less than a minute, James was changed and dressed—swinging indulgently in his father’s arms as Devon packed a quick bag for him.
“We’re riding in with your Aunt Molly today,” he explained out of habit. “Daddy just needs to have a quick debrief with your grandpa and then we can get you back home, okay?”
James giggled with delight, swaying back and forth.
“Then we’ll have some lunch and you can have some ice cream.” Devon blurred manically across the room, searching for the baby-carrier. “As long as we get to Guilder on—”
An explosion of vomit struck him in the chest.
“—time.”
Shit.
The doorbell rang.
“Shit!”
James looked up at him happily.
“Shit,” he echoed in a childlike voice.
“What—no!” Devon exclaimed, stripping him down once more. “No, Jamie—we never say that word! That’s a—” the doorbell rang again, “—that’s a bad word, all right?”
The child nodded seriously, then whispered.
“...shit.”
Bloody hell.
The doorbell rang twice more.
“Yeah—I’m coming!” he shouted, peeling off his own shirt in the process. “You know what, just...unless you’re some kind of magical criminal—let yourself in!”
Probably not the best strategy, especially given their collective history, but desperate times and all that. The front door opened, and Molly and Gabriel walked inside.
“Hello!” Molly called, peering around with a bright smile. “Dev—are you ready?”
He blurred down the stairs, carrying the newly changed baby under his arm.
“Almost,” he panted, yanking a shirt over his head. “I’m sorry—James had an explosion. I’m going as fast as I can. Milk,” he added suddenly. “I have to pack him a bottle of milk.”
He set down the baby and streaked towards the kitchen, suddenly doubling back.
Don’t be rude.
“Morning, guys.”
He kissed Molly on the cheek, then embraced Gabriel.
At that point, the room came to a pause.
Molly snapped a secret picture, James tilted his head curiously, and Gabriel froze mid-text-message—like someone had poured cold water down his spine.
It took Devon a second to realize what was wrong, then he quickly released him.
“Crap—sorry. I thought you were Luke.”
Gabriel shook his head with a grin as Molly archived the picture.
“Isn’t Brandy coming over to watch James?” she asked. “Or possibly...sedate him?”
The child had decided to merge the idea of walking and crawling, and was scuttling around the floor like a deranged crab battling a prosthetic.
“She’s having a family emergency and cancelled a few minutes ago,” Devon replied, hurling some teething-crackers into a paper bag. “I wasn’t planning on taking him, but—”
