CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
When they got to the security checkpoint, Jonathan found himself staring at the backside of a heavyset man walking through the body scanner and saying, “God, I hate you guys.” Morty Silva. At Jonathan’s side, Cassie laughed, but she looked away while Morty finished the body scan and got dressed again.
When he spotted them, he looked more surprised than pleased. He strode right past Jonathan to put a hand on Cassie’s shoulder. “How you doing, babe? You kill anybody with wild animals lately?”
“Yeah, but they started it,” she offered, smiling at him.
“Huh,” he grunted. “Fair enough.” In a lower tone, though still audible to Jonathan, he asked, “They treating you okay here?”
“Definitely.”
Morty gave her a keen look, and Jonathan wondered what his empath abilities were telling him.
He cleared his throat. “Hey, Morty.”
Without smiling, Morty shook his hand. “Hey, Ace. How’s that back of yours?”
“Healed up. Thanks. Why are you here?”
He harrumphed. “I was hoping you could fill me in. You may as well just take me wherever you’re taking me.” As they started walking, Morty explained more. “Two of your goons showed up and invited me here.” He put an ironic emphasis on the word invited.
“That was voluntary,” Jonathan said quickly, for Cassie’s sake. “You’re never forced to help.”
“In theory,” Morty allowed. “But they seemed very determined. Someone named Chance, and a big, bearded guy with a tattoo on his neck.”
“Tristan Münter,” Cassie said.
“You one of them now?” Morty asked her. She nodded. “Can’t say I’m happy to hear it,” he said. “Though don’t get me wrong, this one’s a good kid. God knows he’d do anything for you.”
Jonathan snorted. “Are you talking about me right in front of me?”
“I’m saying good things, so don’t be a moron.” Morty turned his attention back to Cassie. “But this group?” He waved his arm in a vague gesture that encompassed all of their surroundings. “They do good things—hell, great things, sometimes. But there’s something wrong here.”
“I used to work for a mining company,” Cassie told him. “You know what they do to the earth?” He didn’t answer, and she said, “If there’s a perfect employer out there who wants me, you let me know, and I’ll go work for them.” Jonathan smiled to himself.
“Every group’s got their issues,” Morty agreed grudgingly. “But this is different. I don’t know what it is, but I can feel it. And I can’t feel it. I get close to that leader of theirs, and I get nothing.”
Jonathan couldn’t let that pass. Cassie had just pledged herself to Manus Sancti, and Morty was trying to cast doubt. “Val says Capitán Renaud keeps his emotions under control. In his position, he has to.”
Morty held up a hand as though Jonathan had proved his point. “In an organization with this kind of hierarchy, this unquestioning allegiance, there are going to be problems. Look at any cult. Any fascist government.”
Jonathan’s temper snapped. “We’re not fascists! Or a cult,” he added as an afterthought.
“They’ve had the same leader—the same dictator—for twenty years,” Morty told Cassie.
They came face-to-face with Renaud.
Jonathan made the automatic closed-fist salute. “Capitán.”
Cassie eyed him, as if considering whether this was maybe a tad bit fascist, after all.
Morty met the leader’s gaze and said in a loud, genial tone, “Good morning.” Jonathan had never before heard Good morning sound so much like You heard me, asshole.
“Salaam, Dr. Silva.” Capitán gestured to the open door of the conference room with easy grace. “We’re all waiting for you.”
Gabi, Val, Dominic Joe, and a Scholar named Doug Smith sat around the table. Doug’s appearance was anything but intimidating: he was a short, stocky, middle-aged white man with graying hair and horn-rimmed glasses, wearing a sweatshirt advertising an old television program about outer space. He looked like a nerdy sonámbulo dad. Nonetheless, his presence unsettled Jonathan, reminding him of his last mission with Michael.
Capitán said, “Let’s make introductions.”
The Scholar spoke up first. “Doug Smith. I’m assigned to the Urraca Mesa demon called Dakos.”
So this was about Dakos? How could it be? Cassie gave him a horrified look, and Morty’s lips pressed together in a hard line. Others introduced themselves, directing their words toward Morty. When it was Cassie’s turn, she floundered. “I’m Cassie Rios, and I’m going to be—right now I’m an initiate.”
