Chapter Three

NATE HEFTS THE reusable shopping bag higher up over his shoulder as he knocks on the door, deciding to spice it up with a little extra flourish, a quick playful rap. Why not.

The peephole darkens. Nate grins and waves. The door cracks open just enough for Ravi to peek out.

“Nate,” he says, his rough timbre carrying a note of surprise.

“Secret Agent Man.” Nate taps a greeting to his temple. “Busy? I brought stuff.”

“Stuff?” Ravi opens the door, and his arm relaxes from its obscured position behind his back, revealing his gun. As much as Nate dislikes the things, he can’t fault Ravi for being paranoid. He brushes past Ravi as he enters the apartment and kicks off his shoes.

“Yeah, stuff. I come bearing gifts.”

Ravi’s place is open plan, the entryway leading into a spacious but barren kitchen and extending into the living room. All the furniture is either jet black or stark white, with chrome fixtures and minimalist accents. It looks like a very expensive hotel suite; neat, bland, and unlived-in. The only personal touches are the gaming consoles by the TV, a glimpse of what must be a small household altar by the bedroom, and a potted cactus in the middle of the kitchen island.

Actually, it’s three cacti now, Nate notes with interest, setting the bag down next to them. He turns around and leans back against the counter to give Ravi a business-like once-over from head to toe. “Well, you still look like death warmed over.”

Sliding his gun back into its hidey-hole under the counter, Ravi tosses Nate an unimpressed look. “Oh, do I? Sorry, what’s the normal amount of time to deal with this kind of bullshit? I could use your normal person perspective.”

Nate grins, not taking offense in the least. Better this snippy, catty Ravi than the closed-off, mopey version he’d been right after the airport. A circumspect glance over at the barren spot on the far wall shows that the fucking Seychelles poster is still taken down, thank God. Nate wonders what Ravi has done with it. He doesn’t seem the type to do the old burn-barrel thing after a bad breakup. “Bad” doesn’t do it justice; breakups don’t get much worse than what Cayenne did to Ravi.

“Studies show that the average amount of time to get over a breakup is three months and eleven days.”

Ravi tilts his head, and as he does hair slides from its usually perfect swept-back placement and falls over his warm brown eyes. Today he’s casually dressed, at least for him, just dark trousers and a barebones white button-up with the sleeves pushed up. No blazer, no tie, no cufflinks. Somehow, he still manages to make it look like haute couture. Nate, in his jeans and long-sleeved Henley, feels woefully underdressed.

“You’re making that up,” Ravi accuses.

“I’m really not. They do studies for everything. We academics gotta do something to justify all that grant money,” Nate jokes.

Ravi scrubs a hand over his close-shorn beard, glancing curiously at the bag on the counter. “You want a drink?”

“Sure.”

Ravi gets them both a beer, which Nate knows Ravi doesn’t prefer. Looks like Harry’s brand, that weird buckwheat stuff. Fortunately, the futuristic bar stools at the kitchen island are more comfortable than they look.

“So how are things going with Harry’s new training regimen? Val’s been laser-focused on it, I’ve hardly seen her all month.” Not that she’s particularly social anyway, but ever since Harry’s weird new gig has been revealed, she’s been even more reserved than usual, and rarely willing to leave Harry’s side.

Ravi settles into a stool around the corner, at a pretty good angle to avoid eye contact. Nate doubts it’s coincidence. “It’s going,” Ravi says, taking a small sip from the bottle.

“Yeah? The two of you having superpowered training montages?”

Ravi laughs. Success. It’s a small thing, barely a laugh at all, but Nate will take anything he can get.

“Let’s just say it’s a good thing the urumi can’t ever hurt the Chosen who wields it.”

“Pretty smart design feature.” Ravi’s always been aloof. Hard to read. Like there’s a wall running right down the middle of him, cordoning the really interesting parts of himself behind it. “My favorite thing about the urumi is how it kills stuff permanently dead. No monsters coming back from the grave to star in the sequel.”

