Texas Charm, chapters 18 and 19 (Patreon)

Chapter Eighteen

“Let’s talk.” Zach pulled Art out of the interview room. After Dohosan made his little announcement about the FBI in front of all the other detectives, the gossip mill would be turned on high. So Zach headed for the shamanic meditation room on the opposite side of the building.

“Where are you dragging me?” Art asked.

“To talk.” Two guys coming out of the break room looked interested in starting up a conversation, so Zach walked faster. Art must have been equally invested in avoiding conversation because he stayed right at Zach’s side until they reached the seldom-used space. When Zach opened the door, a musky scent greeted him. “This place is hitting the gross meter,” Zach said as he walked in. A couch that looked like it was straight out of some basement flop house stood against one wall, and the other wall was close enough that Zach could sit on the couch and touch it with his toes.

Zach just wasn’t sure he wanted to sit on the couch.

“The room looks better than it did twenty-four hours ago,” Art said. “So, what are we talking about?”

Zach leaned against the wall and immediately felt something soft brushing against his neck. Zach lurched forward—away from the spider web. “How the hell can the department call this a meditation room?”

Art’s cat appeared on the arm of the couch, tail high in the air, and Art walked over and sat next to him. “Why are we here?” he asked with exaggerated slowness.

Zach rubbed his neck where the cobweb had touched. “All this shamanic stuff has to be throwing you. Talk to me.”

“I’m not thrown.”

Zach crossed his arms and refused to fall for that shit. 

“I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be fine?” Art asked with exasperation.

“I don’t know… maybe because Dohosan just poked the spot where your Native issues and your shaman issues cross?”

Now Art got his aggravated voice out. “I’m not fragile.”

With a sigh, Zach sat next to his partner, ignoring the funky couch smell. “I never said you were. I said you have issues. You have issues, I have issues. That’s why we work. How many times have you dragged me out of this station and made me go home or to your mother’s place where I can’t obsess about a case anymore?”

Art rested his hand on Zach’s knee. “Plenty. Sometimes you take the job so seriously that I worry that you’re going to burn out.”

Zach figured he already would have if not for Art to derail some of Zach’s more self-destructive obsessions. “But this time, it’s your issues front and center. I can have a panic attack about my father’s homophobia and my own inferiority complexes later.”

“You shouldn’t let that bastard make you feel bad about yourself,” Art said in classic redirection, but Zach wasn’t falling for it.

“Yeah, and you shouldn’t let the shaman stuff rattle you, but I know what you look like when you’re feeling off balance, and this is pretty much it.”

A flash of some dark emotion crossed Art’s face. “I’m not rattled.”

Zach rolled his eyes. “Fine. Bothered. Annoyed. Off-balance. Anxious.” 

“You’re obnoxious.”

“You knew that before you asked me to marry you.”

Art sighed and turned his hand palm up. Zach interlocked their fingers and leaned closer.

“I love you,” Art said softly.

“You should. I’m awesome.”

The comment did the trick. Art laughed and shoulder-shoved Zach. “You’re a dork.”

“I’m that too,” Zach agreed. “Talk to me. Dohosan’s medicine woman called you a shaman when your father’s tribe wouldn’t. That’s got to bother you.” The silence felt pregnant. Art was trying to find a way to say something, so Zach waited.

“It’s not that simple,” Art finally said. But then he fell silent again.

“Why not?” Zach prompted him.

Art’s cat gave a short yowl and vanished. Before Zach could ask what the guide was up to, Art spoke. “She called me a shaman. That’s a white person’s word. Natives have medicine men and women, singers, healers, chanters, spirit walkers, and dozens of other terms, but we don’t have shamans. We just use the word shaman to...”

“Keep white people out of your business?” Zach guessed.

The grimace was pretty much a confession on that front. Art continued. “Calling me a shaman is like saying that I’m not trained to care for the spiritual needs of the tribe. And that’s exactly what my father’s tribe did when they wouldn’t allow me to train as a singer—they said I couldn’t care for the spiritual needs of the tribe. So nothing has changed.”

