Chapter 19

Ezra pulled on a black t-shirt and tugged it down his torso, careful of the bandages taped over his damaged scars. The five punctures from Eterran's talons didn't need to be covered—they'd healed to pink lines—and after ten hours of sleep, the aeromage was looking half alive instead of half dead.

"I cleaned your shoes," I told him. "You can't even tell they were drenched in blood."

"If not, you'd be going barefoot," Zak added helpfully, his black backpack—containing what I suspected was everything he owned, from which he'd just donated a shirt—hanging from his shoulder.

"I can face any trial or tribulation as long as I have shoes." Ezra sat on the cot, and I nudged his shoes over to him with my foot. "Are we forgetting anything?"

I glanced around the warehouse. I'd scrubbed all the ritual lines and blood from the floor. The cots we were leaving behind, and Zak had packed the remaining food into his bag. Robin's gray backpack hung from my shoulders, stuffed with the cult grimoire, the ritual notes, the case of demon blood, Ezra's combat gloves, Eterran's wrist bracer, my heavy-duty belt, and orb-Hoshi, still dormant and tucked in the belt's back pouch.

"We're good," I said.

Zak drew the hood of his coat up, though without Lallakai's magic, the shadows didn't completely hide his face. "Then let's go."

I grabbed Ezra's hand and led the way to the doors. He was moving stiffly but without a limp. The bandages on the left side of his face, covering his eye, looked starkly white against his bronze skin.

Opening the door, I walked outside. The warehouse was one of many near-identical structures on an industrial back road, with a storage lot full of steel pipes opposite it. With no trees in sight, the only greenery was the occasional weed poking through a crack in the asphalt, but the dreary concrete maze was brightened by the afternoon sun shining down from a clear blue sky.

Less unexpected than the break in Vancouver's perpetual winter overcast was the vehicle parked in front of the warehouse.

Stepping out of his gunmetal gray SUV, Darius pushed his sunglasses up on top of his head and surveyed us with intent gray eyes. Like his last visit to our hideout, he was smartly dressed, his short salt-and-pepper beard groomed, and the corner of his mouth curled up in a half smile. Did anything faze this man?

Zak walked through the door behind me. He paused long enough to stare down the GM—no happy feelings of burgeoning comradery there—then turned sharply. As he walked away from us, hooves clacked against the pavement. Tilliag shimmered into view, acid eyes burning in its dark face.

The steel-colored stallion tossed its head, nostrils flared and ears pinned, and barely slowed its sharp trot as it drew level with the druid. Zak caught a handful of its mane and swept onto the horse's back.

"I'll be waiting, Tori," he called over his shoulder.

With another aggressive head toss, Tilliag launched from a trot into a gallop, and as they sped away, both horse and rider faded into the ethereal fae demesne.

I sighed. Zak and his dramatic exits. He could never arrive or leave like a normal person.

"What's he waiting for?" Darius asked.

"He wants me to call him when we're done with MagiPol." I shrugged. "Not that he admitted he's worried."

"Hmm." His gaze turned to the aeromage beside me. "Welcome back, Ezra."

Grinning, Ezra strode to the GM. They clasped hands, and I wondered who the hell was cutting onions around here, because I wasn't tearing up over Ezra's visible gratitude and Darius's quiet pride. Definitely not.

Darius and Ezra murmured a quick, quiet exchange, and I didn't even try to listen. Only very recently had I realized they had a closer relationship than I'd ever guessed. Six years ago, Ezra had entrusted Darius with his secrets, his life, and his death, and in turn, the guild master had kept careful watch over his dangerous ward.

Squeezing Ezra's shoulder, Darius turned to me. "Shall we settle this once and for all?"

Nerves flared through my gut, but I managed to grin. Darius had me stash my backpack in a hidden compartment in the SUV's trunk—the same nook where his shovels lived, along with a small assortment of mystery bags and tools—then we climbed into the vehicle. I let Ezra have the roomy front seat and took the spot behind him.

The moment I was buckled in, I leaned over the center console. "Fill us in. What's been happening? How are Aaron and Kai holding up?"

Darius shifted into drive and the SUV rolled away from the warehouse. "Girard checked on them, and they're fine—though extremely displeased with the accommodations."

