by W. J. May
Yeah, I guess it is.
“Did you get those loose ends tied up?”
His head snapped up with a start, only to see her staring back at him—those blue eyes widening to take up an enormous portion of her face. A dozen evasive responses floated tentatively to the surface, but he found himself unable to say any of them. He smiled again instead.
“You want a lullaby?”
Aria glanced towards her bookshelf, taking a moment to switch tracks. Each week was something new, but for the last month she’d been stuck on the same nursery rhyme.
“Mom usually sings it to me.”
Crap—I forgot about that.
“I could just read it—” he began tentatively.
“Mom usually sings it.”
Devon stared down at her for a suspended moment, all blue eyes and raven curls, then he pulled in a faltering breath and muddled his way through the song.
The girl sat in perfect silence until he was done, eyes trained on his lips. When at last it was over, she gave him a quick kiss then shimmied down beneath the sheets.
“...Mom doesn’t sound anything like that.”
Chapter 8
Without his beautiful wife there to shock the thing into an early grave, Devon resurrected an ancient childhood alarm clock and woke up on time the next morning, right with the dawn.
He dressed quickly then headed downstairs to start making breakfast for the children, pulling open the refrigerator and silently praying he’d remembered to stock it with food.
“Let’s see...” he murmured to himself. “Leftovers...leftovers...something that might once have been jam...more leftovers.” He came to a sudden pause, peering down into a Chinese take-out container. At first he thought he’d imagined it, but sure enough there was his phone—submerged in a mountain of fried rice. He stared for a moment, then continued his search. “Leftovers...”
By the time Aria emerged a few minutes later, two steaming bowls of porridge were already on the table. She approached hers with suspicion, poking at it with a spoon.
“Did you make this?”
He glanced over his shoulder, plopping James into a highchair at the same time. “Yeah, it’s porridge. You love porridge.”
She folded her hands with the utmost patience. “Dad...they serve porridge in prison. It’s for crime lords and tax evaders.”
Their eyes met across the table.
“Have you been sneaking television?”
Don’t answer that.
“On the note of crime lords and tax evaders I’ve got some stuff to do for work, so you’re going to spend the day with Grandma Beth, all right? She’ll be here soon to get you.”
Aria brightened immediately before shooting a bracing look at the highchair. “Is the baby coming, too?”
James threw a pacifier in her direction, while Devon let out an exasperated sigh.
“Yes, sweetheart—James is coming with you. Because he’s your brother. Because any grandmother of yours is his grandmother as well.”
I ought to summon the teenage version from the future. He could teach you some manners.
He could even teach you his name.
Aria rolled her eyes, hopping off the stool without eating a single bite.
“If you think it’s that important,” she conceded. “But for the record, I’d have a lot more fun if you decided to take him with you. Or lock him in a cabinet here at home.”
Devon gave her a hard look. “Duly noted.”
There was a knock at the door.
Crap—she’s early!
He scooped James back out of the highchair and hurried to answer it, wading through an actual sea of toys covering the living room floor. How they’d managed to create such havoc, he had no idea. They’d had a total of five unsupervised minutes to work their unholy spell.
“Arie—can you clean some of this up?” he yelled, unsticking a wad of arithmetic flashcards from the bottom of his foot. “And get your jacket from upstairs! And your shoes!”
He opened the door with a smile, then froze where he stood.
“Cliff,” he exclaimed in surprise, “what are you doing here?”
Comparatively speaking, the supernatural world was a relatively small community. Small enough that professional acquaintances would never spontaneously drop by each other’s homes.
The man smiled broadly, opening his arms in that peculiar way he did where one thought he might be going for a hug. “I’d lie and say I was in the neighborhood, but the truth is I was hoping to catch you for a minute to talk. But I can see you’re still on the clock.” His face morphed into an even bigger smile as he cooed, “And who’s this little guy? You must be James.”
Devon glanced at the baby before forcing a quick smile. It was hard not to smile at a person cooing at one’s children. It was even harder when he reached into his jacket and produced a toy.
Then he saw the toy in question.
“Sophie the Giraffe?”
He let out a bark of laughter as James reached with eager hands.
“Too soon?” Barnes teased. “I just figured the kid was probably missing one. Not a clue where I might have gotten that idea...”
Devon chuckled again, bowing his head.
Of all the flashy and idolized jobs within the Privy Council, Cliff Barnes was at the bottom of the barrel. He was a case officer—the man who read through each mission report from both a financial and legal standpoint to make sure everything the agents had done was above board.
Just because it was undesired (try pushing a mountain of paperwork on a group of people who played with superpowers all day) didn’t mean it wasn’t incredibly powerful. He had the ability to write people up for referral, to refuse equipment based on excessive cost. Depending on the situation he even have the authority to temporarily bench an agent, pending an official review.
Of course, his job title wasn’t the only reason people gave him a wide berth. His tatù was particularly unsettling. When he was working at Guilder, he tended to wear an inhibitor just as a professional courtesy to set people at ease.