“But Dohosan’s medicine women said you already cared for the needs of the community in El Paso.”

Art carefully untangled their fingers. “She can say what she wants, and I am grateful to know someone is in my corner if the FBI is going to start gunning for me, but I’m angry that Dohosan and his schemes have put us in a difficult position. What are we going to do if the FBI starts looking into this claim that I am protected under laws meant for Native religious leaders?” Art turned to pin Zach with an unhappy glare.

Zach blew out a breath and tried to collect his thoughts. He suspected that Art was focusing on the legal difficulties because he didn’t want to deal with his own feelings. But if that’s where he wanted to start, Zach would oblige. “Natives don’t share information on their religion. Hell, I didn’t know shaman was an exclusively non-Native word.”

“I would have told you if it mattered,” Art said.

“No biggie. But the good side of that is that the FBI can’t check on your status. And if Dohosan’s medicine woman calls you a shaman of El Paso and says she will file a complaint on your behalf under IRPA, I think the FBI has to accept that. The circumstances meet the legal definition of a Native religious leader.”

Art’s flat stare meant he didn’t appreciate Zach being pragmatic. Tough shit. If Art wanted to feel guilty, it was Zach’s job to provide a little balance. That’s what they did for each other. Well, until they both lost perspective at the same time like after the Travino case, and then they screamed at each other until they lost their voices, slept in separate rooms, and eventually crawled back to each other carrying shitloads of guilt. So if it was Art’s turn to have his head up his ass, Zach would be the realist.

Zach tightened his grip on Art’s hand. “You’re a good man, so you have to let the whole shamanic guilt go.”

“I’m not feeling guilty,” Art said firmly. “I’m more worried that we’re both going to end up getting fired for lying to the FBI.”

“We didn’t.”

“We stood in the room while Dohosan did,” Art said drily.

“Actually, he didn’t. He reported what his medicine woman said, and since he’s not a holy man, he can’t contradict her.”

Art raised an eyebrow. “You sound like a defense lawyer.”

“Yeah, well, you know how I feel about justice and I’m telling you that I don’t have an ounce of guilt over letting Dohosan play that game. Hell, I enjoyed the fuck out of it. If I wasn’t stupidly in love with you, I might chase him down and offer him a blow job.”

“Yeah, that’s not happening,” Art said with mock fierceness.

Zach grinned. “Nope. But he was kinda hot.”

“Since I am lawful good to my core and reject the legitimacy of chaotic good, I refuse to admit anything of the sort,” Art said. He curled his free hand around the back of Zach’s neck and pulled him in for a kiss. Zach relaxed into the touch, running his hand over Art’s thigh.

“Okay, you’re way hotter,” Zach said, “although Dohosan is still a pretty close second.”

“Dork,” Art said fondly. “But aside from my legal and ethical hives, we have another problem. If Dohosan’s medicine woman can see certain guides, then that means that at least some people who use Native power sources can see a particular kind of guide.” He gave Zach a meaningful look.

“Bennu.” Zach breathed the word as horror washed through him. Pochi appeared, dive bombing the room before he pulled up suddenly and hovered in the air. He twisted one way and the other, clearly searching for an enemy.

Art said sharply, “Not here.” Clearly Art was still maintaining his ban on discussing guides or ifrit outside the house, but Zach could follow his thought. If the medicine woman saw Pochi, then some people could see Bennu. Darren and Kavon were not as protected as they had assumed.

“We need to say something.”

Art grimaced and then lifted his hand in the universal sign of a telephone. His sharp glare said everything he would say aloud. The telephones weren’t secure. If Art had enough experience on the spirit plane, he might be able to reach one of them, but there was a lot of distance between them, and that would affect the spirit plane. Art and Zach would risk losing themselves if they tried.

“Salma?” Zach whispered.

Art’s expression turned constipated. Zach trusted her, but he also understood Art’s hesitation. She had her own agenda, and a weirdly disturbing worship for all things ifrit. Zach had no idea how she would take the idea that Native shamans were a threat to the privacy of the ancient guides.