Ravi smiles in his lopsided way, and Nate has to mentally repeat the usual refrain; don’t flirt, don’t flirt. It’s a constant battle of sheer will to hold back. Now, knowing Ravi’s preferences, it’s even harder for Nate than it always had been. Sure, the guy’s got the kind of looks that make people accidentally walk into lampposts, but even worse, he makes it too easy, always setting Nate up for the most perfect lines. Once, Ravi mentioned getting beauty sleep and it took every ounce of Nate’s self-control to not reply, You’ve gotten plenty, and that’s just one example of hundreds.

“One of the few things in this world able to thwart necromancy,” Ravi says with a tip of his beer bottle. And wow, that’s unsettling information Nate is definitely going to want to research further on his own.

“I see my cactus buddy has sprouted a couple of friends.” Nate gestures toward the trio of plants in the middle of the island.

Ravi’s frosty smile thaws a little. “Yeah…the first one looked lonely.”

“Well, thank you for making sure Mr. Cactus has some company.”

“Mr. Cactus? That’s the best you could come up with?”

“Why, what did you name the other two?”

The tips of Ravi’s ears darken a shade or two, so Nate knows he’s on the right track. “What makes you think I named them?”

Nate sets his chin in his hand and waits.

Ravi sighs. “All right, Rikkitikki and Tavi.”

Nate bursts into a loud guffaw. “You did not!”

“Look,” Ravi protests, hands up. “Despite my mixed feelings on Kipling, Harry called me Rikkitikki-Ravi when we first met and… It’s my favorite story of his. So, yeah.”

“Huh,” Nate muses. “It’s a good one. Brave mongoose protects defenseless family from evil cobras. Suits you down to the ground, my guy.”

Ravi looks away. “You got a favorite myth, professor?” It’s plainly an attempt to shift the subject away from himself, but Nate can’t fault him for that.

“I specialize in European and North American folklore, but picking just one favorite of the bunch? I don’t know. I guess it depends on the day.” Unsurprisingly, Nate’s usual favorites revolve around his heritage, a mongrel amalgam of Irish, Scandinavian, French-Canadian, and Sioux. Though he’s barely got enough Native heritage to qualify him for a partial scholarship.

Ravi picks at the edges of the label of his beer bottle. Nate watches out of the corner of his eye. Impossible not to notice that Ravi gets fidgety when he’s stressed, always wanting to move. Nate wishes he could help, do something to lighten his burdens. He wants badly to be Ravi’s friend. In the field, when their lives are on the line, being around Ravi always makes Nate feel safe. He wishes like hell he could return the favor.

“What about you, got a fave?”

Ravi glances up. “A favorite myth?”

“Yeah, I’d love to hear it.”

“Hmm.” Ravi’s brow furrows. He taps his thumbs on his mostly full beer bottle. “Yeah, I guess I do.” He tilts his head back, and the light spilling through the window catches him for a second. Christ, he’s unfairly handsome: in the sun his skin is flawless bronze, hair lustrous black. The kind of bone structure people would kill for. The fact that he doesn’t have a string of suitors is boggling. They ought to be lining up.

Nate himself is an attractive guy, but an affable, approachable sort of good-looking. Tall, blond, blue-eyed, works out, easy grin. The kind of guy you could get a drink with. Ravi, however, always looks like he just stepped out of a golden palanquin or something, like you’d be thrown in an oubliette for touching the hem of his garment.

Nate is aware that his opinion might be slightly overzealous and not accurately reflect reality.

“Okay, so long ago,” Ravi begins, his voice taking on a rhythmic cadence Nate’s never heard him use before, like he’s reciting from memory. “There were a thousand serpents, all brothers, who spread fear and mayhem across the land. One of these snakes was named Sheshnaag.

