He leaned against the wall for a long moment, the coolness of it against his back oddly comforting. Well, I suppose something like that was bound to happen eventually.
Then it struck him. She looked intrigued. That's a step forward, at least.
* * * *
Amanda awoke to the sound of her cell phone playing a hopping tune. She swore and scooped the thing up from her night table. “Yeah?"
"Amanda—it's Athena. I need to see you, ASAP."
"Huh. Care to tell me why you're calling at ... eight-thirty in the morning?"
"It can wait. Transit down as soon as you're awake. We don't have a lot of time here."
The connection broke and she sat up with a groan. Fifteen minutes later, after showering and drinking half a cup of coffee, she felt human enough to rejoin the living.
Ben's door was still shut, the only sound beyond a muffled snore. Good. He can sleep through this. Lucky bastard.
She stepped out of the mana tunnel into Athena's office and found the immortal woman peering intently at her computer screen. She glanced up as Amanda arrived and motioned toward the chair on the opposite side of her desk. “You're going to want to be sitting down for this."
Amanda fell into the proffered seat. Her hair was still wet, she realized with a rueful look as she brushed a lock away from her eyes. I just know I'm going to have a bad hair day. She waited a long, tense moment while Athena finished up what she was doing.
"I got a call from President Keel half an hour ago. He's bringing Mendoza to town—she wants to meet me and tour the PAC facilities. He's also called an emergency Commission meeting for this afternoon."
"Emergency? Does he know something we don't?"
Athena shook her head, eyes darkening. “What I'm really worried about is that he's learned something we already knew. He didn't sound too happy with me on the phone.” She paused ... took a deep breath. “Mendoza is going to appoint Seymour to the Commission."
"We'd been expecting that. It's a political move."
"Uh-huh. So why are you so tense?"
"Is it that obvious?"
"You look like you woke up to find a scorpion crouched on your pillow."
Athena gave a snorting laugh. “Yeah. Well ... I think something's up and I don't like it. Keeping the President as an ally isn't only important, it's crucial. If she doesn't trust us—trust me—we're screwed."
"Shit. So what do you think they've stumbled on?"
"I don't know."
"How bad do you think it is?"
"Not going to guess."
* * * *
Ben woke slowly, a single deep breath telling him he was alone in the apartment. He slid out of bed and padded down the hall to the bathroom, where he took a quick shower and pulled on a pair of dark jeans and a black net tee-shirt that stretched almost obscenely tight across his upper body. He tracked down his shoes and a pair of socks, shook the water out of his hair, and headed out the door.
The chill sun of late autumn was bitterly bright and he ducked into a drug store to buy a pair of sunglasses to replace the ones he'd never bothered to bring up from Central Oregon. Thus shielded, he made his way back onto the street and swept his gaze back and forth a few times, considering what to do next.
That was probably one of the things grating on him the most right now. He didn't have anything to do unless something specific had been assigned by Athena. He didn't particularly like having to hunt for things to keep himself busy. He had a pocket full of cash, but spending money just for something to do struck him as foolish.
There was one thing he'd like to spend money on, he decided. An hour later he was roaring down the road on a gleaming black and chrome motorcycle, laughing into the wind. He'd been meaning to do that since he'd arrived, but only last night had he cashed the check from Athena for his service to the PAC when he'd saved that ass Seymour.
He was damn near broke again, but at least he had transportation.
* * * *
The afternoon sun shone fitfully down on the city as Jaz danced her way through the mall, dragging the increasingly discomfited Baraz behind her. She threw off her doubts for a time, entranced by all the possibilities spread out in front of her.
Though she still worried what price she would have to pay, she couldn't help indulge her senses and, for a short time, all the hopes she'd never allowed herself to have. To be a normal kid—to be able to go to a mall and actually buy something. To feel just a little worthy of it.
In the end she wasn't even sure she wanted to know how much of his money she'd spent. She had enough clothing to last her months—ranging from a frightfully expensive winter coat to several different pairs of shoes.