Zach looked at Pochi who still hovered in the air emitting a general sense of alarm and anger. He just couldn’t figure out who to attack. So far Pochi had refused to do anything a traditional guide would. Unlike Art’s guide, he loved getting involved in Zach’s everyday life, but he never brought his magic with him when he showed up. But now Zach needed a little help in the Talent department.

Zach let his eyes fall closed as he thought about Bennu—the curve of his neck, the white feathers, the general sense of enthusiasm he always radiated.

“Zach?” Art asked with alarm. When Zach opened his eyes, they were standing on the spirit plane. The last time Zach had led them here, the place had been dark and filled with an eerie and unnatural calm. Now the place looked like some Armageddon had taken place a thousand years earlier. They stood on the crumbling remains of the road in front of the station—grass and tiny white wildflowers grew between the cracks making it look like some garden path. The precinct building had fallen into ruin, with lush vines, tiny purple flowers, and a flock of birds darting through the huge gaps where walls had collapsed.

“And again, I say you have issues,” Art said as he slowly turned. The cars had vanished from the parking lot and only a few buildings remained, leaving a wide plane of lush growth with jagged spires of desert rocks rising out of the green ground. A red-gray stone cliff that rose hundreds of feet in to the air replaced the storefront with the billboard that announced that “God Loves You.”

“And we are now post-zombie apocalypse,” Zach said as he considered a street light that tilted drunkenly. The lamp was broken and moss hung from the metal. Where the stoplight should have been, a cluster of butterflies fluttered in the sunlight.

“Issues,” Art repeated. “Please remember that any of these animals could be a guide.”

Zach looked around and all the animals suddenly vanished. Every bird, every butterfly, every insect was just gone. When Art turned and gave him an incredulous look, Zach defended himself. “That was not me.” 

“What did Pochi do?” Art asked.

A new voice answered. “I think that was Bennu. He thought we needed some privacy.”

Zach turned and Darren stood there with Kavon a step behind. “What happened?” Kavon asked, blunt as ever. 

Chapter Nineteen

Zach would have preferred to take lead in the conversation since Kavon and Art sometimes rubbed each other the wrong way, but shock slowed him down.

“Agent Boucher,” Art said as he stepped forward. “Agent Oberton.”

Darren smiled. “Detective Lammas, you’re looking well. I hope Salma has been able to help you get the El Paso council settled.” He projected a sense of calm friendliness, but Art stiffened, so clearly he didn’t appreciate Darren’s form of diplomacy. Zach sighed. Sometimes Art was contrary for the sake of being contrary.

“Is that why you called us?” Kavon asked.

“I don’t think we meant to reach out for you—not exactly,” Zach said. “We were talking about the fact we needed to have a private conversation with you, but neither of us knows how to use the spirit plane to call someone when they’re so far away in the physical world.”

Kavon put his hand on his partner’s shoulder. “Most shamans would insist you can’t reach farther than a couple of hundred miles, and that it requires intense training to call from even that distance.”

Darren narrowed his eyes. “Are you calling me strange? Because I’m pretty sure I made some threats involving itching powder if you kept calling me strange.”

“If the shoe fits,” Kavon said with a smile, but then he turned his attention back to Zach and Art, and the emotional landscape picked up a chill. “But this time, I’m fairly sure I’m calling Detectives Johnson and Lammas strange.” 

“Oh, well that’s okay then,” Darren said with a smile, but Kavon didn’t seem to share any of his partner’s good humor. 

“What happened that you felt a private conference on the spirit plane was necessary?” Kavon asked.

A boulder appeared, and Darren sat on the flat top. Zach hadn’t realized shamans could summon seating that way, and he focused on the image of their comfy couch from home. Instead the old monstrosity from the station’s meditation room blinked into existence. With a sigh, Zach sat. “I think Pochi is the one who wanted us to meet.” Zach looked around. “And now he’s gone.”

Darren sat up a little straighter. “Bennu is gone, too.”

Kavon walked over and leaned against the rock where Darren was sitting. “They have their own business they need to attend to sometimes.”

