by W. J. May
Devon grinned in spite of himself. “Oh yeah? Any words of advice?”
“Don’t screw it up.”
Chapter 5
The riverside cottages were in a relatively safe part of town. The streets were clean and quiet, as the criminals generally haunted the industrial and commercial districts further south. Most of the houses rested easy with nothing but a simple dead-bolt on the door.
The house they were visiting was better equipped.
Not to dissuade potential burglars, but to ward off childhood friends.
“He’s got a Yale YRD256 security key pad,” Julian remarked, peering in through the window. “Not a bad choice.”
Devon shook his head, slipping the keys back into his pocket.
“The Yale’s fine, but too well-constructed—too quiet if someone’s trying for a manual override. If we’re talking something this bulky, he’d be better off going with a slightly thicker quality just to enhance the audio.” He sighed impatiently. “See, he would know this stuff if he’d just—”
Julian held up a hand. “Preaching to the choir.”
Devon rapped briskly on the door, then stepped to the side—holding up a pizza delivery hat to the tiny peephole. “At any rate, he’s still got windows...”
The psychic stepped aside as well, chuckling quietly at the hat.
“Do you keep that in your car?”
“At all times,” Devon murmured, tilting it casually to block the rest of the porch. “You’d be amazed how often this little thing has come in handy.”
There were footsteps on the other side, followed a metallic clunk of the locks.
Works like a charm...
“Sorry, just a second,” a voice called from inside, still battling with the door. “I actually think there’s been a mistake. I didn’t order any—”
The door swung open and a handsome man froze in the frame.
“Hello, Mason!” Devon called brightly.
There was a beat of silence.
“Oh, shit...” Mason took a quick step backwards, trying to shut the door—but Julian’s foot came out of nowhere, blocking it open. “Shit!”
“Morning, buddy!” Julian replied with a smile.
The man’s face hardened with a scowl. “He roped you into this, too?”
“I’m here to be likable,” the psychic recited. “And to provide moral support.”
“Yeah, moral support for who?” Mason muttered, trying again with the door. “Guys, can we not do this here? Seriously—I have neighbors.”
“I can see that,” Devon said cheerfully, waving to an old woman watching from the next house down. “Lovely morning, isn’t it?” he called. “Been like this all week!”
She nodded and headed inside as Mason cringed against the door. His fingers tightened on the frame and his eyes flashed between the two men—growing more irritated with each pass.
“Are you finished?” he asked flatly. “Can you go?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Devon replied briskly, wiping his shoes on the mat. “We just got here and I’m dizzy with the heat. I’ll need to come inside and get some water before I can drive.”
Julian snickered as Mason pressed his face to the door with a groan.
“You’re having fun with this, aren’t you?”
Devon shoved past him with a wink. “Always.”
THE INSIDE OF THE HOUSE was much as one might expect for a young man living by himself in London. There was some simple furniture, a sparse kitchen, a few random books. A giant television.
Not many pictures.
Like most members of the supernatural community Mason Ross had enjoyed a relatively good life, riddled with its fair share of tragedy. Both parents had been agents, killed in the line of duty when he was nine. They’d left him with a paternal grandfather who sent him off to Guilder, who then died before he finished his first year.
Needless to say, it hadn’t engendered a lot of warmth about the institution.
“You guys want some coffee?” he offered, reluctantly following the pair indoors. It wasn’t the first time they’d shown up unannounced and, despite his best efforts, it likely wouldn’t be the last.
“That’d be great,” Devon called back, walking in a slow circle around the living room.
Despite the relatively simple layout, his eyes had been trained to pick out details that would be lost on most others. The books were mostly geared towards travel. The furniture had been picked up second-hand. The pictures weren’t just absent—they’d recently been removed. He could still see the faint outline of dust from where their frames had hung on the wall.
“There’s a coffee shop down the road.” Mason emerged with a single mug that he kept for himself, leaning against the wall with a dry smile. “Can’t guarantee I’ll be here when you get back.”
Devon nodded absentmindedly, continuing his circle around the room.
“You know, a lot of people might find this place to be barren and uninviting—and they’d be right. But I happen to like it. It’s got a begrudging kind of charm, much like yourself.”
Mason’s eyes narrowed over the rim of his mug. “Why thank you.”
The psychic wandered to the kitchen and poured some coffee for himself, rifling through a pile of envelopes by the sink. “That’s a lot to pay for electricity...”
Mason threw up his hands in dismay. “Could you stop going through my mail?”
Julian glanced up with a blank stare. “How do you mean?”
“If you need some help with those bills,” Devon interjected casually, “I happen to have a job for which you are particularly well-suited.”
Mason closed his eyes and counted back from twenty.
“I don’t need help with my bills, I’m just fine. I need you to get the hell out of my house and stop calling me seventeen times a day.” He set down the mug, trying his best to reason with them. “I said no, all right? I’m not interested in joining the Privy Council. Impossible as it might seem to you fanatics, there are people in the world who would say no.”