“It seems like just yesterday Carter burst into the office, telling everyone in earshot that Rae had a healthy baby boy.” Barnes tilted his head, still smiling at the child. “At the same time, it’s a bit strange to see him so small. I imagine it must be strange for the two of you as well.”
Devon pulled in a quick breath, tightening his grip.
The circle of people who’d been made aware of his family’s slight tendency towards time-travel was already bigger than he would have liked. Given his position within the agency, there was no way that Barnes wasn’t on that list. Logistical hazards of saving the world.
“We owe him such a great deal,” Barnes murmured, reaching out to touch the child’s hand. “Such a wonder that he doesn’t already know...”
Hands. Off.
Devon shifted ever so casually, moving his son out of reach. “It’s a little hectic this morning—” he said leadingly.
“Of course,” Barnes interrupted, all apologies and smiles. “I don’t want to keep you from the little ones. This will only take a few minutes.”
Seeing no other alternative, considering the man was already standing on his front porch, Devon pushed open the door with a little sigh.
“Come on in...”
The two men vanished indoors just as another car pulled onto the little street.
INSIDE THE HOUSE, NOT much had progressed in terms of preparation. Aria was wandering amongst the toys, dragging her feet in little circles, but she’d yet to put any of them away.
She stopped dead cold when a stranger walked into the living room.
“A little hectic,” Barnes said with a gain, “I can see what you mean.”
Devon flushed with embarrassment, following his gaze. Since the arrival of the children, the house had never been exactly pristine. But things had gone off the rails a bit in Rae’s absence.
Ironic, considering the woman had never cleaned a day in h
er life.
“I’d like to say I wasn’t expecting company, but it’s pretty much been like this all week.” He flashed the man a side look. “You have any children?”
Barnes shook his head, flashing a smile at Aria. “I’m afraid not. I’d fill the house with them.”
Devon raked his hair back with a laugh. “Trust me, two is enough.”
He was about to say more, when there was a light knock and the door pushed open once again. This time, a beautiful woman ducked her head inside with a smile.
“Where are they??”
“NANNY!”
Aria forgot the toys entirely and blurred across the room—leaping with a feral scream into her grandmother’s arms. Even James squirmed in Devon’s grip enough that he was set on the floor, crawling towards her with a high-pitched squeal of delight.
The men waved in unison as she straightened up in surprise.
“Cliff,” she said a bit coldly. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
Devon tensed and tried to catch her gaze, but she stared right past him.
“I had some things to do in the city,” Barnes said casually, tucking his hands into his pockets with that signature smile. “Thought I’d stop by for a quick chat.”
Beth nodded slowly, and Devon prayed for a quick death.
“Well...have fun with that.” She turned away from them deliberately, kneeling down once more to speak with the children. “Are you two ready to go? Arie—where’s your jacket?”
“Here!”
There was a brief scuffle with socks and shoes, followed by an impatient chorus of farewells, then the trio was heading out the door. It was perfectly civil. Beth even gave Devon a quick kiss on the cheek. But at the last minute, she glanced over her shoulder, “Interesting company, Dev.”
He flashed her a pained look, muttering under his breath. “He just dropped by—”
“Good to see you, Cliff.”
“Take care, Mrs. Carter.”
The door swung shut.
There were a few seconds of awkward silence, then Barnes flashed a little grin.
“Your mother-in-law doesn’t like me.”
Devon rolled his eyes, smiling in spite of himself.
The man was hard to dislike in person—both disturbingly ambitious and refreshingly candid at the same time. A rather dangerous combination.
“Well, you haven’t made things easier for her husband,” he replied a bit pointedly. “And as long as we’re speaking openly, if you’ve come here thinking there’s a situation in which I’m going to speak against Carter’s wishes, you should never have set foot in this house.”
“I don’t want you to speak against Carter,” Barnes said quickly. “I want you to help me change his mind.” A strained silence fell between them, and he backtracked at once. “Listen, this isn’t going the way I wanted. Can we start over? You were in the middle of something here.” His eyes swept over the breakfast dishes. “Can I help you clear these...?”
Devon followed his gaze, then his hand through his hair with a sigh. “How about you just tell me why you’re here.”
In a way, he wasn’t surprised the man had come. He’d been systematically working his way through each of the friends. Last week, he’d cornered Julian in a coffee shop on his way into work.
True to form, he didn’t waste any time.
“I want you to come to the next meeting and speak on my behalf. I want you on my side, Devon,” he continued unabashedly. “I’ll do whatever’s necessary to make that happen.”
Devon took a step back, trying to slow the speed of the conversation.
“I don’t know what your side is, Cliff. I didn’t know there were sides within the agency. And I’m not going to lie, I feel like we fought very bloody hard to make sure that wouldn’t happen.”
“There have always been differences in opinion—”
“Differences in opinion is different than what you’re talking about now,” Devon countered evenly. “I don’t know what you’re unhappy with. I don’t know what things you want to change.”