“Sheshnaag grew weary of this life and disgusted with the actions of his brothers. He wanted to be better than he was. He climbed all the way to the top of the Himalayas, where he lived a peaceful life focusing on his spiritual growth. When the gods saw this, they were so impressed with Sheshnaag, a serpent who could change his nature, that they offered him a boon. Anything he wanted.

“Sheshnaag told them that he desired only to serve. So now Sheshnaag the serpent holds up the whole world in his coils, keeping it safe.” Ravi takes a swig of his beer and makes a slight face. “Anyway. Better story than Atlas, right? That guy was always trying to find some sucker to take the burden from him. Sheshnaag volunteered. I’ve always liked that part.”

“It’s a theme with you, huh.”

“What is?”

“Service. Personal sacrifice.” Nate smiles, then points at Ravi’s beer bottle. “Don’t feel like you gotta drink that for my sake, man.”

Ravi’s ears darken again. “That’s not… It’s just a good myth.” He keeps the beer.

“It is a good one,” Nate agrees, not wanting to make Ravi uncomfortable by pressing the issue. “All right, present time.” He stands up and pulls over the fabric bag. Carefully, he extracts another potted cactus, this one a colorful succulent, and holds it up like Rafiki displaying Simba to all of Africa. “Another one you can add to your growing family here.”

Ravi stands and takes the succulent with a small, genuine smile. “This is…really nice.” He sets it next to the rest, carefully placing it so it’ll catch an equal amount of sunlight. “Thanks, Nate.”

“Sure thing, man.” He’s got a couple of inches of height on Ravi, but the way the guy carries himself, all lupine grace, sometimes Nate forgets that until they’re standing a few feet away from each other.

“This one have a name too?” Ravi asks, tucking his hands underneath his arms. “Mrs. Cactus?”

Nate clicks his tongue in mock disappointment. “So heteronormative, man. No, this one is Spike,” he says, plucking a name at random.

Ravi’s eyes crease slightly at the edges, his crooked smile evening out. Another success. Don’t flirt.

“Second and final present!” Careful to keep it flat, Nate pulls a pizza box out from the bag, its savory fragrance traveling with it. “Lunchtime pizza. This new place Downtown is no joke.”

“Oh, ah.” Ravi shifts his feet, scratching his cheek. “No, thanks.”

“It’s gluten-free,” Nate says, sliding the box over to Ravi.

Ravi goes very still, his fingers twitching once on the countertop. Slowly, he turns his head and regards Nate with a narrow look that for the life of him, he can’t parse. “I’ve never mentioned that to the team.”

Confused, Nate cocks his head. “Mentioned what, the gluten thing?”

“Yes.” Jaw tightening, Ravi draws himself up a little taller. “How do you know this about me?” It’s a demand, with steel behind each quietly spoken word. Nate realizes with a start what that guarded expression is. Suspicion.

Sometimes he really, really hates that French asshole.

“Ravi,” he says gently. “I like people. I pay attention. I have a doctorate in observing people, that’s the basis of all anthropology. Aside from a few sips of beer, I’ve never seen you touch anything with wheat. Not even when Harry brings those incredible pastries to a meeting.” He opens the lid and inches it forward. “No beef either. This one’s veggie.”

Ravi’s shoulders fall just a fraction, and Nate feels a sympathetic pang at the exhaustion on his features.

“I… Yeah. Thanks.” He snatches a couple of paper towels with a sigh and hands one to Nate. “Sorry, I…” Ravi shakes his head, looking disgusted with himself.

“Hey, don’t worry about it.” Nate waves his hand, smiling. “I know the whole team’s coffee orders by heart too.” He’s the normal guy of the team. Gotta make himself useful somehow, beyond distracting monsters with his hockey stick and the occasional research binge.

Ravi gets himself a slice and heads back to the barstool. “Creepy,” he finally says with the ghost of a joking smile.

“That’s me,” Nate laughs, making a face he’s pretty sure reads more as goofy than anything else.

