Irregulars: Stories by Nicole Kimberling, Josh Lanyon, Ginn Hale and Astrid Amara (34 page)

The thought was an odd one, and he smiled to himself. It was the first time he had considered the Pacific Northwest as a place he might miss.

But he had no time to linger on such thoughts because August was growling at someone on his phone and rushing out the hotel doors. The same black sedan from the day before waited for them in the circular drive of the hotel, with the same driver.

“Embassy,” August ordered the driver, sliding inside.

“Hello,” Deven offered the driver. The man didn’t respond. Deven figured he was used to being barked at.

“72 doesn’t speak,” August told Deven.

“What?”

August nodded at the driver. “Refugee from starys. No vocal cords. Air too dense for sound waves or something.”

Deven studied the driver more closely. He appeared perfectly human. He would never have guessed the man wore a human body as a disguise. The driver met his eyes in the rearview mirror and smiled.

There was a deep chasm in his mouth, like looking down into the pit of hell. Distant echoes of screams seemed to fill the vast red space between his teeth. For a moment, Deven thought he saw the flicker of a small body writhing, impaled on one of the driver’s shiny white teeth.

Deven’s skin went clammy. He quickly looked away.

August chuckled. “Poor 72. That happens all the time. It’s why he’s stuck working for us. No masking spell is strong enough to hide how damned
weird
the starys are.”

The driver flipped August his middle finger, then pulled into traffic.

The drive to the US embassy was short. Blue uniform-clad and armed security guards surrounded the embassy. The sedan pulled under the green front awning of the building and August jumped out, with Deven close behind. They didn’t enter the embassy through the front. Instead, they walked around the building to a blocked-off alley, also guarded by wary security.

There were a few angled parking spaces with cars in them. August stopped beside a nondescript white SUV with tinted windows. He reached into his suit jacket pocket and pulled out a keyless remote. The SUV clicked and the lights flashed.

“Get in,” August said. He opened the back door. Deven climbed inside.

There were no backseats in the car. Instead, a gray-carpeted hatch lay on the floor of the vehicle. August lifted the hatch open to reveal a staircase.

“Down you go,” August ordered.

Deven cautiously made his way down the steep stairs, hand twitching for his knife. He heard a shrill beep as August locked the car again and saw him shut the hatch above them.

At the bottom of the stairs Deven found himself in a short office hallway. Gray carpet lined the floor. Pictures of eagles and dignitaries decorated the otherwise bland cream-colored walls.

“Why doesn’t NIAD have its own office in Mexico City?” Deven asked.

“Mexico isn’t a member nation of NATO,” August replied. “So our activities have to fall under the purview of the US government while we’re here.”

August directed Deven through a series of corridors until they reached a solid metal door with a plaque that had NIAD—Mexico City Field Office engraved upon it. August spat on his palm, gripped the door handle, and opened the door.

Inside, it looked exactly like any busy office. Men and women in suits fixed their attention on computer screens, filed papers, and carried boxes. Most were Mexican, but there were other nationalities as well, judging by looks, and a gentleman standing near a photocopier had an unpleasant greenish hue to his skin.

Deven had a sudden urge to shine August’s special flashlight in his face and see what he was.

As they wandered through the labyrinth of offices, storage rooms, restroom facilities, and an employee break lounge, a sense of déjà vu hit Deven and he realized he’d been here before. A little over a year ago, when he’d begged for political asylum, he’d been taken here.

But he had barely been able to see back then, his eyes burning from so much light after thirteen years of darkness. Now, however, with the gift of full sight, Deven found the place less intimidating, more mundane. Last year it had represented a great failure—a reluctant refuge that embodied his guilt at leaving Jaguar’s dynasty behind in their greatest need.

But now it was only an office. He was relieved that bad memories didn’t linger here the way they did in other parts of his mind. Several of the people they passed offered him curious smiles. Some nodded to August as well, but others glanced away from the agent or outright ignored him. He was clearly a man respected and hated in equal terms.

They stopped in a room labeled Magical Forensics that resembled the merging of a sterile laboratory and a junkyard. Advanced, shiny equipment sat upon clean white counters along one wall; the rest of the room overflowed with an assortment of boxed oddities, pouring from their containers like the contents of a child’s play box. Little was recognizable; something that resembled a Gatling gun was propped against a wall. Another box seemed to be filled with what looked like dead puppies.

A young woman in a lab coat was busy reading a computer screen when they entered, but she glanced up and smiled at August as soon as the door shut.

“Hi, Elia,” August said. “I need you to look at something for me.”

“Sure. How are you holding up?” she asked.

“Fine.” August’s mouth formed a tight line. He handed her his phone. “This is from a bruise on Carlos’s body. Can you interpret the pattern?”

Elia took the phone, but her eyes kept darting over to Deven. “You haven’t introduced me to your friend, Silas,” she said.

“Deven, this is Elia Nogales, forensics. Elia, this is Deven Shaw, a special consultant on Aztaw.”

“Hi.” Deven hesitated, then stepped forward and offered his hand. Elia shook it softly, a big smile on her face, until she spotted the scar on his neck. The smile faltered slightly as she let go of his hand.

“The analysis matches the spread on an object that came in from Carlos’s apartment,” Elia said. She lifted a small baggie out of the white cardboard box on the table beside her. “Blood and bone remnants found at the murder site, belonging to Carlos. A fragment of obsidian has a similar spectrum.”

“Can you define it?” August asked.

“I’m working on it.”

The lab door opened and Agent Klakow entered, wearing the same suit he had on the day before but looking more comfortable in the air-conditioned underground office.

“Local team got the identity on last night’s corpse,” Klakow said. He offered Deven a smile. “How you doin’?”

