Durance by Lyn Gala Page 0,40

pocket. “Where’s my weapon?”

“I secured it back at the office. Are you sure you’re feeling up to working the case?”

A cowardly part of Darren wanted to claim post-traumatic stress or something—anything to avoid the wrath of the higher-ups. However, he wouldn’t abandon Kavon to office politics. He changed the subject before the temptation to do exactly that grew too great. “Why are they upset about us healing people?”

“Some people come here to pass quietly into the next world without traumatizing whoever finds the body.” Kavon had the bond wide open, and both love and worry flowed through the connection.

“We didn’t do that to someone, did we?” Taking someone’s life was horrifying, but forcing a shaman to stay on Earth when they were ready to move on seemed equally horrific.

Kavon wrapped his arms around Darren’s waist. “No, but the concern is that we don’t have great control.”

“That might be true.”

“I know. That’s why I left and did some chores this morning.” Whispers of lust slipped through the bond. “I wanted to lose control again.”

Darren leaned into Kavon. He was so strong that it was easy to pretend that he could hold off the darkness.

“What’s wrong?” Kavon asked. “You’re projecting more fear now than you did out on the street.” Kavon loosened his hold and leaned back so they were looking at each other’s faces.

“Pochi.”

“Is he hurt?” Worry stained the bond.

“He’s projecting guilt and the image of blood. I think he’s considering contingency plans.”

Kavon closed his eyes. “Fuck.” In all the years Darren had known Kavon, he had only heard him curse a handful of times. But this did seem like the appropriate time for a little profanity.

“I told him to stop—to give us time to solve the problem.”

“Did he listen?”

Darren sat on the bed next to Kavon. “I think so. Bennu was ready to fight him over the issue, and they were both relatively calm when they vanished.”

“‘Relatively’.” Kavon looked at the ceiling and the bond went silent. “That’s not reassuring.”

“I know. I told him he needed to give us more time.” Darren couldn’t suppress the fear that events were spiraling out of control. If Pochi didn’t trust them to win, he might kill every human stained by ifrit magic. The Anti-Talent churches would build a statue to him.

“We can beat this monster,” Kavon said. “The durance doesn’t know Earth. He doesn’t understand how much we’ve developed since the last time he was here. Humans aren’t primitive tribes building our first cities and worshipping him because he looks alien.”

That was an odd assumption to make. Even more suspiciously, Kavon had a self-satisfied expression. “What do you know?” Darren demanded.

“I spirit-walked and had a conversation with Salma. Our durance is Anzu, a monster from ancient Mesopotamia. Mythology says he stole the book of destiny so he could rewrite reality. According to Salma, the Egyptian lore has him as one of the first ifrit to set himself and his partner up as gods. Ancients stories describe him as breathing fire and water, but Egyptian texts say he’s particularly skilled with any nature Talent.”

“Like storms,” Darren said. It made sense. As far as he could tell, the durance hadn’t been on Earth long enough for his human partner to train. “So why are you so pleased about this?”

“Because we know our enemy—that’s half the battle. I’m a lot more confident about our chances now.”

Darren took a second to collect his thoughts. Kavon always had confidence in himself and the team, but this seemed a little optimistically out of character. “What did Salma say?”

“I tried to convince her to stay in California, but once she found out about Anzu’s attack, she called the pilot. She’ll be here in about seven hours.”

“You didn’t think she’d stay to work on Djedi Center budgets while her demons wreaked havoc on DC, did you?” Darren asked.

Salma’s first concern was always going to be the ifrit war. She didn’t care if the American shamanic community pulled apart at the seams over perceptions and unfair funding of Djedi centers. Well, she did care, but she would never care about that nearly as much as the ifrit war.

“I hoped,” Kavon said. “She’s vulnerable because she expects God to protect her. I would rather she stay well away from any battlefield.” Kavon’s worry filled the bond.

“You think she’s in more danger than the rest of us?” Darren asked. Where most adepts had limited power, she had trained to work with hundreds of guides at once, and she had some impressive tricks in her