Part One

Austin sweltered in mid-July, heat shimmering off the concrete downtown and baking all the grass into hay. Without iced tea and air conditioning the whole state of Texas would have been uninhabitable for three-quarters of the year.

Even sunset brought little relief; this year temperatures had only climbed to the upper 90s so far, but a bout of Summer storms had left humidity in its wake and it seemed everything was stuck to everything. Most people, when they absolutely had to leave the house, did so in as little clothing as possible.

The young blonde in the black wife-beater and tight jeans stood up a little shakily, sweat running down both sides of his face and gleaming in the neon lights from nearby 4th Street. He pulled a rumpled napkin from his pocket and wiped his mouth, then his face, grinning from ear to ear, a dimple showing in his left cheek.

He leaned on the brick wall of the building, reaching up to touch his companion's shoulder. "Anything else I can do for you, beautiful?"

The man in the long black coat ignored him, zipped up his fly, and walked away.

[Anything yet?] he asked, tapping his Ear. Behind him the boy in the alley was saying something, but he pretended not to hear, concentrating instead on things that mattered.

Tanya's voice was staticky; the system had been having some glitches lately, and the techs were working on it, but the Ears had a tendency to drop out for a few minutes here and there. Data transmission was still working fine, though, so when something vital had to be communicated they used a sort of telepathic text messaging, writing down the info and scanning it into the system to send to the Agent.

[We're working on it,] she said. [We think it's a bug from the software upgrade. How are you receiving?]

Jason smiled grimly. [In a back alley, how else?]

Tanya cleared her throat and went on as if she hadn't heard; in theory at least he could be reprimanded or even fired for the shit he'd been pulling lately, but the reality was nobody in the SA would say a word even if they did find out. It was commonly believed that he had impeccable ethical standards with regard to his work, and it was commonly known that he was not a person to cross.

[We've got a location for your rendezvous. Sending.]

He nodded, examining the map in his head. [I'm on my way.]

The informant was supposed to meet him at a bar on Colorado, a nice seedy place without a sign above the door. He'd been there before on a bust when the previous owner was caught selling vampire-grade absinthe to humans. The bar had passed to the man's daughter, who was at least smart enough not to get caught at whatever she was doing to keep a place like that open when by all rights it should have been turned into a Starbucks years ago.

"Hey, Sev."

Jason turned and saw the man detach himself from the shadows near the door. "Doyle."

Doyle, an enormous bald man with fifty or more tattoos, took a long drag off his cigarette as he came forward. "You alone?"

"Always am."

Doyle gestured toward Jason's head with the cigarette. "That your conscience whispering in your ear?"

Jason reached up and removed the Ear, tucked it in his pocket. "Better?"

"Boy, you are one crazy motherfucker wearing that coat in July. I thought you people were supposed to blend in."

"I need the pockets," Jason replied. "Buy you a drink?"

Doyle walked past him into the bar, sniffing. "You smell like come," he grunted. "Redhead?"

"Blonde."

"Didn't think you went for blondes."

"I was in a hurry."

The bar's interior was about what one would expect--dark, smoky, and in sad repair. The smoking ban had been in effect for years, but in places like this it tended to be ignored. Jason could have busted them, but he had better things to do with his authority.

They sat down at a table, and two beers appeared out of nowhere. Jason did a quick inventory of the other patrons: five total, all human, four men and one women. No overt threat from any of them, but as was the way of a place like this, they all looked at him with hooded eyes, trying to feel him out the same way he was them. Of the pair of them Doyle looked like the man to reckon with, having about a hundred pounds on Jason and the appearance of someone who had had his face smashed by more than one beer bottle over the years.

Unbeknownst to Doyle, the Ear piece on Jason's belt was recording; he was still telepathically linked to the system without the second half of the device.

"What have you got for me?" Jason asked.

Doyle ground out his cigarette on the table. "Word is there's a new drug syndicate in town, out of Los Angeles. They're pushing something called Pentecost."

"So tell the DEA."

The bald man shook his head. "No, this is more your territory. People who take it report the usual--euphoria, hallucinations--but forty percent never come back. They claim they see God, and sometimes the Devil, and they're gone. Bodies still ticking away, brains in heaven. Just before they shit their mental gasket, they start babbling. Speaking in tongues."

Doyle pulled a mini recorder from his pants pocket and handed it to Jason. "Maybe your boys can nail it for sure, but from what I've heard, it's some kind of incantation. As in, a summoning."

Jason slid the recorder into his coat. "I don't suppose you've got a sample."

"It'll cost you."

SA-7 smiled, and a hundred-dollar bill appeared in front of Doyle. "How much will that get me?"

Doyle reached into his pocket again and produced a small glass vial. Inside were three hexagonal white pills.

"Anything else? Any idea who the dealers are, or where I can find them?"

"They're way underground. Maybe even literally. The rumor is the guy in charge isn't human, but that's what they always say. I say maybe the guy is, but whatever he's calling up isn't. And I wouldn't normally tell you this, but…" Doyle's voice dropped until Jason could barely hear it. "The chick I was talking to, the one that got me those pills, hasn't been heard from for a week now. These people aren't fucking around."

"Well, they're stupid if they think they're going to set up shop in my city," Jason said.

"Everybody in the underworld knows about the SA, and most of them know about Austin. And about you, Sev. You got quite a reputation down here, and there's a lot of vamps in particular who wouldn't mind seeing you turning over a spit. But they're moving in, in spite of all that, which means either they're stupid, or they're strong enough to think they can't lose."

Jason snorted softly. "I don't associate with other vampires and I don't care what they think of me. They know to stay away, that's what matters. These Pentecost pushers are going to learn it too." He stood, held out his hand. "Thanks, Doyle. Stay safe out there."

Doyle clasped hands with him briefly, and let Jason leave first. "You too, Sev. Watch your back."

Once outside, Jason clipped the Ear back in place. [Did you get that?]

Again, static, but Tanya answered, [Affirmative. I've got a search running on Pentecost--get the samples back here ASAP and we'll see what the hell it is.]

[I have one last stop to make, but I'll be back at the base in an hour.]

[Acknowledged.]

Jason headed up the darkened, empty street, headed for the much better-lit and more populated stretch of Lamar Boulevard that would lead him to his destination, the gigantic Whole Foods flagship market at the corner of 6th. He had just enough time to stop in before they closed.

"Hey! Hey, you!"

He paused. Voice: human. Not Doyle. Footsteps coming up the street, three sets, all male, heavy boots. A smell hit him: alcohol. Whiskey, beer. One of them had a blunt instrument…bat? Yes, bat. He stretched out his telepathy, scanning for surface thoughts: they thought he was a junkie, and had money. They'd been in the bar watching his exchange with Doyle, and while usually the clientele at this particular place didn't concern itself with the other patrons, apparently the siren call of a slender young man in a nice coat who bought drugs with hundred-dollar bills was too much to resist.

[We're going to have to find a new rendezvous,] he told Tanya, starting to walk again.

"Hey! Hey, faggot, I'm talking to you!"

Jason stopped.

Slowly, calmly, he turned to face the three men, who were laughing, anticipating an easy score.

"You can smell it too?" Jason asked, sniffing the air. "Damn, I really need to start carrying some Handi-Wipes or something."

The same man, a beefy fellow about three feet wide, repeated the epithet, this time with an added instruction for Jason to "hand over the cash."

"So, if you don't mind my asking, how could you tell?" he inquired politely. "Is it the way I walk? Is it the coat? The hair? Or," he said, smiling, "is it the fact that you're about to suck my dick?"

The man yelped when he felt the cold muzzle of the gun pressed into his forehead, and he fell to his knees, blubbering, all pretense gone. "Oh Jesus, oh Jesus, no, no, no--"

One of the other two raised his bat, but next thing he knew there was a second pistol, this one pointed at his nose, even though Jason's attention had not left the first human. He held both guns on the men calmly, and before he could say anything to the third, the man sprinted off the way he'd come without a backward glance.

"Now, forgetting the fact that you just threatened a Federal Agent," he told the quaking, crying man with the bat, who immediately dropped said sports equipment, "I think your friend here owes me an apology."

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

"Good boy. Now, you too."

The second man followed suit. Meanwhile a dark stain was spreading over the front of his pants.

"Now," he continued, "I'm going to give you both exactly ten seconds to run away from me and not look back. If I ever see either of you again, I will blow your left ball off with this gun, and your right one off with this gun. One..."