Baraz was a strange creature, she decided. But maybe—just maybe—actually what he appeared to be. A decent man. She'd never really believed such a thing existed. Certainly she'd never met one.
He threw the bags in the trunk and slid behind the wheel of his gold Lexus as she slid in to the passenger seat beside him. “Thank you,” she murmured.
"You're quite welcome, Jasmine."
"My name is Jaz,” she said.
"Yes, it is. What do you want for lunch?"
When she wavered, he made the choice for her. They ended up at Freighthouse Square, at a small little Thai place he raved about. She tried the food, strange as it seemed, and suddenly understood why he loved this place. The food was indescribable. Magnificent. Like nothing she'd ever tried before.
She nearly laughed at the thought of ever going back to dumpster diving after this. This could ruin her ability to live on the streets, she decided. Ridiculous. I can't consider myself spoiled after one day, can I?
* * * *
Evening came in a rush, surrounding everything in cool shadows. The mild heat of the day faded quickly but the city's nightlife came alive just as the darkness fell. Sixth Avenue became a wellspring of life she could feel from far above the city as she wheeled against the black canopy of the overcast sky.
A storm was moving in. She could sense it. She cast her psychic senses toward the center of the city, toward the Shea Industries building. As usual, the shifting gray shield that covered it allowed her no access, but she dipped down and alit on a nearby building anyway. If she couldn't use her psychic senses to probe its secrets, her eyes would enable her to see who came and left.
She furled her wings and settled down to watch. Sooner or later the path of this creature called Raven would intersect with the PAC. Since she didn't know where one of them was she could see no other way to find him other than to watch the other.
A part of her hated serving the Dark Lord. His arrogant rule, though it had been all her people had ever known, rubbed the wrong way against a strong natural pride that seemed inherent in the Abyssian race. They didn't mind taking orders, but despised being treated as second class citizens. Hades, and the true Fey who remained, made their disdain of their winged bastard creations far too obvious for the Abyssians to feel anything but contempt in return.
They hated Hades, but they feared him more. He was their Dark Father.
She felt something crumple beneath her talons and looked down at the mangled pipe in her grasp. She gave it a silent snarl and pulled her hand away. Leaving traces of her presence was hardly part of the plan.
* * * *
"Very interesting place you have here,” President-Elect Mendoza was a slim, raven-haired woman of forty-five years in a well pressed gray skirt-suit. Her hair was pulled up into a severe bun. Her almond-shaped eyes, the color of rich chocolate, seemed to take in everything and file it deliberately away.
President Keel, a silver-haired, slightly portly man with big hands and laughing green eyes, led the tour until they reached the R&D section. Even though he'd once been an engineer, this stuff was way above his level. And he wasn't afraid to admit it. It wasn't just the magical additions—the tech had grown beyond his ken as well.
"Is this nanotech?” he asked, lifting his head from a design report spread across
one of the lab's monitors?"
"Nope. Molecular computing,” Chaz replied. “You know anything about it?"
"A little,” Keel responded. “Not a lot."
"Let's just say a computer based on molecular circuits rather than the bulky, heat generating circuitry we're using now will be smaller and cheaper than you can imagine.” He launched into a long technical explanation that lost the President in less than five minutes and the others—including Amanda—in less than five seconds.
Mendoza slid over and glanced down at her. “Is he always like this?"
"Chaz? No. Usually he's worse. He's brilliant, of course, but, God, spending too much time with him is like staring into the sun. You're half-blind by the time he's finished."
Mendoza cocked her head and gave her a strange look. “So you're a mage?"
The question came out of nowhere, but Amanda had been expecting it. It was inevitable. She gave a short, swift nod and met the woman's gaze, though her first reaction—for whatever reason—was to lower her eyes. She was actually a little ashamed of it, she realized. She'd never realized that before. Strange thing to be ashamed of.
"What's it like?"