Barnes nodded seriously, glad for the opportunity to plead his case.
“I want to do more,” he said simply. “More missions, more outreach, use the resources we have at our disposal to do bigger things. The kind that don’t require a two-man team, but a whole brigade of people with ink. I want to affect real change, Devon. And I want you to help me.”
Devon stared at him thoughtfully before gesturing to the table.
“Bigger things,” he repeated, taking a seat. “Things that require a brigade.”
Julian was right. Not only was the man throwing around military terminology, but he was frighteningly vague. Two things that should never mix.
He waited until Barnes was sitting across from him before asking the natural question.
“What kinds of things do you want to try that would require a brigade?”
Barnes laughed lightly, fiddling with his hands. “Not every mission can be accomplished with two people, Devon. Not every doomsday can be averted by a handful of individuals lifting their hands.”
Devon smiled evenly. “Tell that to my wife.”
He expected the man to dig in harder, but his face cleared with almost fervent admiration.
“Your wife is bloody incredible,” he said flatly. “She’s affected more change than anyone in the supernatural kingdom. I wish we had a hundred more people exactly like your wife.”
Devon’s skin prickled with an abstract unease.
Maybe it was the casual use of the word ‘kingdom’. Maybe it was the way the man’s eyes flitted over the children’s toys when he spoke of wanting more.
“But we don’t,” Barnes concluded suddenly. “Devon, as the man who sits behind the desk, the man who reads every mission report the agency has to offer, let me put something into a better perspective. You and your friends are an aberration. Not everyone can call up their childhood companions every time they’d like to save the world. We need to expand our resources. Try to—”
Devon help up a quick hand. “Let me get this straight: by resources you mean people with ink?”
The man nodded slowly, staring into his eyes.
“People with the best ink,” he clarified. “Hybrid children is the first step. Just look at what yours have already done. The more inked people who marry and blend the ink, the greater the possibilities.”
Red. Flag. Waving.
“Careful,” Devon said with a hard smile, “you’re starting to sound like my ex-father-in-law...”
Barnes held up his hands, sensing he’d strayed over the line.
“You saved the city, that day by the river. People with powers were fighting right out in the open and not a single person in London remembers because of that blast of ink—”
“We don’t have that ink anymore,” Devon said shortly.
Not long after the battle with Vivian, the girl they’d rescued from the past—their beloved Selene—had died in a freak car accident. She was one of the few people buried on school grounds.
It was a loss mourned by the entire magical community—one that was silently amplified when the tatù died with her. From the moment she stopped breathing, Rae lost the ink as well.
“Yes, that’s true,” Barnes admitted, bowing his head with respect. “But with the addition of the mnemokinetic your friend Gabriel brought back from America—”
“—who happens to be a ballerina,” Devon inserted sharply. “She doesn’t work for either agency, and from the sounds of it she has no interest in joining. If you want to dispute that, take it up with her. Or better yet, take it up with Gabriel. I’d love to hear what he had to say.”
It was a dead-end, but the man didn’t falter. He simply regarded Devon with a steady gaze.
“Did you hear about the terror group operating in Southern Uganda?” he asked. “They toppled the local government in a matter of hours. Left a trail of fifteen-thousand casualties in their wake. Most of those were families. Par
ents with young children.” His eyes swept briefly over the living room. “Think you need more than two people for that?”
Devon stared back at him, keeping his face free from emotion.
It was a subject his friends had debated countless times around the dinner table. It was the same subject the kids at Guilder began discussing from the moment they got their ink.
When one was gifted with superpowers, the natural instinct was to turn the world on its head. Fixing everything that needed fixing, wiping out all the bad guys with a wave of one’s hand.
It took a long time to realize that wasn’t an option.
Every action was balanced with equal consequence, every person was interconnected, and every decision could have unknown ripples for decades to come. Overthrow a regime only to be faced with its deadlier little brother. Kill one bad guy, and ten more sprout up in their place.
And those ‘bad guys’ were never what they seemed. You start waving around ink, then see what real bad guys come out of the shadows. The kinds that put the others to shame.
“So you want an army,” Devon replied with that same neutral expression. “You want us marching together in lock-step, making sweeping unilateral changes by some unelected command.”
Barnes held his gaze. “I think in order to affect change, there needs to be a deterrent.”
The word rang out between them.
“A deterrent?” Devon repeated in surprise. “But in order for there to be a deterrent, people would need to know what might happen. They’d need to know...” He trailed into silence, looking at the man with new eyes. “...what are you suggesting?”
A charged tension sprang up between them, electrifying the room.
“Be honest with yourself,” Barnes said softly, leaning forward. “How long do you think we can keep the secret? Ten more years? Twenty? How long before someone finds out what we are?”
Devon leaned back just as far.
“If that’s the talk we’re having, Julian saw that future—”
“Julian saw a future,” Barnes disputed sharply. “And he would be the first one to tell you how quickly things can change. And they’re already changing, Devon. Just look at your kids!”