He lowered both weapons. "Two..."

The men stumbled away, whimpering, pulling each other along. By the time Jason got to "seven" they were both around the corner and gone.

He holstered both pistols and drew his coat shut again. Fucking mortals.

Then, with a sigh, he turned back toward Lamar, and went to buy a peach.

Part Two

The Shadow Agency had 119 employees. Of those, thirty-two were at a psychic level 4 or above; of those thirty-two, seven were Agents (two vampires, one Elf, four humans), and 18 worked in dispatch, manning the Ears. Five were in charge of the energy monitoring system across Texas, known as the Eyes. One was Dru, whose gifts were powerful but not the sort of thing the Agency knew what to do with.

The other was Sara Larson, Agent trainee.

119 employees. On the average day she saw maybe a quarter of that many. The base ran on a 24 hour schedule, so typically any given employee would only be acquainted with the handful of others who shared his or her hours.

It surprised her, then, that when she sat down in the meeting room, every chair was full. She had taken a chair near the back, allowing her to survey the assembly unnoticed.

She did a quick count--15, and she didn't know a single one. Were they all on day shifts? Or were some Ears, so she only saw them at a distance as they were plugged into the system all night? Or had she just been living under a rock?

There was a hum of conversation, and Sara felt strangely removed from it all. She hadn't really wanted to come, but Rowan had practically shoved her out the door, claiming--quite rightly--that she needed more friends. She couldn't spend all her time with him and her trainers; she was getting cabin fever and losing her social skills. Hours a day with Beck would do that to a person.

It took her a moment to notice that there was a willowy woman standing up in the front of the room, trying unsuccessfully to get everyone's attention. She looked about forty, and had the stringy-haired, owl-eyed look of about a third of the Pagan women Sara had met in her life, down to the quartz crystal jewelry and a generic silver pentacle pendant. This must be Dawn, the coordinator, though as group leaders went she seemed a bit fragile, like a stiff breeze would knock her over.

She was still trying to bring the meeting to order, and Sara was about to try and help when someone let out one of those painfully loud two-fingered whistles, and silence cut through the room like an ax blade.

With a pathetically grateful look, the woman said, "Thank you, Sage. Blessed be, everyone, and welcome to the SA Pagan Employees' Alliance. My name is Dawn, and I've been the coordinator for the past two years. Why don't we go around the room and introduce ourselves, give our names and job titles and so forth, and talk a bit about why we're all here at SAPEA?"

Dawn nodded toward the man nearest her, and he stood self-consciously and started speaking.

It was a pretty average mix, if a group of people who worshipped gods long ago declared dead and performed magic and ritual deemed heresy by the mainstream Church could ever be considered average at anything. They were mostly Wiccans, like Sara; the rest were a mix of traditions and beliefs ranging from Heathenry to Druidism.

Then a young woman stepped forward and said, "I'm Sage. I work in Food Service. I'm a baker--all those cookies you guys eat, that's me." There was a ripple of laughter and a few expressions of gratitude. "It's not glamorous work, but I love it. I'm a Wiccan, have been for five years, since I was sixteen."

Sara watched her as she talked, and sized her up: bright green eyes, flaming red hair, freckles galore. She had the round body of a baker, for sure, and the air of both an Earth-Mother and a warrior maid. Her voice was warm with a sparkling wit, and she seemed remarkably centered for a 21-year-old.

Sara found herself oddly drawn to the girl, and out of curiosity, made a tentative sweep of her psychic senses--nothing intrusive, just a glance. People with gifts tended to seek each other out; there were, of course, other psychics in the room, but so far Sage seemed the only one whose job didn't relate directly. Several of the attendees worked either as Ears or Eyes, and none were Agents.

The girl was probably about a level 3 telepath, but with a few months of training that could be pushed up to a 4. She seemed to have empathy, too, though at what level, Sara couldn't tell with a cursory look. Rowan would be able to say for sure. It occurred to Sara to wonder if Rowan had in fact tested Sage when she was hired on. She'd have to ask him later.

Sage seemed to feel Sara's eyes on her, and their gazes locked a moment; Sara was first to look away, embarrassed to be caught staring. Unfortunately it was her turn next to talk.

She stood up, thankful she'd had time to shower and change before the meeting; she'd been a mess, coming off a session with Carlos. She had also been working on her self-confidence, thanks to Rowan; she reminded herself to stand up straight, shoulders back and down, and look people in the eye.

"I'm Sara Larson," she said, and to her surprise there was recognition on several people's faces. A couple even exchanged glances. "I'm technically an Admin II, but I'm in the SA training program as well. I've been a Wiccan since college but this is the first time in a while I've come out of my cave long enough to meet new people. It's easy to become a hermit in this place." There were nods of agreement. "Mostly I'm hoping to make a few new friends and have someplace to celebrate holidays with people I don't have to lie to about my job."

More nods, and Sara felt a stab of kinship with everyone around her, even though they probably didn't have much in common besides working in this crazy place and worshipping outside the mainstream. They all understood how hard it was to maintain any sort of friendships or relationships in the outside world, and they all understood the burden of secrecy. Sara considered herself lucky to be an orphan, something she never figured she'd say.

"Thank you, everyone," Dawn said, "Now that we know each other a little better, why don't we brainstorm a few ideas for group activities for this next quarter. Lammas is our next Sabbat, and several of you have expressed interest in a potluck and open ritual similar to the one we did at Midsummer. We'll need someone to coordinate the event, to find a location, to write the ritual, et cetera. Do we have any volunteers?"

This of course was the part where Sara could practically hear crickets chirping, the silence was so absolute. It was a paradox of human nature, and an annoying one, that while people always wanted things to happen, few were actually willing to step up and make them happen.

She heard a heavy sigh, and Sage said, "I'll do it."

The relief was palpable. Dawn fell all over herself thanking Sage, who shrugged as if to say, "If you want something done right..." As Dawn began to make recommendations for Sage to start a committee and iron out the location details as soon as possible, Sage looked over at Sara again, and shot her a grin that Sara realized was conspiratorial.

Sara knew, beyond doubt, that she was about to be drafted, and although her schedule didn't really have a lot of free time available for any sort of committee duties, she couldn't bring herself to mind.

*****

"I'm insane. No, I'm not just insane, I'm Bride of Insane. What was I thinking?"

Rowan smiled at her serenely, swallowed his bite of peach, and said, "What did she ask you to do?"

"Nothing concrete yet. We're supposed to meet after she comes off shift. You don't mind, do you? I hate to eat and run."

He shook his head. "I'm supposed to meet Jason for coffee down below."

"Good." Sara picked up the cupcake she'd nabbed from the line, turning it this way and that; it was a marvel of baking artistry, a creamy vanilla perfectly topped with a swirl of raspberry cream cheese frosting and a single fresh berry on top. "Do you ever talk to the Food Service staff?"

"Of course," Rowan replied. "Anyone with odd dietary needs has to deal with them pretty often."

"What needs are those?" She blinked. She hadn't been aware that he had any allergies or anything like that--she felt a twinge of guilt that she'd been sleeping with him for two months and barely paid attention to what he ate. It was a good thing that she wasn't technically his girlfriend--and it was also a good thing that they didn't do their own cooking, or she might have made him dinner and accidentally killed him.

"Elves can't digest flesh or dairy," he told her, "and refined foods like white flour make us sick. Sage is always inventing new recipes to accommodate people with issues. Her seven-grain bread is amazing."

"So you have met Sage."

"Oh, yes. She's lovely." His eyes lost focus for a few seconds, then he shook himself back to the room--she recognized the expression. It was what happened when his powers got the better of him, and he was presented with a vision or sense of someone's sexual desires. He knew things about almost everyone in the building that would curl their hair…and make them writhe and sweat.

Sara was madly curious what he'd seen about Sage, but refrained from asking; he already fought with himself over whether or not his knowledge was an invasion of their privacy now that he was no longer a practicing rethla, even though there was nothing he could do about it yet.

"She's almost a 4," Sara pointed out, biting the berry off her cupcake, savoring the tartness beneath its sweet flavor. "Why is she working in Food Service?"

"Because she wants to." He shrugged. "Just because someone has abilities doesn't mean he or she has to use them in the SA. There's nothing shameful about being a cook, Sara. Nurturing people is a high calling."

