by Rose O'Brien
“It doesn’t really work that way,” she said. “Especially for the ones that have been stuck here for a while. He’s in pretty good shape mentally, I’ll say that. Usually the ones that have been without a body for a while start to get...weird. He must have had a strong mind in life.”
“The strongest,” Theron replied. He spoke to the area Jen had indicated that Rafi was occupying. “What happened to you, man? I read the report, but it sounded like no one was really clear about how it all went down.”
After a pause, Jen spoke, “They were raiding a compound outside of the city. Suspected rogue mages. It all went to hell from the moment of entry. Intelligence was wrong. More badies than they expected. All of a sudden, it was lights out for him. The next thing Rafi knew he was here and no one could see or hear him.”
Jen fell silent and listened intently. It was the weirdest thing, watching her face react with little expressions as she made soft sounds to indicate she was listening, but there was no one there. That he could see, anyway. Theron could see her taking mental notes.
“It was Bridget, the air mage, and Anslem, the earth mage, left. They were upset. Sometime after he died—he’s not sure how long, but it didn’t seem like more than a week or two—they packed up and left. The next person to come through here was you, Theron.”
Burning stars, there was nothing they could do for Rafi now. The guilt made him sick to his stomach.
Running a frustrated hand through his hair, he said, “That’s good, man. Real good. Info is everything in this business and that’s valuable intel.”
It didn’t tell him much more than he already knew, but he thought it might make the guy feel better. If someone had told him just a few days ago that he would be telling white lies to a dead guy, he would have laughed.
Jen narrowed her eyes at him, but didn’t say anything.
Theron again trained his gaze on the spot where he thought Rafi was.
“I’m sorry about how it went down, man. It’s a raw deal. Seriously, is there anything I can do? Anything that will help you...move on?”
Jen turned and slid her eyes from Theron back to the corner.
“Can you find out what happened to Rebecca Jurowska?” Jen asked. “She’s a water mage stationed somewhere in South America, last he heard. She was special to him, he says. He’d just like to know how she is.”
“Done and done,” Theron said. “I’ve got to put in a call to HQ for our extraction anyway. Jen, see if you can talk to Rafi and find out what might help him move on from this place.”
“I’m not really the best person for that,” she said in a low voice. “I’m not a ghost shrink, you know.”
“Do you see anyone else around here who can speak with the dead?”
Theron was desperate to escape the room and the sick feeling in his guts. Digging in his pocket, he came up with the handcuff key. In less than 10 seconds, he had Jen handcuffed to one of the cots. It wasn’t ideal, because the thing wasn’t bolted down, but it wasn’t like she could go walking around Baghdad with twenty pounds of metal Army cot shackled to her wrist.
Theron hit the office and breathed a sigh of relief. He flipped on the equipment he would need to make a secure call to the Citadel, the underground fortress and headquarters deep in the Rocky Mountains that housed the Mage Corps and the Council.
He dialed in, was met with a series of staff members that answered the line as a hotel, a beauty salon and a grocery store. He identified himself each time and said the necessary passphrases before the call was handed to the next level of security.
Eventually, his handler picked up the line.
“Theron, good to hear from you,” came Desic’s gravelly voice.
“We’ve got a situation here in Baghdad.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“I’ve secured the seer, but she’s not exactly enthusiastic about coming with me. We’ve got likely bogies on our tail and we could use a portal out of here.”
“No can do, buddy,” Desic said. “Baghdad is strictly a no portal zone. Fabric of reality is too weak from all the violence.”
Theron nodded. He’d suspected that was going to be the answer, but it didn’t hurt to ask. Baghdad had seen a lot of concentrated violence in the last few years. That kind of death, pain and prolonged suffering could damage a place on a fundamental level. The fabric of reality, the barriers between dimensions, could start to warp and even fail completely.
There were things, creatures, drawn to suffering and pain and death that would take advantage of those weakened barriers. Heck, they probably already were. An elf- or fairy-made portal from the Citadel had the potential to weaken the fabric even more. Might even leave a permanent scar or rift those creatures could take advantage of, one that could be ripped back open, revealing a portal right into the heart of the Council’s fortress.
“How about a flight out of here?” Theron countered.
“Sorry, man. Zone’s too hot. Can’t even get a chopper there. Your only option is to get to Damascus and use the secured portal there.”
“The airports are being watched, no doubt about that. How exactly do you suggest I get there, genius?”
“By any means necessary. Brass wants that seer so bad they are practically salivating. She could be invaluable in dealing with our new problem.”
Theron had heard the rumors over the last few months. Strange things had been occurring all over the world. Members of the supernatural community were going off the rails at an alarming rate. There were reports of murders, disappearances and abductions. Just a few weeks ago, his sister had to deal with a former Corps team member, a vampire named Dominic who had been one of her closest friends once, flipping out and trying to demolish Austin with an army of horrific revenants.
There was some indication that Dominic had been hearing voices that told him to do horrible things. It was possible that the young vamp had just lost his mind, but Alayna and the Corps brass were convinced it was demonic influence.
A spear of guilt ripped through his chest at the thought of what his little sister had done to stop Dominic’s maniacal plan and the part Theron had played in the whole disaster.