“I think your bull is a bad influence,” Darren said. “Bennu never used to vanish on me.”

“Your bird does whatever he feels like,” Kavon said. “Will someone please explain why we’re meeting?” 

“There’s a hole in your security,” Art said. Kavon immediately gave Art all his attention. Art continued. “It turns out that some people who are part of the Native American tradition can see the ifrit. One of the Apache medicine women in our area saw Zach and immediately recognized Pochi as a guide from before the magic purges.”

Darren and Kavon both went still for a moment, and then they traded concerned looks.

Kavon spoke first. “Is this something about training as a Native shaman or about having Native heritage?”

Art snorted. “Who knows? I certainly don’t.”

“But she recognized Huitzilopochtli?” Darren asked, stumbling over Pochi’s Aztec name. 

“Definitely,” Zach said. “She sent word with a member of her tribe. She knows he caused trouble in the past, and she appreciated that he was not throwing his power around this time.”

“Shit.” Darren wasn’t projecting happiness anymore. “Angel,” Darren said softly.

Kavon turned and stared at his partner for several seconds before he slowly nodded. “Yeah. It would explain some things.”

“Who?” Zach asked. Clearly they were talking about someone they knew, but Zach didn’t remember anyone on their team by that name.

Darren seemed to shake himself out of a daze. “It was a case of ours—an informant with Indigenous ancestry has shown a few unusual skills Talent-wise. He’s seen Bennu even when others couldn’t.”

“He’s a holy man?” Art asked, his voice sharp. Zach reached out and rested his hand on Art’s knee.

For some reason, Art’s question made Darren laugh. “Not even close. But if this is about inheriting an ability related to Earth magic rather than Talent from the spirit plane, he might have a few advantages others don’t. But he’s a magic user, so it’s going to be hard to separate what he can do because he has Talent, and what might be coming from a Native background.”

Zach turned to look at Art. If this was an informant, he probably had legal problems in his background. For him to have a power that Art had always wanted and fate had denied him felt entirely too unfair. “Has he trained with a Native spirit walker?” Art asked.

Kavon looked at Darren. “I’m ninety-nine point nine percent sure he hasn’t,” Darren said, “but he can recognize power when other magic users can’t even sense it yet because it hasn’t had time to fully separate from living magic. Yet he has no idea that he’s unusual.”

“I’m fairly sure he knows he’s unusually strong,” Kavon said. From his tone, he didn’t like the man, but then he didn’t seem to like many people. Art might be a pessimist, but Kavon crossed the line into misanthropy. 

“Humility isn’t one of his faults,” Darren agreed. “I’ll talk to Rima and see if she can give me any more information on his training. He has rejected three Djedi center teachers, so I don’t know what she can find out, but we can try.”

“A Native might have more success,” Art said.

“Sure,” Darren said, “assuming anyone knew where to find a Native teacher. Do you have a recommendation?”

“I don’t know anyone, but we can pass a message on to someone who could contact him, but that’s assuming you want him to have more access to power.”

“No,” Kavon said firmly.

Darren crossed his arms. “You and I both know an ifrit war is coming. You can’t say no when we need the help.”

“Sure I can. He’s a felon.”

“He risked his life to take down Luschese.”

Kavon stepped away from the rock and faced off against Darren. “He would have thrown in with Luschese if he got a better deal out of it.”

Now Darren was on his feet. “He wasn’t trying to get a better deal for himself at the end. He was desperate to protect Matt.”

“In the moment, yes. But do you really think that relationship is going to last?”

Darren crossed his arms, and the two men were mirror images. The last time the DC shamans had visited, Zach had the impression that Agent Oberton was the sort to go along with Supervisory Agent Boucher. Either they’d been playing nice in front of strangers or their relationship was a little more volatile than Zach had realized.

“Yes,” Darren said firmly. The two stared at each other.

“So, do you want me to give the Native teachers his name?” Art asked when the standoff went on longer than his patience.

“No!” Kavon said as Darren said, “Yes!”

