Irregulars - lanyon Josh - Страница 47

• Предыдущая
• 47/116
• Следующая

Now everyone in the room watched him. Deven swallowed. He was slowly readjusting to human culture but often became nervous in public situations. He set his duffel bag down on the blue carpet and rooted around until he found the cloth-wrapped shard of his obsidian mirror.

As he held the shard in his hand, a pang of deep regret filled him. He thought of Jaguar, the Aztaw lord who had given this to him, along with his greatest power. Now Lord Jaguar was dead and Deven had done nothing about it. Reflected in the mirror, Deven saw the pen he kept wrapped tightly in his black hair and reached up to touch it as if that would make everything better.

“Hey, Narcissus,” August called from behind. “Care to explain what the hell you are talking about? How would we see what happened?”

“Can we turn off the lights?” Deven asked. August closed the window shades as another agent hit the light switch, but it was still too damn bright. Pure darkness was nearly impossible in this world, but at least curbing the sunlight cut down reflections. Deven noticed that August carefully avoided stepping on the outlines of the dead bodies. He’d seen this done on television as well. He wasn’t sure if this was common crime-scene caution or a human gesture of respect for the dead, but he mimicked the actions anyway.

“This is an obsidian mirror,” Deven explained, holding it in his right hand and tilting it up so both he and August could see. The shard was slightly bigger than his hand and about seven inches in length, unevenly edged where the mirror had been broken during a battle with Lord Jade Shield’s soldiers. The surface, at the moment, was nearly opaque, revealing nothing but the reflection of those looking into it.

“It refracts time,” Deven said. “We can catch a glimpse of the last few moments of Agent Rodriguez’s life, assuming we’re able to pull a clear image from an object in the room.”

There was a muscle in August’s pale jaw, Deven noticed, that pulsed when he ground his teeth. “What do you need?”

“Blood would be best.”

“Does it have to be fresh?”

“No.”

August crouched beside the large chalked outline. He touched the shape almost reverently. “This is Carlos’s blood.” His voice sounded rough. “This is where he died.”

Deven nodded. He knelt beside August and the outline, then reached in his back pocket for his knife.

He switched open the blade and scraped chunks of crusted blood out of the carpet fibers. He piled these in his palm. When he glanced up, everyone was staring at him again.

Maybe it wasn’t normal to collect blood in your hand?

“Uh...here,” someone said, handing him a plastic specimen cup.

“Thanks.” Deven poured the flakes of blood inside. It was too dry to spread so he spat in the cup and stirred the mixture with his fingers, forming a thick, chunky paste. Deven smeared this on the mirror shard, then crouched in the darkest part of the room, in the corner near the bathroom door.

Even the whispers in the room ceased as everyone watched him intently. August’s hard expression faltered and he looked almost anxious. “Should I stand by you?”

“If you want to see,” Deven said. He held out the mirror.

August crouched beside him, his long legs making him resemble a crane at the edge of a pool of water. He smelled like leather and some sort of pine soap. His thigh brushed against Deven’s as they huddled to look into the mirror.

Deven spat on the mirror. The cloudy haze cleared and through the glass emerged an image, as seen from Carlos Rodriguez’s eyes.

The first image that arose was the smoky contours of a vision serpent looming against the apartment window. Smoke trailed from its coiling body, but even through the dirty mirror Deven saw the serpent’s two distinct heads, one looking into the real world, and the other fixed on the supernatural.

But before the serpent even turned to reveal what it saw, something distracted Agent Rodriguez’s attention and he spun to face the apartment door.

Several unnatural, flying female creatures burst into the apartment, bodies dark with sagging skin. They looked identical—skeletal spines and skulls with living, shining eyes, bright as stars, set inside deep eye sockets. The paper-thin, bluish-hued flesh that hung off their limbs like wrinkled shawls ended in clawed limbs more resembling the talons of birds than any human hand or foot. Their breasts sagged above thin grass skirts and serpents slithered like writhing phalluses from between each creature’s legs.

Behind them, Rodriguez quickly glimpsed the tiny quail following the creatures, but then he crumpled. The vision clouded over and disappeared.

Deven sat back, feeling a little shaky. He’d expected to see Aztaws, which look nearly human, other than their visible, glowing bones and skull faces.

But these female spirits were new to him. He’d never seen the like, but he had heard descriptions of such malevolent creatures and who they worked for.

It’s not possible, Deven thought. Even in Aztaw, everyone knows he’s gone.

Deven spat on the mirror again. He wiped the blood off its surface with the hem of his T-shirt before remembering that wasn’t acceptable here. He turned to see if August had noticed, but August was frozen, staring straight ahead with a look of shock.

“Agent August?” Deven asked.

The man didn’t speak. He hung his head for a moment. It seemed like he was gathering strength. When he finally did collect himself together and turn to Deven, his look hardened.

“What the fuck were those?” His voice was rough, angry.

“I’m not sure,” Deven said. He wasn’t going to voice his suspicion until he had more proof.

August didn’t ask for clarification. He stood, quickly wiping at his eyes, before he turned to bark orders at the others in the room. The folks who had been watching in silence burst into activity, collecting the remains of the ritual and tossing the broken birds into a large plastic bag.

Deven leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. The journey from Seattle had taken over ten hours of flying and he was hungry and thirsty. But he pushed these sensations from his thoughts and instead concentrated on the legends he remembered hearing regarding tzimimi, taloned night spirits.

They came at the bidding of the Trickster. They served his needs and hunted at night, feeding on the bones of children.

And they had been exiled over a thousand years ago.

So what were they doing in the human world? And what had they prevented the vision serpent from revealing to Carlos and Beatriz Rodriguez?

“Wake up, sunshine,” Agent August snapped, yanking on Deven’s arm. “Time to go to the funeral home.”

“What for?”

“I want to look at Carlos’s body.”

Chapter Three

The sunlight outside seemed even more powerful after hunkering in the shadows of Beatriz’s apartment and Deven had to pause at the curb and shut his eyes. He fumbled in his duffel bag for his sunglasses. Someone yanked the bag from him and, a moment later, slipped the glasses into his hand.

“Here.” August sounded annoyed. “Hurry up.”

“Is the body likely to walk off somewhere?” Deven snapped. Once he had the sunglasses on he opened his eyes. He turned and followed August’s long legs up to his face. He didn’t wear sunglasses. His pale blue eyes stared down at Deven.

“Okay?” August asked. He sounded as if he’d prefer the answer to be no.

“I’m fine.” Deven yanked his duffel back over his shoulder.

August walked briskly to another black sedan, a few cars down the road. He slid into the backseat. Deven followed him.

“Morgue,” August told the driver.

The man said nothing as he pulled the car into the street. Agent August sank back against the cold leather and rubbed his eyes.

“So that vision serpent,” August asked. “It was to see those flying things?”

• Предыдущая
• 47/116
• Следующая