My jaw clenched harder. “Stop getting off on the fact that I’m worried about you and hear my actual words. You don’t need the money. And it’s Mozar, for crying out loud. Remember Mozar? We don’t like Mozar.”
“I like everyone.”
I let out another involuntary laugh, smacking him in the chest with my palm. “Well, Mozar doesn’t like you. He accused you of being a serial killer, Black.”
“So did Nick,” he reminded me.
“It’s not the same!” I said, shoving at his chest again. “Mozar’s actually noticed things about you... relevant things, Black. So please, don’t do this just because you’re bored after canceling a bunch of those damned defense contracts...”
He didn’t lose the smile entirely, but a tightness grew visible around his mouth.
I saw it, and immediately regretted my words.
I knew why he’d canceled those contracts, although he’d never admitted it to me outright.
He’d done it for me... in part at least.
Looking at him now, I wrapped my arms around him, shaking him a little. “I appreciate it, Black... a lot. But don’t turn this into some frying-pan-fire thing, just because you’re not getting your usual insanely high doses of adrenaline fix. Please.”
The tautness in his face faded. He leaned closer and kissed me again, harder that time. I managed to forget he was driving that time, too. When he pulled away, his eyes returned to the road. He touched the earpiece in his ear.
“Nick?” he said, winking at me. “Sorry. You know how Miri is... so screechy and clinging...”
When I smacked him on the chest again, he laughed.
“I guess she’s over being worried about me physically...” Black added, evading another smack from me. “...she’s back to beating on me.”
Feeling Nick’s snort on the other end of the line, I disentangled myself from where I’d been half wrapped around Black, sliding towards my seat on the opposite side of the car. Before I could get very far, Black gripped me tighter and yanked me back towards him. He never took his other hand off the steering wheel, but wrapped his free arm around my waist.
Watching and listening to him talk to Nick, I conceded defeat.
Not a small part of that was because I could plainly see Nick was right.
Black was happy to be back on the job. He’d also stayed off longer than he wanted, probably because of me, like Nick said.
I found myself thinking about the rest of what Nick said, and what he’d implied without saying it outright. Nick definitely picked up enough around Black to realize Black needed to do this kind of on-the-ground, real-time work. He was just one of those people. He’d never be content with full-time office work, no matter how much time he spent at the gym.
For the same reason, I needed to get over what happened to him.
I knew Nick spoke from experience, being a cop, and a military guy before that. It wasn’t exactly a secret that choosing a dangerous career contained its own set of unique relationship challenges. It was something all cops and military personnel struggled with at one time or another––the spouse or girlfriend or boyfriend who wanted them to quit their job.
If it wasn’t the immediate physical danger they faced, it was the crappy hours.
If it wasn’t that, it was the psychological baggage.
Although I wasn’t a marriage counselor, I’d been treating cops and firefighters and vets for a good part of my career, and those issues always came up. I’d been on the other end of those arguments, too.
But I wouldn’t quit my job any more than Black or Nick or Angel would––or should.
So yeah, I knew Nick was right. I knew this was my problem, not Black’s.
I didn’t have to like it, though.
Nor did it fully erase the feeling of foreboding that continued to tighten my chest.
2
THE OTHER CITY OF ANGELS
THE OLD ONE frowned, overlooking a hazy, yellow-smoke view of downtown Los Angeles, one that stretched all the way down to a pale-blue swath of distant sea. He didn’t look away from that washed-out view as he spoke, certainly not to look at the younger, well-dressed man standing next to him.
“Absolutely not.” His voice came out flat, dismissive, as if the subject was already closed. “I have denied this petition from you before, Brick. I do not understand why you continually force me to repeat myself. You would risk all-out war with the psychics if you do this. And it buys us nothing.”
He turned, giving the younger one a hard stare.
“...You cannot handle what you would unleash, Brick. You are arrogant enough to think you can... but you cannot. And I won’t handle it for you. They are vicious animals. They are also far more dangerous and cunning than you give them credit for.”
Brick, the man standing with him, sighed. Internally, at least.
He didn’t let any hint of that sigh touch his handsome face, nor his eyes.
He was, of course, familiar with the elder’s position in regard to what he insisted on calling “the psychics.” Given who he was, and the fact that he still functioned as the head of their organization, all of them were very aware of Konstantin’s feelings on this matter. Most of them knew of the personal element there, as well, although the old man rarely spoke of that side of things, certainly not to underlings such as Brick.
Konstantin had lost a favorite to the psychics already.
Since then, he maintained they were dangerous––not to be trusted, but also not to be alienated, at least not in the current numbers they represented. Konstantin and that contemptible piece of excrement who led the seers had been the twin architects of the truce between the two races. Konstantin swore by that chickenshit document still, and not only because of the secrets they held over one another in relation to the humans.
Konstantin was an old man, though.
And despite what he was, he was only one.
Brick, however, was not old. As he stood there, pretending to listen with concern and undying patience to the old man’s every whim and fart and muttered complaint, he contemplated the fact of his own youth. He also thanked the angels above that he didn’t have the old man’s ridiculous fears regarding “the psychics.”
