AM 7: Durance, chapter 6 (Patreon)

Kavon parked in the first spot he found. Parking in downtown DC was a nightmare.

“We have about a two block walk that way,” Darren said as he pointed east. “If our durance left behind the magic sink, that means he was doing something, right?”

Kavon hated that name. Durance. However, he could appreciate Les’s concerns about prejudice and language. The rest of them had been born in the area and they were used to the prejudice, the way law enforcement downplayed crimes against those with Talent, and the religious condemnation. The constant discrimination had inured them to the true danger. It had taken Les to point out the obvious.

“Possibly,” Kavon said. “We can’t make assumptions. In fact, this could be a trap designed to lure us in.”

“The docent, you mean,” Darren said.

And there was the other word Kavon disliked, although this. term had some logic behind it. Kavon got out of the SUV and locked it. The autumn air was brisk and the trees showed off their brilliant colors. Nothing on the street hinted at a coming war, but Kavon felt the tension in his shoulders. 

He wished his bull or Darren’s Bennu would show up. Their absence made him suspect that the fight had started somewhere else, an idea Kavon hated. 

As they walked down the street, Darren stood out in his jeans and a sweatshirt. Thousand-dollar suits and counterfeit knockoffs dominated this part of town, and Darren looked like a college student who had ditched class for the day. As a black man, if Kavon let himself go, someone would call him a thug. Kavon did not want to deal with that. Not this week.

They walked to the corner in silence before Darren asked, “What about the Monarch hotel? It’s right around the corner, and if I were returning from exile, I might want to go to the fanciest hotel in the city.”

“I don't think our suspects are concerned about room service,” Kavon said.

“No, but they might be concerned about people who are concerned about room service,” Darren countered.

Kavon had to admit he had a point. If they could believe Thuya, the ifrit would join with someone who could offer power and new experiences.

“Other than Congress or the White House, I can't imagine one place where you're going to have more power gathering under one roof,” Darren said. “Do you remember the case with the dead maid?”

Kavon did. It had been a nightmare of offended lawyers, diplomatic immunity, and blackmail. He sincerely hoped that Darren wasn’t implying that the evil ifrit might have joined with a lawmaker. Shamans targeting a duly elected official of the government was step one in any war between the mundanes and those with Talent.

Darren walked with his nose in his phone. “Social media says a rock star is staying here this weekend. That might be interesting and exciting.”

“Maybe, but if your rock stars are only here for the weekend, that wouldn't explain how there was a magical spill a week ago.” This was the oldest of the six sites where magic had been thrown around so that it soaked into the ground. A number of cities including El Paso and Mexico City had these spots appear in the last couple of weeks, but DC had more and the concentration of magic was greater. Kavon knew they were getting close when he spotted the broken up ground and bare earth in the planting strip between the sidewalk and road. Magic users had found the abandoned magic soaking into the ground and had stolen rocks, vegetation, and anything else they could carry away to power their own spells.

They’d left a hole a few feet deep, and some city worker had put a construction sawhorse over it.

“Don’t assume our suspect has a partner,” Kavon said. Right now he felt like assumptions were the greatest danger.

“He came an awfully long way to play the loner, especially when he’s so limited on his own.” Darren paused in front of the hole. 

The damage stopped just short of a tree. As a shaman, Kavon had no sense of the dead power left behind after magic had separated from guides, but Coretta had once told him that trees were particularly good at soaking up magic. She suspected that’s why wands had come to be associated with magic users—the wood had absorbed magic and the user would draw it back out to power spells.

Luckily for this particular tree, it was difficult to chop down a tree in downtown DC without getting caught. However, it had lost several lower limbs and a chunk of bark. It might die from the abuse.

“Someone really wanted a souvenir,” Darren commented.

Kavon snorted while keeping a close eye on the passing pedestrians. The art deco façade of the Monarch hotel contrasted sharply against its two modern neighbors, and Kavon let his gaze slip free of the real world. Angles and people grew hazy and his vision shifted. People became bundles of dully glowing wires floating past, each leaving a ghost image behind. A car passed, trailing a brilliant streak of red as another shaman sped through Kavon’s spirit sight.

Darren put his hand on Kavon’s arm, and Kavon let himself sink farther into the magic. The strain of pulling on his own resources made his heart pounded so hard that it drowned the sound of traffic. A few dull stains superimposed over the hotel suggested either weak shamans or adepts were staying in the building.

