Mocker of Ravens Page 2

  John nuzzles against him, lips trailing affectionate kisses over Gray’s collarbone as he wraps a towel around John. “This was good?” he asks John, because this is still so new.

  Caleb snorts, in the space where their minds touch. “Dude, he screamed your name so loud the neighbors probably heard it over the thunder.”

  Even so. I would not take this for granted.

  Oblivious to their exchange, John rewards him with a soft, contented smile. “Yeah,” he says, leaning into Gray. “It was good.”

  Chapter 2

  Caleb jolted awake, a scream of denial dying in his throat.

  The power had kicked back on at some point, and cool air wafted over his skin. The ceiling fan turned slowly over the bed, and the soft glow of the city lights filtered through the gauzy drapes. He took a deep breath, smelled skin and rain and John’s shampoo.

  No blood.

  He blindly stretched out a trembling hand to John’s side of the bed, too terrified to look. His palm landed on what felt like a shoulder, warm and solid.

  Alive.

  Oh God.

  The dream haunted him, night after night, ever since the assault on Fort Sumter last March. Gorged on demons, on another drakul, the titan that was Gray’s true form turned its attention to the city with the intent of going ashore and drinking the blood of every living being in Charleston. Of the southeast. Of the world.

  But one thing stood in their way. One tiny mortal, shouting at them over the hurricane they’d summoned.

  John.

  And in the dream…in the dream, Caleb ate him. Tore him apart and feasted on his blood.

  Gray stirred, a watchful tiger uncoiling from its rest. “But we did not. I do not understand these dreams of yours. Why are you so troubled over something which did not actually occur?”

  Because it could have. They’d been so fucking close, right up against the line of turning into a monster of hunger and blood. And John would have been their first victim, because of course he wouldn’t abandon anyone he loved, no matter what they’d become.

  “But it did not.” Bafflement. “This is mortal foolishness.”

  Ah, yes, mortal foolishness. Gray’s diagnosis for everything. Because Gray wasn’t human and never would be. He was a creature of the moment, who didn’t cling to past grudges, or old regrets, or anything else. What was done was done. End of story.

  “I am glad things happened as they did. If John had died…” Gray seldom hesitated, and Caleb sensed a flash of pain, deep and cutting. “But he did not. Your dreams lie to you. And I do not understand why.”

  Caleb let out a long sigh. I know you don’t. It’s just mortal nonsense, like you said.

  “Indeed.” But Gray eased up against him in the shared space of their brain, a sensation like an enormous tiger curling protectively around him. Or maybe like being wrapped in a heavy blanket woven from love and affection.

  Because that was what made all of this craziness, all of the violence and pain and straight-up weirdness, bearable so far. Gray loved him. Not like he loved John—and Gray did love John, with the same guileless passion he applied to every damn thing, from hunting to fucking. But he loved Caleb in a way so complete and deep it went beyond words.

  “You are my other self.” As if that explained anything. “I do not wish to feel you suffer, but I do not know how to make it stop.” A pause, as if an idea had suddenly occurred. “You should ask John. He is mortal. He will understand this nonsense.”

  One of the world’s great thinkers, Gray was not. Still…I don’t want to worry him.

  “He would wish you to tell him.”

  Damn drakul was getting pretty good at figuring out mortal behavior. When it came to John, anyway. I don’t know. I need to think about it, okay?

  Gray didn’t like it, but for once he didn’t argue. Caleb lay still and watched the ceiling fan spin its lazy circles, until the alarm on John’s phone went off a couple of hours later.

  * * *

  Caleb was still out of sorts when they pulled into SPECTR-HQ. He sipped coffee from a travel mug, although he wasn’t entirely sure caffeine even did anything for him anymore, just like he couldn’t get drunk or stoned. Not to say he’d tried the latter since getting possessed. No way would Agent John Starkweather be okay with his boyfriend smoking weed. Besides, there didn’t seem much point in taking the risk of scoring a hit, when Gray would just fuck with their metabolism until the high went away.

  “I will not allow you to damage our body. Why do you wish to do so?”

  Says the drakul who routinely gets us mauled by demons.

  “That is different,” Gray replied loftily.