“Good.” Deven didn’t miss the way August’s back stiffened at the sound of Klakow’s voice.

“Who was he?” August asked.

“Huezartzaw, alias Juan Lopez, registered Aztaw refugee, legally here. His masking spell and movements all check out.” Klakow shook his head. “You shouldn’t have killed him.”

Deven opened his mouth to apologize, but August cut him off. “When I need your opinion I’ll ask for it.”

“You’re an asshole, you know that?” Klakow glared at August, and Deven realized he must have thought August was responsible for stabbing the Aztaw.

“I’m the one—” he started.

“When had the refugee last been to Aztaw?” August interrupted, giving Deven a sharp look.

“He traveled between the Aztaw realm and his apartment in Itzapalapa regularly and had returned from Aztaw two days before.” Klakow turned to Deven. “Agents Ortega and Zardo went to his apartment last night. They found pictures of you.”

“Me?” Deven asked.

Klakow nodded. “A ton of them. A copy of your flight itinerary too. We must have a leak in the agency for that to have gotten out.”

“He was trying to scare me away from descending into Aztaw,” Deven said. “He must have had orders from whichever lord he’s still loyal to.”

August frowned. “Still?”

“Most soldiers supported the defeat of the lords and the rise of the common Aztaw,” Deven explained, “but some vassals remained faithful to their lords and dynasties. If this soldier served a house rival to Jaguar’s, he might have had instructions to keep an eye out for my return to Mexico City and to prevent me from descending.”

“Why?” Klakow asked.

“It’s irrelevant to this case,” August snapped. He looked to Elia. “So? It’s supernatural?”

Elia nodded. She held out a printout from the box. “See the pattern? It looks like filaments were tied to the skin cells, tracing to an unseen source. It’s a remnant of magic from a hidden realm, but I can’t tell you which one.”

“A hidden realm.” August frowned. He was quiet for a moment, then turned to Deven. “We need to try and figure out what Carlos and Beatriz were trying to see. That would help us pinpoint which realm to search in for their killer. Can you do the same vision serpent spell?”

“Of course.”

“Would we see what Carlos and Bea were trying to discover?”

Deven frowned. “It would be hard to know exactly what they were trying to find, but if I can look again at what they used to make the spell, I might be able to limit the focus.”

Elia motioned toward the box. “Everything with a spectral trace is in here, except for the dead birds. We saved a sample of the collection in the morgue if you need those.”

Deven rifled through the box. He removed the bloodletting cord and the remnants of burned papers. He tried to unfold them, but they broke apart in his hands.

He sorted through the material until he found a small fragment of bone. It glowed faintly, not enough to be noticed in a bright room but enough that when Deven cupped his hands he could see the faint light.

“Aztaws always glow?” August asked.

Deven nodded.

“No wonder Jaguar wanted you as an assassin. You could hide in the dark.”

“They can see in the dark,” Deven clarified. “In fact, most lords have the power to quench all light, natural or mechanical, since it hurts their eyes. But it still proved an advantage.” Deven swallowed, thinking of Jaguar’s training, then shook his head. “This is all we need.” He gathered the bone and the cord and the dented copper bowl for good measure.

August grabbed a small medical kit from the counter, then waved to Elia. “We’re done. Thanks.”

She nodded back shyly. “You have my condolences, for Carlos.” She touched August’s sleeve.

August’s jaw clenched tightly. He nodded.

Elia smiled. “At least he died doing something he believed in.”

August eyes narrowed. “What?”

Elia looked embarrassed. “He was doing important work. And he—”

“Do you know how Carlos wanted to die?” August interrupted. “The same way I do. Old, in my bed, asleep.”

“Of course.” Elia had flushed bright red.

“His life was taken from him in violence. That’s about as awful as it gets.” He yanked open the door. “Come on, Deven.”

Deven followed, with a sympathetic look from Klakow.

“Don’t be his bitch,” Klakow muttered.

Deven said nothing in return, but he really wanted to tell the agent to fuck off. Instead he followed after August, who stormed down the long hallway like a man on a mission of murder. Deven hurried to catch up with him, anxious about getting lost in the labyrinth of similar-looking corridors.

As Deven fell in step alongside him, August said, “Don’t say
anything
about it.”

“Why would I?” Deven asked.

August ran a hand through his hair, causing his dark curls to stand on end, making him look wild. “I’m sick of people justifying what happened to Carlos as
part of the job
. That’s bullshit. I’m not willing to die for
work
.”

Deven said nothing, and this seemed to anger August more. “What? You agree with them?”

Deven shrugged. “Where I come from life means nothing, because the afterlife matters more. I saw humans murdered by the hundreds. I saw Aztaw soldiers killed in endless combat. I took their lives. And at any moment, I expected them to take mine.” Deven thought for a moment. “None of it meant anything there. But here, I think I see your point. Life is the only sure thing. It’s
known
, which makes it all that matters.”

August stared down at Deven with an expression similar to the one he’d had in the morgue the day before. His eyes were a little glassy.

“Come on,” Deven said, echoing what he was discovering were August’s favorite words. “Let’s find a nice, dark, quiet place to summon a vision serpent.”

August seemed to pull himself together. He nodded. “Dark, quiet place.”

“Preferably bigger than a closet,” Deven added.

August gave him a sideways glance. “Why, afraid of standing in the closet with me?”

Deven laughed at that. “No. Afraid the deodorant I stole from you this morning may be wearing off and you’ll find my smell offensive again.”

August smiled. Deven again marveled at how something as simple as a smile could bring such light to his eyes and completely transform his face. He really was quite gorgeous.