Ravi takes a few bites and looks faintly impressed. “This is pretty good.”

“Not even a little cardboard-y,” Nate agrees. “So, you observe the beef thing, but aren’t vegetarian, right?”

Ravi shrugs one shoulder. “Not strictly vegetarian, no. Beef’s more a cultural prohibition than religious. Depends on where you’re from, your social class. Abhiramnews have lived all over India, so we’re kind of a melting pot of traditions. Besides, cows are too cute to eat.”

Don’t flirt. Do. Not. Flirt.

Ravi’s mouth acquires an ironic twist. “My family doesn’t exactly follow social norms, in case you haven’t been able to tell.”

Yeah, Nate’s been able to piece that together. Even putting aside their centrality in what seems to be, in all frankness, an apocalypse-themed death cult, Ravi’s family has serious money. Anthropologically speaking, the super-rich act like a country unto themselves, no matter their place of origin. When you have unlimited funds and your own fleet of jets, things like borders and nationhood and cultural traditions cease to matter so much.

“And we’ve had close ties with Europeans for…well, a really long time.”

With a cluck of his tongue, Nate shakes his head. “The scourge of colonialism, huh.”

Ravi huffs a laugh. “It’s where the power was. We went into the treaties with open eyes. Gave up some autonomy, but there were advantages too. Before, we were sort of nomadic, roaming around to whatever princely state would afford us the best opportunity to… Well. Run a monster-hunting cabal with as little interference as possible.” He munches a few more bites. “Crazy how much beef they sneak into everything here. Once I ordered a Mediterranean salad and it had steak strips on it.”

“It’s the land of the cowboy, can’t really blame ’em.” Nate takes a hearty bite of the pizza. He’d love some pepperoni himself, but this isn’t too bad. He could give up gluten if he had to. “What’s Sheshnaag mean?” he asks, unable to bite back his natural inclination to know every detail about a story. “Naag is snake, right? Like nagas and stuff?”

The look Ravi gives him is a little impressed, and Nate resists the urge to preen. Ravi seems multilingual, and all Nate knows is English and a handful of Quebec French phrases from his mom’s side. But he likes words and linguistics, enjoys finding the similarities and connections between different groups of people. Figuring out a new word’s meaning just from its roots is always enormously satisfying for him.

“Yeah, naag is snake, but reptiles carry a lot of symbolism. Shesh can mean ‘that which remains,’ so Sheshnaag translates to ‘that which will remain at the end of all things.’”

“Whoa. Badass.”

Ravi smiles, finishing up his slice of pizza. Nate pushes the box toward him, pleased when he takes another slice.

“Is Ravi short for anything?” Nate munches on his crust, head propped on his fist.

“No, just Ravi.”

“Hm. Does it mean anything, or does it just sound cool?”

This time Ravi smiles widely enough that it flashes white teeth. Nate’s a little short of breath at the rare sight. “‘Sounds cool,’” Ravi repeats, amused. “It means something. Doesn’t Nathaniel?”

Nate suppresses a shiver at the sound of his name in that voice. “You first.”

Ravi devours his second slice quickly, wipes his fingers clean, and takes another swallow of beer. “It means ‘sun.’ Not ‘son’ like a male child, but ‘sun’ like, you know, the big hot thing.”

Don’t flirt, don’t flirt, Jesus Christ, he makes it too easy.

“Fitting,” he says before he can think better of it. He means it; Ravi’s like sunshine hidden behind a bank of clouds. “Nathaniel is a run-of-the-mill biblical name that goes back a-ways. Means something like, God has Given. Or close enough. I’m not religious, even though I hang around a real-life angel and an avatar of a goddess.”

“Yeah, I get the impression from Val that there’s an interdepartmental kind of deal with the whole…upstairs situation.” Ravi motions vaguely upwards in a universal gesture for heavenly bodies.

“Boy, am I glad I went into the anthropology field and not into theology. This whole business would be giving me quite the existential crisis.”

