She closed her eyes and leaned into him. He was warm and solid, someone she could depend on. Someone they could all depend on. Not that the two of them didn’t argue—they fought like banshees, probably always would. But he listened to her now, and when he didn’t, she was tough enough to beat her side of things into his thick skull.
They were making it work.
“This is a fabulous surprise,” she said, still reeling from how quickly her morning had gone from his, “I’ve got something to show you,” to a quick ’port hop that had landed them in the middle of Warehouse Seventeen—the place where they began. She shot him a quick look. “You’re not worried about being recognized?”
He lifted a shoulder. “Nate and Carter took care of the paperwork, so the cops won’t be able to find anything outstanding on me. Besides, it’s been a few years, and people see what they expect. When they look at me, they’ll see the latest city guy to jump on some grant money, not the very former—and very dead—cobra de rey.” He paused and shifted, hunching his shoulders a little. A faint shadow crept into his eyes. “And, ah, this isn’t the whole surprise.”
The shadows—worry? nerves?—didn’t trigger the oh shit they would have before. Now his expression just made Reese wonder what he was up to. “Am I going to like the rest of it?”
“I sure as hell hope so.” He pulled his cell, checked the time. “You mind poking around on your own for a few minutes?”
She waved him off. “No problem. I’m sure I can find some trouble to get into.” But as she watched him head off toward the east entrance, she murmured, “And you’d better not be getting yourself into any trouble.” No matter how much she loved him, believed in him, she couldn’t stop the skim of nerves. Something was up. Something big. And she couldn’t see the pattern.
Skywatch
Sven hurled a fallen cacao branch, arching it high over the picnic area to bounce crazily on the packed dust. “Go get it!”
Mac yipped eagerly as he bounded after the toy, racing with a loose-limbed abandon that Sven could feel in his own bones. It stirred him up, making him feel restless. Or rather, more restless. He had been increasingly edgy ever since he had returned from helping out down at Skywatch South—aka Coatepec Mountain—where Anna, Lucius, and Natalie were excavating several ruins near the reborn jaguar palace, in the hopes of figuring out how their ancestors had used the site, and how it would fit into the coming war. Besides being an intersection, that is.
It had been dirty, backbreaking work, and right now he probably should be exhausted. Instead, he and Mac were walking the perimeter of the compound for the second time that morning.
The coyote brought the stick back to him, eyes dancing.
“Fine. But this is the last time.” Shaking his head, Sven cocked his arm to throw it up by the pool—
And the long-range alarms went off with a high, unearthly shriek.
Seconds later, JT’s voice came through his armband. “We have incoming. There’s a baby Hummer in the front, followed by—shit, buses? What the fuck?”
Adrenaline kicked through Sven. “I’ll be right there. Update the others.”
He was the only mage on-property right then; the others were scattered on various assignments. But with two teleporters in action now, there would be backup on site within a few minutes. He just had to hold out that long. Mac stayed right beside him as he bolted up through the mansion, grabbed a shotgun off the rack of spares near the door, and burst out the front. Magic washed over him as JT opened up the ward to let him through, then again as the winikin closed it behind him.
There was a dust cloud hazing the horizon, growing larger and more distinct, then becoming the shadow of a vehicle. Several vehicles—an H3 with heavy tint on the windows, pimp-style, and two gray-painted buses that had probably hauled school kids in a former life.
What the fuck, indeed.
Sven cast a shield spell around him and Mac as the H3 rolled up too close to him, the driver and passenger visible only as silhouettes behind the tint. He made a show of checking the gun, figuring he’d hold the fireballs until he got a better idea of the situation, or his backup arrived.
The driver ’s door opened and a man got out—a late-thirties soldier type with a brush cut and shades, wearing jeans and a USMC sweatshirt. He wasn’t real big, but he was plenty capable looking. And he didn’t seem the slightest bit concerned about Sven, the shotgun, or the low, rumbling snarl coming from Mac. Instead, his lip curled as he gave them an up-and-down. “Oh, joy. A coyote.”
Sven got the feeling he wasn’t talking about Mac.
As the passenger door opened, he bristled and said, “Who the hell—” His words died as he got a look at the H3’s other occupant. He got two syllables out: “Cara.”
Mac yipped with joy and bounded over to her. She greeted him like an old friend, which might have struck Sven as being odd, if his brain hadn’t just vapor locked. He hadn’t seen her since that day on the dock, hadn’t been able to find her thereafter. She had disappeared. Now, it seemed, she had reappeared. With friends.
She was wearing a long silver-gray coat that brushed around her ankles as she walked, parting to show dark pants and stiletto boots. Soldier Boy started forward but she waved him back, so she was alone when she faced Sven, hidden behind her dark shades. “We’re here. Where do you want us?”
Sven looked beyond the H3 to the buses, saw the outlines of people in every row of seats. “Who are . . .” He trailed off, felt his jaw drop. Couldn’t pick it up. “Those are JT’s rebels?”
“Actually, they’re my rebels now,” she said, with a quiet thread of steel in her voice that had his attention snapping back to her, had him seeing that her red-painted mouth and the square set of her shoulders were nothing like those of the woman who had come down off that boat to talk to him.
“Glad you made it,” Strike said unexpectedly. Sven glanced back to find Leah, Sasha, and Michael backing him up, shot Mac a dirty look for not warning him they were there.
Michael nodded to Cara. “Welcome back to Skywatch.”
“We’ll see,” she said softly, then gestured to the main gate. “Can we come in?”
Sven didn’t say a damn thing. He couldn’t. He was too busy trying to figure out why he was the only one here who seemed to be surprised.
“Sorry, Cara,” Strike said apologetically, “but we’re going to need to check out the others before we pass them through. New security protocols.”
She nodded. “Understood. We’ll wait.”
“Actually,” Strike said, “I think you should come with us.”
“Where to?”
“Dez wants us all up north. You might as well meet him face-to-face.”
Cara nodded and headed back to exchange a few words with Soldier Boy. When she started to follow the magi through the main gate, Sven caught her arm. “I’ve been looking all over for you. Why didn’t you tell me what you were up to?”
“Dad knew. If he didn’t tell you, then it must have slipped his mind.”
“Bullshit. He doesn’t forget anything.”
“Then he decided not to tell you. That’s between you two—leave me out of it.” She met his eyes with a reserve he didn’t recognize. “Look, let’s get one thing real straight: This doesn’t need to be weird. The past is in the past. Let’s leave it there and move on, okay? I’ve got a job to do, you’ve got a job to do, and they probably won’t intersect that much. I’d like to keep it that way. Deal?” She held out her hand.
He stared at her hand, at the unmarked forearm the move revealed. Then he blew out a breath that didn’t do much to settle his suddenly revving system. “Fine. Whatever.”
But when they all uplinked in the great room, the magic leaped through him with a wild surge that had Strike raising a brow in his direction. Instead of saying anything about it, Sven asked, “What does Dez want us in Denver for?”