The Mage Corps, along with the rest of the supernatural community, had been scrambling ever since to find out as much about demons as they could. Long thought to be nothing more than the imaginings of fevered sapien brains, it now appeared they might be real. The working theory, for now, was that they were likely extra-dimensional beings. It appeared they were non-corporeal in this realm, but had a way to communicate with some people. Demons might be just out of phase with this reality, like spirits, but unseen by humans, elves, or the fey.
Being able to communicate with spirits, given the possible incursion of demons in this dimension, could be invaluable, and the brass was justified in their desire to secure the seer. Hell, it was even possible she might be able to see demons as well as she saw spirits.
“How do you suggest we get to Damascus?”
“At last report, the Baghdad office had an armored vehicle,” Desic said.
“Are you suggesting that we drive to Damascus?” Theron hoped his disbelief at the absurd suggestion was coming through the connection.
“I didn’t say it would be easy, but if anyone can do it…” Desic’s voice trailed off, and Theron felt a growl of frustration claw up his throat. This is what he got for being good at his job.
“You’re talking about an eight hundred kilometer sprint, most of it across the open desert. We’d have to pass through Ramadi and Fallujah, which I don’t have to tell you aren’t exactly Disney World these days. In the desert, we’ve got bandits and militants. Then we’ve got the Syrian border to contend with. Between there and Damascus, we’ve got several hundred miles of battlefield controlled alternately by militant terrorists, rebels, and the army of a vicious dictator. And we get to make this sprint with unknown magickal hostiles on our tail. Have I got the shape of that?”
“Yeah, but it’s still your best opti
on,” Desic said. “I’ll do everything I can from this end to make it a smooth trip.”
Theron snorted.
“Fine. I’ve got the sat phone. I’ll report in as much as I can,” he said. “One more thing. I need you to check on the status of Rebecca Jurowska, water mage, last known location was South America.”
“That’s random. What do you need to know for?”
“I’m asking for a friend,” was all Theron said.
He heard keys clicking over the line as Desic ran a search.
“Looks like she’s stationed with a team out of Buenos Aires. Reported in two days ago. All quiet.”
“Thanks, man. Could you email me her file photo?”
“You’re weird,” Desic muttered. “It’s coming to you.”
“Thanks. I’ll try to check in at my usual time.”
Theron signed off and pulled up his email on one of the dusty laptops. Thing still worked just fine. Rebecca Jurowska was a beautiful woman. Startling blue eyes were set in a slender face framed by auburn hair.
He printed the photo out and carried it back with him to the crash room where he’d left Jen and Rafi.
As he entered the room, Jen was focused on the spot he assumed Rafi was occupying. Her mouth was turned up at one corner, like she found something funny. It was just the barest hint of a smile, but it transformed her face. Just like last night, he was struck for a moment by how beautiful she was. What would she look like with a full smile on her lips, mirth turning up the corners of her eyes?
He shook that thought off and stepped into the room. He set the picture down on the cot beside Jen.
“Rebecca’s alive. She’s working in Buenos Aires right now and she’s doing fine,” he told the area he thought Rafi might be in. “Sorry I couldn’t get more info, but I thought you might want this.”
Jen was silent for a moment as she stared at the empty space. She ducked her head and looked away before she said, “He really appreciates it. You don’t know what it means to him, to be able to see her face, even if it’s just a photo.”
“Yeah, man, no problem.”
Theron met Jen’s obsidian gaze and she said, “Rafi and I have been talking. He’s not sure how to move on to what’s next, but he thinks he can leave this building. Now that he knows where Rebecca is, he might try to find her, watch over her.”
“Whatever you gotta do, Rafi,” he said. “In a way, that’s kind of romantic.”
“It’s more of a purpose than he’s had in a very long time. Before he goes, he wants to know if there’s anything he can do to help us here.”
Theron thought for a moment.
“You got any contacts between here and Damascus? Any safehouses, supply caches, anything?”
Jen listened intently before turning back to Theron.
“He says there are some files on his laptop that could help us.”
She rattled off a password and the location of Rafi’s laptop in the office.
Theron spoke to where he thought Rafi was. “We’ll give you some privacy, man. Jen, let’s talk in the office.”
***
As Jen reached the office a step behind Theron, she was still squashing her disappointment that he’d remembered to lock the handcuffs back around his own wrist before taking her. He would slip up eventually, and when he did, she was out of here.
“Here’s the situation,” Theron began.
As he told her of his plan to take that monstrous SUV and drive to Damascus, her jaw dropped. And then dropped even further. Then, she laughed, the derisive sound exploding out of her throat. This was not a joyous or mirthful sound, but grating and dripping with derision.
“You’re talking about a flat out run down Highway 1,” she said. “They call that the Highway to Hell, and for good reason. I’ve interviewed some of the long haul truckers that run supplies back and forth to Damascus. That road is like a Mad Max movie without all the warm fuzzies. Bandits roll flaming cars in front of drivers so that they can rob and murder them. There are checkpoints, and you don’t know who’s controlling them, the Iraqi Army, ISIS, or a random warlord until you’re staring down the barrels of their guns.”
