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BARAKIEL JOKED with his fellow warriors as the battalion marched back to Covalent City, the Turning whirring behind them. He felt like he could fill the Realm. Before the battle, the Sylvan Three had worked their magic on his half-healed wounds. The power surged through him now, and when he got home, Zan would be there.
They were laughing about an incident during the battle. He had tried to toss a demon into the air. The heavy beast did not go far. Instead of its chest falling on his sword as he envisioned, he was left to shove his blade through its throat. His fellow fighters threw good-humored barbs. They laughed uproariously when he muttered something about lead balloons. They had no idea what he was talking about.
“Do not ever do that again, Barakiel,” Remiel said, though she was smiling. “It was foolish. You would never want young warriors to imitate it.”
“Yes, commander, I know. You will have to excuse me. I entered the battle in high spirits and our success made them higher.”
“I can see that,” Remiel said. She brushed him and passed a note into his hand. He tightened his fist around it.
After roll call on the Great Plaza, Barakiel waited near the monument to the Guardians for Foderen, his new traveler adept. Once assured that no one was around, he showed him Remiel’s note. It said only, “Wasteland.”
Barakiel guessed that Remiel meant him to go to the spot where he had met with her before. Sure enough, she was there among the russet hills, waiting. The warriors grasped each other’s shoulders and Remiel thanked Foderen for his assistance.
“I am with you, commander. Whatever it takes,” Foderen replied. “What Omsadiel told me makes me vomit. Literally. I have been vomiting each turn.” They all laughed.
“Speaking of Osmadiel,” Remiel said, “she did not want to risk being here today. She also wants to avoid speaking with Foderen as much as possible.”
“To safeguard me,” Foderen said.
“You should know, Barakiel, that we think Pellus is right,” Remiel continued. “You and he should investigate the Destructive Realm, but we need matters to settle a bit first. Especially given that Pellus and Jeduthan lost their good sense and went to the Earthly Realm for no reason.”
“The reason was celebration, Remiel. It was good for him. We certainly need Pellus in top form if we have any chance of success.”
“All right.” She spread her hands. “It is done. Now, he needs to stay put, visibly and obviously.”
“Could I take Barakiel to the Destructive Realm?” Foderen asked, pulling his blacks robes tightly around him to ward off the frigid temperature.
“Well. You are quite serious about doing whatever it takes, eh?” Remiel squinted at the adept. “But it is not necessary. We do not need the information until we know how many commanders are with us. Osmadiel wants to proceed cautiously. This means numerous conversations to get a sense of where they might stand, spaced far enough apart to avoid suspicion. Oh, and on that note Barakiel,” Remiel said, taking a step toward the warrior, “you can help.”
“What do you need me to do?”
“After your next battle, the High Command will allow you to attend a meeting uncloaked. You should act up over the idiocy of fighting to the status quo. Everyone expects you to behave that way.” She smirked. “Osmadiel and I will watch the commanders closely, to see if we detect any sympathy for your position, outside of those already with us, of course.”
“With pleasure, commander,” Barakiel said.
I suppose I deserve her smirk.
“Who is already with us?” Foderen asked.
“Hagith, Kalaziel and Ezmael.”
“Excellent.” Foderen rubbed his hands together. “Do you wish me to gauge the other adepts?”
“Absolutely not,” Remiel said. “The Guild has just been through an upheaval. Eventually, Osmadiel will speak with Ravellen. She will be our path to the adepts. Our only path. Understood?”
Foderen said he did, although his expression revealed he was not accustomed to commanders barking at him.
“Do you know what we need, Foderen?” Barakiel said. “Someone to cloak me. Can you learn how?”
“That is a tall order, but I will try. I will not speak with Pellus, naturally, but I think the process is documented in our records.”
Barakiel nodded. “So, Remiel, when do you think we should make this foray into the Destructive Realm?”
“It depends on our progress. We will give you ample time to prepare, of course.”
“Understood, commander.”
“Good. Now let us return to the city,” Remiel said. “I am so hungry I could eat a chukka beast.”
Back at her desk, Zan surveyed the pile of sinister-looking paperwork beneath the fluorescent lights. Mel came over and handed her a pen.
“Here you go. A nice new one for all your bureaucratic needs.”
