Page 32

We both stood up, happy to no longer be waiting. The PA rose too, as if to intercept me. “Just you, sir … if you don’t mind. Miss Hargrave should wait out here.”

“I do mind,” I said, walking past her and opening Marlow’s door, making a point to hold it for Kara.

I’d assumed, when no one had exited at the end of her previous meeting, that Marlow had been on a call.

It was now apparent that was incorrect. Her conference table sat ten, and all but three of the chairs were occupied.

Marlow rose from her chair at the head, her eyes narrowing as Kara walked in behind me.

The other guests didn’t bother to get up.

Three middle-aged men reeking of bureaucracy in dark suits, and three women, sitting opposite, all dressed in white.

I let my senses extend over them, and the one in the center wearing robes reeked of power.

I’d never met anyone so high on the bell curve.

She felt ancient, her eyes old, though her face was only lightly lined.

The one to her right was midrange, also old, with an expression of kindly wisdom.

The third of their trio looked closer to Kara in age, but was also high in power, though not to the extent of the matriarch in the center.

Her white clothing was dyed leather, jacket and pants both, over a white T-shirt.

Their aether carried the signature sting of light: sharp and clean, with a purity that prickled my skin.

All three of them were celestials, the first I’d ever met.

These guys were near-myth, policing the supernatural police.

Because of their angelic connotation—which was about as pure and white as demons were black and evil, so in other words, no different from anyone else—Washington seemed to see them as the do-no-wrong types. Their presence didn’t bode well.

“Mr. Sullivan,” Marlow said, drawing my gaze to her. “Please take a seat.” Her lips thinned. “And Miss Hargrave, too … since you’re here.”

‘Despite instructions to the contrary’ hung like an echo, but I ignored it, sitting at the other end of the table from Marlow. Kara sat on my right, next to the women in white.

Marlow took her seat again. “Introductions, I think.” She gestured at the men in suits.

“These gentlemen are from Washington. They are norms, and their role is to help oversee norm-supe interactions. This is Director General Albertine”—the man in the center—“and his assistants, Richard Morrow and Jonathan Greaves.”

I nodded with more politeness than I felt, and turned expectantly to the celestials.

“We are fortunate to have with us today Archon Elaris Wynn, and her colleagues, Exarch Ravelyn Calloway and Sentinel Iyoni Saelan.”

“Xan,” I said dryly, deliberately leaving off the title I had no real claim to anyway. “Nice to meet you.”

I raised an inquisitive eyebrow toward Marlow, but it was Archon Elaris that leaned forward.

“Are you a warlock?” she asked, her voice stronger than her years might suggest.

Nothing like getting to the point. The only problem was, I didn’t know the answer.

“When I’m not moonlighting at SPAR, I teach philosophy and run a bar.”

Elaris’s lips twitched, Iyoni gazed at me with an unsettling, serene expression, but Greaves huffed his disapproval. “This is no time for jokes ,” he said, like the very concept of humor was abhorrent to him. He turned to Marlow. “Doesn’t he understand how serious this is?”

I narrowed my eyes, trying to keep a lid on my patience. “‘He’ is sitting right here. ‘He’ has been summoned to a meeting and ambushed. ‘He’ saved the lives of seven SPAR officers yesterday. So ‘he’ might make jokes, if he feels like it.”

Elaris grinned, covering it too late behind a hand. Iyoni’s gaze grew even more piercing, her eyes so gray they seemed almost white, matching her clothing and platinum-blonde hair. Greaves’s neck reddened, and he looked about to spout off again, but Albertine raised his hand.

“You make a fair point, Mr. Sullivan,” he said, his tone that of calm mediation. “Nevertheless, you’ve ruffled many feathers. There are those in Washington that believe a warlock—if indeed, you are one—should be … shall we say … put down before they have a chance to grow in power.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Kara said sharply. “There are supes more powerful than Xan walking around all over New Providence—not to mention the rest of the world. Why aren’t they put down ?”

Albertine inclined his head. “True, Miss Hargrave, but only for now. If Mr. Sullivan is indeed a warlock, and he continues to bind more demons, his power will soon far outstrip any other supe on the planet.”