  Caleb must have snorted aloud, because John said, “Did you say something, babe?”

  Despite the early hour, John was bright-eyed and ready to go. His confidence in SPECTR took a big hit when it turned out the head of the Research Division was building a demon army, but the takedown at Fort Sumter alongside so many of his fellow agents had gone a long way toward restoring it.

  “Just wondering how I ended up dating a guy in a suit,” Caleb replied. Although “dating” probably wasn’t the right word. “Let alone hanging out with him twenty-four seven.”

  John grinned and cast him a warm glance. His dark hair made his blue eyes stand out; Caleb would have noticed them even if they’d met before Gray decided to hop a ride. But with Gray’s enhanced sight super saturating everything, their blue stood out like lasers, the most intense color Caleb had ever seen.

  “And the first color I ever saw.”

  A line of nearly identical government-issue sedans waited to get through the security checkpoint into the SPECTR-HQ parking lot. John eased the car forward as the line crept one car length, then stopped again. “Because I’m irresistibly charming, of course. Not to mention my dazzling good looks.”

  “I think your modesty is what I like most about you, Starkweather.” Caleb shook his head, but his mood had lightened.

  It wasn’t terribly unusual to see a handful of protestors cluttering the sidewalk in front of HQ. Today there were two groups, both chanting slogans and waving signs at the line of cars. Caleb’s eyes skimmed over the usual signs: “God Hates Mals,” “Exodus 22:18,” and the ever-popular “SPECTR = SATAN.”

  For whatever reason, counter-protestors had shown up this morning. “God is Love,” “I Love my Paranormally Abled Daughter,” and “Human rights for all.” Caleb doubted they’d change the minds of the other group, but it didn’t hurt to start the day with a reminder that everyone didn’t think he was going straight to hell.

  A man in a button-down shirt peered inside the car, a slight frown on his face. Caleb wasn’t sure whether he should scowl back, since the guy stood on the pro-paranormal side. He became even less sure when the man approached the sedan.

  “They aren’t supposed to actually interfere with us, are they?” he asked.

  “What?” John turned his attention to the approaching man. “Wait. Is that…?”

  Without answering his own question out loud, John powered down Caleb’s window. The warm morning air blew in, bringing with it the smell of pavement still wet from the previous night’s storm. The rising sun had already turned the city into even more of a sauna than usual.

  “Nigel?” he called, leaning over Caleb.

  The man’s face split into a wide grin. Caleb sized him up, wondering if he was about to encounter one of John’s ex’s. The guy didn’t seem John’s type, though—his hair was too short, for one thing, which was a laugh given John’s neatly trimmed hair. Middle-aged, with gray starting in his sandy hair at the temples and a pair of silver-rimmed glasses, he looked more like a professor than a protestor.

  “John Starkweather,” the man—Nigel—exclaimed, a pleased grin on his face. “Good to see you. It’s been too long.”

  “Nigel Legare, allow me to introduce Caleb Jansen,” John said. “Nigel retired from SPECTR a few years back. I learned a lot from him when I was still wet behind the ears.”

  Nigel snorted. “And here I thought you knew everything right out of the Academy. You certainly acted like it.”

  Caleb laughed. “That sounds like John.”

  “Hey, now,” John protested.

  Nigel’s light-brown eyes took in Caleb’s attire. “I take it you aren’t an agent, Mr. Jansen?”

  “Caleb, please. And no. I’m a contractor.”

  “So what are you doing with yourself these days?” John asked, with a pointed glance at the counter protest.

  Nigel smiled. “I might have left SPECTR, but I didn’t leave my paranormally abled brothers and sisters. I’ve been devoting most of my free time to a support group.”

  “Support group?” Caleb asked.

  “It can be hard, being paranormally abled,” Nigel said seriously. “Families reject us. Friends, sometimes. We can be fired from our jobs or denied housing on a whim. It’s good to have a group of friends to talk to when things get difficult, and to cheer for us when things go well.” Nigel reached into his pocket and fished out a card. “This is our group. We meet every Sunday evening. Give me a call if you’d like to stop by sometime.”

  A horn beeped behind them. Nigel stepped back hastily. “I’d better let you go before we get run over,” he said with a wave. “It was nice meeting you, Caleb.”