“You’re a laugh riot, Mel.” Zan fake smiled and started in on the pile. When she had finished, Mel gave her a rundown of everything going on, which wasn’t much.
“You picked a good time to go on a three-week medical leave. You know how slow it gets around the holidays.”
“How nice of those demons to attack at the winter solstice.”
Mel cringed and looked around. “Don’t talk about that shit!” She put her hand over her mouth and spoke in a low voice. “How’re you doing, anyway? Gone crazy yet?”
“Oh, yes. I went crazy some time ago. How about you?”
“I have trouble sleeping, but during the day when I have a lot to do I mostly manage to ignore it.”
“Proving once more that you are wise.”
Zan’s phone rang. Nguyen wanted to see her. He asked her to bring the report on her accident she’d written that morning.
Every single bit of it made up.
She gave Mel an anxious look and headed to his office. Of course, he was on the phone, looking at a paper in his hand and waving it around as he spoke. Zan perched on a seat in the anteroom until he called her in.
“Welcome back, Agent O’Gara. How’s the shoulder?”
“Getting better, sir. Slowly but surely. I started physical therapy last week.”
“Good. We’d like to get you off desk duty as quickly as we can. Mel told me about the incident and I looked at the medical records when you applied for leave, but I’d like to read your report. Give it here.” She handed him the paper and looked at her phone while he read it.
“So,” Nguyen resumed. “The doctors aren’t certain your range of motion will return to normal.”
“That’s right,” she said with a wince.
“You realize, if it’s too bad, you’ll be on permanent desk duty.”
“I do. But I think I’ll be fine. Even the light physical therapy I’ve done so far has made it feel better.”
Except for the numbness in my hand, but I’ll keep that to myself.
“Excellent. Wouldn’t want to lose you in the field.” He smiled briefly, then pursed his lips to scrutinize her. “I have to say, I’m worried about you.”
“Why, sir?” The heat rose to her face and she cursed her Irish heritage.
“Let’s call it an instinct. An instinct stirred by several things. Not least, your highly improbable car accident.”
Holy shit.
“Now, you tell me, O’Gara, how your weapon manages to accidentally discharge?” He didn’t give her a chance to answer. “The only way a dual-action, semi-auto handgun is going to discharge that way is if you’re driving around with a bullet in the chamber. We both know you wouldn’t do that, Agent O’Gara. You weren’t on duty.”
“Uh, well, I don’t remember doing that, sir. But I must have. I mean, I don’t have any other explanation.” Zan tried to disappear into her chair.
“Yes. No other explanation.” He leaned back with his hands linked on top of his head.
“I think you know you’ve got a nice surplus on your Nguyen balance sheet,” he said. “The straw-purchasing operation this past summer was great. You fought with me to pursue that spleen case, and it led to one of the most important interagency busts the Bureau has had in years. We’re superstars, now. Better yet, we saved a lot of young women and girls.” Though his words were positive, his dark eyes were grim.
“But I’ve got to tell you, your expenses are piling up. We wouldn’t want you to head into a deficit situation.”
“My expenses, sir?”
“Yes.” He sat with his chin jutting out. “I say that because the spleen case and everything that came after it was weird. Really damn weird. My instincts tell me there are things you know about that case you should tell me but you’re not telling me. Why is that, Agent O’Gara?”
Keep your cool. Good outcomes. Good outcomes.
“I promised my informants that I wouldn’t reveal their identities, sir. Other agents have done this. Isn’t it justified?” Zan leaned forward, her elbows on her knees, her fists balled in front of her. “They wouldn’t have helped me without that assurance.”
“That may be true,” Nguyen said. “But I just can’t get past the strange.” Nguyen picked up a notepad, glanced at it, then dropped it back onto the desk with a slap. “No informant I recall ever served up evidence like yours. And shall we talk about that raid? You apprehended three armed men by yourself but you can’t really say how.”
Zan was relieved to find she didn’t have trouble looking Nguyen in the eye.
Maybe I should ask him why my name wasn’t in the goddamn press release.
“I got lucky,” she said. “How can I give a detailed explanation of luck?”
“Yes, yes. Luck.” Nguyen scowled at her. “Was it luck that made the men we had in custody afraid of you?” Zan raised her eyebrows and leaned back. “Yes, that’s right. I noticed, Agent O’Gara. I noticed the looks you exchanged after your private conversation. I feel like an idiot for turning off the recording equipment. You’re not supposed to have sideline negotiations with defendants.”