Kavon blinked away the otherworldly images, and for a second the physical world appeared disjointed and unpleasantly angular. Slowly that sense of alien wrongness faded.

Darren leaned close. “Anything?”

Kavon shook his head. A man standing near the crosswalk pursed his lips and glared at Kavon. When Kavon used his magic, the power made his faint freckles glow, so the asshole probably didn’t like seeing magic used on the street. Either that or he was an old-fashioned homophobe and he didn’t like how close Darren stood. Kavon didn’t give a shit. “You know how some people can make themselves hard to find.” Kavon had never been able to track Bennu with his sight, and there was a chance all the ifrit could mask their magical signature.

Darren nodded.

“Let’s check out the lobby,” Kavon said. They passed a couple who couldn’t stop fighting long enough to get through the door, but Kavon focused on the rest of the people in the lobby. Several people in suits sat or stood in small clusters, and Kavon almost groaned when he spotted the bright red NCCP button one of the men wore.

The New Christian Conservative Party. This group was so anti-Talent that even the First Purity Church had broken ties. They openly advocated for the sterilization of anyone with Talent or anyone who had Talent in their family. They claimed that was a more humane solution than violence, but every time of them appeared on the news, they would make that claim with a gleam in their eye that made it clear they would not be opposed to violence. They even turned on churches who had the blood-of-Jesus shamans, and they demonized all Catholics.

“Is that...” Darren stopped.

“Yep,” Kavon said in disgust. He had no idea how an ifrit might react to anti-Talent bigotry. If the evil ifrit—the durance—decided to wipe the NCCP off the planet, Kavon wouldn’t mourn them. He would, however, fight to protect the group. Kavon walked over to the public computer screen next to the check-in desk and waited as the various announcement scrolled past. NCCP Policy and Position Meeting, NCCP Lobbying Training, NCCP Lawmaker Luncheon. The hotel was having a damn convention.

Darren blew out a breath. “Oh boy. This definitely didn’t show up on the Internet.”

“Uh huh.” Kavon mentally probed his magical reserves. He’d grown used to the presence of his bull in the corner of his room and the quick and ready help from Bennu, who always wanted to find a way to share his power. Nothing made Bennu happier.

Without the two guides, Kavon had to hoard his magic more carefully. He’d gotten out of the habit. Worse, Darren could only hold a thimbleful. His capacity to store magic had slowly grown over the last year or so, but without Bennu, he was still helpless in ways that made Kavon deeply uncomfortable. 

Kavon had to stomp down on an overprotective well of anxiety that made him want to wrap Darren in cotton. While it was true, as Darren always reminded the group, a bullet stopped a bad guy faster than a chant or spell, these ifrit had changed the equation. 

“Kavon?” Darren gave him an odd look.

Kavon tightened his control over the bond. “I'm fine.”

“So,” Darren said, “did our mysterious shaman or durance drop magic bombs outside because of the NCCP, or is this a coincidence?”

Kavon scanned the room. There was an older woman sitting at the hotel bar watching the room and a man who wandered from small group to small group trying—and failing—to engage others in conversation. A young hotel employee projected aggravation, and a man with a service dog appeared busily reading his laptop, but his hand kept twitching. Kavon kept his attention on the lobby as he answered. “You know how I feel about coincidence.”

“Yep, but your disbelief does not change the fact that sometimes it happens.”

Kavon understood that; however, it was equally possible that the ifrit had decided to target these people because one of them wanted power. Kavon suspected most of them hated Talent because they felt insecure around those who could control magic. If a powerful and old guide offered them power, Kavon imagined more than one would take that offer.

In the years Les had worked with the team and read the emotional pile of various suspects and witnesses from anti-Talent groups, he had reported more fear than righteousness. And the ifrit would have the advantage of being in a group that would not recognize Talent. 

“Ten o’clock,” Darren said under his breath. Kavon glanced over to see Mr. Schmoozer heading their way.

Kevon stepped forward, and the man gave him a smile. “Good morning,” the stranger said as he held out his hand. “Mason Butler. So are you here for the conference?”

Kavon ignored the outstretched hand, but Darren shook it. “Darren Oberton, and this is my partner Kavon Boucher.”

“Partner?” Mason looked from one to the other. “I’m going to assume you’re not part of the NCCP. So, are you gentlemen here to protest the action? To serve legal papers? To poison the buffet?” Butler gave the last option in a mocking tone, but he studied Kavon and Darren a little too closely.

