But now he felt terror at the prospect of August’s death, coupled with the guilt of knowing he had been Night Axe’s target.

He ripped the sheet off his bed and used it to brush away the particles of masking spell glitter covering the agent’s face and torso. When he got enough of the spell off he saw August’s true face, contorted in pain.

The front of his suit was a mess of blood. Deven unbuttoned August’s coat and struggled to work open the slippery buttons of August’s shirt. But as he pulled the shirt open he saw no wound. He ran his fingers over August’s pale, hairless chest, terrified this was still part of the masking spell’s illusion. Although blood coated everything, it was already coagulating. Only a perfectly circular bruise marred his skin, directly over August’s frantically beating heart.

Deven recognized the mark. It was the same one they’d seen on Carlos and Beatriz Rodriguez’s bodies. But it didn’t look immediately fatal and Deven felt relief. August wasn’t going to die.

Yet.

“Can you sit up?” Deven reached behind August and cradled his head to help him up. His fingers tangled in August’s damp, sweaty hair. Once he was sitting up, August opened his eyes and glanced down at his chest. A look of panic crossed his eyes.

“Oh God,” he said, his voice weak.

“I think we can guess why Carlos and Bea were searching for Night Axe,” Deven said.

August glanced to the door. “Is he gone?”

“He flew out the window.”

August’s eyes widened. “He can fly?”

“He turned into an owl.”

“Aztaw lords can do that?” He scowled.

“Transformation is his house power.” Deven glanced at the closed window. “As soon as he gets that glamour bomb out of his mouth he’ll be back, you know.”

“I know.” August breathed heavily, wincing. He rested his shaking hands over his bruise. “How does he even know who Klakow is?”

Deven frowned. He had no answer to that.

There was a knock on the door. August’s muscles tensed under Deven’s hand.

“I doubt he’d knock twice,” Deven commented.

“Probably not.” August nearly fell as he attempted to stand and his face went sheet white.

“Are you in pain?” Deven asked.

“I just feel weak.” August slumped onto Deven’s unmade bed. A bruise was beginning to form over his right eye, where he’d slammed into Night Axe’s hard skull.

The person at the door knocked again. Given the destruction of their room, Deven hoped it wasn’t housekeeping.

He picked up his knife from where it had fallen and peered through the door’s peephole.

Agent Klakow stood there, looking pissed off.

“Hold your ID up,” Deven ordered.

“You have to be kidding me.” Klakow grimaced.

“Do it!”

“Fine, fine...” Klakow muttered as he fumbled with the identification in his back pocket. Instantly, Deven relaxed. Night Axe might be able to mimic the look and sound of a person, but he wouldn’t know one’s habits or gestures.

Still, he waited until Agent Klakow held up the badge before opening the door.

Klakow stepped inside and gaped at the disarray. “What have you two been doing in here?”

At his entry, August leaped to his feet, looking stunned. Klakow glared back at August. His eyes caught the bloody mess of August’s clothes and remaining particles of glamour, and his haughty expression faltered. “Jesus Christ, what happened to you?”

“Had a visitor,” August growled, sitting back down. His body slumped against the wall. “Looked like you, actually. Have you been downstairs in the lobby long?”

“Fuckin’ ages. The front desk wouldn’t tell me your room number, no matter how many times I asked. I had to call the field office to get the info.”

August’s eyes closed. “And you came directly from the field office, I presume.”

“Of course.” Klakow moved to August’s side. “You sure you’re okay? You look like shit.”

“I just got fisted in all the wrong ways.”

Klakow grimaced. “You’re a perverted fuckhead.” Despite his tone, however, he looked concerned. “I’m calling a field team ambulance—”

“Not yet,” August interrupted. “We’ve got a lord of the underworld in the form of a bird who plans to flap back here and finish the job he started five minutes ago.” He endeavored to sit up and then gave up, slumping back against the wall. “Deven, you still have your pen?”

Deven reached his hand down the front of his trousers and pulled it out.

Klakow made another face. “You keep stuff in there?”

Deven put the pen back in his hair without commenting.

“Would you hand me a clean shirt?” August asked.

Despite not fully unpacking, August had still managed to hang up all his clothes the night before. Deven picked out a dark-colored dress shirt in case blood seeped through the fabric. He also chose a pair of trousers, because it made Deven’s eyes hurt interpreting what was his suit and what was leftover glamour residue.

He fetched a wet washcloth and handed it to August. The agent offered him a weak smile. “Thanks.” He started undressing and cleaning himself off, moving slowly.

Klakow stared out the window. “You want me to see if we can trace the glamour trail?”

“He’ll come back for us, we don’t need to look for him,” August replied. “What are you here for anyway?”

“Elia in forensics sent me. She ran further tests on the filaments attached to the obsidian particles from Rodriguez’s sister’s and identified the visual spectrum.” He handed August a small card with a barcode on it. “The monster’s hidden lair, revealed.”

“About fucking time.” August’s hands still shook and he struggled to button his clean trousers.

Deven found himself staring and looked away. “What about the ambulance?” Deven asked.

“The doctor is next. I’m not a masochist. But I’m tired of being surprised by this bastard. Let’s see what he sees, without relying on moody serpents.” August finished dressing and, with a bit of exertion, stood and squared his shoulders. His change of clothes improved his appearance. But the bruise darkening his right eye looked garish against his deathly pallor and there was blood in his hair. Still, he winked at Deven. “Let’s make some magic, shall we?”

“Oh brother,” Klakow groaned.

***

Over the next hour, Deven developed a new respect for the talents of Irregular agents, if only for their ability to memorize proper procedure.

He never thought bureaucracy had a place in magic, but that was the indissoluble effect of government, it seemed. The Irregulars had converted the supernatural into a set of standard operating procedures.

“Wrong!” August slapped a wire from Klakow’s hand. “Damn it, didn’t you ever read the Occult Agency Guidelines? You can’t transfer energy until all safety bindings are in place.”

Klakow’s hand made a fist, but otherwise he didn’t respond. The three of them sat on the floor, gathered around a piece of bone Deven had extracted from his sacred bundle, August’s computer, and the wires from August’s pocket. They programmed the bar code spectrum into the laptop, wiring the bone to the machine. Blood was needed to seal the spell, but Deven had learned his lesson and didn’t volunteer to go first. He nearly laughed at the regimented procedure by which both Klakow and August calmly produced sanitized needles and small plastic receptacles, extracting only a few drops from their fingers.

August handed Deven a clean needle. “Leave your tongue for more pleasant uses.”

Klakow shook his head. “You know, Deven, this qualifies as sexual harassment and you can file a complaint.”

“Maybe I like it.” Deven’s face flushed with the admission and he didn’t miss how August’s eyes snapped to him. Deven jabbed the tip of his finger and let a few drops of blood mingle with the agents’. He accepted a bandage from Klakow.

Definitely less painful than dragging a thorned cord across his tongue.