Sara heard the soft admonishment in his voice, and bit her lip. "I didn't mean it like that. It's just…psychic people tend not to be left alone. It gets you in trouble. Plus, she's a Wiccan, so she already works with energy on some level. That's like waving a great big 'kick me' sign at the universe."

He smiled. "True. I'm sure she has her story as much as you do. Perhaps you'll hear it. I know how you love finding out all the lurid details of people's lives."

Again, the admonishing tone, and she blushed before realizing that, this time, he was kidding her. She still felt like an ass for snooping among the Personnel files--true to her word, after reading his…all right, his and Beck's…she had stopped and not gone back.

"I can't help it," she said defensively. "I'm a Scorpio."

"You're a secret agent in the making," he corrected, squeezing her hand. "Besides, if you hadn't somehow hacked into the files, you and I wouldn't be here now."

Involuntarily, she thought of what she had seen in his file--photographs and video documenting the injuries he'd had when Jason brought him in. She couldn't help but remember, looking at him now, the bruises, the visible ribs, the surgical scars from where Nava had cut the implant out of his arm. Nausea wormed its way into her, and she closed her eyes, hands trembling slightly on her cupcake. She set it down; it had abruptly gone tasteless.

"It's all right," Rowan said softly, taking her other hand, kissing both. "I'm all right now. And you're helping me get even better. Don't carry someone else's past in addition to your own. No one is that strong."

She sighed, pulling herself together, and just in time--someone was moving toward their table.

Sage, dressed in chef's whites coated liberally with flour, smiled as she approached. "How's the cupcake?"

Sara returned the smile. "Fantastic. Your handiwork?"

"You bet." She stood by the table, tendrils of her hair falling damply into her face; one hand took a towel from her waist and reached up to Sara's face. "You've got frosting on your nose."

Sara giggled, then shot Rowan an accusatory look.

"I thought it was cute," he said.

"Oh, wow, Rowan, I didn't recognize you," Sage said, eyes widening. "You're hardly ever up here when there's a crowd."

He gave Sara an affectionate smile, then Sage a charming one. "I get out more these days."

"You look so different from when we last met."

"It was October," he replied. "And I am…quite a bit healthier now."

Sara smiled, feeling herself blush again. It was true; since they had started working together, his energy had cleared and strengthened, and gradually he was getting better at controlling his power when they were together. The nightmares were fading, and he depended less on painkillers--it was by no means a full recovery, but they were definitely getting somewhere.

"So, Sara," Sage said, "it looks like I'm going to be working late--my assistant got a migraine and I have about fifty trillion cookies to bake for the next shift. Do you want to postpone getting together? Or you could come back into the kitchen and we could talk while I work."

"How about I help you? I'm not much of a cook, but I can stir things, and I'm hell with a mop."

Sage practically beamed. "That would be wonderful. I knew I was going to adore you."

"No problem. Let me put up my tray and I'll meet you at the kitchen door in five minutes."

Rowan looked inordinately pleased as he walked beside Sara to the conveyor belt on the far side of the cafeteria where used trays and utensils went. "Have fun," he told Sara, leaning forward to deposit a kiss on her temple. "Remember, you're sleeping over tonight."

Sara laughed. "Right. I'll bring my teddy bear."

His eyes sparkled. "Behave yourself, woman, or I'll freeze your bra."

Part Three

"Pentecost," Frog said, clicking the mouse so that a complex chemical diagram showed on the conference room screen. "The compound itself only took us about half an hour to break down. Anyone care to guess why?"

Jason leaned forward, crossing his arms, staring at the image. Carbon, oxygen, hydrogen. Something about it was familiar.

Beck frowned. "Doesn't look like Ecstasy or anything similar."

"That's because it's not," Frog said, his characteristic nervousness in front of an audience parting a moment to allow a short bark of a laugh. "It's not really a drug at all."

Suddenly it came together. "It's sucrose," Jason declared with a groan.

"Along with gum Arabic, gelatin, and oil of wintergreen," Frog affirmed with a nod. "It's basically a mint."

"A sugar pill." Jason sat back hard in his chair. "Son of a bitch sold me three Altoids for a hundred dollars."

"Not quite." Frog switched the screen, and another diagram appeared, this one similar to a chemical breakdown but using alchemical symbols, nothing that would ever be seen on the Periodic Table. "It's been dosed with two formulas from the Grimoire of Soldaris Bathsheba, circa 1428. The first is a magical hallucinogen compounded from wormwood and toad sweat. The second is a psychic dilator. It opens the senses as wide as possible, outside tolerance for most humans, while the hallucinogen makes the person think they're seeing all sorts of heavenly visions. Then, if the victim is powerful enough, the third formula, a mind control agent, takes effect--that's a purely modern addition, and quite ingenious, I might add. It implants the incantation into the victim's brain. Put them all together, and you have…"

Frog clicked the mouse again, and the sound recording Doyle had given Jason filled the room: a stereotypically demonic voice chanting in deep, guttural tones. Frog only allowed the chant to play for a few seconds before switching it off. Generally a sound recording wasn't magically effective, but there was no sense taking a chance.

"What language is that, Dr. Patel?" Ness asked, turning to one of the other researchers, a lovely young woman with large, dark eyes.

"It's an extinct dialect from the former Sunjara region," the doctor replied. "A literal translation would be impossible, but using the language comparison database we discerned that it is a summoning incantation for some sort of entity, known as the Devouring Fire. We're trying to hunt down anything we can on this specific creature, but so far, our information is sketchy."

"So," Beck mused, "These dealers feed thousands of people the Unholy Altoid, and they go insane and chant to summon this Devouring dude. What does he devour?"

"Souls," Patel said crisply.

"As in, the souls of the people who've taken the Unholy Altoid," Ness concluded. "They're all blown open, psychically speaking--they wouldn't be able to stop him from sucking all their psychic energy out permanently and leaving them crispy fried."

"So this goes beyond murder." Jason stared at the diagram. "It's murder, illegal substances, and maleficarum all rolled into one."

"Awesome," Beck said, bobbing her dark head. "What's the plan?"

Ness looked at Jason. "SA-7, I want you to remain lead on this case; therefore, the next step is up to you."

Jason resisted the urge to rub his temples; a bitch of a headache was growing there, and he knew it wouldn't be the last one before these bastards were put down. "Frog, can you run any further analyses on the samples for a manufacturing lab or anything else about where they came from?"

"I can try. I'll get the chem lab on it first thing."

"Good." He turned his gaze to one of the younger Agents at the table, none of whom had spoken so far in the meeting. "SA-13, get in touch with the DEA, APD, ASH, and the local hospitals and see if any of their recent cases match the symptoms we're looking for. SA-15, get a sweep done for any energetic activity in the last, say, six months that shares characteristics with the formulas on the drug. Patel, keep looking for this Devouring Fire creature. All of you report with your initial findings at sunset tomorrow. We'll proceed from there."

A chorus of "Yes, sirs" followed the dismissal, and they all rose and filed out, leaving him with Ness and Beck.

His twin was standing up, too, but leaned in and said quietly, "You really need a shower, bubba. You smell like a blowjob."

He rolled his eyes. "Go away."

"Hope it was a good one," she sang, practically flouncing out of the conference room.

He heard Ness sigh, and looked over at her.

"I don't like the sound of this one," she confided, folding her hands. "There's a lot of potential for big and bad. I don't like that some drug dealer has the cojones to move into this town when we have the rep we have."

"We'll shut him down," Jason said. "We've dealt with that kind of arrogance before--the bigger the balls, the smaller the brain."

"I hope you're right. I suppose there's no sense worrying until we have more information. Keep me in the loop, SA-7, as always."

"Yes ma'am."

She started to rise, then asked, "How's the trainee doing?"

"Sara?" He tried to sound strictly professional and unbiased. "Quite well. She got through the first three months, that's a good sign; she's exceeding standards everywhere but weapons, and even there she's improving. She's dedicated."

"Good, good. Send me the scores on her quarterly exams when you get them."

"Yes ma'am."

Ness departed for her office, where she'd no doubt be at work even later than he usually was, and he was left to switch off the conference room lights and AV equipment, thoughts wandering through the case and back again. He left for the locker room, where he disarmed, disrobed, and administered the oft-recommended shower, sniffing himself as he climbed under the spray.

Not so obvious. He needed friends who had neither psychic nor supernatural senses.

