Irregulars - lanyon Josh - Страница 53
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“House powers?”
“Each dynasty had its own house power. It is sacred and unique to each lord. It represents the lord’s history, his dynasty and purpose in the universe. The power is tied to a physical object but is sustained with blood. If it is allowed to drain completely it will lose its power and break forever.”
August eyed Deven. “Lord Jaguar gave you his house power.”
Deven was surprised August figured it out so quickly, but he didn’t deny it. “Yes.”
“And that’s why they want you dead. They want your power.”
“More than that.” Deven stirred his milkshake. “A house power has never been given to a human being before. Lord Jaguar’s gesture upset the natural balance of things in Aztaw. It put me in a position that the other lords feared greatly.”
“Why?”
“I’m human, as your flashlight demonstrated. It means I don’t need any messy sacrifices to use a house power. I fuel my own spells.”
August blinked. “Christ, that makes you stronger than all of them.”
“Too strong,” Deven agreed. “Their life spans far exceed ours, but I could still rule them for the short length of my own life, so the lords were determined not to let me keep it. And after the revolution, the soldiers themselves wanted to see it destroyed, along with all the trappings of the lords’ rule. But I made a promise to Lord Jaguar before he died that I would protect his house power with my life. It represents his lineage, his eternal soul. I swore I would never see it destroyed. So after the revolution I fled.”
August stared at Deven quietly. Finally he pushed Deven’s shake closer. “Drink up.”
Deven had already forgotten the drink. Just recalling the story filled him with such a sense of loss he couldn’t ground himself. Everything he knew and cared for had disappeared the day he had given up and run like a coward.
But he’d kept his promise to Jaguar, he had to remind himself, and that was all that mattered. As long as he protected the Jaguar house power, he honored the memory of his great lord.
The ice cream was thick in the straw and Deven sucked hard to get it to move. His cheeks hollowed out and he noticed the way August watched him, almost predatorily, as he pulled the sweet drink into his mouth.
The burst of flavor stunned him. He’d not tried ice cream since he’d been a child back in Virginia and he’d forgotten how cold and creamy the texture was. It burned his tongue and burst onto his taste buds with sweetness. It was almost too sweet, but with each gulp the flavor grew on him.
“This is incredible!” Deven cried, when he stopped inhaling the drink for a breath. He pushed over the shake. “You’ve got to try this.”
August looked amused. “I know what a milkshake tastes like.”
“But this is insane!”
August rolled his eyes and grabbed the shake. He took a sip, then pushed it back. “Tastes like shit with beer.”
Their burgers arrived and Deven took a careful bite. The flavor overwhelmed him—it was too many things at once. At home he made rice, beans, corn, things he could relate to. This ranch-slathered fried chicken between bread business was too extreme for his untraveled palette; he found it difficult to process.
“Well?” August asked, watching him eat. “How’s your meal?”
“It’s a bit like the billboards,” Deven said after swallowing.
“The billboards?”
“Too much color. Can’t process what it really looks like.”
August chuckled. “Told you it was a bad choice.”
***
Back at the hotel, Deven’s funerary statue was still in the doorway when they entered the room.
Filled with sudden contempt, Deven booted the thing against the far wall. The clay shattered.
August hissed. “Messy.” He glared at Deven. “You need more than your weapons taken away, kiddo. You need anger management classes.”
“I told you to stop calling me kiddo.”
“You start acting like an adult, I may.” August unzipped one of his suitcases and removed two more small metal boxes. He stuck the first alongside the door and the second on the opposite wall. He flicked a small switch at the base and a green laser beam shot between the two boxes.
“What’s that?” Deven asked, yawning.
“Extra security.”
“Is it magical?”
August snorted. “No, just expensive. It’s a laser that triggers an alarm if the beam is interrupted. It’ll alert us if you receive more care packages.”
For some reason that seemed funny to Deven, and he laughed. He closed his eyes and leaned against the bathroom door.
“Let’s see your hip.”
Deven blinked for several seconds before he remembered he’d been injured. He was so used to ignoring pains in the hot, sterile environment of Aztaw.
“It’s fine.”
“You got hit by a car.” August went back to his suitcase and this time pulled out a small cloth bag. Deven wondered how heavy the suitcase was. August hadn’t been kidding about bringing his own equipment.
August stood close. He reached for Deven’s hip and Deven instinctively pulled back.
August’s expression instantly darkened. “Oh Christ. What did that son of a bitch Klakow say this time?” His hand clenched into a fist. “Whatever that asshole or anyone else told you, I’m not that much of a shit. I don’t fuck guys unless they want me to.”
Deven’s shock clearly showed before he had time to censure it. August turned away, face burning.
Deven quickly processed what August had admitted. He was still getting the hang of things around here, what was embarrassing and what wasn’t. He considered assuring the agent that his reluctance to be touched had more to do with years of living as an assassin than fear of being fondled. But something told him that conversation would go wrong.
Instead he unbuttoned his cargo pants, lowering them and his underwear to reveal his left hip bone. The skin was already mottled dark blue.
August wouldn’t face him.
“Well?” Deven asked.
August turned, his face still flushed. It took him a second to regain his composure, and when he did, he frowned at Deven’s hip. “Looks nasty. Does it feel like anything’s broken?”
“No. It’s just bruised.”
“Right.” August touched the swollen skin briefly, his fingers gentle and cool. Deven found his touch soothing, but before he could consider what that meant the touch was gone. August pulled a tin of something white and creamy from his bag and sank his fingers into the substance. “Don’t ask what this is. You’re better off not knowing.” He slathered the substance over Deven’s bruised joint and rubbed it in vigorously, hard enough to make Deven wince. He braced himself, holding his shirt out of the way.
He expected a mess. Instead the ointment melted into his skin and disappeared. He touched a spot where August had rubbed cream in and found his skin dry.
“Better off or not, what is that?” Deven asked.
August was still a little pink from his outburst, but the corner of his mouth quirked up. “Dead marda.”
“Who?”
“Marda. They live in the spiral realm. Their bodies have regenerative properties and they heal injuries well.”
Deven looked at the cream in the tin. “Are they...harvested?”
“God no, we’re not Nazis,” August said, sounding offended. “We buy their decomposed bodies legally from the families of the marda. We have trade deals with the spiral realm.” August studied Deven’s expression. “You don’t seem to have a good opinion of NIAD.”
“They abandoned the ten-year-old son of their insane employee in a dark underworld for thirteen years,” Deven said, wishing he sounded less bitter. “It wasn’t as though they kept their promise to see to my well-being.”
“I guess not.” August was still staring at him, his blue eyes sharp, calculating. He finally nodded. “You can pull your pants up now.”
Deven quickly buttoned his trousers, feeling his own cheeks flush red.
“Get some sleep. We’ve got a lot of work tomorrow.”
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