Brick had been born into this life with the name Betial. It was a good, traditional name given to him by his true father.
Everyone called him Mr. Brick, however. Or, even more commonly, just Brick.
If they’d known him during in a certain period of his life, they might also call him Mirror.
But there weren’t many alive who remembered that name. Most likely didn’t even remember how Betial got the nickname Brick. Many in their company had likely never heard his real name, so didn’t know Brick as a nickname at all.
Brick was fine with all of these things.
He’d always harbored a strange fondness for employing aliases. Over the years, he’d also found that having a non-threatening nickname tended to aid him more than harm him.
For Konstantin, however, Brick had never heard any name but Konstantin.
Konstantin had no last name, as far as Brick knew. He certainly had no nicknames.
He was just Konstantin.
If he had ever been known by another name, Brick’s searching had not uncovered it.
At the current time, they stood shoulder to shoulder by the penthouse window of a high-rise apartment building in downtown Los Angeles. A balcony stood outside those glass doors, with elaborate marble-topped stonework on both of the walls, as well as on the balcony railing itself. Gargoyles poised over fountains with wood nymphs and twisting fish made of even more expensive marble. Blooming vines hung down over a stone trellis and covered those same walls, littered with the faces of stone angels.
The whole atmosphere was very European, very beautiful, and Brick liked being out there very much... although perhaps not now, in the worst hours of the punishing sun.
Where they stood was air conditioned, silent. It was also beautiful, of course, if utter
ly sterile in its modern European lines and minimalist teak furniture.
The windows they looked out of had been heavily tinted––so much so, that it looked like sunset through that glass, even though Brick knew it to be closer to two o’clock.
Konstantin turned towards him, his long face strangely similar to the marble statues on the other side of that glass. “There are other ways we could do this, Brick. We have other servants, including inside the system––”
“Not in that place.”
The barest trace of a frown touched Konstantin’s lips. “I’m aware of that. I am telling you, it could be arranged.”
“Yet it hasn’t been. Despite multiple tries.”
Konstantin’s bloodless lips pressed flat, and Brick held up an apologetic hand.
“I am telling you, sir, we have tried that approach. It has failed utterly.”
Brick inclined his head politely, shaking his head. Both gestures constituted more thoughtful artifice than communication.
“...They have screened out all but a handful of candidates we have offered them, sir. The few that got through did not survive the procedure, save one. That one is now a resident of the Bonaventara Mental Health Hospital, outside of Atlanta, Georgia.”
Pausing for effect, Brick made a rolling gesture with one hand.
“They will not hire anyone, save those vetted extensively through their system. They disqualify potential employees for even having visited many parts of the world. They give blood tests, and seem to be able to determine quite a bit from those tests... far more than simply the race of the person’s birth.”
He paused, letting his words be heard in their full meaning.
“Respectfully, Patrón, we cannot risk ourselves in that way. Moreover, if we overstep in our attempts to get inside, they may realize we are aware of the nature of their little ‘operation’ and move our people out of our reach totally. If our names get attached to this, there is no reason to believe the government will not act against us, igniting an even more perilous war than the one we face now. I did the best I could with the parameters you requested. My approach will get the job done quickly and effectively... and if we leave no witnesses, there will be no direct connection to us.”
“Absolutely not,” Konstantin said.
“But may I ask why, sir?” Brick persisted. “Why are you catering to these animals in favor of our own people?”
Konstantin gave him a hard look. “I know you have a personal interest in this, Brick, so I will overlook the impudence of your manner of address. I have told you why. Fighting a war on two fronts does not benefit us.”
“What makes you think the seers will know of this operation in the first place?”
“They will find out. The psychic will talk.”
“Talk? To who?” Brick held up his hands, containing his contempt with an effort that time. “We will cut him off from all of those of his kind. We have him over a barrel with his race. We truthfully have far less to lose than the seers do, now that we know exposure may have already occurred for us.”
Trailing when he saw a sharper look rise to Konstantin’s eyes, Brick shrugged. “Anyway, if he becomes a problem, we kill him.”
“He may be an outsider, but he is a nephew by marriage,” Konstantin reminded him. “Lucky... Charles... may not like him, but he will be honor-bound to avenge him. You know how these animals think. They are clannish.”
Brick smiled, nodding. “Yes. They are. But again, sir, you are assuming they would know it was us who had him.”
Hesitating when he saw a harder frown touch the other’s lips, he went on less flippantly.
“As I said, I did the best I could with the parameters I was given. If you want me to come up with a different plan, it will take time. Significant time, perhaps.”
Konstantin continued to frown. “Or perhaps I need to find someone who can implement a plan that falls within the actual parameters I listed.”
Pausing, he let his voice grow more conciliatory, almost paternal.
“I know you are young, Brick, and that this is personal for you, as I said. But you do not realize what you are proposing, starting a war with creatures of this kind. He is mated, too, which will compound the problem. The psychics have no ability at all to be rational when it comes to their mates. She will hunt us. She will not be reasoned with in any way... not even via the threat of exposure. She won’t care, especially if you kill him.”
