Secret Worlds (508 page)

“So, do I need to check my sense of humor at the door or something?” I asked as I unbuckled my seat belt. “Because I’m detecting a major lack of levity around here.”

“Sorry to break it to you, Cray, but we’re not here to entertain you,” Johnson grumbled, turning off the ignition and reaching for the door handle.

“I don’t see why that means you can’t crack a smile once in a while. Are you afraid your face will break or something?”

Pushing open my door I stepped down out of the SUV, shivering at the cold wind blowing through the garage. I was so over winter.

Roll on summer!

“You’re in protective custody, in case you had forgotten,” Johnson said as he came around to my side of the car, his usual scowl set firmly in place. Maybe his face really would crack if he dared to smile.

“Oh yes, and what a bang up job you’re doing, what with deer carcasses, dead bodies, and Samson still on the loose,” I said, settling my hands on my hips.

I watched as Johnson’s face darkened, his eyes narrowing to beady pinpoints. I had the sudden impression of an irritated pig, but figured I should probably keep that particular insight to myself.

And people say I don’t have any restraint. Bah!

“You think you’re so clever don’t you? You’re nothing but a stuck up smartass.”

“Hey, I’d rather be a smartass than a dumbass,” I shot back with a shrug.

While Johnson glared daggers at me, the other SUV from the convoy pulled into the space beside us. I recognized both of the agents that exited the vehicle from the cluster fuck that had been the media frenzy at the motel, but didn’t know either of their names.

The younger of the two agents didn’t look old enough to drive, let alone handle a weapon. He was tall and rail thin as if someone had grabbed him by the ankles and pulled, stretching him out like a rubber band. Baby-fine, brown hair fluttered in the breeze, causing him to run a hand over it in what looked like a gesture of habit in an attempt to flatten it down. A pair of thin framed glasses completed the look, and I couldn’t help imagining him hanging out in someone’s basement with a bag of dice and a prized miniature figurine playing Dungeons & Dragons. But for all his seeming gawkiness he moved with a sense of surety, his bright blue eyes alive with intelligence and awareness.

The other agent was as short as the first was tall, and was the first woman I had seen in a law enforcement capacity since Johnson and Holbrook had appeared on my doorstep. The tight ponytail that pulled her ash blonde hair back from her face made her look severe, but the faint lines at the corners of her mouth and eyes hinted at a tendency to laugh rather than frown.

“Come on guys, just settle down,” Holbrook said, sounding like a frustrated parent dealing with rowdy children. It was kind of him to try to ease the tense silence between Johnson and me, but it was also utterly naïve and futile. There was no kissing and making up happening here.

“Don’t defend him. It’s not your fault he’s such a dick,” I said, my voice carrying surprisingly well in the parking garage.

Beside us, the two agents smothered their chuckles behind coughs and mutterings of “Looks like it’s going to snow again.” Meanwhile Johnson’s face was beginning to darken from red to maroon.

“I mean, you can’t be blamed for the fact that he seems to have had his sense of humor removed along with his brain.”

“What did you say?” Johnson demanded in a low snarl, turning the alarming shade of purple I was starting to classify as DEFCON 3.

“You heard me. You’re being an ass-clown,” I offered off-handedly, turning my back on him to grab Loki’s carrier from the backseat. A few paces away the other agents were continuing to try not to laugh, and failing miserably. Apparently I wasn’t the only one who thought Johnson was a world-class tool. Turning back to face him I added, “A douche nozzle. A twat waffle.”

And there
it is, ladies and gentlemen. We have achieved DEFCON 2,
I thought, watching his eyes bulge in his blotchy face, his mouth flapping open and closed like a fish.

For a slightly heavyset man, Johnson moved surprisingly fast. In the blink of an eye he was looming in front of me, his white-knuckled fists pressed to the doorframe on either side of my head. I recoiled as his ashtray breath swirled in my face, Loki’s crate clattering to the concrete at my feet, drawing a piercing yowl from my furry friend.

“Listen to me, you dumb wolf bitch. I’m the only thing standing between you that fucking lunatic. Keep pushing me and I’ll hog tie you and hand you over to Reed with a big god damned red bow stapled to your forehead,” Johnson hissed, spittle flying from his lips to splatter across my face.