She paused only briefly for breath and noted Theron’s stoic expression. His square jaw with its dusting of red-gold stubble was set hard. His arms were crossed over that huge chest and those dangerous dark blue eyes that didn’t miss a damn thing regarded her levelly.
“You’re talking about going through Ramadi and Fallujah. Those two cities fall under ISIS attack on the daily. ISIS forces could take either one of those cities at any time, and even if they are not under ISIS control, you still have to deal with their IEDs and snipers.”
She looked away and ran her free hand through her frizzy hair, which was messily coming loose from its braid.
“And that’s just the shit on this side of the border. Once we hit Syria, we’re in an even hotter situation, if you can believe that.”
She met his gaze again as she ran out of steam. He was quiet a beat, clearly wanting to make sure her little rant was over.
“I’m fully aware of the situation,” he said evenly. “But it’s our only option to get where we need to go. And it’s still safer than trying to stay here. Eventually, the guys on your tail are going to track us down, and they’ll come in numbers I won’t be able to stop this time.”
A shiver of fear crawled through her belly. For just a moment, the memory of being pinned to the bed in her apartment came roaring back.
“Who exactly were those guys?” she asked him.
“I’ve been tracking them for a few weeks. They’re an elven death cult and I’m pretty sure they’re responsible for murdering some mages in this region.”
Jen snorted. “Elves? What, like, Lord of the Rings?”
It was Theron’s turn to laugh. Jen caught herself before she smiled at the sound. It was a warm sound that made her toes tingle.
“Tolkien got the descriptions of their physical appearance right, which always lead me to believe that he actually knew one or two in real life,” Theron said. “But the similarities end there. Elves are scary intelligent, calculating, and ruthless. They’re actually aliens from another dimension called the Fey Realms. And they are not to be trusted. Ever. They will cut your throat as soon as look at you if it’s politically expedient and they have the strength, speed, and magickal abilities to do it before you can blink.”
That indigo gaze locked with hers and her stomach did a little flip.
“And you managed to take one out with a pocket knife.”
She cocked an eyebrow at him. She was sorry she’d lost that knife and would give up a lot of things to have it back in her pocket right now.
“That switchblade was hardly a pocket knife. And it sounds like they were overconfident and I got lucky.”
Lucky Theron had come along when he had. The reality of her situation was really beginning to sink in. She was going to have to get the hell out of Baghdad. Theron was probably the best way to make that happen, but once they were beyond the city, she’d ditch him and take her chances running on her own.
She’d been surviving in warzones for five years now. Between her false identities and her contacts across the world, she could disappear if she had to. And she wouldn’t have to deal with whatever Theron and his Council wanted her and her abilities for.
“All right,” she said, stepping into him and grasping the hand that was cuffed to hers. It was big and rough, with calluses on his fingers. “I’ll come with you. No resistance.”
Her chest nearly touched his, and the heat of his body wrapped around her, pulling her toward him. He smelled like leather, with a hint of gun oil and sun-warmed cedars.
His lips thinned in a cynical smile, but he didn’t break the contact. “Sure thing.”
Chapter 5
Theron settled into the driver’s seat of the monster armored SUV. The thing might have started life as an armored State Department vehicle and retained a shape vaguely like that of a Chev
y Suburban, but the modifications were numerous and extensive.
The engine was scary powerful, the glass was bulletproof, and the armor plating had been upgraded to withstand everything but a direct hit from a shoulder mounted rocket. It was painted a matte sand color from its wheel wells to the equipment rack on the roof. All the emblems had been pulled off, and the thing sported an LCD screen instead of a license plate. He could control which letters and numbers appeared on the screen from the dashboard panel.
He wasn’t sure who had created the beast, but he was certainly thankful for all their work.
Theron had spent the last couple of hours outfitting the truck for their mad dash. He’d left the back bench seat on the concrete floor of the garage. The two bucket seats up front were all they were going to need.
The cargo area was packed with guns, ammunition, explosives, food, water, spare parts for the SUV, along with his personal equipment. He’d transferred Jen’s meager possessions, the clothes and toiletries the errand boy had bought, into a spare duffel he’d found. It sat next to her laptop bag behind the passenger seat.
“I just want to reiterate that this is an absolutely terrible idea,” Jen said. The handcuff around her wrist rattled where it was attached to the door handle as she gestured at him, herself, and the SUV.
“You have my permission to tell me I told you so when we’re both dead,” he said, his tone light and a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.
He leaned over the dash and clipped his smartphone into a cradle and plugged in a cable that connected it to the SUV’s computer system. With a push of a button, screaming guitar riffs poured from the speakers.
He put the massive SUV in gear and hit the gas as the building’s doors began to roll up.
Jen had a pained look on her face.
“Our adventure’s soundtrack will be provided by Ozzy, Avenged Sevenfold, and Five Finger Death Punch,” he said over the music.
“Ugh, metal. The only music genre that can be confused with the sound of pennies in a blender,” she said, turning to look behind her. “I’m going to need some ibuprofen to put up with this.” “Oh, and what do you listen to, the break music between segments on NPR?”