Muttering again, he shook his head. “You really don’t want to know how savage they can be under such circumstances, Brick.”
Brick smiled, he couldn’t help it. “Because such a thing is so foreign to our race?”
Konstantin turned sharply, giving him a disbelieving look. “You really don’t understand, if you think it is the same. Moreover, this nephew of Charles is said to be bad even for his own kind. Did you know he kills professionally? For humans? How can we trust one who has no honor?”
Brick fought not to roll his eyes again.
“He is a mercenary, yes,” he conceded. “But that will hardly be a disadvantage to us, given what we want him for. And Konstantin, we cannot use one of our own, which leaves us few options. Really, there is risk in using any outsider in this task. At least with a seer, we have credible threats we can employ. They are harder to kill than humans, too, which will be a distinct advantage given the environment. More importantly still, the procedure itself won’t kill him.”
“It doesn’t kill all humans, either.”
Brick let out an involuntary snort. “Not all. Just half. And the other half it drives insane. How long must I wait, and how many must I train and discard in search of one who might make it through that process without either outcome? There is no comparison between any human and a seer’s ability to regenerate.”
The elder waved off his words, acknowledging them with a frown and a noncommittal gesture. Turning, he went back to staring through the dark-tinted windows.
“You are not thinking of trying to recruit this one, are you?” Konstantin turned slightly, giving him a meaningful look. “Because that is something I could perhaps bring back to the Council.” He studied Brick’s face. “I hear the marriage was not approved of... that Charles actively tried to thwart the union. Sources tell me his new ‘nephew’ is aware of this, and obedient likely only as a courtesy to his new wife.”
Brick adjusted his black tie over the black tailored dress shirt he wore, using the time to think how to respond. He straightened the lines of an equally black and tailored suit jacket over the shirt. The combination cost him an obscene amount of money for mere clothes, even without the Italian dress shoes he wore and the diamond-studded cuff links and matching watch.
To Brick, it was worth every penny.
If he was going to do this creature of night thing, he would do it in style.
“No,” Brick said finally, after he’d thought through possible responses. “I do not think Charles’ nephew can be recruited. In fact, the more I think about it, the more I suspect we will likely have to kill him at the end of this, if you truly wish to keep the details of our involvement from Charles. The nephew is strong-willed. He is also not what I would classify as a ‘joiner’... despite his stints in the military. He is rich, arrogant, luxury-loving, well-connected, and used to having an unfair advantage over his environment.”
Brick felt his mouth quirk, right before he met Konstantin’s gaze.
“Think me, only with shitty taste in clothes,” he smiled.
Konstantin’s frown deepened, and Brick looked away, letting his voice grow more business-like.
“...More than any of that, he will not join us because we are an enemy race,” he said, still adjusting his sleeves. “He would never join us, for that reason alone.”
At the other’s quirked eyebrow, Brick inclined his head.
“Unlike some of our spies, I believe his race loyalty to be sincere. I know he is criticized for being stand-offish with his fellow seers, but from my observations, it
is not disloyalty which causes him to act so. He has a deep-seated ideological difference of opinion with Charles. One his wife seems to share. I suspect he would recruit more seers to his side if he could, and away from Charles’ flock. I also suspect he hopes to use his wife’s connections to Charles to do that very thing at some point... which is likely the real reason he is playing nice now. To win Charles’ trust.”
Tilting his head with a faint smile, he kept his tone business-like.
“...So no, I do not think he could be recruited. It is a pity though, I rather like him, from what I’ve seen. He’s devious, smart and knows how to play the long game... even with his wife. He also doesn’t shy away from a good fight. I think he rather relishes them, actually, which is yet another reason he is perfect for this job.”
Adjusting his tie a touch to the right when he saw his reflection in the tinted glass, he let out a mock-regretful sigh.
“In any case, we don’t need to recruit him for this. I am quite confident he can be coerced. He can even be controlled, I believe... with the proper tools and motivation, and I intend to employ both.”
“How?”
Konstantin’s expression remained inscrutable, but Brick found himself getting glimpses behind it, regardless. Moreover, the fact that he’d engaged him in this little Q&A told him that Konstantin was finding Brick’s words more persuasive than he was pretending.
“Like all of his race, he has his weaknesses,” he said. “One weakness in particular, from what I hear, will keep him handily in line.”
“And what weakness is that?” Konstantin said.
“His wife, of course.” Tilting his head at the obviousness of that, Brick smiled, leaning his hands on the metal window sill and stretching his back. “And yes... for his kind, it is a sadly predictable weakness. Very useful for us, however.”
Konstantin didn’t look away from Brick’s face.
He also did not appear convinced.
For a long moment, both of them only stood there, overlooking the city’s skyscrapers and the distant view of the ocean. Brick didn’t look too often or too long, but he could tell by the old man’s taut expression that he was weighing the different things Brick had said.
Black And Blue: A Quentin Black Paranormal Mystery (Quentin Black Mystery Book 5) Page 3