He was more hard than handsome, like a rock draped in flesh, but there was something about him that raised the hairs on the nape of her neck. She forced herself to meet his gaze and not stare at his biceps.
"Actually, I slept like a baby for the first time in what seems forever." She sat across from him in another thick chair, moving her side-sword out of the way, and sipped her tea. "What are you reading?"
He turned the book over, showing her the hard-leather cover and hand-stitched gold lettering that spelled Ars Almadel.
She raised an eyebrow. "One of the Lesser Keys of Solomon. This library must be better stocked than I realized if it has a seventeenth-century demonology tome just lying about."
He turned the book over again and stared at its spine before shaking his head. "Morgan keeps it locked in a safe along with other vile tomes. I asked to borrow but prefer not to read books like this in the same room I plan on sleeping in. Call me superstitious."
"You read ancient Hebrew?"
"Learned a lifetime ago. You?"
She shook her head. "Just enough to recognize the title. Char had a copy. What are you trying to accomplish by reading it this late at night, having nightmares for the rest of your life?"
He placed the book down on the small table between them. "I was trying to learn more about Gouger of Faces. For example, how Mother Smoke Heart summoned him ... it."
"We know how: she murdered Lewis." Angie shivered so badly she spilled hot tea on her lap. She set the cup down and wiped her hands on her pants. "So, did you find your answer?"
"Not really. Just some disturbing facts."
"A demon wasn't disturbing enough for you?"
He considered her for a long moment, pondering something that he clearly didn't want to discuss. Finally, he sighed. "Gouger of Faces has a brother, an even more powerful demon called Sudden Bloodletter. Usually, the two are summoned together; at least, all the tales are of them both."
Sweat beaded on Angie's forehead. Her lips opened, but she didn't know what to say. When she did speak, her voice was almost a squeak. "Two? There's two of them? Two demons?" She heard the hint of hysteria in her voice, and the library seemed to grow darker, the night more ominous.
"We don't know that. But we need to take that possibility into consideration."
"No shit." They had defeated Gouger of Faces, but it had taken all of the Seagraves fighting in their werewolf forms, Tec as a were-jaguar, and Ephix Lamia—and even then, the demon had put up a fierce fight. If there had been two of them...
"I've been hunting Rayan Zar Davi for what seems like my entire life. She's powerful, but she's never been this powerful before, summoning demons. That's some serious black-magic mojo, even for her."
"Who are these masters she serves, the Twin Deaths—Tezcatlipoca, the Lord of the Smoky Mirror, and Itzpapalotl, the Obsidian Butterfly? I asked Char, but she didn't want to talk about them." Angie paused, leaning forward. "She was frightened of them. I've never seen Char frightened of anyone."
"Anything," Tec corrected her. "The Twin Deaths aren't people."
"What do you mean?" she asked, not entirely sure she wanted to hear the answer.
She watched his face, considering him. This man was all about secrets. Despite what Nathan had told her, he wasn't a Norteno assassin, nor did he seem to be working for Constance Morgan and her Brujas mages. He was, at best, their ally; that much was obvious. But he was also a free agent, which meant he served someone else, someone who Char had not wanted to risk offending. Possibly the Western Union or Great Appalachia, but somehow, she doubted he served either; for one thing, both nations were located far to the north and northeast. She immediately discounted the Kingdom of the Southern Cross; there was no way those white supremacists would employ a Native American operative. Which only really left the Fey, maybe even Queen Elenaril Cloudborn in Coronado to the west.
"Dragons," he said simply. "The Twin Deaths are two of the last of the great dragons."
She stared at him and then smiled, shaking her head and sipping her tea. "Keep your secrets."
"I'm telling you the truth," he said, his face like stone.
Her smile faltered. "There are no—"
"There are dragons, or at least there were. Four of the last of the great dragons brought about the Awakening eighteen years ago, plunging the world into darkness but saving us from ourselves. Since then, three of those dragons have been hunted down and slaughtered by their enemies—the Twin Deaths, Tezcatlipoca and Itzpapalotl, two more great dragons."
"I … that can't be."