“Can you fault the outcome, sir?”
He sighed. “I knew you were going to say that. No, I can’t. But I want you to tell me, were your informants in that house during the raid? Did they help you? And if so, how in god’s name did they get away?”
Zan grabbed the arm of the chair.
I should tell him all the truth I can.
“All right, sir, yes. One of my informants was there. I don’t know how he knocked out three men. I didn’t see it happen. I did see him go out the window. I have no idea how he escaped detection. Maybe he hid on the roof.”
Nguyen rubbed his chin and looked out the window. He let his hand fall onto the desk.
“Are you still tangled up with this person?”
Oh, Mother Mary of Christ.
“Why do you ask that, sir?”
“Your injuries, Agent O’Gara. They do not seem car-accident-like in the least. A bullet wound and a shoulder injury like someone held you to a meat slicer.”
“Sir, I’m sorry. I can see you’re worried about me. It’s the rare boss who cares about his employees like that, and I appreciate it.” She smiled with her hand in her lap and her knees squeezed together.
What if he checks to see if there is a police report about this car accident?
“So I’ll confess. It wasn’t a car accident, but it was an accident.”
Nguyen leaned back. He flung one of his arms over the back of his chair. “Do tell.”
“Will I be disciplined?”
He subjected her to one of his lengthy Nguyen stares, but he didn’t seem angry. “No,” he said. “As I mentioned, you’re still in surplus. But I would like you to tell me what happened.”
“At the risk of moving into deficit, sir, I was not on duty when the accident happened.” She shifted in her seat.
Here goes.
“The accident affects my job, so you are entitled to my medical reports. You are entitled to make sure my medical leave was legitimate.” Zan had the urge to rub her sweaty palm on her pants, but she kept her hand in her lap. “But how I was injured is a different story. As I said, I was not on duty. I swear to you, I was not the victim of a crime. No one was hurt but me. If I engage in dangerous, um, play, it’s no one’s business but my own.”
Nguyen’s eyes got big. Unlike her pale Irish mug, it was hard to tell when he was blushing, but she thought he might be. A second later he regained his professional demeanor.
“Well, to an extent, you’re right.” He gave her a look, like she wasn’t as smart as she thought she was. “But in the FBI, if we have concerns about an agent’s stability we can send them to the head shrink.”
“My stability?” Zan almost cursed.
“Yes, agent, your stability. No judgment on your lifestyle, but you’ve obviously been going through something over the past few months. This is a tough job. I’m sending you to the psychologist.”
This should be interesting. Who knows? Maybe I could use it.
“I understand, sir. I know a few other agents who’ve said it was helpful.”
“It can be if you’re open to it. Please be frank with this woman. If you’re not going to tell me what’s going on with you, you should tell her. It’s confidential. This benefit is meant to help you, not catch you.” He glanced at his watch. “Do you believe what I’m telling you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Okay, good. Get back to work. The psychologist will call you to make an appointment.”
“Yes, sir.”
The other patients were fascinated by Rainer as he and Zan sat in the waiting room at her doctor’s office. He had insisted on coming with her, which was sweet, but now she thought he might regret it. He ignored the stares, looking out the window.
At least this waiting room is on the 18th floor. Nice view.
This was Zan’s second time in a waiting room in as many days. Yesterday, she’d spoken with the FBI psychologist. She giggled at the memory, causing Rainer to glance at her.
“Thinking about yesterday again.” He smiled and went back to the view.
Zan had told the psychologist that she’d met a man who was kinky eleven ways from Sunday. She told her this man got off on Zan acting like a fed, that he liked to play games with loaded guns, knives, and axes. Of course, they would be more careful now. She’d told him no more loaded guns. She’d learned her lesson.
The psychologist cautioned Zan that this relationship could lead to emotional damage as well as physical, based on her experience with women who’d been led into things they didn’t want to do.
“What makes you think I didn’t want to do it?” Zan asked.
“I got the impression this was new.”
“It is.”
“This is my point,” the psychologist said. “He’s influencing you. Besides the fact that playing with loaded guns might indicate a dangerous pathology, erotic tastes should be mutual.”
