“It was the Lady in Green,” Amy’s mother said, the words bursting out of her. “They told me. She made him tell her where our daughter was. We love you. Thank you, thank you for saving our daughter. We’ll never forget. Eres una santa . . .”
The mike died. A man in a suit clamped his hand over it and called out, “That is all for today.”
“You?” Rogan asked, his expression resigned.
“She would’ve died,” I told him.
Rogan turned to Augustine. “And you helped her do this? How many lunchtime martinis did you have before it seemed like a good idea?”
Augustine recoiled in outrage. “I tried to talk her out of it. She wanted to just walk into the police station. I helped her do it as anonymously and secretly as possible.”
Rogan crossed his arms. “Someone told that woman exactly what took place. The video has two million views already. Now she is a damned urban legend. If that’s your definition of secret, you need to get your head examined.”
“Her face and her entire body was obscured. Anyway, I didn’t come here to be insulted.” He turned to me. “I came here to warn you, just like I did before. This act will have consequences, ones you’re likely unable to anticipate. Make your preparations.”
Sure, let me get right on that. “If I can’t anticipate the consequences, how can I prepare for them?”
“That’s for you to figure out.” Augustine turned to leave.
“Wait,” Rogan said, a speculative look on his face. “I’d like to show you something.”
Augustine grimaced. “Is it work related at least?”
“Yes. Nevada, may we enter the motor pool?”
“Follow me. Quietly, please. I don’t want to upset my mother.” I opened the door and checked the hallway. Clear.
“Why would your mother be upset that I’m here?” Augustine asked.
“Think about it,” I said. “It will come to you.”
We crossed the hallway and I opened the door to the motor pool.
“Is this about that nonsense of me being a terrible person?” Augustine asked.
Rogan strode through the motor pool, heading for the Range Rover parked in the middle and watched over by a Hispanic woman.
Augustine squinted at the two track vehicles—a tank and a mobile flamethrower. “What exactly does your grandmother do?”
“She tinkers,” I told him.
Augustine opened his mouth to say something else, saw the mangled Range Rover, and closed his mouth.
Rogan walked up to the stretcher covered with a dark brown tarp they must’ve stolen from Grandma Frida and nodded to the woman. “Thank you, Tiana. Take a break.”
“Yes, Major.” Tiana trotted outside.
Rogan pulled the tarp, revealing the illusion mage’s face. “Do you know this asshole?”
Leon and Arabella climbed up on the nearest track vehicle to get a better view.
Augustine grimaced. “Yes. I do know this asshole. Who did he go after?”
“Me,” I said.
“Did he look something like this?” Augustine took off his glasses. His flesh boiled. He expanded, growing to eight feet. Enormous leathery wings thrust out from his shoulders, issuing a challenge. Muscle sheathed his tree-trunk legs, covered in mottled python scales. Hooves formed over his feet. Carved arms stretched forward, armed with razor sharp talons. The horrible face stared at me with ruby red eyes, dripping fire onto the cheeks. A mane of bright roiling flames fell onto his shoulders and back.
“Holy crap!” Leon almost fell off his perch.
Arabella laughed. I threw her a warning glance. Don’t you do it. The last thing we needed was for her to show off.
The demon flexed his colossal shoulders. I could feel the heat of the fire. I smelled it. How was that even possible? The other guy’s illusion had looked real. This felt real. I swallowed.
“Yes, he looked like that. Except he was a foot shorter and there were no flames. He had a hood.”
“Dilettante,” the demon said in Augustine’s voice. “Living fire takes concentration.”
The demon deflated in a rush, snapping back into Augustine. He slid his glasses back on. “Philip McRaven. Also known as Azazel, mostly because he attempted to get everyone he ever worked with to call him that. He cost me a great deal of money.”
“How?” I asked.
“He was a Significant, related to the San Antonio McRavens. They excised him twelve years ago for various offenses and when I met him, he was working as a free agent. He advertised himself as a decent tracker. We were looking to expand our staff and I can always find use for a good illusion mage, especially one with a secondary talent. In addition to being an illusion mage, he was also an upper-range Average psionic.”
That explained the panic.
“I put him on a skip trace. One of the Houses had a runaway spouse who married into the House and six months later took off.”
“Took the good silver?” I asked.
“Nothing so pedestrian. He made his getaway in a California Spyder.”
“Good taste,” Rogan said.
I glanced at him.
“It’s a 1961 Ferrari. Only fifty-three ever made,” Rogan explained.
“The last one to come on the market sold for seven million,” Augustine said, his voice dry. “The man was a gambler who used to frequent Vegas. A relatively easy job. McRaven was to find him and call in the local team so we could deliver him and the car back to his heartbroken wife. McRaven found the runaway, put on his demon routine, and then choked the man to death. To add insult to injury, the thief voided his bowels while still in the car.”
“How inconsiderate of him.” Rogan’s expression was perfectly placid.
“Yes, how dare he ruin the upholstery,” I murmured.
Our sarcasm flew right over Augustine’s head. “It’s incredibly difficult to remove the stench of human waste once it soaks into the carpet fibers. I almost killed McRaven. When I asked him why he did it, I got psychosis on parade with all flags flying and a marching band. According to him, he had done it because he liked, and I quote, ‘to see light go out of their eyes as they wet themselves in terror.’”
“Charming,” I said. Whatever mild tinges of guilt I felt about killing a man who’d tried to murder me evaporated.
“I seriously considered making him disappear,” Augustine said.
“Why didn’t you?” I asked.
“One, he was my employee. There were plenty of warning signs in his background check, so the fault was mine for hiring this psychopath in the first place. And two, his mother came to see me from San Antonio. The McRavens may not be a full-fledged House, but there are four Significants in that family and now they owe me a favor.” Augustine studied Rogan for a long moment. “How do you fit into this? What are you involved in?”
“I’d tell you but I’d have to kill you,” Rogan said.
Nobody laughed.
“You should wink next time you make a joke,” I told Rogan. “So people know when to laugh.”
“I’m not joking,” he said.
“He isn’t.” Augustine pushed his glasses back up his nose. “Except I’m obviously not trembling in terror. Let me break this down for you. I own the largest investigative firm in Houston. Obtaining information is literally what I do for a living. I’m now intrigued enough to divert resources from other, profitable ventures, to look into this. I will put the two of you under enough surveillance that you won’t be able to breathe. I’ll bug your offices and your vehicles, I’ll hack your computers, and I’ll have you followed by people who change their faces and bodies with a thought. You can devote an enormous amount of resources to fight me off or you could just tell me, because we all know I’ll figure it out in the end. I can be a nuisance or I can be an ally. Your choice. Either way is fun for me.”