He pulled on his usual off-duty uniform, jeans and a faded Black Flag t-shirt from his punk days in California, and coded off, but didn't return to quarters; he went to his office instead and filled out the opening case paperwork for Pentecost.

He had to admit the case was making him a bit uneasy too, but he attributed that to the religious imagery--a Church holiday, speaking in tongues, visions of God. He wasn't a believer, in the spiritual sense; he'd seen both too much and too little. But he had been raised in a Catholic home, had spent most of his youth surrounded by nuns, and after being persecuted for his sexuality for most of his years, talk of God tended to bother him.

As he was finishing a few notes on the events of the evening, he sensed someone at the door. "You're up late," he commented, lifting his eyes.

"Says one who knows." Rowan leaned sideways against the doorframe, smiling, just the sight of him enough to make Jason's heart stumble drunkenly around in his chest.

It had been several days since they'd seen each other, and in that time the Elf's hair had faded to a sun-drenched gold with fifty shades of brown and a bit of green, and his eyes were the color of leaves in a puddle. He was looking even more lovely these days now that Sara's…efforts…were paying off. Again, for the thousdandth time, Jason debated saying something…asking…begging.

He shoved the need aside. Someday.

"You missed our date," Rowan pointed out. "We were supposed to meet for coffee an hour ago."

"Shit--I'm sorry." Jason looked at the clock on his computer; sure enough, he had lost track of time. "I had a briefing with Ness about a new case. I should have called."

A fluid shrug. "I know I'll never be your first love as long as there's mayhem," Rowan said, feigning offense.

Jason wanted nothing more, in that moment, than to step around the desk and shove the Elf back against the wall, take his mouth in a kiss, and show him exactly who his first love was. His mind was full of curses, mostly at fate.

"Well, I'm off now," Jason forced himself to say around the ever-present lump of suppressed emotion in his throat. "Or were you headed to bed?"

Rowan shook his head, the shining fall of his silken hair just itching to be brushed back past his ear. "I can stay up a bit later."

Soon after they were ensconced at their table in the lounge, Jason covertly watching Rowan over the rim of his mug as the Elf stirred sugar and some form of milk made from almonds into his. His hands were so graceful, they made everything a dance; how might it feel if they--

"…case," Rowan was saying, and looked up in time to catch the expression on Jason's face. "Are you even listening?"

"Oh, yes. Yes, the case. Ness thinks it's going to be a tough one."

"What do you think?"

Jason dragged his mind back to the conversation, and to the present, not a distant hoped-for future he could only dream about. "I think she's probably right. I know we'll catch whoever's doing it, but depending on the size of the operation it could take months. It's hard to speculate."

Rowan, thoughtful, noted, "It's a bit odd to see someone using a completely harmless medium to disperse a magical formula. Usually the drug makers start with a base like Ecstasy or meth."

"Which makes them easier to track," Jason said. "Start with a sugar pill and it's harder to pinpoint a source. Plain old sucrose can come from anywhere. Although…there are industrial sugars made only for the food trade, with differing levels of glucose and fructose depending on the desired product. The average consumer can't get custom-made sugar, but a big company could."

"Then comparing it to regular table sugar might be a place to start," Rowan nodded. "How do you know so much about sugar if you don't eat?"

"Alton Brown," Jason deadpanned, and Rowan laughed. "I may not eat, but I do drink."

"I'll bet vampires are beverage connoisseurs, then. What's your favorite, besides coffee?"

"Blood."

"All right, then, do you have a favorite…blood type, or something? Is there a difference?"

"Absolutely," Jason replied. "No two people taste exactly alike, but there are definite similarities based on diet, ethnicity, region, even sexuality. The types themselves have subtle differences as well. It rather depends on what you're in the mood for--a strict vegetarian would taste…cleaner, say…than a Texas cattle-muncher, but sometimes junk food is what you want, so you'd go for something like an overweight World of Warcraft geek who never exercises and eats nothing but pizza."

Rowan toyed with his spoon. "Have you ever had Elven blood?"

He couldn't help himself, he just couldn't. He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice. "No, but I can tell you what it would taste like. Sweet, but not cloyingly so…like honey, maybe, or some exotic nectar. An undertone of vanilla, perhaps just a touch of spice. Cardamom. Cinnamon would be too sharp. Notes of clear water and cedar bark…and sunlight. You would taste like sunlight."

Pointed ears turned bright pink, and the Elf bit his lip, his hair falling over his face to cover how deeply he was blushing. "I…I didn't know sunlight had a taste."

"It does to us."

"But it's deadly to you."

"Yes. Imagine the taste of something you long desperately to touch, even though it burns you to ash."

Rowan swallowed hard. "That's…wow." He peered out from behind his hair, and their eyes locked, an intensity in the Elf's that left Jason shaking inside. "Do you think you'll ever have the chance to try it?"

Jason leaned forward, extending one hand, fingers brushing lightly over Rowan's lips. "Someday."

The moment carried out forever, neither of them able to breathe, until finally Rowan broke eye contact and looked down at Jason's coffee cup. "Another?" he half-stammered.

Jason let out his breath slowly. "Please."

Part Four

One of Sara's favorite things about spending the night at Rowan's quarters was taking a shower, whether alone or otherwise.

As a high-ranking member of the SA Rowan was in the highest pay scale for Agents, and while on paper it might not look like their income was that impressive, when one considered that room, board, and healthcare were all paid for by the government, that left employees with a surprising amount of disposable income, compounded by the fact that few of them had lives outside their work.

Still, being immortal meant that he could outlive his job, and that meant thrift, or at least shrewd investment. Sara was fairly certain that the vampires were pretty wealthy, and that the Elf kept the lion's share of his paycheck back in savings.

Rowan, however, had been a rethla, and part of his training involved knowledge of aromatherapy coupled with impeccable grooming. His one real extravagance, then, was in the form of bath and body products, which Sara indulged in with hedonistic delight every chance she got.

She stood under the steaming water--he'd had a shower head installed with about sixty settings ranging from gentle patter to skin-peeling thunder--inhaling the scent of lavender and chamomile, one of several body washes lined up along the shelf above the tub. There was a rosemary-mint concoction for early morning, which had woken her from a near dead sleep more than once; then there was a blend she didn't touch, as it was Rowan's personal scent, something involving woods and resins that barely left its signature on the skin, but would whisper from his hair or neck as he passed by her, kissed her, or she fell asleep on his shoulder. Just sniffing the bottle was enough to make her belly burn.

Sara scrubbed stubborn bits of dough from her hair and washed off a streak of butter that had found its way across her cheek, smiling. She was tired, and if she ever saw another cookie again she'd throw up, but she'd had a lot of fun--she couldn't remember the last time she'd laughed so much.

They hadn't gotten much planning done for the Lammas ritual, but that was all right; they'd set a date to meet again over the weekend when they both had a few free hours. That was just fine by Sara, who wasn't all that enthusiastic about the cat-herding frustration of dealing with groups of Pagans, but she was looking forward to hanging out with Sage again.

The girl was smart, funny, and one of the most upbeat people Sara had ever met, without being one of those sunshine-up-your-ass types. Being stuck in a windowless, hot kitchen up to her elbows in cake batter was her version of Eden.

"I mean, yeah, I'd love to have a funky little bakery somewhere in Austin, but there's so much stress involved in running a business like that." Sage had told her, inbetween batches of cookies going in and coming out of the massive ovens, about her grandmother, who ran a bakery of her own for twenty years before succumbing to Alzheimer's, and how Sage had learned to knead and measure at her knee. "She gave tons of bread away to the homeless and spent all her free time baking for soup kitchens. She taught me that there's no better way to show someone you love them than to feed them."

Sara listened to her stories, rapt and mystified as she always was when she heard someone talk about having a real family. "It sounds like you loved her a lot."

"Yeah. When she was in the hospital I took her food all the time. I remember…" Sage brushed her forehead with the back of her hand, and Sara saw the ghost of tears in her eyes as she went on. "The last time I went to see her, she didn't know who I was, but when she took a bite of the bread I brought, for just a second, she was there--my Nana. She smiled, and told me she was proud of me. After that she went downhill fast."

"So…how did you get into the SA?" Sara asked, hoping to steer the conversation somewhere happier.