Oh, that’s just gross.

Daring to take my eyes off Johnson for a fraction of a second, I saw the alarmed expressions of the other agents over his shoulder, their hands already reaching for their weapons.

“Take a step back Agent Johnson, nice and slow,” the younger agent said. His voice had a tight, worried edge to it, but the way he held his gun pointed at the ground in an unwavering grip, ready to raise it at a moment’s notice, let me know he was all business.

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,
I chanted internally, the wolf joining me in my panicked mantra.
Maybe I shouldn’t have pushed him that last little bit,
I thought. But then again, I’d always been the type to poke a bear with a stick. Sometimes I just couldn’t help myself: I had to see what would happen if I jabbed it in the ass.

When my gaze shifted back to Johnson I barely recognized him. A murderous rage and manic gleam burning fever bright in his eyes made me draw a sharp breath.

“You think you’re such hot shit, don’t you? That you’re something special just because you didn’t have the good sense to die when that maniac split you open like a melon. Or is it because every cock within a hundred miles is drooling at the chance to get in your quim?” The savagery of his words made me flinch.

Whoa. What the hell?

“Step away, Agent Johnson. I won’t tell you again,” the agent said, the sound of his shoe scuffing on the concrete drawing my gaze away from Johnson’s raging face for a second.

The sight of the gathered agents with their guns raised, sighted on Johnson’s back, made my heart hammer painfully against my ribs. This was so not how I had pictured being taken out.

“Come on, Harry,” Holbrook pleaded, though the aim of his gun didn’t waver for a second. “Don’t do this. Think of Cheryl.”

Something dark and vicious flickered across Johnson’s face, like a leviathan rising up from the depths for the briefest of moments, before sinking back down into the darkness—barely glimpsed, but terrifying all the same. And then Johnson spun away from me, rounding on the other agent, his shoulders rising and falling with his rapid breaths.

“Fuck you, Darius,” he said, jabbing a thick finger at his partner, before stalking past the other agents, completely ignoring their drawn weapons as if they held no more threat than a water pistol.

The agents slowly lowered their weapons as they watched Johnson stalk down the ramp of the parking garage, digging a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket. Coming to a halt at the end of the ramp he leaned against the wall of the garage and pulled a lighter from his pocket. The snick of the lighter echoed in the otherwise silent structure. He exhaled in a long breath through his nose, the twin trails looking like the exhalation of a slumbering dragon; he certainly appeared to have the temper of one.

“Should we go after him?” the female agent asked, holstering her gun, but keeping her hand close by.

“No, leave him be,” Holbrook answered, his brow furrowing as his gaze lingered on his partner.

Leaning back against the side of the SUV, I hung my head, bracing my hands on my knees as I breathed deep. “So that’s DEFCON 1.”

Holbrook shot me a quizzical look, but I just waved him off as I struggled to figure out what the hell had just happened.

Like anyone else, I’d learned the basics of human and supernatural history. Once upon a time, all the various races had existed in one unified world and we’d lived in tandem for millennia. Then there had been some cataclysmic event that no one seemed to remember which had torn the world into five separate, parallel realms. It was said that passage from one realm to another was still possible, but only through doorways where the barriers were weakest, doorways that were often secret, and always heavily guarded.

Or at least, that’s what some people liked to believe.

Others believed that we’d been created by an omnipresent God, designed in his image to inhabit the world he had made. That’s what my grandparents had believed, and the faith that most mundanes ascribed to in one way or another. As for me, I didn’t really believe in much of anything that I couldn’t see with my own eyes. I’d believe in a god made of spaghetti and meatballs if he dropped down from the sky to say hello and wave his noodley appendage at me.

Along with the various origin stories earth’s assorted races placed their faith in, I’d also learned about the evolution of rights and laws pertaining to supes. While Martin Luther King, Jr. was marching on Washington in the 1950’s, Olaf Sorenson, the pack master of Milwaukee was demanding equal rights for all Americans, be they human, were, vampire, or anything else. As many challenges as King’s campaign of equality for African Americans had come up against—and continue to run into to this day—it had still proven more successful than Sorenson’s ever did.