"Come on, Angie, millions of people saw the dragons on television over Mount Fuji just before the lights went out. They were on every news channel all over the world. You don’t really buy into that ‘Coronal Mass Event’ nonsense being responsible for the destruction of the electronics?"
She remembered watching the dragons on television with her mother and brother. She had only been five, but she distinctly remembered the four dragons circling the summit. And then the lights went out forever. "I remember," she whispered.
He sighed. "The great dragons broke the world, but they did it to save the world."
"North Korea?" She remembered the panic now, her father rushing off to the Bunker with Marshal.
He nodded. "If not for the Awakening, humanity would have burned itself out in a nuclear fire."
"But billions died in the riots, the Food Wars."
"But millions are still alive today, and they wouldn't be if we had started tossing nukes about." He shook his head. "No, the dragons saved us, forced us to find a peaceful coexistence with the Fey."
She leaned back, crossing her ankles before her as she considered his words. There was a tightening in her chest. He’s telling the truth, she decided, or at least what he believes to be the truth. "So if what you're saying is true…"
"It is."
Her blood chilled. "Then there are two great dragons behind Rayan Zar Davi and the Tzitzime?"
"And the blood magic. The dragons have taught the Tzitzime sacrificial magic."
"Dragons? How?"
He frowned at her. "Do you have any idea what dragons are capable of?"
"No."
"They're powerful, Angie. Far more powerful than you can imagine. They are creatures of pure magic, masters of the occult. And they are ancient beyond understanding, often sleeping for decades, maybe centuries."
"And they're behind the rise of the Aztalan Empire."
He nodded, keeping his eyes locked on hers.
"Goddamn," she whispered, feeling overwhelmed. "So … what are you going to do?"
"Whatever I can to stop them."
"Will Rayan Zar Davi come after Erin and her brothers again?"
"Here? Probably not, at least not yet. Morgan has some strength here, and she has the support of Elenaril Cloudborn and her Elven Enclave on Coronado Island. I think your friends are safe here … for now."
She sat back, her shame growing. "We should have killed that bitch Davi at the airfield. I should have stopped her. I … I saw her escaping, but I was ... I was afraid to go after her." She hesitated, hating to admit this to anyone yet having to get the words out, to get the weight off her soul. "She frightens me," she admitted in a small voice.
He leaned forward, placing his hand over hers and peering into her eyes. His palm was warm and heavy, reminding her of the massive jaguar paw it became when he shifted. "You should be frightened of her," he said, his green eyes locked on hers. "I've known her many years. Had you gone after her alone, we wouldn't be speaking right now. She's far more powerful than you can imagine, and much older. She was born a long time ago in Kandahar, Afghanistan. She was the daughter of a Pashtun warlord and was a witch long before the Twin Deaths made her so much more."
"What do you mean older?" She pulled her hand out from under his.
"Just that things aren't always as they appear. Stay away from her. Let me deal with her."
She snorted, a near-hysterical sound. "Try tel
ling that to the Seagraves."
"They wouldn't listen if I did," he said with a smile.
She liked him, she realized, returning his smile, and not just because she was attracted to him—although she was as well. "No, they wouldn't." She looked about, her gaze drifting over the book stands, their silence comfortable somehow, despite the heavy subject matter. "So, what now?"
He exhaled heavily, his face taking on a look of profound weariness. "We prepare for the war that's coming."
"And you're sure it'll be war?"
His nod was slight but certain, his expression stony.
"The Fey might help."
"Doubtful, especially now with the Concord in doubt. I think Rayan Zar Davi engineered the Home Guard’s attack on the Fresno Fey Enclave not only to capture Erin but also to drive a wedge between the Fey and humanity. The dragons mean to set the stage for the war to come."
The shadows around them were as dark as her thoughts—ancient dragons, blood magic, and war. She needed Char more than ever now.
She startled at the sound of footsteps stomping into the library. Tavi, dressed in sweatpants and a T-shirt, her long brown hair disheveled, hurried toward them. Tec rose. "What is it?"
"Morgan needs you in the TOC. There's … something's going on."
"The Aztalans?"