“I can imagine. Hindus probably have an easier time with the concept than monotheists do.” Ravi suppresses a yawn with his hand.

Nate watches him carefully. “Be honest with me. How are you?”

Ravi shoots him a sidelong look. “You know the only one who doesn’t constantly ask me that is Val? She doesn’t do small talk. I really like that about her.” He sweeps his hand back over his hair with a weary sigh. “I kinda wish society agreed with her sentiment. Niceties are hard. They do this thing here where they say, ‘How are you?’ but they don’t really mean it. You’re just supposed to say, ‘I’m fine,’ and then move on with your day.”

Nate smirks. “So how are you?”

“I’m fine,” Ravi deadpans.

Nate laughs, broad and wide, and Ravi smiles. “Hey,” he says after a second’s pause. “I should apologize.”

“For what?”

“For snapping at you when you came in. I really do appreciate a normal perspective.” He contemplates his hands for a moment before setting them flat on the counter. “This may come as a surprise to you, but I don’t know anything about normal. Normal lives, normal childhoods, normal… Normal relationships. I’m figuring it out as I go.”

There’s a sudden pang deep in Nate’s solar plexus. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, even so-called normal people don’t always get that figured out either. Or have normal childhoods, for that matter.”

“I guess so. Did you?”

“Yup, pretty normal.”

“I’d…like to hear about it.” He seems genuinely interested.

Touched, Nate looks away, scratching at his stubble. “Sure, man, but my life isn’t interesting.”

The little sound from Ravi’s throat is split between disbelief and scoff. “Sure it is. Regale me with your exotic tales of normalcy.”

What can a nerdy professor who only discovered the true nature of the supernatural a couple of years ago possibly have of interest to tell a badass secret agent? Nate busies himself closing the pizza box to stall for time. “What sort of exotic tales are you expecting?”

“I don’t know. Suburban stuff. Riding bikes all over town with your little sisters, or something.”

Now it’s Nate’s turn to look at Ravi with sharp surprise.

“I pay attention too,” Ravi says, leaning in as if imparting some great secret, voice lowered.

Don’t. Flirt. “I don’t doubt it. Thought maybe there were some top-secret Trust dossiers on me or something.”

“Oh, there are,” Ravi says, and Nate can’t tell if he’s joking or not. “But really, I want to know. Did you…I don’t know. Beg your parents for a dog, and they said, ‘Only if you promise to take care of it’? Did you go on family road trips? Summer camp?” As he goes on, Ravi seems to warm to the subject. “Running after ice cream trucks. Baseball games. School dances. That kind of stuff.”

Nate chuckles because that’s easier than thinking about the kind of childhood Ravi must have had to romanticize those things. There’s a couple of faint old scars on Ravi’s forearms that Nate would wager aren’t his only ones. “Wow, is all your knowledge of Americana from movies and Norman Rockwell paintings?”

Ravi ducks his head with a chagrined smile. “Admittedly, some. I’d been to the States several times before I was stationed here. But always for work or Trust functions. Things like formal occasions at the Eaton Estate. Or special training at the Manhattan branch.”

“Ooh, special training!” Nate doesn’t bother disguising his interest. Not everyone gets to be friends with monster-slaying James Bond. “What did they teach you in Manhattan? Martial arts? Sharpshooting?”

Ravi’s wall creeps up higher, his tone all business. “No, that was… Among other things, Manhattan focuses on non-combat skills necessary for the job.”

“Like what?”

Ravi exhales sharply. “Enhanced interrogation resistance.”

“Jesus,” Nate says before he can muster up the appropriate amount of cultural relativism. He knows Ravi was as good as raised in a warrior culture, but sometimes it’s alarming how casually he refers to it. What “normal” looks like for him.

“See, this is why I’d rather hear about you getting a dog,” Ravi says coolly.