"Luck. The SA contracts its Food Service, Housekeeping, and other service staff out through a company called ServCo. That way you never actually apply for a job directly with the SA, you get hired by ServCo, where you're basically a temp while they figure out a permanent job for you. I worked in a couple of schools and a hospital first. They saw that I'm good at tailoring recipes to fit special dietary needs, and offered me a job here. It was just after Nana died, so I wanted to go somewhere really different. I guess I got my wish."

"No kidding. But it seems like you like it here."

"God, I love it. Like I said, it's not glamorous, but it's really satisfying. Where else would I get the chance to make a potato-kelp birthday cake for a Naiad?"

Once she got to Rowan's apartment, Sara stripped off her sweat-soaked and flour-encrusted clothes, and took the longest shower she could justify, thankful to smell herbs instead of chocolate, which was an unfortunate side effect of Sage's job.

She climbed out, humming, and pulled on one of Rowan's bathrobes; another place he refused to skimp was on his off-duty wardrobe. This one was dark green, and so soft and light it barely felt like wearing anything. She padded through the apartment, lighting candles, turning on the stereo, and getting herself a glass of wine. By now she'd lost her discomfort at making herself comfortable in what was, after all, the Elf's inner sanctum. She had a toothbrush here, after all.

She settled onto the couch, sipping her wine, feeling more content than she had in a long time. Perhaps it was the novelty of finally having a female friend, someone she could talk to about religion and work and not feel like she had to explain so much. They'd even discussed Rowan, somewhat, though Sage had been careful not to ask too many questions even as curious as she obviously was.

"Speaking of which," Sage had said casually later on, "are you and Rowan, like…" She quirked her eyebrows suggestively, and Sara laughed.

"Sort of. I mean, we're not, like, a couple couple, it's more of a friends-with-benefits situation. Except not."

Now Sage laughed. "All right. One thing I've learned here--relationships come in all sorts of shapes and sizes. It's hard to be a stodgy traditionalist when you're talking about Elves and vampires and whatever else we have here." She lifted an eyebrow again, and asked archly, "So as a friend, how are the benefits?"

Sara grinned. "Un-fucking-believable."

She found herself grinning again, leaning back into the sofa cushions, wondering if Rowan would be too tired when he got in to extend some of those benefits. It was finally getting to the point that sex with him was more enjoyable than stressful--she didn't worry constantly that the minute they were done he would have an episode, though she kept a loaded syringe on the bedside table just in case.

A few minutes later, she got her answer. The door lock beeped, and the Elf appeared, looking…flustered, which was not something she had thought him capable of.

"Hey, stranger," she said. "You okay?"

He nodded, but he looked confused, almost bewildered. "How was baking?"

Sara frowned. "Fun, actually. Are you sure you're all right? Would you like some wine?"

"Um…yes, that would be good."

She got up and went to pour him some, knowing quite well that all was not right with the world, but not wanting to prod--whatever it was, he'd tell her when he was ready.

As she corked the wine bottle and set it back down on the counter, a pair of hands seized her by the hips, roughly turning her around. Rowan's mouth took hers with an almost desperate urgency, and she was so shocked she could barely respond at first. His hands snaked up to untie her robe, pushing it back off her shoulders, and his lips traveled down over her neck, her shoulder, back up to her ear.

Sara had no idea what to make of it--this was not how Rowan did things. He was never aggressive unless she initiated it, and he was certainly never in a hurry.

His tongue flicked out against her earlobe, and electricity crackled through her.

She decided to worry about it later.

Sara looped her bare legs around him and hauled him closer, her hands reaching down to strip off his shirt. They worked each other's clothes off with hands gone clumsy with haste, his touch possessive and almost painful, nails digging into her sides as he kissed her again and again, his tongue delving into her mouth, any hint of training and finesse buried beneath something so alien to his nature that Sara could hardly believe it: need.

Her body responded in kind, and after months of slow-burning sex that took hours of caresses and nibbles to build to a crescendo, being pounced on and manhandled in the kitchen had her wet and practically screaming before he grabbed her shoulders, wrenched her to face away, and pushed her facedown on the counter. She gripped the edge, arching her hips back to meet him as he entered her so hard she cried out with pain. The noise brought no hesitation, however, as she made it clear with her mind and her body that yes, this was exactly what she wanted, don't stop, god, don't stop--

His hands tangled in her hair, pulling her head back, and she shoved backwards, taking him in as deeply as she could, loving the delicious heat and friction, loving the force, her whole body slammed forward over and over again, her arms locked to keep her from sliding over the far side of the counter. She was distantly aware of pain in her stomach where the edge of the counter was digging into her, but she ignored it, pushing back even harder, tightening her muscles around him, eliciting a low groan she'd never heard before.

One of Rowan's hands wrapped around her thigh, slipping expertly in to stroke and tease her, driving her closer and closer, higher and higher, while his other hand held onto her hip so tightly his nails left half-moons of blood in her flesh.

She came screaming, her entire skin seeming to catch fire, the universe rocking through her as she spasmed and slammed her hands into the counter. And this time she wasn't the only one, either; the eruption hit them both, and though he didn't cry out, she knew, even as she fell back onto him, that if he had, it wouldn't have been her name on his lips.

They ended up on the floor, collapsing into a heap of sweaty slick limbs and hair, and the thoughts on the surface of his mind were wild and chaotic, but clear.

Sara smiled to herself, panting. She might have known. There was only one person who could undo Rowan's years and years of practice serving without desire, and it definitely wasn't her.

She didn't ask, and she didn't mind. One day, this was going to end; she would lose him to the one he loved, and that was all right. For now, he was hers, as much as he could be, and that was all right too.

More than all right.

She turned over, her muscles protesting, and propped herself up on her elbow, looking at him.

His eyes were closed, and he was breathing hard, but otherwise there was no sign of immanent danger. That was both a surprise and a relief; on the one hand he hadn't really engaged his gifts, so the likelihood of triggering an episode was less, but on the other hand, something that intense might have easily overwhelmed him.

Rowan looked at her, and the confusion was still there, as were tears.

She smiled gently and put her arms around him, drawing his head to her shoulder. He clung to her, but didn't cry; it wasn't the past that was haunting him, it was the present, the newness and strangeness of it all. He didn't know how to be in love, and he didn't know how to want, yet he loved, and he wanted, and it frightened him.

"It's all right," she whispered.

He leaned back slightly to look in her eyes. "Are you hurt?"

She grinned. "Not at all. I feel fantastic."

"Good…" His head dropped to the cool tile floor, and he blinked, some measure of clarity returning. "I really need to mop in here."

Sara chuckled. "Especially now."

A tired smile. "I'm sorry to have been so…forward?"

"Forward, backward, whatever it was, don't apologize." She kissed his nose, pushed herself up, and groped around for the discarded robe, which was halfway hanging off the oven door. "Come on, let's get you in bed."

He nodded and let her help him up; he was a bit shaky, and come to that so was she, but they leaned on each other and made it to the bedroom, leaving behind a pile of clothes and two forgotten glasses of wine.

Part Five

"You know," Sara said, watching Jason beat the living hell out of a punching bag, "As much as this sucks for you, it's working out great for me."

He stopped and glared at her, then at the punching bag, then back at her.

"Sorry," she said, taking the hint. "It's just…after that little UST stunt you pulled in the lounge last night, he practically fucked me in half. Considering he's not supposed to have actual desires like that, I'd say we're making definite progress."

Jason hit the bag again, so hard the chain holding it up shuddered. "UST?"

"Unresolved Sexual Tension. A standby of bad fan fiction and good television the world over."

"So he told you about that," Jason said, stopping again, grabbing hold of the bag with both hands. "It was stupid of me. And unfair."

Sara grinned. "He didn't have to tell me about it--I could feel it, see it, bubbling around the surface of his mind. Personally I think it's hilarious, in a sick sort of way."

"Hilarious?" He turned the glare back on her, and most people would have flinched, but she was getting used to his moods by now. "Just what part of this, exactly, is hilarious?"

"Oh, come on. You're in love with him, he's in love with you, you know it and he doesn't. You could so totally fuck with him in so many ways. Just like last night, only worse."

"That would be cruel," he snapped. "Why would I do such a thing to someone I care about?"

She shrugged. "I'm not saying you should. I said it was sick, didn't I? I'm warped on the inside."

"You've got that right. Aren't you supposed to be doing something right now? Running, shooting, learning, anything useful?"

"I'm waiting on Carlos. In case you hadn't noticed, I'm always--"

"Fifteen minutes early for everything, I know. It's an admirable trait, except when it pisses me off."