"Like?” How could she answer that question? She opened her mouth and found nothing there.
Mendoza cocked an eyebrow and gave her a laughing gaze. “Got you, didn't I? Don't tell me—like explaining color to a dog."
Wonder if Cory's ever tried that, she thought suddenly, a bit crazily, in fact. “Well, it wouldn't be easy to explain. We don't exactly see the world in the same way as everyone else."
"Well, can you give me an idea of what you can do?"
She considered it. “It is pretty complicated. I could easily explain mana effects, but that's just the tip of the iceberg—as they say. It is, actually, a lot like explaining color to a dog,” she said, flashing a quick grin.
Mendoza smiled back—a little nervously, Amanda thought. That's what the woman was digging for, she realized, a reason not to be afraid of her. She doesn't want an explanation of what magic is, she wants some way to feel comfortable knowing that I—that anyone—has that kind of power.
And I can't give it to her. She should be a bit nervous about it. We all should. One rogue mage and everything goes to hell in a heartbeat. So far the only one who fits that bill is Gavin Chase—but he hasn't shown his face since he snatched Cory. Makes me wonder what the hell he's been up to.
* * * *
Dusk crouched at the edge of the building, eyes smoldering as she watched a parade of black suited men and women escorting two obvious VIPs. She thought she recognized them but couldn't be certain. Television was a rare and precious commodity down below, but she'd managed to catch a few news broadcasts while attending Hades in his personal quarters.
The man was President Keel—the woman his soon-to-be replacement. What they were doing at the Shea Building baffled her, especially considering that there was no media or other fanfare on the scene. Whatever they were doing there, they were doing it under the radar.
Her first thought was that it had something to do with the Paranormal Affairs Commission. Shea Industries was, after all, the agency's unofficial headquarters ... at least until they managed to wrangle a real HQ complex somewhere else. Once Congress finished its arguments about its budget, at least. In the meantime, the PAC was privately funded, something that drove the liberals in Congress absolutely crazy, though the conservatives and libertarians seemed to like it that way.
Hades found the whole thing amusing as hell. He'd always chuckle his way through the news every time the issue came up. Dusk couldn't say she knew much about it—human politics were far beyond her experience, but she'd picked up a little bit here and there.
"Well, what have we here?” The voice cut through her musings like a laser. She whirled, wings thrusting outward in reflex.
In a black oilskin trench coat and matching cowboy hat, the only thing that didn't look like an anachronism about the young man standing only a few feet away were the two matching pistols pointed her direction. They were new—matte black with smooth, graceful lines. She didn't know enough about firearms to guess at the manufacturer, but she was willing to guess they were deadly.
He'd come up on her as silent as a shadow, even across the gravel covered rooftop. She eyed the weapons as she folded her wings back against her back. “Who are you?"
"Call me Raven,” he answered. “Who are you?"
"Dusk,” she answered through gritted teeth. She didn't like staring down the barrel of one gun, much less two. “I thought you had a hard-on for bad vamps. What are you doing up here now?"
"Curiosity. I was passing by and happened to see you crouched up here like some sort of gargoyle. I just had to have a look."
She felt her face grow hot at the ‘gargoyle’ comment. “If you didn't have the drop on me, I'd make you pay for that one, boy."
He grinned back at her. “Well, I do. So you won't. No hard feelings?"
Smug little bastard, she decided. Hades wanted him, but there was no way she could deliver him now. He had the upper hand. And if Hades knew she'd been taken by surprise, she'd be lucky if he didn't hack her wings off and throw her in The Pit.
"Who's down there?” he wondered. He walked over to the edge, still keeping one pistol pointing at her the whole way. He didn't seem to have a problem tracking, even with over half his attention aimed at the Shea Building. “Oh-ho. Well, that's interesting. Keel and Mendoza. Without a media feeding frenzy, even. Must've found some way to sneak into town.
"Hades sent you after me, didn't he?"