Yeah, I wouldn't expect a super-rich mage prodigy or a member of an international crime syndicate to enjoy imprisonment.

"I've been rather busy," Darius continued casually. "The MPD assigned an entire team of agents to apprehend me, which has proved inconvenient."

"Oh yes." I rolled my eyes. "Inconvenient."

"Aside from avoiding them, I've been connecting with the other GMs in the city, warning them the MPD is trampling their own protocols to discredit me, destroy my guild, and legally murder my guildeds."

"Did they try to turn you in?"

"None of them were that foolhardy." His humor faded. "They're seeing the warning signs as much as I am. All GMs are wary of the MPD's tendency to ignore their own rules when it suits them, but I've rarely seen MagiPol overstep this far."

"Could the Court have infiltrated the precinct?" Ezra asked dubiously.

"If that had happened, I'd expect a different sort of suspicious activity. I think this is something else." His hands tightened on the wheel. "I'm just not sure what."

I nervously bounced my knees. "So what's our plan for getting the bounty off Ezra, then?"

"There's an Arcana test for demonic presence. It's normally used to determine if an infernus contains or is linked to a demon, but it can identify demon mages as well. Our goal is to convince the MPD to test him."

Oh, that was handy. Well, now it was. Twelve hours ago, it would've been a disaster if anyone had tried it on Ezra.

As I tried to imagine what form this test might take, my relief faltered. Ezra had been demon-free for less than a day. What if the test detected something?

"When we arrive at the precinct, I'll appeal the charges, allege they're false, and insist you be tested immediately," Darius told Ezra. "And since you'll be standing right there, peacefully submitting to the test, they should have no reason to refuse."

"Should?" I muttered worriedly.

"On the chance they aren't cooperative, I intend to make this a very public appeal." He arched an eyebrow. "There's a reason we're doing this in the middle of the afternoon."

The MPD precinct, smack dab in the heart of downtown, stood out from the surrounding buildings in zero ways. Gray exterior, tinted windows, and one side that butted up against an even grayer concrete structure.

Darius turned toward the narrow parking garage entrance. The security arm automatically lifted, and he steered the SUV into the dimly lit passageway under the building. A sign overhead indicated a turn for "Intake," which Darius passed. A second sign directed "Deliveries" to turn, but Darius skipped that one too, following a third sign that read, "Visitor Parking."

Sunlight beckoned us onward, and the SUV emerged into a back lot open to the sky, surrounded by skyscrapers. Half the thirty or so spots were filled, but Darius was able to park near the double doors, unmarked except for the MPD logo. We climbed out of the car, and as I faced the plain but imposing building, my flimsy confidence withered.

Darius circled the vehicle to join us, carrying a simple blue folder. "Once we're inside, let me do the talking."

Ezra and I saluted in answer, and Darius smiled. "Then let's begin."

He led us to the precinct's door and swung it wide open, walking in like he owned the place. Ezra and I followed on his heels, and I could only hope I looked as confident as our GM.

A rectangular lobby greeted visitors, with a double row of back-to-back chairs down the center and a third row against the left wall. On the right, a service counter was set into the wall, the room behind it stuffed with filing cabinets and computers.

At the far end, directly ahead, a glass wall with another set of double doors separated the lobby from a bullpen office full of desks. Agents and analysts bustled about, oblivious to the coming drama.

A surprising number of mythic civilians waited in the lobby, most of them scattered among the chairs, with six lined up at the counter. Darius strode for the reception line, and the guy at the back of the queue glanced over. His gaze shifted past Darius to Ezra—and his face went white. He grabbed the sleeve of the guy in front of him and backpedaled.

The rapid scuffle of their shoes drew the attention of the others in line, and an instant later, everyone was backing rapidly away as we approached the counter.

I remembered the pervasive dread of the unbound demon from last Halloween. This week's demon mage hunt must've created just as much of a fearful stir through Vancouver's mythic community. Ezra had become a celebrity—the infamous kind.

Darius walked to the reception desk and smiled at the white-faced woman sitting behind it. The two administrators at desks farther back in the records room were frozen in place.