"All right, all right. Look, Beck's here. Maybe you should beat on her for a while."

Sara headed over to the free weights, passing by Beck as she went, and the two greeted each other cordially. They were getting along a lot better now that Sara wasn't so painfully bad at shooting, and Beck wasn't angry at her for sleeping with Rowan. Jason had explained everything to his twin, of course, and though she didn't like it any more than he did, she didn't try to sway him toward any other course of action. She was bossy and stubborn as a mule with everyone else, but for some reason, she never argued with him over anything important unless it was absolutely necessary. Deferring to his judgment had caused them trouble more than once, but she still did it.

"Evening, brother-mine," Beck said, strolling up in her workout clothes, which showed off the splendid chaos of her tattoos. She had a variety of symbolic images on her neck and right side, but on her left, there was a single continuous piece, a vine, trailing all the way down from her shoulder to the top of her foot. The whole design was in black, but every ten years, she added a flower somewhere to commemorate another decade survived.

She also had a lemniscate tattooed on her inside left wrist. So did he.

"Looking for a sparring partner?" she asked. "You seem to have a charge of powder that needs to go off."

"You don't know the half of it. Let's go."

They weren't alike in many ways, but one thing they both excelled at was fighting. He'd learned mostly in order to defend himself, and then honed his skills in Japan before returning to America and eventually joining the SA; she had decided to take up martial arts, pretty much as she did everything, because it looked like fun. And where they both taught trainees techniques with firearms and a few other weapons, for the most part they didn't inflict their superior strength and speed on other humans, so it was either fight with each other, or use the simulator that was, for all its uses, pitifully slow compared to a vampire.

They circled around each other, trading blows here and there, neither willing to yield the advantage until, her impatience overcoming her, Beck dove in for the attack.

He spun around, kicked the side of her head, and threw her on the floor. "Too much pot, little girl," he said with a smirk. "You're slowing down in your old age."

She grabbed his foot and flipped him onto his ass, but he rolled out of the way just in time to avoid the blow that was coming. "Right," she snorted. "You're older than me, remember?"

"Older and better."

Now, she laughed, and several other Agents and trainees in the gym stopped what they were doing to watch the goings-on in the ring. "Brother, I'm better than you at everything except self-denial and brooding. Ooh, hey, you should start a LiveJournal!"

He punched her in the stomach, and she grunted, but recovered and returned the hit plus several more. "Come on," she taunted. "Is that all you've got? The finest Agent in America can't beat up a girl?"

"Not working," he said. "You're not going to get me to let down my guard with your juvenile little barbs."

"Too Zen for that, right?" Her eyes darted sideways, to where he knew Sara was standing, and he knew what she was going to say before she even said it, smirking. "We should get Sara up here to fight in your place. I bet she can get the job done."

Blood-red, reason-stealing rage rushed through him, magma bursting from his every cell, and he attacked her viciously, snarling like an animal. She hissed and fought back, and they tore into each other the way only their kind could, moving so fast the humans outside the ring would barely be able to see them. Pain lanced through his arm and forehead, and he felt a sickening crack as her knee impacted his ribcage.

Finally he drove her to the ground, and when it ended he was holding her to the mat, murder in his eyes and the taste of blood in his mouth. Her eyes had gone silver, and her nails dug into his arms.

"Yield?" he breathed.

She rolled her eyes, and when she looked back, they had faded back to blue. She slapped him on the shoulder. "Yield, dammit. Get off me, your knee's in my crotch."

They pushed away from each other, standing up, and he looked over to see Sara staring at them wide-eyed, her face ashen. Several of the other mortals had similar expressions.

Beck touched her face. "You gave me a black eye, you bastard!" she exclaimed, and sure enough, the skin around her left eye darkened and in a few seconds was deep purple.

"So? You broke my fucking ribs. You need to learn some grace, little girl. You're like a marionette in a hurricane."

He sagged into the ropes around the ring, pushing energy into his injuries, and as her black eye faded to greenish yellow and then pink and then ivory, so too did the crushing pain in his chest fade as the ribs knitted themselves. Their various other wounds healed within minutes; he didn't bother with a few of the more superficial scratches, as they'd be gone in a few hours on their own without wasting any energy on them.

"Go on about your business, citizens," he heard Beck announcing. "Nothing more to see here."

"You're done showing off, eh?" came a voice, and Jason turned to see Carlos, Agent and personal trainer, appear in the gym's double doors. He was a broad-shouldered, imposing man, and most people would have assumed he was some sort of Latino gangster based on his manner and off-duty wardrobe, but he had a truly kind heart, a good sense of humor, and a bit of a crush on Beck.

He also had a pet Chihuahua named Taco. Jason knew this because their apartments were next door to one another and that damned dog barked its entire first year of life. He'd threatened to pop its head off and drink it through a straw more than once.

"Now if you'll let us mere mortals have the ring, please," Carlos said. "Hey Jason, maybe you should consider some therapy. Or at least a boyfriend."

"Was that an offer?" Jason asked, feeling blissfully numb on the inside as he always did after fighting, feeding, or fucking. "You're not much to look at but you'd make a great bottom."

Carlos laughed. "You couldn't handle this much man, gringo."

"I could if I had much bigger hands." As Jason walked by he slapped Carlos on the ass, earning a good-natured punch to his shoulder.

Behind him he heard Sara ask, "Can you teach me how to fight like that?" and Carlos's responding, "Oh, fuck no."

"Want to go to the simulator?" Beck asked, falling into step beside him. "I've got a new protocol installed that mixes hand-to-hand and gunplay."

"Is it actually working, or do you just need something to have it shoot at? I'm really not in the mood to have bullets pulled out of me again."

"It's almost perfect. Just needs a couple more calibrations. Hey…are you feeling any better?"

He paused and turned to her, nodding. "Some. Thank you for pissing me off."

"Any time. Have you had your briefings on the new case yet?"

"Not for another hour. Just enough time for a rinse off and dinner. Do you want to sit in on the briefing, or have me just email you what I get from R&D?"

"Email, definitely. I've got a session with Sara after Carlos is done with her--I'm going to try her out on the simulator tonight. The bunny slopes," she clarified, seeing him about to protest. "Easy peasy stuff, with rubber bullets and armor. She'll be sore as fuck but not hurt. You go save the world, I'll go try and save the SA from Sara."

"Good plan. So…did Rowan like his peach?"

She smiled, and it was a real smile, without any sarcasm or irony. "I don't know, but he sure did look happy when he saw it. He might not mind getting another one tonight."

"Later. Duty calls."

"Right, right. Have fun. Catch bad guys. Buy fruit. Drink coffee."

50 minutes later, he got to his office just in time to meet Frog, Dr. Patel, and the rest of the team. "Let's go to Conference Two," he said.

"Yes, sir," Frog said, wiping his glasses on his lab coat.

When he was just talking straight-up science, Frog was in his element, and his love of his work shone through; person-to-person, however, he was flustered and forgetful and, well, a bit of an idiot. Jason didn't talk to Frog much outside of casework; he knew that he and Beck intimidated a lot of the younger staff. The vampire didn't bother trying to lift the veil of mystery that seemed to lay over their kind; people's reactions amused him.

He took his seat at the head of the table and waited for everyone to get themselves together, then, "All right, let's get started. Frog?"

Frog cleared his throat self-consciously and queued up the chart he'd probably spent hours making. "This is the breakdown of the sugars used in the Unholy Altoid, er, Pentecost. As you can see by comparison, it most closely matches Imperial Sugar's, and Imperial's refinery is here in Texas. We also traced the gelatin back to a rendering plant near Fort Worth. In addition, the pill contains gum Arabic, a common ingredient used in confectionery, but we also found traces of gum Tragacanth, which is derived from legumes grown primarily in the Middle East, in the same region where the Grimoire of Soldaris Bathsheba originated."

"So can we assume, then, that our manufacturer is, if not from the Middle East, at least connected to a supplier and a magician who is?"

"I would say that's a reasonable assumption, but there are variables. Most occult suppliers in Texas could get hold of gum Tragacanth--it would be expensive, though. That's the primary reason gum Arabic is usually used instead; it can be cultivated here and Tragacanth can't. So, if we're looking at a huge sale, thousands of pills, it's more likely that the manufacturer has a direct connection to a supplier overseas."