“They are mutual. He’s influencing me, yes, but not coercing me. He would never do that. And I like it. A lot. I just didn’t know I liked it.”
She used her phone to show the psychologist a picture of a shirtless Rainer in his training room, sword arced gracefully over his head, his muscles nicely flexed. Zan thought this was hilarious. She did it “for badness,” as her mother would say.
The psychologist blew air from pursed lips. “Okay,” she said. “I can see how that guy would make you want to try new things.”
Zan had barely avoided dissolving in laughter. Now, she had to stop herself again. She was called into the examination room.
About a month had passed since her injury. The doctor took off her brace and pushed and prodded her shoulder. He asked her to rotate her arm and tested how far she could extend it without pain. He asked her about the numbness in her left hand. She told him it was unchanged. Then he flipped through her chart, frowning.
“Well, Zan, it’s still too early to tell if your range of motion will return to normal, but I think you should be able to lift your arm higher without pain by now. I don’t want to be pessimistic, but I want you to prepare yourself. Your range may be reduced.”
“How bad? If I can’t lift my arm at least 45 degrees past shoulder level, I’ll be put on permanent desk duty.”
Which would make me miserable.
“It’s too early to say, but physical therapy might help you make that mark.”
Despite this statement, the doctor still frowned.
“What else?” Zan asked.
“I’m concerned about the numbness, and what I saw on your MRI. You appear to have nerve damage.”
The doctor lowered his eyes. Zan could imagine the look on her face.
“I wanted to give it a few weeks,” he continued, “but that numbness may be permanent.”
“I play the guitar.” Zan tried without success to keep the worry out of her voice. “Will that be affected?”
“You’ll still be able to play, I’m sure. Your dexterity may be reduced. You may not be able to play the way you did before.”
Zan could cry, but she didn’t want to embarrass herself. She doubted the doctor would understand how important her music was to her. How it helped her deal with stress. How the boys in the band relied on her to be good.
“Is there any chance the physical therapy will make it better?”
“There’s always a chance.” The doctor brightened, but Zan knew he was only trying to make her feel better. They discussed her physical therapy for a few minutes. He counseled her to avoid certain activities, then he sent her out to schedule her next appointment.
When Zan rejoined Rainer in the waiting room, he grabbed her waist.
“My love, what’s wrong?”
Normally, Zan liked how sensitive he was. Not right now.
So much for my game face.
“Let’s talk about it when we get home, please, honey.”
Once they were home, Rainer made them coffee. Zan leaned against the counter next to him, rubbing one foot against the other. When the coffee was brewing, he turned to her.
“Please tell me what’s wrong. What did the doctor say?”
“My range of motion may be permanently impaired.”
Rainer inhaled sharply. “Will it affect your job?”
“It might. I have to be able to lift my arm 45 degrees above my shoulder, or I’ll be put on permanent desk duty. The doctor thinks physical therapy can get me there.”
“But you will still be impaired.” He hugged her. “I’m so sorry, my love.”
“I know you are, honey. So please don’t get all upset when I tell you the next part.”
He held her at arm’s length. “What next part?”
“The doctor said it looks like I have nerve damage, probably permanent. The dexterity of my left hand will not return to normal.”
“Balance help me. Your music.” He hugged her again and pressed his face to her hair.
“Rainer, I asked you not to get upset.”
“I can’t help it. Look what I’ve done to you.”
“Honey, don’t you know I’d cut off my own hand to save you?”
“I know, I know.” He found her mouth, lifting her from the floor, his strong hands spread on her back, making her feel weightless. When he put her down, she had to catch her breath.
“This will not stand!” he said as he paced across the room. “I will take you to the Sylvan Three. I told you about them. They are powerful healers. They will fix you.”
“That’s crazy, Rainer. They heal the Covalent. I doubt they can heal humans. And how will I get there? Pellus can’t come here. I seriously doubt he’d agree anyway.”
“Yes, he will! He must! I will see him after my next battle. He will risk it for you. You saved me.”
She grabbed his arm to stop his pacing. “Honey, look at me. It’s crazy.”
“Yes, it’s crazy. So what?” He had a fierce look in his eye. She knew it well. It would do no good to argue. She let the thrill percolate through her veins.
He’ll get his way.