Irregulars: Stories by Nicole Kimberling, Josh Lanyon, Ginn Hale and Astrid Amara (38 page)

Again, Deven was at a loss as to how to offer support. His therapist had once told him, when he felt out of his depth, to offer a person a polite pat on the back. It insinuated good intentions and oftentimes physical touch said more than words ever could. So Deven reached over and patted August’s arm, a stiff, awkward movement that didn’t look nearly as good as it had in his mind.

August seemed touched by it, however. His eyebrow quirked up and he smiled a little. “Read about patting people in a book or something?”

Deven laughed nervously. “Or something.”

August cocked his head, studying Deven. “You know, for someone who grew up in hell and returned to the real world only a year ago, you’re doing pretty good, Deven.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” August swallowed. “And thank you. For what you did in the tunnel.”

Deven frowned, trying to remember. He touched the pen behind his ear.

“You saved my life.” August sounded a little annoyed that he had to say it out loud. “Twice. The guy with the knife? And the baton?”

“Oh. Right.” Deven shrugged. “I wasn’t counting.”

August stared at him.

Deven felt conspicuous. “You’re welcome?” he offered, not sure if there was some sort of protocol he was supposed to engage in after saving someone’s life.

Whatever it was that August was trying to say, he gave up and turned back to his packing. It was well past midnight when they checked out of the Bristol and checked in to El Angel Hotel a few blocks away. This one had a modern lobby and the room, while smaller, was more tastefully furnished and less inundated with wicker. Deven didn’t bother unpacking. He shut the curtains, lay down on the top of the comforter, and was out before August even started to unpack.

Chapter Nine

The following morning, it was August who woke Deven up rather than the other way around.

August looked refreshed despite the activities of the previous day. He was fully dressed in yet another suit, this one a lighter color, with a cream-colored shirt, unbuttoned at the neck to reveal a glimpse of his pale skin. His hair was clean and impeccably styled. His pale blue eyes stared down at Deven with a look of amusement.

“Wake up, sunshine.”

Deven scowled and drew back under the bedsheet he’d wrapped around himself at some point that night. He felt tired and unenthusiastic about his mission now that he knew who was involved. It had been one thing to tackle Aztaw lords he had understood. But Night Axe was out of his league; even Lord Jaguar himself had failed to defeat the Trickster. What luck was Deven going to have with nothing but a few knives in his pocket?

“Come on. Murdering monsters wait on no man.” August ruffled Deven’s hair. It was a gesture Deven hadn’t felt since before his mother died as a little boy and it brought a surge of complicated emotions. He sank further under the sheet to hide his face, afraid what he was feeling would be obvious.

“Do I have time to shower?” Deven’s voice was cracked with sleep.

August sighed. “If you’re quick about it.”

Deven emerged from under the covers and hurried to the bathroom. He showered briskly, taking advantage of the free toiletries provided by the hotel. As he hunted through his bag for clean clothes, he felt August’s gaze on his bare back like a hot iron and he wondered if it was inappropriate for him to have come out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel.

He turned. August’s eyes were locked on Deven’s body as if he were memorizing every contour.

At first Deven felt embarrassed, thinking that August must be staring at the variety of ugly scars puncturing his torso. Stab wounds, burns, and bumps from badly healed broken bones aged him.

But August’s cheeks were flushed, his eyes dilated, and as he shifted uncomfortably in his chair, Deven belatedly realized the agent was aroused by the sight of Deven’s near nudity.

Christopher, the man Deven had hooked up with four months before, had told Deven that he was beautiful. Deven couldn’t confirm if this was true or not, since he was far from objective, but he liked that he had this effect on the agent. He wondered if he should act upon it.

Because it would have been nice to touch August. His body looked so warm and inviting and his heart-shaped lips seemed engineered for kissing. But Deven had never seduced anyone in his life. He had no experience, and for all he knew, this glance wasn’t personal. Maybe August watched all semiclothed men this way.

As if suddenly realizing he was flushed and staring, August coughed and stood. He yanked back the curtains. “Hot in here,” he mumbled, throwing open the window.

Deven hesitated. He wanted to say something to August. Or would it be better to just touch him?

“You want some cream for that arm?” August asked, voice low and rough. “Looks painful.”

Deven glanced at his left shoulder. The skin was darkly bruised and it hurt to touch it, but he could move it well enough.

“I’m fine.”

“Then get ready.” August turned away completely and Deven realized he’d lost his opportunity. It frustrated him more than he thought it would.

Deven finished dressing. As August transferred his wallet, phone, and other random possessions from his suitcases into his pockets, Deven did the same, although August really had him beat when it came to carrying an arsenal. As he tried to find a pocket large enough for his favorite knife, August leveled his gaze at him.

“What?” Deven asked innocently. August raised his eyebrows.

Deven grinned and removed the knife from his belt, putting it on top of the television. “Better?”

August shook his head. “Cleaning lady will love it.”

“After yesterday, I’d assume you’d prefer I carry a knife.”

“You have two others in your pockets.” August smirked.

Deven laughed, realizing the futility in trying to hide something from someone who spent an inordinate amount of time looking at him. As August went back to loading various charms, electronic devices, and medical objects into his coat, Deven considered the craftsmanship involved in the man’s wardrobe. The suit was practically form fitting and yet it somehow managed to hide a ton of gear.

Deven realized he was staring at August’s ass and looked away. What did normal people do when they desired another person? For a moment he considered phoning his therapist for advice. It was something she’d know and he suspected she’d be thrilled with the line of questioning, rattling on about the value of intimacy and opening up to individuals.

But then he’d have to admit he was in Mexico City, despite her protests, and he didn’t feel like having that argument.

“So where the hell is my temporary masking kit?” August mumbled, rifling through his belongings with increasing frustration.