“Loathsome people,” Devon replied calmly. “Rat-people.”
Mason turned in exasperation to the psychic. “Can’t you do something about this? I thought you were supposed to be likable.”
Julian lifted a basket off the table, extending it with a bright smile. “Banana?”
“Okay,” Mason templed his fingers, looking from one to the other, “not that I don’t love you guys showing up here, offering me my own fruit, but it’s done—all right? I’ve made up my mind. I’m not going to join the agency. I don’t think I’m even going to stay in England.”
Devon stopped his pacing and Julian set down the basket.
“Where else would you go?” Devon demanded, as if the civilized world stopped at the 55th Parallel. “And what makes you think we won’t sabotage your visa?”
Julian held up a tempering hand as Mason prayed for patience. “If you must know...I’m thinking of moving to Australia.”
There was a beat of silence.
“Australia?” Devon repeated incredulously. “Is that a joke?”
Mason tossed a napkin at him. “No, it’s not a joke. I’ve been looking at some places—”
“What in the world are you going to do in Australia?”
“I don’t know.” Mason shrugged helplessly, running his hands through his hair. “Get a job, learn to surf, find some beautiful Australian woman and trick her into loving me.”
Unacceptable.
“First of all, you can’t surf in Australia,” Devon said practically. “The water’s guarded by an army of sharks. And there aren’t actually any women. There are criminals and kangaroos. A couple of celebrities,” he added allowingly. “But most of them are taken.”
Mason smiled in spite of himself, crossing his arms. “I’m pretty sure there are girls in Australia. Tan, gorgeous, beach-loving girls.”
Devon shook his head. “No girls. That’s all propaganda—and it’s centuries out of date. But there a
re some delightful facts about Australia.” He snapped his fingers. “Jules?”
The psychic perched on the counter, reading off his phone.
“So far it’s pretty much what you’d expect...” he answered thoughtfully. “Everything is unusually-sized and toxic. Everything has been bred for thousands of years in the desert to kill you. Komodo dragons, cannibalistic spiders...” He brightened suddenly. “Oh—here’s something. A kind of lizard that actually shoots blood from its eyes. Apparently, those can kill you as well.”
“Guys, be serious—”
“It’s not a joke,” Devon said flatly. “That’s actually happened to me. Twice.”
There was a pointed silence.
“You seem to have recovered nicely.”
“Tell that to my prosthetic shin.”
Mason laughed in spite of himself. “Guys...it’s not for me.”
Australia?
“The PC,” he added preemptively. “It’s just...not my thing.”
The friends shared a quick look, then promptly shifted strategies.
“Relax, we’re not here to strong-arm you,” Devon promised. “And the last thing we’d ever want to do is cross any lines. Boundaries are important.”
Mason snorted into his coffee. “Clearly.”
“It’s true,” Julian insisted. “We just wanted to show you something.”
“HOLY SHIT...IT’S beautiful.”
The three men stood in a line on the sidewalk, staring with the same boyish reverence at the car parked alongside the curb. Devon had selected it carefully that morning, giving it a habitual shine before driving over. Of all the prized models in his collection, it was the very top of the list.
“A lot more beautiful than the girls in Australia,” he teased, casually stepping aside so Mason could get a better look. “Probably a lot faster, too.”
Mason just stared in a daze, too overwhelmed to actually touch it.
“How did you even get one?” he finally asked. “I thought they weren’t going on the market until early next spring—”
“I pulled a few strings,” Devon interrupted. “Had a friend make a call.”
That friend happened to be awaiting his coronation, along with his princess bride, but Devon had never felt the need to advertise such things. The car itself was more than enough.
“Does he let you drive this?” Mason asked, flashing Julian a quick grin.
The psychic laughed, having recently purchased one of his own.
“He’s not that generous. You should see the interior, though.” He opened the passenger side door. “It’s not exactly street-legal, but if you can imagine it on a course—”
It happened so fast, there was no way to stop it.
The second Mason leaned inside, Devon gave him a hard shove onto the leather then raced to the front of the car. The psychic leapt into the back, and by the time their captive registered what was happening they were already flying down the street—shrieking like banshees and blasting the horn in triumph as they sailed along the banks of the Thames.
“YOU’RE SUCH AN ARSE.”
Mason had refused to speak a word the entire drive to London, but he broke that silence as they pulled into the Guilder parking lot. It had been rather impressive, considering how many times they’d tried to engage him. Granted, the drive hadn’t taken nearly as long as it was meant to. But the car in question was better suited to super-sonic speeds, and Devon was more than willing to oblige.
“Mase, I just gave you a ride in a SSC Tuatara. If anything, that makes me a saint.”
“What if I had left a burner going on the stove?” Mason demanded. “What if I had to take out my dog? Or feed my fish?”
“You don’t have any pets,” Devon replied calmly. “And Julian would see it coming if your house was going to catch fire. Wouldn’t you, Jules?”
“Hmm?”
The psychic was still glued to his phone, obsessively looking things up about Australia.