Dusk didn't reply, turning a hard stare his way instead.
"I'll take that as a ‘yes.'” He shrugged. “Okay. You're not going to catch me. Not now, not ever. I assume he threatened you if you didn't get me, right? Too bad. You're going to have to face that music, whatever it is."
He tried to be subtle about it, but he kept the brim of his hat pulled down low, as if deliberately cloaking his face in shadow. Didn't work all that well, since all Abyssians had excellent low-light vision. It came from living in the abyss, and its immediate environs.
Interesting, but she didn't recognize him. He somehow expected she would. Maybe that tidbit would give her a little leverage with Hades. She could hope. She didn't have much else. She didn't want to die, and to fail Hades was pretty much the same thing. At least, it usually led to dying. One way or another.
"You're thinking about kicking what little information you have on me his way, aren't you? Won't do you any good. Lucky for you we've never met before now. If we had, I'd've already put a couple bullets in you to shut you up."
He shoved one gun away and leaped onto the precipice, fired off a jaunty mock-salute, and threw himself into the air. He vanished before he'd fallen five feet. How, and where to, she couldn't imagine. Magic, probably.
Abyssians had the genes to do magic, but no one had bothered to teach them anything. Hades was, on a level he wouldn't even admit to, afraid of an uprising. Like most dictators he preferred his minions ignorant and fearful. He exacted grievous punishments for failure as a way of keeping them wary of his disapproval.
She thought his fury mostly contrived—he made decisions coldly but covered them up with a mask of rage. It was a form of manipulation, and a damned effective one.
Hades regularly underestimated the intelligence of his creations—perhaps one of his most notable flaws. It just might end up, someday, as his most fatal flaw.
She launched herself from the rooftop and spread her wings across the sky, banking sharply and sweeping around the side of the building before the Secret Service guards below could catch sight of her. Assuming they could see well enough in the dark, that was. Looking upward simply wasn't a human trait, and it seemed even intensive training didn't completely wipe out that instinctive blind spot. They would look, eventually, but rarely was it the first thing they did.
She ignored the deep well of fear bubbling up within her as she contemplated returning to
her master's abode. What was the worst he could do to her, after all? Kill her? Sometimes that didn't seem too bad. Better a corpse than a slave.
Too bad she didn't really believe that.
Eight
Amanda had never been that much of a morning person. Being called into Athena's office at six-thirty made her grumpy and uncooperative, even after pouring a couple of double shot lattes down her throat.
The immortal woman sat behind her desk, a pile of papers sitting beside the flat screen monitor beneath a dragon-shaped paperweight. The dragon made her think of Bigby, the Chief of Police in Redburn, Oregon. It had been his timely, and quite unexpected, intervention that had forestalled the Oregon National Guard from dragging all of them in front of the governor after the debacle in the caves when they took out the vampire queen.
His method of dealing with the problem was ... a bit horrific, if one was completely honest. He'd simply eaten the officer who wasn't willing to listen to reason. It was a draconic solution to what he considered a thorny problem. Humans thought and talked faster than dragons, therefore usually won any debates. Eating them when they started arguing solved this little problem. Literally draconic, she mused irritably.
Art involving dragons made her a bit queasy these days. She knew a little more about the species than she wanted to. They could wear human form, and work magic much like she did, but they didn't think like humans.
Then again, in some respects, neither did Athena.
She glanced up as Amanda came in, closing a manila folder and leaning back in her chair, thick arms folding over her ample bosom. She hadn't been this large when Amanda had first met her, but she'd put on bulk like a professional wrestler on steroids over the course of the last few years. Most people found her size daunting. If they understood the strength of the mind and will that lay behind that Amazonian exterior, they'd tread even more carefully.
She'd explained once, when Amanda had asked, that the immortals had far more control over the so-called ‘involuntary’ body responses that most mortals did. She thought herself into the shape she wanted. It took years sometimes, but it required no exercise out of the ordinary.
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