“So you fear him for what he could become,” Kara said. “How typically narrow-minded of bureaucrats.”

“There’s no doubting their bond, is there?” Exarch Ravelyn said, her voice wavering with age.

Kara leaned forward until she could see the Exarch. “Let’s be quite clear. I defend Xan because you’re attacking him and he doesn’t deserve it. In other words, because I choose to, not because of anything compelling me.”

“That is the rub,” Albertine drawled. “How can we be sure? For all we know, you defend him because either the bond or the warlock so drives you.”

He wasn’t wrong: that was the crux of it. I winced to hear someone else give voice to my—

“Not quite , Director General,” Elaris said.

“The bond does not compel a warlock’s vassals, except when the warlock is threatened.

I could throw a spell at Xan, and—” She broke off as Kara stiffened, and gave her a gentle smile.

“I’m not going to, my dear, it was an example.

But thank you for making my point.” She turned back to Albertine.

“Beyond that, the only way Miss Hargrave here would be so quick to defend him is if he had told her to, and he did not.”

“Hell, he could’ve told her to before they came in,” Greaves said.

I ignored him. “Let me get this straight,” I said, addressing Elaris. “She can do what she wants unless I’m threatened?” I might’ve just confirmed I was a warlock, but I was more interested in Elaris’ confirmation.

“Correct,” Elaris said. “Without a compulsion, a warlocks’ vassal can act like the rest of us. However, if you are a warlock, and you command Miss Hargrave to perform karaoke for us all, she would have no choice but to obey.”

“No, I wouldn’t.” Kara leaned back in her chair, like that was that.

“Respectfully, my dear, you would,” Elaris replied. “We might hope that he wouldn’t—”

“You don’t understand,” Kara said. “I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to. Xan gave me back my freewill.”

A heavy silence met this comment, and I had to resist the urge to facepalm. If there was any doubt I was a warlock, Kara had just answered it—though, to be fair, I’d probably already done the same.

Elaris cleared her throat. “How, pray, did he do that?”

“He told me I didn’t have to do anything unless I wanted to.”

“Did he now?” Elaris’ eyebrows rose. “And did it work?”

Kara blushed crimson, more deeply than I ever remembered seeing. “Um … kind of?”

“At the risk of embarrassing you, dear, would you mind elaborating?” Elaris gestured across the table to the suits. “It might help them understand.”

Kara swallowed, carefully not looking my way. “He … he told me to clean his bar, as a test. But it didn’t work because … well … his bar needed cleaning.”

Greaves shook his head. “See? How can we trust—”

“I understand,” Elaris said, cutting him off brusquely. “Based on how you phrased it— wanting to obey—I assume you felt his bar needed cleaning?”

“Yes.” Kara shrank into her chair, and she wasn’t the only one for whom this was fast getting so painful it bordered on the physical.

“Were there successful examples?” Elaris prompted.

“Yes.” She glanced at me, apology in her eyes. “He … he told me to empty a drip tray over my head.”

“And did you?” Elaris asked, lips twitching.

“No. I refused.”

“Fascinating.” Elaris leaned back with a smile of triumph.

“That goes against everything!” Greaves blustered. “A warlock’s minion can’t refuse.”

“The correct term is ‘vassal’,” Elaris said, her tone pointed, “and Miss Hargrave has adequately explained herself.”

“Well, I don’t believe it,” Greaves said. “I want to see proof.”

“I agree,” Marlow said, her gaze fixed on me. “I also wish to see some proof.”

I smiled. “Kara, tell Mr. Greaves you like him.”

Kara folded her arms, her smile matching mine—thin and without humor. “No.”

Elaris laughed. “Oh, perfect!” She leaned across the table. “Satisfied, Mr. Greaves?”

Albertine cleared his throat as Greaves sputtered his protests.

“Well, Mr. Sullivan, I believe we’ve answered the question of whether or not you are, in fact, a warlock.

As I was saying before this digression, there are those who feel you are too great a threat to be allowed to live.

” He held up one finger as Kara opened her mouth to interrupt him.

“Fortunately, you have some allies”—he nodded pompously to the celestials—“who believe a supe should be judged on their actions, not their powers.”