Tavi's eyes darted nervously to Angie before she shook her head. "No. We don't think so, not yet, but something is … it's happening right now. Hurry." She turned and hurried away, pausing only to look over her shoulder at Tec.
Tec gripped Angie's wrist, pulling her out of her chair. "You're coming too."
Tavi swung back, her eyes narrow. "She can't—"
"She can. She's on our side, and I want her involved."
Uncertainty flitted across Tavi's face, but she frowned and then hurried away, calling over her shoulder. "Your call, Jaguar Knight, but we have to go right now."
Angie and Tec hurried after her.
Chapter 6
For Angie, the Brujas' TOC—the tactical operations center—wasn’t that different from the TOC in the Bunker, the main difference being the Bunker’s TOC was underground and this one was on the fourth floor of the hacienda. Communications gear sat atop a bench at the far end of the room, and a table covered with maps took up the center. Printouts of duty schedules, standard operating procedures, and other minutiae were tacked to the walls. The smell of coffee, cigarette smoke, and half-eaten food hung in the air. She heard the drone of a generator through the open window and realized it must be on the roof. The radios crackled and hissed as she followed Tec and Tavi into the room, and a radio operator wearing headphones was bent over the radios, holding a handset in one hand and furiously scribbling onto a radio log sheet with the other.
Constance Morgan stood bent over the map table, still dressed in her combat uniform, still wearing her hexed saber. Angie wondered if she had been to sleep at all. Shane waited beside her, wearing shorts, flip flops, and a sleeveless T-shirt. Tavi joined them, touching Shane’s shoulder a bit too affectionately, and Angie guessed they were an item. Morgan’s gaze darted to Angie, and her eyes narrowed. For a moment, Angie was certain she'd be ordered away, but the woman said nothing, motioning instead to the table across from her.
As Angie slid in next to Tec, she examined the maps. They showed the southern border of the Democratic Republica Mexicana del Norte and specifically the disputed border the Nortenos shared with the Aztalan Empire, which comprised most of what had once been Mexico as well as several of the Central American nations.
"Is it the invasion?" Tec asked in quiet calm.
Morgan, still considering the map, looked up and shook her head. "No, thank God, but we've lost contact with one of our OPs."
She pronounced it O-P, an observation post, usually section-sized, containing about a dozen soldiers, but it could be as large as a platoon with three or four sections.
"What do we know?" Tec asked.
When the young woman hesitated, her gaze snapping to Angie, Morgan said, "It's okay, Tavi, go ahead."
Tavi flipped open a field message pad and began reading. "At three thirty-seven a.m., OP Charlie-7 reported movement on their southern axis. One minute later, they called in a contact report, stating they were under attack and going to stand-to positions. That was the last report. Radio silence since… more than twenty minutes ago." The barest hint of a quaver in her voice as she read from her notes said everything Angie needed to know. Those men were dead or captured.
Tec leaned over the map. "Show me."
Morgan held her hand out to Tavi, who handed her a red pencil with which she circled a hill overlooking the border region.
"Sonoran Desert," Tec said.
Morgan nodded. "The OP overlooked the old Federal Highway 20, the old Mexicali-Tijuana route south of the ruins of Tecate."
"There's nothing there," Tec said in puzzlement. "No oil fields, no mineral deposits or mines."
"And no Fey in the ruins either," Morgan said. "It’s desert. The OP was just one of a series in a chain extending along the highway, keeping tabs on the Aztalans."
Tec made a growling noise in his throat as he studied the terrain.
"What do you think?" Morgan asked.
"Same as you. I think you've lost that OP," he answered with clinical brevity.
"I know that," Morgan snapped then closed her eyes for a moment to compose herself. "I mean, do you think this is our friend Mother Smoke Heart and her Tzitzime?"
He sat back, crossing powerful arms over his chest, his gaze thoughtful. "I don't know. We just kicked her in the teeth, ruining whatever plans she had for Erin Seagrave and her brothers. That couldn't have gone well with her masters. This soon …" He paused, considering. "Could be her retaliation, but it could be anything or anyone. Might just be Aztalan commandos."
"They're not that good," Tavi said with heat.