“That’s clear as mud,” Art said wearily as he sank down onto the couch next to Zach. He looked over, but Zach could only shrug. It was his job to play nice with the FBI when their cases crossed or when the FBI requested shamanic assistance. It wasn’t his job to make two FBI agents play nice with each other.

Kavon sighed, and Darren dropped his hands to his sides. “If you’re looking for perfect people to fight at our side,” Darren said, “you’re going to limit how many allies we have if one of the evil ifrit come through.”

“He’s a felon.”

“I’ve worked with him. You haven’t. I’m telling you right now that he has an ethical code, and it might be a little banged up and rusty, but he tries to do the least amount of harm possible.”

Kavon narrowed his eyes. “That’s not a rousing endorsement.”

“So, according to you, only perfect people can help us?”

“I’m fine with Les getting involved when the time comes, and he’s far from perfect.” Kavon’s voice had a sharp edge of frustration.

Darren threw his hands up. “Right. He’s just a decorated law enforcement officer with two college degrees and who spends his free time volunteering in the community medical center, but he’s not perfect. If that’s your criteria, how many people do you think we’ll have on our side?”

“We’re out,” Zach said. Kavon turned to glare at him, and Zach raised his hands in surrender. “I’m not taking a position on this Angel guy because I don’t know him, but just to let you know, our idea of a nice evening involves beer and poker, not volunteering.” Zach felt a little guilty admitting that, but it was the truth. Zach’s days of volunteering hours and hours each week ended with his non-existent career as a lawyer.

“Beer and soccer,” Art said. “Poker is more your thing.”

When Zach turned back to look at Darren, Kavon had a certain slump to his shoulders. Clearly he had decided to give on this point, but he wasn’t happy about it. “This could backfire spectacularly,” Kavon warned.

“Maybe,” Darren admitted. “But how many times have our asses been saved because we had a source of magic no one expected? Hell, you hired Milton despite the fact he’s a raging asshole because you respect that he has basically invented a whole new category of magic user. So you know I’m right.”

“About needing allies who think outside the box, yes,” Kavon said. He sighed and looked over to Art. “Can you tell us anything about how the Native shamans see ifrit or where their power comes from?”

Art shrugged. “Nope.”

Kavon gritted his teeth for a second before speaking. “Now is not the time to hold onto a cultural belief in silence.”

Art stood and Zach bolted to his feet, ready to grab Art’s arm if he lost his temper. “I’m not holding onto any belief,” Art said fiercely. “My father’s tribe saw my guide as an outsider; therefore, I was never told anything of their beliefs.”

Darren put his hand on Kavon’s arm, but he focused on Art. “I’m sorry,” Darren said softly.

Art snorted, and his cat was suddenly there, sitting in front of Art and watching the two DC shamans.

“I apologize for that assumption,” Kavon said. “I don’t like making a choice like this without more information.”

Zach understood that, but he also thought Kavon was being a little high-handed. “Are you assuming that a Native shaman would train someone unethical?” Zach asked.

Kavon narrowed his eyes. “I don’t assume that someone who has Talent is any more or less ethical than the general population. So if you’re trying to push the idea that Native shamans are somehow infallible or able to read the heart of a human, I’m not buying.”

“Then buy this, Agent Boucher,” Art said. “The Indigenous communities aren’t about to share their secrets with anyone who might betray the community. If we turn your guy’s name over to one of the local tribes, they might send someone out there, but they won’t give him all their secrets, not even if we ask them to. But if they know trouble is coming back to this world, they might be willing to give us a few tools we can use to avoid getting our asses kicked.”

“It makes sense,” Darren said softly.

Kavon grimaced. “I’m going on record as saying I hate this idea. But ask your contact to check in on Angel Zamora. He lives in the Hillandale, Maryland area. I’ll email you a phone number.”

Darren smiled, and the air felt suddenly lighter somehow.

“While we’re discussing training,” Art said, “the El Paso area doesn’t have anyone to train shamans.”

“That sounds like a Salma issue. She can find you someone who can work with the council,” Darren said.

“Someone who can train me and Zach?” Art asked.