She shouldn’t be here. Nothing about this meeting was good. Jonathan sat hunched in his seat, the knuckles of his fist pressed against his mouth. Capitán nodded at Doug to begin.
“This week, several dozen Boy Scouts have been at Philmont Scout Ranch on Urraca Mesa as part of a winter camping program,” he said. “A few hours ago, police responded to a call from a Scout leader. One of the boys had murdered another one by driving a sharpened stick through his throat.”
Next to Jonathan, Cassie cringed.
“The boy dragged the corpse into the brush and dismembered it with an axe used for firewood. The Scout leader noticed the child was missing and sent the other Scouts out in pairs to look for him.” Doug pushed up his glasses. “The murderer didn’t join the search, and it was discovered that he was roasting pieces from the victim’s corpse over the fire.”
Jonathan’s soul crumbled into dust. My fault. All my fault. He was supposed to be a Knight, a protector, and instead, he left a trail of dead in his wake.
Cassie pressed her hands to her face. “Oh my God. How old was this kid?”
“Fourteen,” Doug said. “But it wasn’t the kid—it was definitely our demon. Police interrogated the child, and he spoke in a cold, wooden way—no remorse. Fifteen minutes into the questioning, he suddenly started speaking normally and crying. He has no memory of what he did.”
“That poor kid,” Gabi said. Jonathan knew she was thinking of her sons. “Do you think we could try Palimpsest? Andre thinks they’re ready.”
Cassie’s brow puckered with confusion. Jonathan would have to explain it to her later. Andre and a team of Mages and Diviners had been working on a protocol to obliterate not only an individual’s memories, but the world’s recollection of an event. It was incredibly complicated, involving the planting of a new narrative and sweeping up every last crumb of the truth. Even the name of the project, Palimpsest, had been chosen to keep them from getting too cocky. A palimpsest was a manuscript written on an erased page, on which remnants of the earlier writing showed through. No matter how perfectly they executed it, traces would remain.
Capitán considered the question. “This is a good test case. Not too big. Let’s do it.”
Nic and Gabi exchanged a gleeful look. So many people had wanted to try this for so long. Andre and his team would be thrilled if it went forward.
Knowing that the possessed fourteen-year-old might not have to live with this horror, and that the parents of the deceased child might be granted a more natural cause of his death, was some comfort to Jonathan. But he still burned with shame. “I never knew for sure if we got him. If I got him. I finished the spell after he killed Michael, but it wasn’t like other banishments. There was a flash and a force that knocked me out cold. And he was just gone.” He looked around the table as if at a convicting jury. “If I didn’t send him back, he might have done more damage than we know. There could be skeletons stacked up in someone’s barn—”
“No,” Doug interrupted. “There’s not one missing person in the area. And no one saw the blue lights on the mesa until a day ago. The boy who went cannibal reported seeing them.”
“Cannibal Boy Scouts,” Cassie said and let out a slightly hysterical laugh. Everyone stared at her. “Sorry,” she said. Nic inclined his head, acknowledging that yes, this was pretty messed up.
Jonathan asked, “But if we didn’t send Dakos back to the other realm, why hasn’t he been active? All the lore says he has an insatiable appetite for human flesh, getting stronger the more he feeds.” Morty nodded at this.
Doug said, “Our best guess is that your spell was incapacitating but not lethal. He needed time to heal.”
Morty half raised a hand. “Question. Why am I here?”
“You studied with Francine Notsinneh,” Doug said, and explained to the rest of them, “Notsinneh is a professor of anthropology at New Mexico State University. She’s a Jicarilla Apache and specializes in native American mythologies.”
“She’s an underpaid adjunct,” Morty said. “I only spent one long weekend with her, interviewing her about local lore—Apache, Navajo, even urban legends. We talked a little about the Urraca Mesa portal, but this was last year. There hadn’t been any demonic activity in centuries.” He spread his hands. “Fran said it was a cannibal demon. She heard that the shaman who warded him off buried cat totems made of malachite, and used burned magpie bones in the ritual. That’s all I know.”
Doug said, “If that’s true, that’s more than we knew. I’ll have to consult with one of the elemental Mages about whether this might strengthen our banishing spell.”
“Call Agnes Goldberg,” Nic suggested. “She charged the stones for that Oregon cave thing.”