“Fair enough, okay!” Nate manages a laugh, which seems to put Ravi more at ease, the set of his shoulders loosening. “We did have dogs. All mutts and rescues. This one we had when I was thirteen, Leto? Sweetest dog in the world. Raised to be a hunting dog, but she was gun-shy and couldn’t be trained out of it. My dad bought her from one of his hunting buddies, and she lived in the lap of luxury the rest of her days, getting doted on by me and four girls.”

Ravi smiles in that way he does without actually smiling, only his eyes alight. “I’ll bet.”

“My parents do hunt; it’s a lot easier feeding a family of seven with a freezer full of venison. Bow and arrow only. Taught all us kids. So, Leto still got to catch ducks and live her best life.”

Ravi’s paying attention more closely than Nate’s students do at his lectures. Having all that keen focus on him is kind of intense.

“Why don’t you use a bow in the field?”

“Because I don’t own one? Because the last time I held a bow I was nineteen, and I missed half the shots I took? Because shooting a ravaging chupacabra is a lot harder than sitting safely up in a deer blind?”

“Okay, okay,” Ravi allows, finally finishing his beer. He’s stopped peeling at the label to listen to Nate’s story, which he’ll take as a minor win. “Was that your first brush with the supernatural? Chupacabras?”

“Nope, fortunately.” He’s only seen pictures, but those things are gross. Animals shouldn’t be so drippy.

“So how did you first get mixed up in all this, then?” Ravi leans on his elbow and rotates his wrist, his casual gesture somehow encompassing the totality of all weirdness in the world. He must have picked that up from Harry.

A hot flush begins to creep up the back of Nate’s neck, and he coughs into his fist. “Oh. Thought you wanted to hear about the normal stuff.”

“Sorry, yeah.” Ravi shakes his head ruefully. “Can’t seem to turn it off.”

“No reason you have to, my guy. Dealing with the supernatural is an important part of your life. Makes sense it’s where your head’s at.” His phone buzzes in his front pocket and he fishes it out just long enough to see a text from Harry before shoving it back into his jeans. “Maybe we should save that story for another time,” he suggests, and he means it. He’s willing to tell Ravi anything he wants to hear, even the sketchy stuff. “That’s Harry, we’ve got a…a thing.” A “thing.” Brilliantly deflected.

Fortunately, Ravi isn’t the type to pry and merely nods. “Sure. Thanks again for the ‘stuff.”’ He makes little air quotes with his fingers as he gets up to escort Nate to the door, a charming gentlemanly gesture.

“That’s what I’m here for! Making sure everyone eats and has an oxygen-rich living space.” He points a couple of fingers toward the little family of cacti before pulling on his shoes. “Spike was watered yesterday, you’re good for a long while.” The fabric bag gets folded and tucked into a neat square under his arm, and he pats his pockets to check for keys.

“Look, Nate…” Ravi pauses by the door, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m not going to get in the way of Harry’s…anything. If we do get…” Married, he doesn’t say, but Nate hears it regardless. Clearing his throat, Ravi looks at Nate with another one of those small, low-banked smiles, no less devastating for its size. “So, I’m not going to stop you if you want to keep barking up her tree.”

Another laugh is surprised out of Nate, and he automatically sets his hand on Ravi’s forearm. “That idiom’s about the wrong tree, so are you saying there are better trees I should bark up, sunshine?”

Ah fuck, that’s definitely flirting. Nate quickly withdraws, turning the touch into a companionable clap on the back. “See you on the jet! Maybe we can find a decent pizza place that does a cauliflower crust for you in the Big Apple. Pretty sure a New Yorker would rather die than serve that, but who knows.”

One of Ravi’s thick black brows is hiked higher than the other, but to Nate’s relief he just nods agreeably. The last thing Nate wants is to make him uncomfortable. He’s been through enough lately.

“See you, Nate.”

Nate taps his forehead in salute and heads out before he can find out if both feet fit into his mouth.