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Ugh. Gallagher was one of the Feds who deserved a rectal staff insertion. A hard core pain in my ass. My satellite phone buzzed in my tactical vest. “Shit. Probably Gallagher wanting to start his rant early.” But my dread turned to relief when I checked the ID. “It’s Cory.” Cory Crawford, our former sergeant at the Beaulac PD who’d been seriously injured while trying to evacuate prisoners before the valve blew. “I’m supposed to go see him,” I added in a fit of inspiration. I’d made no such arrangement, but the day was young and the Feds were on the way.
Amusement flashed in Scott’s eyes. He wasn’t fooled. “Sounds good to me. Tell him to stop milking his sick leave. He was only in a coma for a week.”
“Right?” I scoffed. “And it’s not like he lost both legs.”
“’Zackly. He can still hop on his left.” He winked and turned away to help with cleanup while I answered the phone.
“Hey, Cory,” I said. “Scott says you’re a lazy wimp.” In fact, Cory had been the polar opposite of lazy, diving into physical therapy with a vengeance the instant he was cleared to do so, and he had graduated to home health care three weeks ago.
“Yeah, well I learned from watching him,” Cory said, voice thin and stressed.
I frowned. “What’s wrong? You don’t sound good.”
“I don’t feel good. My head is killing me, and I keep getting chills.” He sighed. “I’m sorry. I just need some pills for nausea, and I can’t get hold of my aide. I shouldn’t be bothering you, but—”
“Don’t be silly,” I interrupted. “I’ll be right over.”
“No, you don’t have to drop everything just for me,” he said, though he couldn’t hide his relief. “I figured you might know someone less busy you could send.”
“It’s cool, I promise.” His unintentional barb hit home. War didn’t leave much time for social niceties, and Cory had been low on my priority list. He deserved a damn visit. Everything else could wait. “I just finished taking down a demon and can be there with meds in thirty.”
He exhaled. “Thanks.”
“Anytime, Sarge.” As I hung up, a cluster of four wheelers rumbled into the parking lot with Vince Pellini in the lead. At the sight of me, he peeled off and headed my way. Italian features, dark hair, and a mustache that belonged in a cheap porno. Pellini was a big guy, though in the past two months of fighting demons he’d traded a fair amount of flab for muscle. I’d worked with Pellini for nearly three years in the Investigations Division of the Beaulac PD, and my opinion of him had been pretty lousy—he was lazy, obnoxious, sloppy, and generally unpleasant to be around. It was only a couple of weeks before the valve explosion that I learned his carefully guarded secret: he could see and use the arcane, trained as a youth by none other than Lord Kadir and his demons.
We’d quickly become unlikely allies, working closely as a solid team. My arcane abilities were currently limited to sensing potency with minimal capacity to utilize it. Pellini could manipulate potency just dandy, but he didn’t have the training and experience to know what to do with it. Together we kicked ass at hot spots all over the world, tackling the tough shit that few other arcane users could hope to handle. Not that we had much competition, with only eleven summoners total on DIRT’s roster. However, shortly after DIRT was formed, I’d spearheaded a recruitment effort and screening-training program, and now most units had at least one “talented” person who could reliably sense the arcane.
Pellini killed the engine of his four wheeler. “Three more graa and a kehza since the big reyza took off.”
“Anyone hurt?”
“Sykes is going to need a couple dozen stitches on his arm, and Ferguson took a claw swipe to the gut. He’s in critical condition, but they think he’ll pull through.” His face sagged, and I steeled myself. “Nate Rushton is gone. A goddamn savik got hold of his ankle and dragged him into the rift.”
“Shit.” The gut punch of losing one of our own never got easier, even after so many. “His wife just had a baby six weeks ago. They’re up in Kentwood.” My throat tightened. “Safer there.”
We both fell silent for several seconds. Safer. Nowhere was safe.
Pellini scrubbed his hands over his face. “One bit of good news is that HQ finally came up with enough SkeeterCheater to cover the whole rift. The rift maintenance unit should be able to pick off new arrivals now.” He swung off the four wheeler and swept a gaze over the parking lot. “No luc
k on capturing the big reyza, huh?” His expression remained bland, but I knew his feelings on the issue were in line with mine.
“Had him in the net,” I said. “And then he ripped his own throat out.”
Pellini’s heavy brows drew together. “You’re shitting me.”
I shook my head. “Dude, I’ve never seen a reyza like this before.” I gave him a quick and dirty description, then showed him the pile of gold jewelry—currently being photographed and guarded by Petrev and Hines.
Pellini let out a low whistle. “Nice of the demon to pay for damages.”
The comment wrung a laugh out of me. “Yeah, the Feds might be able to buy us a new tank with it. Speaking of Feds, I’m bugging out of here as soon as you and I lock this rift and before the debrief. Cory called and isn’t feeling great, so I’m going to swing by with some nausea meds.”
“I’ll drop in after I give my report to the relief sergeant,” he said then grinned. “I can get away with a five minute verbal report since I’m a lowly Arcane Specialist and not the Arcane Commander.” He slammed a fist to his chest in a mock salute.
I rolled my eyes. “I swear they picked that title just to fuck with me. C’mon, lowly one. Let’s lock this thing.”
We’d had far too many opportunities to perfect our method of rift-locking on active rifts, with me giving instructions and him placing the strands, but that wealth of experience meant we got this one set without a glitch.
I’d barely stepped clear of the rift when I felt a vibration beneath my feet that I knew wasn’t just a heavy truck. Breathing a curse, I swung around in search of cracks in the earth or arcane flames—any sign of another forming rift.