  “So why did he quit?” Caleb asked, once they’d edged forward a car length or two.

  John shrugged. “The same reason a lot of other agents leave. The job isn’t easy, and he finally burned out after a bad case. I’m glad he’s found something positive to focus on.”

  They finally reached the head of the line. As always, the guard in the security hut wore the green armband of an empath. Caleb suppressed a shiver and looked away, even as John exchanged a
friendly bit of chitchat while showing his badge and Caleb’s ID. Empaths couldn’t sense Caleb anymore, thanks to Gray. No one could crawl around inside his head any more, taking a peek at his most private emotions. But they still freaked him out.

  SPECTR-HQ looked relatively unassuming from the outside. In reality, most of the facility was buried deep underground, burrowing a good seven stories underneath them. Past the visitor’s parking lot, the line of sedans followed a long, curving ramp to the underground garage.

  John waited patiently for the cars in front of them to sort themselves out, before pulling into a space. Caleb took one last swig of coffee and abandoned the travel mug in the cup holder.

  A crowd of agents waited in front of the elevator, all of them dressed in three-piece suits, like they were on the way to a photo shoot for Government Drone Monthly. Even at a distance, Caleb felt their eyes cut in his direction and heard the murmur of conversation fall silent.

  Sure, he stood out. He could have gone for the whole suit-and-tie look, but since he was regularly getting up close and personal with things with claws and teeth, it only made sense to dress the part. A heavy coat of black elk leather, lined with kevlar, flapped around his calves. Thick leather pants, a soft t-shirt, and a pair of ass-kicking boots with thick tread and a half dozen silver buckles each, finished the ensemble. His hair, hanging loose down to his elbows, stood out in a sea of buzz-cuts.

  Truthfully, though, even if he’d chopped off his hair and put on a suit, they’d still be giving him the side-eye and falling quiet. It just might have taken a little longer for the non-exorcists in the crowd to recognize him.

  As they approached, several of the other agents seemed to recall items left in their cars and scurried off. They gave Caleb a wide berth as they did so. He pretended not to notice.

  He’d had a lot of practice lately pretending not to notice.

  “Morning, Jim,” John said cheerfully. He seemed to think if he just acted normally, everyone else would come around. “Karl—is your daughter feeling better?”

  There came a few murmurs, just enough to be polite, then silence. No one looked at Caleb.

  The elevator doors slid open. The crowd shifted, and Caleb found himself the first on. John stepped in with him. A scattering of other agents shuffled in after them. Even though the elevator wasn’t close to capacity, no one else got inside, and a moment later the doors closed.

  Caleb folded his arms over his chest and leaned back against the stainless steel wall, trying to look nonchalant. John gave up any attempt at conversation, as they all stared at the floor numbers ticking past. As soon as the doors opened, the other agents hurried out. Caleb followed at a more leisurely pace.

  A few agents had been scared of him, back when he was first possessed. Most of them were just confused as to why the district chief let a possessed guy roam free. But after Fort Sumter…

  The events of the night were classified information. Of course word got out anyway, and now everyone looked at Caleb like he was one heartbeat from vamping out and eating the whole fucking office.

  “They are foolish to fear us. Mortals are not food.”

  But drakul do eat people sometimes.

  “The mad ones do. We are not like them.”

  No. But they might have been.

  Except for the lack of windows, the cube farms, bland beige carpet, and fluorescent lights could have belonged to any office building. Caleb shook his head—he would never have imagined himself working in a fucking office, shuffling paper and trying to figure out how to unjam the copier. After everything with Forsyth and RD, he should have told SPECTR to go screw themselves. But the arrangement made John and Gray happy, so who was he to complain?

  “And yet you complain about it a great deal.”

  As they approached the door to the office they shared, John fished out his keys. He was just reaching for the knob when the smell hit Caleb’s nose.

  “Garlic oil,” he managed to spit out, before sneezing. Just his luck, one of the few things about vampires the folktales got right was the garlic allergy. It wouldn’t injure him, but it made him damned uncomfortable. At least he didn’t actually touch the shit this time, like he had earlier in the month. His whole hand had felt like it was on fire.