“What does it look like?” Deven asked.

“Small, black leather case...”

Deven sat on his unmade bed, yawning and wondering if he could catch a few more minutes of sleep.

There was a curt knock at the door. “August, open up.” Agent Klakow’s voice sounded annoyed.

“Christ!” August yanked the door open and glared at his fellow agent. “What are you doing here?”

“Forensics found a trace,” Klakow said, entering the room. His eyes darted to Deven. “Hi.”

Deven raised his eyebrows but didn’t bother saying hello, more intrigued by the temper August was building toward his personal belongings.

“Fuck,” August muttered, “I swear I had it when I left San Francisco...” He tossed an eclectic variety of items withdrawn from his suitcase onto his bed. There was another glamour bomb, some latex gloves, several pens, business cards, yesterday’s medical kit, and a bundled set of wires. Not finding what he needed, August grabbed a nylon bag out of the nearest suitcase and began tearing through that before chucking away the bag itself in disgust.

“So, forensics—” Klakow began only to be cut off by August.

“What are you talking about?” August began to go through his pockets, tossing the contents, including his utility knife, onto the bed. Deven retrieved it and pulled out the light. He flashed it on August’s shirt. Nothing supernatural revealed itself.

“The tests,” Klakow said. He moved farther into the room, frowning at the mess on the bed. “They came back.”

“And?” August demanded.

“They found a trace.” Klakow closed the door behind him.

“Of what?”

“I don’t know,” Klakow said, shrugging. “You’re supposed to go in to the office and see for yourself.”

“When you speak, you offer nothing of value to the world,” August muttered. He turned to Deven. “I’ll have to get another masking kit from the inventory this afternoon.”

“What is it for?”

“For you, in case we run into any watchbirds, soldiers, or underworldly employees trying to find you.”

Klakow moved toward Deven with a smirk. Deven noticed his right leg dragging behind him.

“You hurt yourself?” Deven asked.

“I hurt every time I see Agent August,” Klakow replied with a cold smile.

“Funny, asshole.”

As casually as he could, Deven shone the light on Klakow’s leg. As the light hit his leg they both saw it ended in an exposed shin bone.

Horror choked off Deven’s cry of alarm.

Klakow lunged. He gripped Deven by the throat. With shocking strength, he lifted Deven one handed and shoved him against the wall, knocking down a picture of sailboats. It shattered on the floor.

Deven pulled a knife from his belt, but Night Axe swatted it out of his hand instantly.

Deven couldn’t breathe. He felt the muscles in his throat convulse against the unrelenting pressure of Night Axe’s fingers as they pushed into him, cutting off his breathing.

I want the pen.

Deven’s body shuddered at the scraping sound of Night Axe’s voice. He still resembled the Irregulars agent, but his grin was monstrous. Deven kicked against the wallpaper. His hands grappled with Night Axe’s chilled flesh, but he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t break free.

Night Axe reached for the pen in Deven’s hair.

August threw his shoulder into Night Axe. They both fell sideways on and over the side of Deven’s bed. Deven dropped to the floor. With shaking hands he grabbed the pen and shoved it down the front of his trousers.

August fumbled his hand over the bed and grabbed the first thing he made contact with, another glamour bomb. He smashed it into Night Axe’s teeth. An explosion of glittery particles coated them both and Night Axe retched horribly. His face contorted in rage. With a roar of fury, he punched his fist through August’s chest.

August’s body shuddered with the force. Nausea swelled in Deven at the image of Agent Klakow’s arm rotating deep inside August’s torso, as if wringing August’s heart.

August went white and his body convulsed as Night Axe shoved him off, yanking his arm free. His fingers closed as if pulling an invisible thread from August’s jacket. August let out a breathy gasp and arched his back.

Deven scrambled to his feet and hurled his knife just as the creature’s body transformed into that of an owl. The knife hit the hotel wall and clattered to the ground. The owl screeched and took to the air, circling Deven’s head.

I’ll find you.

His voice shrieked through Deven’s consciousness like nails on a chalkboard. Night Axe flew out the window and Deven slammed shut the window behind him, knowing the futility of the gesture but unable to stop himself.

Chapter Ten

“Agent August!”

Deven rushed to where the man had fallen on the opposite side of the bed. He dropped to his knees beside August’s body.

August’s appearance was warped and distorted by the glamour bomb. He looked Mexican, with dark black hair, a full beard, and brown eyes. His suit glimmered with powder that made it appear like he was wearing jeans and a pale blue dress shirt. The fragments disoriented Deven and he had to blink several times, straining to concentrate and see what was actually August.

August writhed in pain and his breath shuddered out of him. It was obvious even through the illusion that he was bleeding. Deven brushed off the masking spell glitter, trying to get to the man underneath. His fingers touched hot, wet blood even though he couldn’t see it.

Deven had no idea what to do now; saving people was not something he did. He’d watched hundreds of them bleed to death and die, and he’d never lifted a finger to their aid. He hadn’t even bothered to try and save the lives of fellow soldiers in Lord Jaguar’s army; death was something you let happen.

But now he felt terror at the prospect of August’s death, coupled with the guilt of knowing
he
had been Night Axe’s target.

He ripped the sheet off his bed and used it to brush away the particles of masking spell glitter covering the agent’s face and torso. When he got enough of the spell off he saw August’s true face, contorted in pain.

The front of his suit was a mess of blood. Deven unbuttoned August’s coat and struggled to work open the slippery buttons of August’s shirt. But as he pulled the shirt open he saw no wound. He ran his fingers over August’s pale, hairless chest, terrified this was still part of the masking spell’s illusion. Although blood coated everything, it was already coagulating. Only a perfectly circular bruise marred his skin, directly over August’s frantically beating heart.