Morty looked troubled. “Why not bring Fran in? She’s the expert. And she could use the money.”
Capitán made a steeple of his fingers. “We’re at a heightened security risk. Not bringing in any new consultants.”
“Huh.” Morty cast a shrewd look in Cassie’s direction. “You were happy to sign this one up, though. What’s she got that you want?”
Doug passed one of his folders to Morty. “This is a facsimile of a Mayan codex that dates back to 700 A.D.” Jonathan recalled that Doug had helped with the translations. But Cassie couldn’t be any part of this. It was unthinkable. “Cassie has inherited magic from her ancestors written down in this codex, including an animal spell—”
“Yeah, I know all about that one,” Morty peered at the first page of the binder. “You sure this is authentic? Just because the magic works doesn’t prove anything.”
“None of us could believe it ourselves at first,” Doug said. “But we’ve put it through every test.”
Morty let out a low whistle. “Well, you guys would know better than anyone. 700 A.D. Can you even read the thing?”
“We think we have a good translation.”
Lucia’s voice on that final phone call, shouting out to Jonathan, came into his head. Something twisted in his chest.
“And that didn’t come cheap,” Morty muttered. He must have felt Jonathan’s sadness, and maybe that of others, too. “Any other spells in there?”
Doug glanced at Capitán. “We’re only talking to you about it because you studied the Ora Fragment. But it’s highly sensitive information. Our enemies have killed for it.”
“I gathered.” Morty flipped another page. “What have we got?”
“The spells are ancestral. They work for Cassie because she’s a descendant of the author of the Codex. There’s a spell to cause famine that we believe to be useless, at best, but there’s also a spell that could render her immune to possession—or any psychic attack.”
No. Jonathan’s literal worst nightmares were converging. The demon who killed Michael. Cassie in danger. His fear rose until it threatened to suffocate him.
Morty looked up again, his eyes wide. “Completely immune?”
“It’s temporary, but yes.”
“So this is your play—Cassie makes herself immune, and then she and Jonathan re-try the banishment after you’ve made some tweaks?” He shook his head, looking appalled. “She’s a neophyte. If the immunity spell doesn’t work, she’s done for.”
Thank God someone besides him was saying it. Jonathan’s horror swung to fury. Cassie looked at Capitán and then at Doug, as if waiting for one of them to say that no, this wasn’t the plan. Neither of them did.
As Jonathan got to his feet, he clenched his hands into fists at his sides. He wanted to throw a chair or smash something, and that wasn’t going to help. “The immunity spell itself is too dangerous. Lucia told Cassie about it. The psychic blowback can make a person destroy herself.”
Val and Gabi both tensed.
“West,” Capitán said quietly. “That’s enough.”
Adrenaline coursed through his veins, his body begging for a physical fight, but he kept his voice as calm as he could. “Sir. I can do the banishment on my own. If I’m not covering for someone else, I’ll be strong enough.” He had to argue this from Capitán’s point of view. “Cassie’s a valuable asset, and we don’t want to lose her by sending her before she’s ready.”
Capitán looked bored. “Since when do I send people to fight demons solo? You get possessed, who takes you down?”
Cassie’s mouth parted.
Val told Jonathan in a quiet voice, “That spell is too complicated for one person.”
Jonathan bit back a response, feeling utterly betrayed by her.
“It is,” Capitán said. “And this immunity spell could be a powerful weapon. I need to know if it works.”
Cassie still hadn’t said anything. She crossed her arms, rubbing her hands on her forearms. Even though she liked the idea of fighting evil creatures, this plan had to come as a shock to her. They’d told her she’d have months of training.
Gabi must have been thinking the same thing, because she said, “She is only an initiate, sir.” Jonathan felt a rush of gratitude toward her.
“Refresh my memory, Bravo,” Capitán said. “Your very first mission, when you helped wipe out a band of kobolds in the gold mine in Tolima. What was your status? How old were you?”
“Initiate,” she admitted. “I was eighteen.”
“And did you protest? Your boyfriend at the time?”
Gabi shook her head.
“I’ll do it,” Cassie said. Jonathan’s heart dropped to his feet as all eyes turned toward her. She said, “I just— I wish Samir were here.” He had taken a short trip to visit Lucia’s great-aunt in Crete, who hadn’t been well enough to attend the memorial service, and bring her a rare book Lucia had bequeathed to her. Jonathan’s throat tightened. Soon, they’d ask Cassie about her final wishes.