"Good afternoon," he said pleasantly. "Darius King, GM of the Crow and Hammer, presenting myself as per summons MS-19-70493."

He wasn't speaking loudly, but just like in guild meetings, his confident voice carried to every ear in the room.

As he slid a paper from his folder and laid it on the receptionist's desk, he continued, "Accompanying me is Victoria Dawson and Ezra Rowe, guildeds of mine who are facing charges."

Whispers rippled through the watching mythics. The poor receptionist looked ready to faint.

"I also have appeals prepared for both of them," he concluded, adding two more sheets of paper. "Who's in charge of their cases?"

The receptionist just stared.

"Perhaps you should call them," he suggested gently.

She reached out with a trembling hand, picked up her phone, and fumbled with the ten thousand buttons on it. Lifting the handset to her ear, she continued to stare between Darius and Ezra.

"A-A-Agent Harris," she stammered. "D-Darius King is here. He—he b-brought… Ezra Rowe."

Darius held his pleasant smile as she listened. Five seconds passed, then ten.

The glass doors to the bullpen flew open, and a swarm of agents burst through. Half were unarmed and half carried some sort of weapon. A disagreeably familiar face led them, his teeth bared and eyes wild behind thick-rimmed reading glasses.

Ah, Agent Brennan Harris. The supreme asshole who'd tried to coerce me into dishing dirt on the Crow and Hammer. He'd then thrown the hissy fit of all hissy fits when Darius had weaseled me out of murder charges by "proving" I was a mythic.

I swiftly scanned the other agents for faces I might recognize. Since becoming an official mythic, I'd encountered a few agents in brief doses—usually while submitting reports or evidence after one of our fun adventures, plus the occasional agent or two would stop at the guild to speak with Darius.

This time, I didn't recognize anyone besides Harris—though that might've been because they all wore expressions of shock, defensive anger, and fear.

Darius stepped in front of Ezra, shielding him from the oncoming force. The unlucky civilian visitors in the lobby pressed against the walls to get clear.

"Move, Darius!" Harris spat, pointing a silver wand at the GM's chest. "Protecting a demon mage is a capital crime and we're authorized to use lethal force!"

"You'd be entitled to do that," Darius agreed calmly, "if Ezra were a demon mage."

Harris's eyes bulged before he pulled himself together. He jerked a pair of handcuffs off his belt. "I'm placing you all under arrest."

He took a step closer, then froze as Darius's unyielding stare met his.

"As I was just telling your receptionist," the GM said in a quiet, dangerous way, "I'm here to appeal the charges against my guildeds—including Ezra. He's been falsely accused, and we will prove his innocence."

"He's already been convicted," Harris snarled, cuffs dangling from his hand. "We have irrefutable evidence that he—"

"What evidence is more irrefutable than the so-called demon mage presenting himself for the MPD's examination?" Darius raised a hand toward Ezra, still safely behind him. "Would a real demon mage be standing here peacefully?"

The agents behind Harris shifted uneasily. A few looked relieved that they weren't about to battle the most feared mythic out there.

"More bullshit, Darius." Harris dared to step closer, a crazed light in his eyes. "This is just another of your tricks, but we have video evidence of Rowe attacking a combat team with demon magic."

"And video footage has never, in all the history of cameras, ever been altered," Darius said with subtle but unmistakable sarcasm. "Nor is it exceptionally easy to do since magic records so poorly."

Harris hissed under his breath.

"Test him, Brennan. He isn't a demon mage."

"If he isn't a demon mage," the agent beside Harris asked, "why did you wait a week to bring him here?"

"We had no choice but to wait for the bloodlust to die down after the MPD issued a three-hundred-thousand-dollar DOD bounty without warning—skipping several lawfully required steps along the way, I might add."

"It was an emergency," Harris growled.

"Really? And how many murders has Ezra committed?"

"He—we have video evidence that he attacked—"

"Ah yes, the indisputable video. But I'm not here to discuss whether an emergency hearing to sentence him to death based on a single piece of questionable evidence was ethical or in any way justifiable."

A few more agents were looking uncomfortable.