“Yet he controls demons ,” Greaves spat, glaring across the table at Kara. “Of course he’s evil!”

“Mr. Greaves,” I said, my voice cold. “I don’t have to be a student of philosophy to recognize a bigot, with the audacity to believe his ignorance is an asset.”

“I concur,” Elaris said, her voice as cold as mine.

“Director General, you and your colleagues are no longer required at this meeting. The agreement I came to with your superiors will suffice in your stead. You may leave. Furthermore, I expect a copy of Mr. Greaves’ resignation by the end of the day. ”

Albertine inclined his head. “Your will, Archon.” He rose, both the other two suits following his lead, Greaves red in the face and neck as he glared at me, his lips squirming like he wanted to speak. I channeled Kara’s disdain as I watched him leave, and it was easy.

The door closed behind them at last, and the room took a collective sigh.

“That proves my point, Director,” Elaris said to Marlow. “There will always be prejudice toward supes.”

“Fear and discrimination go hand in hand,” I said.

Elaris nodded to me. “Precisely. However, there is one final matter.” She paused, collecting herself, and her expression subtly hardened.

“Now that I have met you, and the lovely Miss Hargrave, I am willing to give you my blessing—figuratively, that is to say.” She gave a small smile, like it was a celestial joke.

“To that end, we’ve assigned Iyoni here to … observe.”

I glanced at the celestial sitting beside Kara. “Meaning what, exactly?”

“She’ll remain by your side from this point forward.”

I raised an eyebrow. “At SPAR, you mean?” I suspected she didn’t.

“No, Xan,” Elaris said. “Everywhere. All hours.” She gave Director Marlow a small smile. “Don’t worry, she has full security clearance.”

“Of course,” Marlow muttered.

I leaned back in my chair, taking a breath and letting it out in a soft hiss, the walls of my freedom pressing in once again. “Thanks. Not interested.”

Iyoni cocked her head to one side, watching me like I was a curiosity, her face so perfectly impassive she could have been carved from alabaster.

“I apologize for not being clear, Xan,” Elaris said. “It wasn’t an offer. Both the norm government and the supe council in Washington have mandated this as a condition of your continued … existence.”

I laughed. “Refuse, and you kill me? What of the great celestial view that all supes deserve to be judged by their actions?”

“My personal beliefs only go so far,” Elaris said, then pressed her lips thin. “For better or for worse, we are still beholden to those that govern.”

“So Iyoni isn’t merely my prison warden, she’s my assassin-in-waiting.” The death threats were getting so old, I’d skipped intimidated and gone straight to angry. “I so much as get a parking ticket, and a celestial blade introduces me to the afterlife in the name of elected officials? Is that it?”

“Not if you pay it.” Iyoni spoke for the first time, her voice soft and melodious. I glanced at her in surprise, and though her delivery was deadpan, there could’ve been a hint of humor in her steel-gray eyes.

“I will reassure you as best I can,” Elaris said to me. “Iyoni is not only a Sentinel—among our fiercest of warriors—she’s also an Arbiter, charged with upholding justice under the celestial creed.”

“Not very reassuring so far.”

“Our concept of justice is deeper than mere ‘right’ and ‘wrong’,” Elaris continued, like I hadn’t spoken. “One with your interest in philosophy would, no doubt, find it fascinating—though I concede you may not currently be in the mood for the nuances.”

“There’s no version of justice that isn’t a constructed ideal.”

“Celestial justice transcends morality.”

I gave a harsh laugh. “Authoritative justice isn’t justice at all. It’s a dictatorship hiding behind a fancy name.”

Elaris leaned back in her chair, her eyes narrowing. “Celestial justice is truth.”

“Then it’s a great comfort that you’re perfect.” I raised an eyebrow at Iyoni. “You are perfect, are you not? This would be a bad time to learn you’re capable of making mistakes.”

She smiled for the first time. “Good justice makes allowances for error.”

I supposed that was something. I stared at her almost otherworldly serene beauty, and knew I was looking at a face that could dish out death without compunction, then pat herself on the back for a job well done.

“My own personal judge, jury and executioner,” I said through gritted teeth. “Welcome to the team.”