Irregulars - lanyon Josh - Страница 84
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Jason started back, but the man behind him caught him and stilled him once more. And Jason wasn’t sure if it was just a trick of the light or his imagination, but the vagrant suddenly seemed strangely luminous. With his free hand the vagrant flipped an ornate pocket watch from his coat and held it open as if he were displaying a badge. The two creatures pulled to a halt.
“Henry Falk. Shipped in from the field,” the man identified himself. “I’ve got this one.”
“Yeah, thanks for that.” One of the creatures nodded while the other flipped his cigarette into the toothy chasm of his mouth and swallowed it.
“Henry? My God, it’s good to see you again. It’s been ages.” It shook its ugly head. “The commander didn’t mention you were the one they sent out to us. Nice work on the door earlier.”
“Gunther?” The vagrant’s tone warmed. “I didn’t know you were on this operation.” The blond man offered an easy smile.
“Yeah, all part of the recent promotion,” replied the creature, Gunther—though Jason could hardly reconcile the monstrosity in front of him to such a normal name.
“Good for you.” The blond man glanced to Jason and Jason felt suddenly aware that he was gaping. He closed his mouth and the blond man returned his attention to the two creatures in front of them. “How are things in there?”
“Pretty hairy for a while, but the first floor is secured. It seems like the strike force is getting control of the second.”
“Good,” the blond man responded. “Could one of you tell Commander Carerra that I’ve closed the mist and all the wards are in place?”
“Will do.” Gunther’s companion gave a sharp salute with a heavily taloned hand. Then the creature headed back towards the door. Gunther turned his attention to the spill of wheels and spokes that Jason’s bicycle had become.
Jason watched the monsters move while his brain seemed to lurch in his skull. He took in his fallen bicycle and the smear of blood where the alley gravel had ground up his forearm. It was starting to hurt badly now. The pain, at least, felt real.
Then he stole a glance to the tall blond man behind him. The man cocked his head, watching Jason in return and giving him a crooked smile, like he was thinking of a joke.
“There’s more here than meets the eye, isn’t there?” The man’s low voice rumbled through Jason and this time Jason saw the silver flames dancing inside the man’s mouth. He felt a surge of heat flood him and then his muscles and mind went limp and empty.
Chapter Two
Henry considered the unconscious young man. His pallid face shifted between pretty and plain under the flickering florescent security lights. His body felt too lean for comfort, but he wasn’t so slight that lifting him came easily. Henry was glad to flop him down on an absurdly lavish divan. The young man sprawled in his oversized brown suit with the grace of fallen lumber.
Gunther followed them, walking the battered bicycle into the antiques shop. Green trails of spent dampening dust powdered the wood floor. Strips of red exorcism tape closed off the foot of the nearest staircase, and from the noise Henry guessed that Commander Carerra and her agents were still fighting through the balconies that made up the second floor. As if hearing his thoughts, Carerra appeared and peered over the wrought-iron railing. She regarded Henry and his unconscious acquisition with suspicion, then returned her attention to something dark and snarling just beyond Henry’s line of sight. A moment later, a deafening staccato of gunfire muted the bestial roars to a whimper and then quiet.
Henry turned his attention back to the young man spilled across the red silk cushions of the Indian divan.
“Who is he?” Gunther leaned the bicycle against the abandoned sale counter and stepped closer to Henry’s side.
“Not sure,” Henry admitted.
“When he was looking at me…” Gunther tilted his head so that a lock of his black hair shadowed his eyes. He frowned as he studied the unconscious man but said nothing more.
Henry simply nodded. He’d met Gunther’s parents when they had just emigrated from goblin lands and were still uneasy in their new human forms. They’d worked as translators in the old San Francisco office where Henry had often crashed between his assignments. Over the years Henry had become a regular at their holiday dinners.
That had been decades before Gunther had been born, and as far as Henry knew, Gunther had never worn the flesh of his ancestors. He’d been made tall, dark, and handsome while still a toothy embryo in his mother’s womb. The only hint of his unearthly heritage remaining was his taste for tobacco laced with straight butane, but otherwise not even Henry could discern a flaw in his human appearance.
And yet it had seemed that this inert young man on the divan had looked directly through the strongest and deepest spells of transformation. More than that, he’d broken through the Lost Mists and breached Henry’s wards to reach this place.
“A witch, you think?” Gunther asked. “Maybe he’s disguised. They haven’t found Phipps yet. Could be him.”
Henry scowled at that. Back in his day a dealer like Phipps would have been their first target. Securing the treasury of talismans and stolen magics that Phipps had hoarded here in this shop would have come last. But the Irregulars were all about re-appropriating and neutralizing trinkets these days. With so many wars of sovereignty raging across the unearthly realms, every nixie prince and kelpie queen was looking for the symbols of power and legitimacy to prop up their claims to the ancient thrones.
“Could he be extra-human?” Gunther’s expression conveyed his skepticism of even his own suggestion.
“He certainly doesn’t look the part. Doesn’t feel eldritch either, but maybe.” Henry held out the black nylon wallet he’d lifted off the young man in the alley. It contained three dollars, a cracked BART pass, and a forlorn-looking identification card.
“ID says he’s Jason Shamir. This home address mean anything to you?” Henry handed the wallet to Gunther.
“Just off the Tenderloin.” Gunther arched a dark brow. “Skid row. Could be a junkie? Maybe that’s why he freaked out when he saw me and Tim.”
“It’s possible,” Henry conceded. Clearly Gunther had been shaken by Jason’s reaction to him. “That still wouldn’t explain how he got through the mists.”
Gunther scowled but said nothing.
Henry crouched beside the divan and leaned very close. He studied the fine skin and simple, clean features. Too simple, really. Natural skin bore freckles and moles, tiny imperfections that made individuals so very singular. Jason’s skin was smooth as a newborn’s and devoid of anything that might serve as a distinguishing feature. At a glance he could have passed for anyone and no one.
“Something’s not quite right about him, that’s certain.” Henry watched the rhythm of Jason’s steady breath and slowed his own. As Jason exhaled, Henry drew in all that he gave up.
Dark coffee and hints of cinnamon toothpaste rolled over Henry’s tongue. He tasted exhaustion and hunger. As he held the breath in his lungs he felt the electric crackle of longing and the suffocating cold of fear. But nothing more. None of a faerie blood’s violet perfume nor even the faint dank of black cat bones that clung to most young witches. Not even so much magic as a lucky rabbit’s foot was on the boy.
Absolutely average—less than average, in fact, since most young people still carried those tiny charms of a mother’s kiss on their cheeks or a father’s best wish upon their brows. But this youth lay devoid of even the smallest blessing to protect him.
Only when Henry released the breath did he hear the faintest whisper of something unearthly. For an instant the sweetest, saddest melody drifted from his lips like a whisper. Wordlessly, it promised Henry something gentle as salvation and stronger than hope. It felt like sure hands stroking his weathered cheek as if he were handsome again. It warmed him like sunshine and for just a moment it made him believe that Frank was still alive, standing just behind him.
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