“Why? Are you security?” Kavon asked.

Mason’s smile grew wider. “If you are planning on poisoning someone, I'd love to get a comment.”

“You’re a reporter,” Darren said as if that wasn’t already obvious.

“Guilty as charged, not that I want to show my credentials around this place.” Butler put his back to the wall and scanned the room. “These people are a little on the fanatical side, and my publisher happens to support shamans’ rights. So, would you care to give me your opinion on the new conservative freedom party's platform?”

“No comment.” Kavon walked away. If the ifrit was here, it was hiding, and Kavon had little to no chance of flushing it out.

“Come on, you must have an opinion.” Butler chased after them. “Everyone has an opinion.”

Kavon pinned Butler with his coldest glare. “And why do you care about mine?”

The unctuous charm vanished, and Butler’s expression turned more serious. He leaned closer and dropped his voice to a whisper. “Maybe I’m curious about why one of the three members of the DC shamanic counsel would show up for an NCCP conference. Is this FBI business, or are you out here for the council?” Butler’s body was braced as if ready for a fight.

Kavon cursed the fact that his council seat made him a damned public figure. People with an interest in shamanic business went out of their way to know his name and face, and Butler obviously had. Tapping his limited pool of magic, Kavon felt for the emotional threads around him. As an adept, Les could read emotional piles more easily, but with effort and an expenditure of his own resources, Kavon was able to do the same. 

He had grown far too used to having Bennu’s power to draw on because the emotions felt dulled and muted. Curiously pricked at his skin, and suspicion. Kavon might have picked up a hint of anticipation. All that fit with a reporting wanting to make a story, but Kavon was not about to show up in the newspaper. “No comment,” he said before he nodded toward the door. Darren high-tailed it. He had always claimed reporters gave him hives, so Kavon wasn’t surprised.

Butler fell in next to Kavon. “I’ll keep it anonymous and just use you for background. Off the record, is something going on?”

Kavon walked faster, but Butler followed him out onto the sidewalk.

“Has there been a threat made against the crazy brigade?”

“Aren't you supposed to maintain journalistic objectivity?” Kavon asked.

“They’re inside voting on whether or not the Bible commands them to kill anyone with Talent.” Disgust stained the air. “That’s my Bible they’re maligning, and I'm pretty sure objectivity ends when conspiracy to commit homicide begins. Is that why the FBI is here? Are you looking at the NCCP as a potential terror group?”

Darren spoke up. “No comment means no comment. You're barking up the wrong tree.”

Butler made a show of looking around. “I don't know, it looks like there are a lot of leaves and a few branches. In fact, you two are looking pretty tree-like.”

“Yes, well, these two trees are on vacation,” Darren said firmly. Kavon would rather he not engage with reporters, but Kavon kept that opinion to himself.

“You're on vacation so you hang out around a bunch of conservative nutballs who think you should be tied to a stake and burned?” Butler kept his voice relatively soft, but the tone was growing sharper. “You have an interesting definition of vacation.”

“Move away or I will consider this harassment,” Kavon said. Now that he was a political figure, he wasn’t sure he could make that charge stick as well as when he’d been a simple FBI agent, but he was willing to try.

Butler backed away, his hands up. “Right. Fine.” He turned to Darren. “Is he always this cranky?”

Darren didn’t even hesitate. “Yes.”

Butler rolled his eyes. “Fine. But if you are here as part of your job in the FBI, I might unofficially encourage you to keep up the good work.” Butler walked backward for several steps before he turned and went back into the hotel.

Darren frowned, worry seeping through the bond. “What does he know that we don’t?”

Kavon didn’t answer, but he had to admit that he was a little concerned. “Text Les and see if you can get some background on our reporter.”

“Assistant Director White is going to kill us if we stumble into a terror plot on our vacation,” Darren complained softly, but he was already texting. Kavon was less worried about White than he was about the last flare of fear he’d gotten from Butler. If someone was plotting, the staff were in the best position to know about it. 

Chapter 7: https://www.patreon.com/posts/am7-durance-7-22675390 

Chapter 8: https://www.patreon.com/posts/am-7-durance-8-22684193 

Chapter 9: https://www.patreon.com/posts/am-7-durance-9-22744305 

Chapter 10: https://www.patreon.com/posts/am-7-durance-10-22817775 

Chapter 11: https://www.patreon.com/posts/am-7-durance-11-22905312 

Chapter 12: https://www.patreon.com/posts/am7-durance-22974766