"We're freely and peacefully presenting ourselves to see justice done, and with a young man's life in the balance, I require only that you prove he is a demon mage before executing him for a crime he isn't guilty of." Darius's voice hardened with command. "Call your Demonica expert to perform the test—or call someone with actual authority."

Harris's nostrils flared.

"You never change, Mr. King."

At the woman's voice, the battalion of agents parted, revealing the tall figure who'd just walked through a nearby door. A stack of folders tucked under her arm suggested she was an analyst, but she carried the dominating aura of a leader as blatantly as the other agents carried their weapons.

She strode through the group with a general's grimness and stopped a step ahead of Harris. With chin-length blond hair, model-worthy cheekbones, and probing eyes, she could've been thirty or fifty. I had no clue.

"Ah," Darius murmured. "Captain Blythe."

Her laser stare swept down Darius and back up. "Playing games again, are we?"

"I have never been more serious."

She snorted in an "I'll believe it when I see it" sort of way. "Then, as part of your peaceful surrender, your guildeds will be handcuffed."

"Of course."

At Darius's easy agreement, Harris shook with visible fury, which the GM completely ignored. Blythe gestured at two agents behind her—not Harris, despite the fact he still held his useless restraints. His face went even redder.

Trying not to stiffen defensively as the agents approached, I held my wrists out. The agent clipped a set of cuffs on me, the metal cold against my skin. Beside me, Ezra submitted to the restraints without changing expression. His poker face was as good as ever.

"This way, Mr. King." Turning, Blythe waved at the gathered agents and barked, "Back to work!"

They obediently hustled through the doors into the bullpen. Harris hesitated, his burning need to object written all over his face, but he stumped after the others without a word.

Blythe led us into a long hall, then opened the first door on the right. Stepping aside, she let Darius precede her into a small interview room with a table and four chairs. Ezra and I followed, and Blythe stepped in last, closing the door behind her.

Darius leaned against the table, assessing Blythe with surprisingly wary eyes. "This is unexpected, Aurelia."

I blinked bemusedly. Darius was on a first-name basis with Vancouver's precinct captain?

"I'm not complaining," he added, "but I fully expected you to jump on the chance to put me in handcuffs as well."

She stepped closer to him, her narrowed eyes raking over his face. "How many times have you done this, Darius?"

"Protected my guildeds? I'll do it as many times as needed."

"How many times have you exploited rules and bent laws to fit your ambitions?" Another step toward him. "How many fines and charges have you dodged by quoting my own laws back at me?"

"In this case, Aurelia, I'm saving an innocent life."

She slashed a look at Ezra, then took another step—which put her almost on Darius's toes. She glared into his face, their noses scarce inches apart, and I could've cut the tension with a knife.

Tensions, actually. Plural. Because there was a whole lot more than a battle of professional wills buzzing between those two. I was getting distinctly personal vibes, and I goggled at them in astonishment.

"You got overconfident once, Darius," she said in a low voice. "And it cost you your career."

"You're assuming I still wanted that career—and that losing it was unintentional."

Her eyes narrowed even more. "Then I hope this oversight was intentional too."

Darius's expression didn't change, but his fingers curled around the edge of the desk, knuckles turning white. "What oversight is that?"

"You assumed you could throw the book at me, and I'd cave because laws are laws." She stepped back. "But I'm not in charge here anymore."

His eyes widened.

Turning on her heel, she strode to the door and laid her hand on the knob. "And the one who is—he's not a ‘play by the rules' man."

She shoved the door open and marched out. As the door began to swing shut, a hand caught it and pushed it wide open.

An agent stood in the threshold. Tall, wiry, dark brown hair, and a face like a fox. He smiled but the expression didn't touch his flat brown eyes. Gooseflesh ran up my arms.

"Darius King. Your reputation precedes you."

Another wave of gooseflesh shivered along my spine. The man's voice shared the same dead quality as his eyes.

"And you are?" Darius asked with cool poise.

"Agent S?ze, Internal Affairs. We have a great deal to discuss." He stepped into the room, and more agents filled the doorway behind him, their faces cold and hard. "But first, it appears Captain Blythe neglected a fundamental safety measure."

S?ze unhooked a pair of shiny silver cuffs from his belt, the chain jingling as he stepped toward Darius.