Zach lost the ability to breathe as he realized Art was not only willing to start training as a shaman but have them train together.

Kavon drew in a breath. “You need someone who can work with ifrit.”

“Yes.”

Zach’s throat felt tight. His pride in his lover was a little overwhelming, but Art was ignoring a big problem. “I agree that Art should be able to learn from the best if that’s what he wants, but Pochi has shown a lack of interest in giving me any access to Talent. Salma had to work with me for a week to get him to let me hitch a ride to the spirit plane.”

Kavon and Darren traded looks so quickly that Zach suspected he might have imagined it. 

“Even if Pochi doesn’t want to give you direct power, you could learn to navigate the spirit plane more effectively or watch for other returning ifrit,” Darren said, “unless you want to avoid training to avoid soaking up magic. It could be hard to explain how you got Talent this late in life.”

Art spoke up. “If I’m training, any magic that clings to him will be dismissed as residue from my Talent.”

“And people will judge you,” Kavon said. “After all, if you start developing your skills, people will assume that you’re being cavalier with your lover’s life.”

“My fiance’s life,” Art said calmly. “You accused me of putting him in danger when we first met. I didn’t give a fuck what you thought then, and I don’t care what other people might think of me in the future.”

“We’ll talk to Salma about getting someone who knows about the ifrit,” Darren said. “And thank you for warning us about the issue with Native shamans. That’s something that could have come back to bite us in the ass later if no one warned us. I’m sure Salma doesn’t know.”

Art stiffened. “She may not need to know, not unless she’s fighting on the front lines of this war. Native communities are secretive, and the more you give anyone information they don’t need, the less they will share with any of us shamans.”

“Understood,” Kavon said, and then both DC shamans were gone. Zach and Art stood in the middle of the empty landscape, a soft wind stirring the leaves. Nothing else moved—no birds, no insects, just the eerie silence of nothingness. Overhead, the light was starting to fade, and the sun glowed against the underside of the flat-bottomed clouds.

“He’s rude,” Zach commented.

“Neither of them are on my Christmas list,” Art responded. He reached out and took Zach’s hand and then they were back in the meditation room with the smell of couch-funk filling the air. Art’s cat sat in the corner watching them, but Pochi was still conspicuously absent. Zach tried to avoid worrying too much since the bird did tend to vanish for long periods of time. When Zach went to the firing range again, he’d show up. Art checked his watch and stood.

“How much time passed?” Zach asked.

“An hour.” Art arched his back until the bones cracked. 

Zach cringed. “I hate that sound.”

Art opened the door, and made a startled noise. In a second, Zach was up and off the couch, only to find a uniformed officer standing against the wall outside the meditation room door. “Detectives!” he said. “The captain wanted to talk. I’ll go get him.” The uniformed officer dashed off.

Zach peered around the corner at the officer’s back as he ran down the hall. “Are we supposed to go to his office?” Zach asked. That had sounded oddly like the captain was coming to them, which didn’t make any sense. Zach wouldn’t be caught dead in the meditation room if he had an office with non-molding furniture.

“It didn’t sound like it,” Art said. He turned to Zach. “Do you think he’s pissed about the FBI gunning for me? The man does love his interagency cooperation, and having the FBI accuse me of malfeasance is less than cooperative.”

“That’s not your fault.”

Art snorted. “Yeah, tell the captain that. I don’t think he’s going to care. Here he comes.”

Captain Williams was coming down the hall at a good clip. He didn’t seem angry. He was smiling. Sort of. In an awkward and pained sort of way.

“Detectives,” he said when he was still several yards away. “Can we talk in the meditation room?”

Stones gathered in Zach’s stomach and then started rolling around.

“Of course, sir.” Art stepped back to let the captain in, but there was so little space, Art and Zach both ended up pressed against the far wall so the captain could close the door.

Zach started mentally composing explanations—after all, he and Art hadn’t agreed with Dohosan’s claims. They’d simply remained silent, and the captain himself had ordered Art to not talk in front of the FBI. So they hadn’t done anything wrong. Technically.