  “Damn it.” John sighed. “Hold on. I’ll get a damp paper towel from the bathroom and wipe it off.”

  “Yeah.” Caleb backed away, before the fumes sent his eyes to watering. Standing in the hall with a red face, tears and snot streaming everywhere, would give whatever asshole thought this was funny a big laugh, wouldn’t it?

  John cleaned it up quickly, thank God. As soon as they entered the room, Caleb kicked the door shut behind them. He wasn’t in the mood to see any of the dipshits they worked with right now.

  John winced as the door slammed. “I’ll complain to Barillo, okay?”

  Caleb flung himself into his chair. Two desks turned the office from spacious to cramped, but at least they weren’t in the damned cube farm. God only knew what kind of hazing he’d get if people could get into his things. “And I’m sure it’ll do just as much good as it did the first three times.”

  John’s mouth tightened. “He can’t ignore it. It’s not professional.”

  “He’s probably the one doing it,” Caleb muttered. He never thought he’d miss Indira Kaniyar, but she wouldn’t have put up with this shit for a second.

  Of course, now she was off in Washington being the new Director of SPECTR, which left them stuck with her replacement, District Chief Michael Barillo. Caleb was starting to wish John had some ambition beyond being an ordinary field agent. If he climbed the ladder a few rungs, surely he’d get transferred somewhere else.

  Not to say SPECTR would let Caleb go with him.

  “They would have no choice.”

  John glanced at the closed door, then reached over the desks and took Caleb’s hand. “Look, I know this hasn’t been easy. Someone thinks he’s a practical joker and doesn’t realize this sort of thing stopped being funny after high school. We’ll get it straightened out.”

  Caleb wanted to believe John. He did. But he couldn’t shake the feeling what John saw as stupid jokes were just the surface of something much deeper.

  John’s phone rang before Caleb thought of a reply. John scooped it up immediately. “Starkweather here. Yes, sir. I’ll be right there.”

  “Barillo?” Caleb guessed.

  John nodded. “He wants to see me in his office.” Funny how, even though they worked together, Barillo never called both of them in when it came time to give orders. “I’ll be back soon. In the meantime, why don’t you get in some reading?”

  Caleb suppressed a groan. Up until last spring, he’d managed to keep his telekinesis hidden from the world. So while paranormals like John were at the state school learning about different abilities, and demons, and God only knew what else, he’d had an ordinary education, followed up by a couple of years in a community college art program. He didn’t know shit about etheric theory, or how other paranormal abilities worked, or any of the things most of the agents took for granted. And on top of that, he needed to learn about SPECTR procedure so he didn’t do something stupid and get John in trouble.

  “Can’t I just skip the studying and suck off the teacher for a good grade?” he suggested hopefully.

  “Well, at least now I know how you passed math class,” John said.

  “I’m not bad at math!”

  “Mmm hmm.” John leaned over and kissed him on the hair. “I’ll be back soon, okay?”

  “You are terrible at math,” Gray informed him as the door shut behind John.

  “Shut up,” Caleb muttered. “You can’t even count to twenty.”

  “That is not true. One. Two. Three—”

  “All right, all right, stop. Christ.” Caleb flipped open the nearest book. “Assholes hazing me, homework, an annoying best friend. I swear I’m stuck in a bad YA novel. At least I don’t have acne.”

  Chapter 3

  “Sir,” John said, as soon as he stepped through the door of the district chief’s office, “I’d like to file a complaint.”

  When the office belonged to the old chief, Indira Kaniyar, it had been a spartan place, with almost nothing in the way of decoration and even less of clutter. It still shocked John to come inside and find a desk covered in papers and mugs of half-drunk coffee, precarious piles of folders, and an overflowing in box. A glass jar of hard candy stood beside the computer monitor, the lemon yellows and lime greens glowing like individually wrapped jewels. Pictures of the new chief’s family hung on the walls, a parade of smiling brown faces in graduation garb, wedding gowns, and soccer jerseys. Diplomas from the Alabama School for the Paranormally Abled and the US Department of Justice, Strategic Paranormal Entity ConTRol Academy shared the space, along with a number of commendations.