“See—it’s fine.”
With a weary sigh the young man followed them onto the grass, trudging along the familiar trail towards the domed building glinting like a beacon in the sun. They were stopped several times by fellow agents and a few of the older students who remembered Mason from his own time at Guilder. It had only been a few months earlier that he’d been walking those hallowed halls.
“So what’s going to happen in there?” Mason asked as they neared the doors. “Are you guys going to strap me to a chair—brainwash me into thinking I want to be there?”
The men considered a moment, then Julian shot Devon a quick look.
“Does Carter still have the pieces of Simon’s device?” he asked curiously. “I hadn’t really considered doing it that way, but it might save some time...”
They were still laughing when the door flew open and they almost collided with the head of the Privy Council himself. There was a phone in each hand, along with several tons of paperwork crammed into a briefcase, but Carter stopped the moment he saw them, glancing up in surprise.
“Mason—so good of you to join us this morning!”
He extended a hand and Mason shook it with a blush.
“Thanks, I...I’m glad to be here.”
Devon and Julian stifled matching grins.
The guy may have iced them out all the way from London, he may have tried to dead-bolt them out of his house before that, but the shadow of Andrew Carter didn’t only fall over his agents. It blanketed the entire magical community as well.
There would be no talk of abduction. There would be nothing but nervous smiles.
“I hope we’re going to be seeing a bit more of you,” Carter pressed, having yet to release the young man’s hand. “I have a locker and a jet-pack with your name on it.”
Mason laughed self-consciously, wondering how much of that was a joke.
“That’s...what we’re here to discuss.”
“Glad to hear it.” Carter smiled again then released him, looking decidedly pleased. “I won’t keep you, but Devon—speak to me on the way out, would you? There are a few loose ends from that relay station in Birmingham we need to tie up.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Have a good session.”
He was gone a second later, briskly making his way across the grass.
Mason stared after him without realizing—the man behind the curtain, right there in the flesh. It wasn’t until he felt the others watching that he turned quickly back to the doors.
“...shut up.”
THE FIRST TIME A PROSPECTIVE recruit set foot in the Oratory was always entertaining, to say the least. No matter how much they’d been prepared, you never knew what you were going to get. Some of them took one look at the fire-throwers and growling shifters and raced straight back to the dorms. Others merely stood in the entryway, staring without blinking, losing all track of time.
A few years back, a girl started crying so hysterically she was taken to the healer. Another man swore he was fine no fewer than a dozen times before fainting on the spot.
Agents had begun to place secret wagers. Some had turned it into a drinking game.
Fortunately, this was not Mason’s first time in the Oratory. They had attempted recruiting him a year before, when he’d first come into his powers. They hadn’t been successful in convincing him but, to be fair, they might have moved a bit too quickly and the guy was in a vulnerable spot.
Devon would never forget the first time he saw him—hyperventilating on the benches, while the Guilder faculty tried to locate a geometry teacher he’d accidentally relocated to the airport.
Relocated. That’s what they’d called it at the time.
They knew now, Mason’s gift was something far more powerful than that.
“Hey, kid! It’s good to see you again!”
The trio glanced up as a woman built like an Amazon swung down from the rafters, landing in a graceful crouch beside them as a panther trotted up to her side. There were tribal markings on both arms,
and a pair of sparkling neon headphones that she removed with a smile.
“And here I thought we’d lost you to the common world.”
Mason smiled at the floor, scratching the panther behind the ears when it pushed its nose into his hand. His insufferable kidnappers weren’t willing to let him off so easy.
“Verdict’s still out, I’m afraid.” Devon dug his hands into his pockets, sighing as if the whole thing had been rather tedious. “He’s got all these masochistic travel plans...”
“Could you let it go?” Mason muttered under his breath.
“Oh yeah?” The woman planted her hands on her hips. “Like what?”
Julian glanced up from his phone. “He wants to move to Australia.”
The panther bared its teeth.
“Why?” she demanded.
Devon rolled his eyes, reciting the reasons with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Find a girl, build a sandcastle...”
There was a defiant growl.
“That’s true,” the woman translated. “We have girls here.”
Mason stood his ground with a grin. “They have sun.”
“We have sun here.” Julian shot a pointed look at a heliokinetic who was practicing in the corner. A few seconds later, the temperature spiked twenty degrees. “See...sun.”
The woman ambled away with a laugh, the panther close at her side. Devon and Julian shrugged out of their jackets and headed towards the weapons room.
“What would you like to work with?” Devon called over his shoulder. “Guest’s choice, though I have to warn you we’ve had some nasty accidents lately with those pikes—”
“I want to go home,” Mason said quietly.
The others paused, shared a look, then doubled back to where he was standing.
Despite the fantastic chaos around him, the young man was unfazed—maintaining steady eye contact as they came to stand in front of him. It wasn’t common to find such composure, let alone in one so young. It was even less common that the room would fail to impress.
But nothing about Mason Ross was common.