When the captain turned toward them, his smile had faded. “I had a uniformed officer check in here for you, and I apologize for that. When Officer Clark reported that you were both unconscious, I realized that having someone come in here when the room is in use is clearly inappropriate. I’ve called maintenance to have them install a lock.”

Zach had a number of excuses ready to go, but that left him speechless.

“Sir, you don’t have to do that,” Art said. He started to say more, but Captain Williams spoke over him.

“Yes, I do. I know that other shamans who came through here commented that you had a powerful aura. I should have figured that you had a reason for avoiding shamanic business unless you had a case that required you to get involved.”

“That isn’t—”

“Detective,” the captain said, cutting Art off. “I am not asking about your religious practices. I am telling you that I have been remiss in assuming you want to act as the shamanic liaison to other groups, and if you are uncomfortable working Talent cases, you are under no obligation to continue. If you tell me you cannot work a case, I will reassign it, no questions asked and no mark against your record.”

Art’s neck was turning red. If anyone else had tried having this conversation, Art would have emotionally gutted them by this point, and worse, Zach didn’t know how to derail this conversation—not without telling Captain Williams the truth. They couldn’t do that. Art said in a slow and deliberate voice, “I don’t require any accommodations, Captain.”

“You may not need them, but if I don’t support my detectives, that makes me an asshole,” Williams said. “Just because you’re a shaman doesn’t mean you are obligated to arrange your caseload around that. And I want to apologize for allowing this room to become a storage area. We’ll get it sorted.”

Zach spoke up before Art’s head exploded. “Sir, you don’t have to go out of your way.”

The captain raised an eyebrow. “Right, so you like coming in here and smelling fifty year old body odor from that couch?”

Zach grimaced.

“Exactly,” Captain Williamson said. “And that’s why I do have to do something. I understand that you two couldn’t talk to me without betraying confidences, but I promise to do better about abusing that willingness to get the job done.” With that, he turned and left.

Zach grimaced.  “Technically, he’s right. We can’t talk to him because of the need to not betray confidences.”

“Shut up.” Art crossed the small space in three strides and stomped out of the room. They hadn’t lied, but Zach knew Art well enough to know he was going to feel like he had. And nothing Zach said would make it better.  He watched the meditation room door drift closed.

“Shutting up,” Zach said softly to himself. He would give Art a little time to find something constructive to do before he headed back to his desk. And if everyone in the precinct wanted to keep their heads attached to their bodies, they would steer clear of the man. Luckily Art tended to project his bad moods so that anyone paying attention could clear the area. At the very least, they could avoid asking Art any stupid questions. Sometimes it sucked loving a man who embraced lawful good. They got their tails in a knot way too easily because the world was built on chaos.

Chapter 1: https://www.patreon.com/posts/texas-charm-6-19034447 

Chapter 2: https://www.patreon.com/posts/texas-charm-2-19050307 

Chapter 3: https://www.patreon.com/posts/texas-charm-3-19066252 

Chapter 4: https://www.patreon.com/posts/texas-charm-4-19087127 

Chapter 5: https://www.patreon.com/posts/texas-charm-5-19132901 

Chapter 6: https://www.patreon.com/posts/texas-charm-six-19159661 

Chapter 7: https://www.patreon.com/posts/texas-charm-7-19179823 

Chapter 8: https://www.patreon.com/posts/texas-charm-8-19190078 

Chapter 9: https://www.patreon.com/posts/texas-charm-9-19201497 

Chapter 10: https://www.patreon.com/posts/texas-charm-10-19220764 

Chapter 11, 12: https://www.patreon.com/posts/texas-charm-11-19228890 

Chapter 13, 14: https://www.patreon.com/posts/texas-charm-13-19244456 

Chapter 15: https://www.patreon.com/posts/texas-charm-15-19264338 

Chapter 16, 17: https://www.patreon.com/posts/texas-charm-16-19276375 

Chapter 18, 19: https://www.patreon.com/posts/texas-charm-18-19290091 

Chapter 20: https://www.patreon.com/posts/texas-charm-20-19301548