Supes were barred from serving in the military, law enforcement, and any branch of government. Magic users are considered somewhat of a grey area. Technically they’re still human—the genetic testing proves that—but whatever enables them to wield magic in any of its myriad forms tends to make the mundanes nervous. While they’re given all the same rights as any other human, those that choose to join the military or law enforcement often suffer such prejudice and ridicule that they either resign or elect to conceal their true nature. There’s a whole lot of “Don’t ask, don’t tell” going on these days.

They’ve made some progress since Sorenson’s time, but there’s still a lot of fear and prejudice dictating the laws. I’d never given much thought to the unequal balance of rights between humans and supes until I’d been torn from one group and thrust headlong into the other. As a supe there are a lot of limitations in place that just don’t exist for mundanes. Overstep those bounds and you’ll find yourself on a one-way trip to the afterlife, no take backs.

Living in the country meant my interactions with others were pretty damn limited. It had been a long time since I’d run across someone who was so obviously prejudiced against supes. Johnson’s outburst reminded me all too sharply of the fact that I was no longer a member of the human race. I was one of the
others
—one of the creatures in the dark to be maligned, restricted, and feared.

“You coming?” Holbrook asked, drawing my gaze away from Johnson’s distant figure.

Straightening, I picked up Loki’s carrier, glad that no one mentioned the obvious tremor in my hand. “Sure.”

FILING INTO THE ELEVATOR with Holbrook and the rest of the agents from the convoy, we stood in uncomfortable—and cramped—silence, avoiding making eye contact with our reflections in the mirrored interior. Although Johnson wasn’t with us, the effects of his tirade lingered like a corporeal being in the confined space, making us all a bit jittery.

“So…” I drawled, rocking back and forth on the balls of my feet. “How ‘bout them Broncos?”

“You watch football?” Holbrook asked with a surprised tilt to his brows.

“No, but I figured it was better than asking if you’d had your prostate checked recently,” I replied with a shrug, and grinned at the uncomfortable look on his face.

Behind me the female agent let out a chuckle, breaking the tense atmosphere. In the mirrored surface of the elevator, I could see everyone’s shoulders visibly relax as they let some of the tension go. Amazing what a little ass humor can do to a crowd.

“Tillman, you ever muster up the courage to ask out Jenna in accounting?” Holbrook asked to change the subject, grinning as the young agent blushed crimson and shifted from one foot to the other.

Beside him, his partner laughed, shaking her head.

“Shut up, Myrom,” Tillman said, staring at the toes of his shoes while his blush crept up the sides of his neck. He looked like a mortified teenager who’d just been pantsed in the middle of gym class.

“Ignore them,” I said, taking pity on the poor kid. Leaning in conspiratorially I added in a stage whisper, “They’re just a bunch of asshats.” Although he didn’t raise his head, he did lift his gaze to meet mine, gracing me with a faint smile.

“Holbrook’s just intimidated by my giant…gun,” Tillman said, puffing out his chest and waggling his eyebrows for emphasis.

Laughter erupted from all of us, the last of our collective anxiety dissipating like smoke. We were all wiping tears of laughter from our eyes and shaking our heads when the elevator dinged and the doors opened to reveal a large open room filled with cubicles and agents walking to and fro like busy little bees. Tillman and Myrom got out ahead of me, the younger agent flashing me a smile before ducking his head and jogging after his partner.

Holbrook’s hand on my arm kept me from exiting the elevator. Turning to face him, I arched my brows in an unspoken question.

“Thanks for that,” he said, his voice pitched low enough that it wouldn’t carry down the hallway towards the retreating agents.

“For what?”

“Tillman. He’s a good kid, a good agent, but he’s quiet and shy. You brought him out of his shell. You did a good thing there.”

“It was nothing,” I said with a shrug, though I smiled at the warm flutter in the pit of my stomach.

With all the crazy crap going on around me, it had felt good—
really
good—to make someone smile, no matter how silly or inconsequential it may have seemed to anyone else. I knew all too well what it was like to be the awkward one in the room. If cracking a few ass jokes could help lighten the mood and give a shy guy a little boost, well then, watch out folks because I’ve got a butt load more jokes where that one came from. Get it?
Butt
load. Yeah, I
crack
myself up too.