"You’re wrong about that," Tec said. Angie saw the flush of red in Tavi's cheeks, but the other woman kept her mouth shut as Tec ran a finger over the map. "Fifty klicks."
"Fifty-two," Morgan corrected him.
He nodded. "If we left with the sunrise and rode hard, we could be there before noon."
Morgan glanced at Angie. "Could be there much sooner."
She felt their eyes on her, all of them. The Shrike, she realized. "You're gonna have to take that up with Rowan."
Five minutes later, Angie stood with Tec, Morgan, and her two mages in the hallway outside the Seagraves' rooms, facing all four of the Seagrave family. The three male Seagraves wore nothing but underwear and seemed utterly unconcerned about their lack of clothing, especially Casey, who was scratching his nuts through his tighty-whities.
Erin, more modest than her brothers, had taken a moment to throw on borrowed gym shorts and a T-shirt. She still looked breathtaking, with perfectly toned legs and breasts that her T-shirt barely contained. Even half-asleep, Erin put other women to shame. If Angie hadn’t grown so fond of her over the last few days, she’d have hated her guts.
Tavi held a kerosene lantern, its flame hissing.
Casey snorted in derision. "I'm not flying you anywhere. Two nights ago, you were the bad guys. Far as I'm concerned, you're still the bad guys. Go pound sand."
Tavi's eyes flashed with anger at Casey, and she stepped forward, her mouth opening, but Morgan held her hand out, stopping her. Shane, wisely, said nothing.
Rowan sighed wearily and glared at his brother, and Casey, his face reddening, looked away first, staring at his feet. Rowan faced Morgan. "I'm not saying no. But I am asking what's in it for us."
"The fuel…" Casey started to object, but his voice trailed off as Rowan frowned at him again, raising a single eyebrow.
"We have aviation fuel," Tavi snapped.
"Not aviation gas, Sweet Cheeks," said Casey. "This is a state-of-the-art stealth chopper. It drinks only the best avtur."
Angie closed her eyes and sighed. Despite his coarseness, Angie was beginning to suspect Casey wasn
't trying to be insulting. This was just the way the hairy Neanderthal talked. Erin and his brothers just accepted he'd say rude things and no longer reacted. The more time she spent in the Seagraves’ company, the better she was beginning to understand them. Tavi didn’t know that, though, and her face turned scarlet with anger.
Morgan spoke first. "I'm not sure I understand the difference."
Casey shrugged. "Avtur, aviation turbine fuel. Jet fuel. This is what large helicopters need. It can't fly on aviation gas, which, unless you've somehow hidden the only working jet aircraft left in the world, I don’t imagine you got any. The Home Guard could sell you some, but they won't. So that Shrike is good for a couple more flights, but that's about it. After that, it's gonna be the world's biggest duo-rotor stealth paperweight."
"We only need one flight," Morgan said.
"We can fly it ourselves if we have to," Tavi said. "I know of at least two old helicopter pilots in the city."
Casey guffawed loudly and with great amusement, his hairy belly shaking.
"I wouldn't try that," Rowan said. "If you could even get that bird off the ground, which is doubtful, you'd only thunder in again, never realizing why."
"It is a tricky birdy," Casey said. "Needs a light touch." He leered at Tavi. "Like a hot woman."
Oh, Casey, would you shut the fuck up? Angie thought, realizing how badly this could all go if Tavi lost it and started casting spells. Thankfully, neither she nor Shane wore their hexed sabers.
"What do you want?" Tec asked Rowan. "And bear in mind we don't have time to screw around. Lives may depend on quick action."
"First off, we want an ironclad guarantee you people won't give us back to the Home Guard or try us as war criminals, terrorists, or some such bullshit." Rowan’s gaze flicked to Angie. "Same goes for Angie."
"Done," Morgan said simply.
"Second, we're not prisoners. We're guests. If we decide to leave tomorrow and head northeast into the Western Union or Midlands, you let us go."
This time Morgan hesitated, thinking it through. After long moments, she inclined her head. "Same rules apply as before. You give me your word you won't run, and you stay out of the off-limits areas."
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