"Good, Frog. SA-13, what do you have?"

"Nothing, sir," the Agent replied reluctantly. "I checked with all the agencies and hospitals that have anything to do with the drug trade, and there haven't been any unusual cases in the last six months, or an increase in numbers. The most recent thing the DEA could tell me about was a shipment of bad MDMA that killed two people at a rave. There certainly haven't been any junkies brought in speaking in tongues. I also checked with Austin State Hospital and several private mental health institutions and rehab facilities. No love. If these guys are selling here, it hasn't been for long."

"SA-15?"

"Nothing significant is showing up on the energetic monitors," she reported. "I've got all the Eyes on alert, but so far it's just an ordinary Summer. It's usually pretty dull around here until the nuts come out in Autumn."

"Nuts do love their Halloween candy," Jason observed. "Dr. Patel?"

"This Devouring Fire is proving difficult to track down," she said. "That region is very unstable so there's not much left to dig through. We have a couple of pertinent volumes coming from the Cairo Museum of Antiquities. All I know for sure at this point is that this Devouring Fire is equated with both the spirit and the judgment of God--it all links back to the myth of the Pentecost, and how the Holy Spirit descended upon the Apostles. In the Biblical telling, the Apostles were overcome by the ecstasy of their knowledge, hence the speaking in tongues. But there are some references to this being a day of judgment, and from there, the Devouring Fire arises. Those who can withstand the descent of the Holy Spirit are exalted, and those who cannot are devoured."

Jason considered. "Let's assume, for the moment, that this Devourer is a demon, albeit a big nasty one. A demon requires energy to keep it on our plane, and an anchor--an amulet, talisman, reliquary, et cetera. The Devourer would need an endless supply of souls--psychic energy--to remain manifest on Earth. Frog, what did you say the percentages were on victims?"

Frog checked his notes. "Forty percent of those who take the drug speak in tongues and fall into a coma."

"And what percentage of the human population is a psychic at a level 4 or better?"

Frog smiled. "Forty percent, sir."

"He'd need one hell of a reliquary for something that big," SA-15 pointed out, and Jason stared at her a moment, which made her look away, pink.

"That's actually brilliant," he said. "You're right. So we're looking for someone strong enough to harness all this soul energy to summon the Devourer. We're looking for a large enough physical link to feed those souls into. We're looking for someone who has access to a substance derived from plants in the Middle East, as well as working out of a 15th century book of spells from the Middle East. If that same someone has ties to the Imperial Sugar plant, so much the better."

"Not to interrupt," Frog said, only choking a little, "but there's one more thing we should be looking for, too. A location. The magic that has to be performed on a scale this large would need some pretty secure facilities. And…it might be a good idea to find out why this dude wants a Devourer. Is he trying to destroy the world, purify it, what? We need a motive beyond 'crazy fucker.' Right?"

Jason, pleased, nodded at Frog. "We'll make an Agent of you yet, good sir. Go ahead with your current track of learning more about the pill's physical origins. SA-15, get on the lookout for a big building that pings the energetic radar--any baseline over a 3 means there's something going on inside. Hit the usual informants. Doyle couldn't be the only one who knew about this. Our first priority is to find the manufacturer and where he's keeping this stuff so we can destroy it before it hits the streets. Everyone please dump your notes thus far into my server sometime tonight so I can go over it. We'll meet back in 48 hours."

Thus dismissed, the team scurried on their separate errands, leaving him with the two constants in his life since he had transferred to the Texas branch: filling out paperwork and buying fruit.

Part Six

"Okay…why am I here, again?"

Rowan looked over at Frog, who was busy manipulating some sort of program on two of his three lab computers. "We need a test subject," Rowan explained. "We think that this model of the inhibitor may be the one. We've done trials on it with just me and Frog, but since he's not really psychic, there's only so much we can learn. Now we need to try it on you. If that works, the next step is wearing it around the base. After that, out in public."

"You're really that close?" Sara asked, amazed.

"Yeah," Frog replied, pushing his glasses back on his nose. "The last set of modifications to the output modulator seem to have done the trick."

Rowan opened the metal case on the lab bench, revealing three small pieces--two triangular bits about the size of quarters, and a long strip of metal with a click wheel, something like the one on an iPod. He took the two triangles and fit them behind his ears, then strapped the third around his wrist.

"How does it work?" Sara wanted to know.

"It's complicated," Frog said, "but basically it's a portable shield. It takes Rowan's energy, amplifies it through a series of crystals, and projects a barrier between his mind and those around him. The dial on his wrist allows him to raise and lower the barrier, and strengthen it or thin it out, depending on the situation. So if he's on a case and needs to sense something, he turns it down; if he's at the movies surrounded by people, he turns it up."

"So it has no effect on other people whatsoever?"

"None. It's designed to help him blend in. If it's turned to the highest setting, he's supposed to be impenetrable to any but the most powerful psychic sweep."

Rowan smiled. "Don't worry, you won't feel a thing."

Sara raised an eyebrow. "What about you? Isn't this dangerous, if it malfunctions?"

"Not at the level we're working on today. There are seven settings, and there's only a risk once you pass level four. Four is where I'd set it for the average public outing. We'll be working at two and three. The worst that can happen there is that I get a migraine."

She wasn't entirely convinced, but she nodded. "Okay. What do I do?"

Rowan touched the center of the click wheel, and the two triangular pieces lit up. He took a deep breath. "Frog, are we recording?"

Frog gave him a thumbs-up.

"All right. Starting at level 1." Rowan touched the wheel, and Sara felt something very subtle about him change. She couldn't articulate it, but it seemed like a shimmer of heat moved over his aura, like a mirage.

Frog, staring at his monitor, nodded. "All readings at minimum. Safe to increase power level."

"Going to level 2."

Sara felt her heartbeat step up, waiting for something to go wrong despite their assurances. "Am I supposed to be doing anything?"

"Not yet. Frog?"

Another nod. "Minimum. Ready to try 3?"

"Okay." Rowan gave Sara a confident smile, and turned the wheel again. "Level 3."

Now, the change in him was much more noticeable--the shimmer returned, and flickered in her inner vision, though on the outside he looked just as he had before. To her senses he was there, only…paler. It was, she realized, the way someone changed when they shielded.

He was shielded.

"God, it's quiet," Rowan murmured, eyes half-closed. "I'd forgotten…"

"Readings on the output modulator are rising, but they're still well within tolerance," Frog said. "What are you getting, Rowan?"

The Elf closed his eyes all the way, concentrating. "It's working. I can't read her at all. Sara--I need you to drop your shields. Open yourself as much as you can."

Sara bit her lip, not at all happy with the idea, but Frog wouldn't get anything from her, and Rowan was well acquainted with her energy and her gifts. It was safe enough, at least, for her. Slowly, she breathed in and out, imagining the psychic protections she'd built around her mind parting like a curtain, opening inch by inch, only wide enough for Rowan to see in.

"All right," Rowan said, "Level 3 blocks out mundane energy levels, but wavers slightly with stronger psychic power present. Moving up to level 4."

"You said you were only going up to 3," Sara protested.

"If 4 doesn't block out one gifted Witch, there's no way it'll work in a crowded street," Rowan replied, turning up the inhibitor another notch. He looked frustrated until the new level was set, then his face cleared. "That's better. Full blackout achieved in…three seconds. Not bad."

Frog looked thrilled. "Readings are still within tolerance."

"One last test," Rowan said, turning back to Sara. "Attack me."

"What?"

"Attack me. Psychically. Poke, prod, shove, whatever."

"You have got to be out of your--"

"Please, Sara," Rowan said. "This is the only way to be sure."

Angry at him for putting her in this position, she lashed out with her energy, the psychic equivalent of slapping him in the face.

He didn't react at all.

Sara paused, her irritation pushed aside, and did it again. Still no reaction. She reached out a third time, visualizing the energy as a finger, and poked him hard between the eyes.

"Well?" Rowan asked. "Did you do it?"

"Yeah. Didn't you feel it?"

Rowan laughed, and the satisfaction in his face made Sara's fears dissolve. "Not at all," he replied.

Frog whooped joyously and entered something on the computer. "Awesome," he said. "That'll do for now. How are you feeling, Rowan?"

The Elf thought about it a moment, then said, a smile spreading across his face, "Fine. Just fine. I think we can call this a success, Frog."

