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. He’d gotten out of the habit. Worse, Darren could only hold a thimbleful. His capacity to carry magic had grown over the past year or so, but without Bennu, he was still helpless in ways that made Kavon deeply uncomfortable.
Kavon stomped 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 visitor drop magic bombs outside because of the NCCP, or is this a coincidence?”
Kavon scanned the lobby. Now that he knew there was a convention, he could see how most of the guests stood close to each other. They were a tribe, and only a few people didn’t fit that pattern. An older woman sat at the hotel bar watching the room and a man wandered from 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 to be 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.”
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 magic, Kavon imagined more than one would take that offer.
“Ten o’clock,” Darren said under his breath. Kavon glanced over to see Mr. Schmoozer heading their way.
Kavon stepped forward, and the man gave him a smile. “Good morning.” The stranger 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 said the last part with a little too much enthusiasm.
“Why? Are you security?” Kavon asked.
“If you’re planning on poisoning someone, I'd love to get a comment.”
“You’re a reporter,” Darren said in a flat tone.
Kavon wanted to run. Not even ifrit with cosmic powers scared him as much as reporters. He’d seen good people destroyed by unfair news coverage.
“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.
“Come on, you must have an opinion.” Butler chased after them. “Everyone has an opinion.”
Kavon pinned Butler with his coldest glare. “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 council 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 council seat that had 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.
Without Bennu’s power, the emotions felt dulled and muted. Curiosity pricked at his skin, and suspicion. Kavon might have picked up a hint of anticipation. All that fit with a reporter wanting to make a story, but this guy wouldn’t get a comment on or off the record. “No comment.” He nodded toward the door,