Capitán said, “You can do this, Rios. Silva, work with Vega and Goldberg to improve the banishment spell.”
“Goddamn it,” Morty muttered.
“You’ll be handsomely compensated. As always.”
Jonathan didn’t know why he kept emphasizing how much they would pay Morty, who never expressed any interest in it. The ex-priest’s face settled in grim, weary lines. “I’ll help, because you’ll move forward either way.” No doubt Morty didn’t love the option of letting a cannibal demon terrorize northern New Mexico, either.
Capitán said, “Joe, you’re mission runner. Rios and West, you leave by car for Urraca Mesa twenty-four hours from now.”
Jonathan sat down again, dazed by his own despair. He had lost. The only thing he could do was keep Cassie safe on the mission, by any means necessary.
Nic said, “I won’t be able to track Rios’s vitals since she doesn’t have the tattoo yet, but I assume she’s got a temporary tracker in?” Both Jonathan and Cassie nodded. “I’ll get the code from security. And they could use a driver.”
“You drive,” Capitán said.
Nic talked as he typed things into his phone. “Smith, Mr. Silva, and Vega, you can confer about the spellwork tonight in Vega’s office with Goldberg. Let’s say an hour from now—give Mr. Silva a chance to eat dinner. I’ll procure the same materials as last time, with the addition of the burned magpie bones and malachite totems, which I’ll get Goldberg to charge. If you need any additional supplies, contact me immediately—I’ll be up all night.” He put the phone down. “I’m thinking a zero-seven-hundred meeting to review the completed spell. That way, if you need anything else, I’ll have time to get it. Any conflicts? Good.”
Cassie blinked, no doubt taken aback at this onslaught of organizational efficiency delivered in such a casual manner.
“West and Rios, we can leave at fourteen-hundred. We’ll meet at the entrada.” He flipped to another view on his phone. “Dress warm. It’s going to be close to freezing on the mesa. West, you’ll want your gun and your knife. I’ll give you an extra Glock for her—you can give it to her after the immunity spell is in effect but before you summon the demon.”
As Nic asked Doug and Morty about the ritual requirements, Jonathan, Cassie, Gabi, and Val left in a little group.
Gabi said, “He really wants to test out that spell.”
Jonathan stalked a few steps ahead of them, still taut with anger that had no means of release. “He shouldn’t be so careless with Cassie, even if he doesn’t care about her. He loses her, he loses the magic.”
“That’s not exactly true,” Cassie pointed out. “It’s like you said before. There would be thousands of descendants, and he could recruit another one.”
Gabi said to her, “Maybe he wants to test you, see how you are in the field.”
Val shook her head. “I don’t think it’s Cassie he’s testing. He wants to make sure Jonathan can let Cassie be a Knight.”
He whirled around, still angry with Val for what she’d said in the meeting. Hadn’t she been worried about Cassie before? How could she have spoken up in favor of this mission? “I don’t have a choice. She’s chosen this for herself. And she has the right mindset, I admit it. Where most people freeze up, she fights.” Cassie smiled, as though he’d spoken sweet, romantic words to her. “But this immunity spell sounds like serious power.”
“I think she can handle it,” Val said.
“You don’t know that!” She flinched at his tone. “We don’t know if anyone can survive it!”
Gabi’s thick brows snapped together. “That’s no way to talk in front of her, when she’s going to try. What the hell are you thinking?”
She was right, though he wasn’t about to admit it. The last thing Cassie needed right now was someone undermining her confidence, and that was exactly what he was doing.
Christos. He’d have to make it up to her, let her know that he believed in her in no uncertain terms. Later, when they succeeded at the mission and she was safe at home again, he could indulge in being angry.
“We’re going over the spell tonight.” Val employed her soothing, feathery voice to full effect—for Cassie’s sake rather than his, Jonathan guessed. He knew Val had supported the idea of Cassie going because she truly believed it was even more dangerous for Jonathan to try it on his own. Her concern for him should’ve lessened his bitterness. It didn’t. She said, “Cassie has…a certain kind of strength. I felt it the first time I touched her mind. She can do this.”