He reached up and removed the two earpieces, then took off the wrist band, placing each back into its foam slot in the case. "Once you get your notes written up on this phase, we can move on to the next."

Frog grunted in agreement, already absorbed in whatever he was typing. Rowan took the case, locked it, and went over to the lab's wall, where he entered a code, causing a door to slide open. He stowed the case inside and shut the door.

"Thank you, Sara," he said, kissing her forehead.

"You realize that if your head had exploded I would have kicked your ass," she pointed out, eliciting a grin.

"That won't happen," he tried to reassure her. "We've built several safety mechanisms into the system--it's designed to shut off if the energy level spikes above a certain limit."

"But what if that happens in the middle of a crowd of people? That would leave you totally unprotected."

He looked serious again. "Having an energy spike hit my brain would be worse than being unshielded. Besides, that's where the fail-safe comes in. If the system goes into shutdown, it emits a pulse just before it switches off that, well, switches me off too. I'll be knocked unconscious for about ten minutes, giving whoever's with me time to get me out of the situation and either reset the system or get me as far from the crowd as possible."

She stared at him, openmouthed. "You're going to trust a machine that much? But…so many things could go wrong!"

He took her hand and led her out of the lab, through the R&D department, and back toward the Floor. "Yes, they could. Why do you think we've been working on this thing for so long? This is the sixth model we've come up with. The last one was perfect until it hit the highest power level, and then it failed. That wasn't good enough. It has to work flawlessly or I can't in good conscience let Ness send me into the field."

"Why do you have to go out at all? Isn't there plenty for you to do here? I just…the thought of you getting hurt…"

He turned to her and smiled sympathetically. "I know, anama. But you don't understand--you can come and go whenever you like, and all you have to do is get a pass if you want to go shopping, see a movie, even walk down the street. That you never go anywhere is your choice, not an obligation. I don't have that choice right now. I have left this base less than a half-dozen times in twelve years. Considering I used to live in miles upon miles of endless forest, it's like being a prisoner all over again, just in a gilded cage."

Sara looked away at the pain in his voice. Yes, of course he was right, but she didn't have to like it. "I understand."

"I want to have coffee somewhere with windows, or smell the inside of a bookstore, or wander around downtown in this city I still haven't seen. I've lived in Austin for over a decade and I know nothing about it. I hear there are bats."

She nodded. "Okay. I'll do whatever I can to help you. Just…be careful, please."

"You've helped me tremendously, you know." He squeezed her hands, and continued walking, this time toward the elevators. "Thanks to you I'm strong enough to walk around the base without my mind being flooded with so much information that I can't think. Just being able to eat dinner with other people is more than I could have hoped for a year ago. But I need more. If…if I'm not meant to go back to my calling, I have to at least contribute somehow. There's a lot more I can do for people here--things nobody else can do. Except, perhaps, you, one day."

She leaned on him in the elevator, his arm wrapping around her waist; they weren't usually affectionate outside quarters, but as she'd seen already, word got around, and slowly people were noticing there was something going on. It was too bad she couldn't explain what that really was.

The worst part was that, despite her witty words to Jason, she really hated what this was doing to him. Every rumor he heard, every time he had to think about her and Rowan together, it was like a knife in his gut--she could see it. After the sparring match--and she was still too freaked out to think of it as anything less than a full-out fight to the death, even though Carlos had promised the twins did that sort of thing all the time--she had vowed not to rub it in his face again. How strong was Jason, really? Wasn't there any other way to help Rowan without destroying the vampire?

"Have you seen Jason since…the other night?" she asked, trying to sound casual. They hadn't talked about it, but of course he knew she knew.

Rowan stiffened slightly beside her. He shook his head. "No, not yet. He's been busy with this new case, and Frog and I have been in the lab nonstop for the last few days."

"You should get together with him soon."

"Why?" He stepped away as the elevator dinged and its doors released them into the ground-level corridor.

"What do you mean, why? You need a reason to spend time with the guy you're nuts about?"

Rowan frowned, falling into step at her side on their way to the cafeteria, his eyes on the tile floor. "To tell you the truth, Sara, I'm not sure how much more of this I can take."

He stopped just outside the double doors and leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, looking so miserable for a moment that she nearly blurted out what she knew about SA-7, and to hell with all of it. She had promised Jason she wouldn't, and she still wasn't sure Rowan was ready to hear it anyway.

"Tired of me already?" she tried to joke, but if anything, that made it worse, as now guilt also hung around him.

"It has nothing to do with you," he sighed. "You know I care for you, Sara."

"Of course I do. I was kidding. I'm sorry."

Rowan shook his head. "Don't be. It's just that the more we work together, if that's what we should call it, and the more control I gain over my memories and my power, the harder it is not to respond to him."

"And by respond, you mean 'throw him down on the kitchen counter.'"

He half-smiled, but if possible there was even more guilt in his eyes. "Yes. But I'm so afraid…so afraid of what will happen if I do. What if…I just can't, not yet, maybe not ever. And worse still…I know he's attracted to me. I'd have to be head-blind and a moron not to sense that. But for me…for once in my life, I feel more than that. I want more, and I think I may actually have more to give. But what if…I…I have no reason to think he feels the same way."

Sara moved forward and hugged him, to the surprise of several people walking into the cafeteria at that moment. "Honey…you do, too."

"What do you mean?"

She looked into his eyes. "Just this: before you give up on him, first, do me a favor."

"All right…what?"

"Log onto the main server and pull up the SA duty logs--I know you have clearance for that."

"What for?"

She took his arm and led him toward the doors. "I want you to look at Beck's patrol route."

He was utterly nonplussed. "Why should I do that?"

"Just do it, Rowan. Trust me. Consider it your remittance for making me poke you in the third eye." She grinned, a bit mischievously, and tugged him along behind her. "Now, let's see what's for dinner, shall we?"

Part Seven

"Absolutely not."

A surprised and uncomfortable silence filled the conference room as Jason glared at the Elf who sat across the table, his own usually-gentle gaze gone stony. Next to Rowan, Frog looked like he wanted to hide under the table. At the far corner, Beck leaned back in her chair, suppressing laughter.

"Agent Adams," Ness said sternly, "I know you're the ranking field Agent in the branch, and that you have considerable authority, but let's not forget: I'm in charge here, and I'm the one who decides whether or not an experiment like this will or won't take place."

It took all Jason's will not to fix his glare on her, but aside from being insubordinate, it wouldn't do any good. Ness was the only person in the SA who was his match when it came to mule-headed stubbornness. Not to mention, she was right.

"You can't seriously be considering this," he said, maintaining his hold on calm by a slender thread. "It's far too dangerous."

"Of course I'm considering it," Ness retorted. "This is the whole purpose behind the inhibitor. We need Rowan out in the field--we need him on this case. We're getting nowhere with the victims we've found so far. We need someone to get in deeper, past the surface of the mind where telepathy could benefit."

"So we bring the victims here," Jason said. "We isolate them in the infirmary."

"Fine, but what about the next case? And the next? Do I have to remind you that SA-5 is a fully qualified Agent, and that his gifts can't be utilized to their fullest potential as long as he's stuck here in the base?"

"We can't know for sure what kind of side effects that thing will have, or if it will even work. What if he gets out there in the middle of town and it breaks?"

Frog cleared his throat, and though he went beet red when they both turned to stare at him, he spoke up pretty evenly. "With all due respect, SA-7…we've been running tests on the inhibitor for weeks now. Rowan has been wearing it all over the base, even on the Floor during peak hours. It works. It works beautifully. The next logical step is for him to wear it in public."

Ness nodded. "I've looked over all the readings and notes from the testing so far, and I agree with Frog. The only way we're going to know if we've wasted half a million dollars of taxpayers' money, not to mention months of research and development, is to give it a shot. I've already approved the test, SA-7. What I need now is for one of you two to volunteer as SA-5's bodyguard for the night."

"Why one of us?" Beck asked. "I mean, I'll totally do it," she flashed Rowan a grin, "but I'm just curious."

Finally, Rowan spoke up, though he didn't look at Jason. "You're the only two Agents I trust with something this important."

"Meaning the inhibitor," Jason clarified.

Rowan lifted his eyes, met Jason's. Jason felt his heart somersault into his throat the way it always did, in spite of his anger, in spite of his fear. "Meaning, my life," Rowan replied quietly.

God damn it.

"All right," Jason muttered. "I'll do it."