Myke Cole - Shadow Ops - Control Point

Britton grimaced as Truelove found a container of sugar and filled the cup halfway, following it with water until the cup brimmed — a soupy white mess. The Goblin reached forward, grinning like a child, and grabbed it in his wrinkled, three-fingered hands.

“Okay, Sarah,” Harlequin said. “I’ve got to get to the flight line before I miss my helo out. You all set?”

“Yes, sir,” Downer replied. “I’m good, thanks.” She didn’t sound good at all.

“Don’t stay up too late.” Harlequin winked. “You’ve got to be up bright and early tomorrow now that you’re all here.”

“I won’t, I promise,” she said, sounding so young that Britton felt like his heart would break.

Britton marveled at her girlish obedience. This was the Selfer who’d taken on an entire assault force? Who’d almost killed him? He looked over Harlequin’s smart uniform, pressed and polished to perfection despite the mud that spattered them all. Britton could only see the man who’d hounded him, but he guessed that man would do for a confused teenaged girl. Nothing could make a kid turn her coat like puppy love.

“Jesus, Harlequin, she’s just a kid,” Britton said, instantly regretting it as Downer’s face curled into a frown.

“She’s a kid who can teach you a thing or two,” Harlequin said. “Magic forces us to grow up faster than normal. If I were you, I’d stop thinking I was so damned smart and start paying attention to how things are done in this brave new world. Otherwise, you’re in for a rough adjustment.”

He went out into the night, leaving the OC to Truelove, Downer, Britton, and the Goblin. They sat in silence before Truelove shrugged and tapped Britton’s knee.

“Welcome to Shadow Coven,” he said. “The new Shadow Coven, anyway. We’ve just been reconstituted.”

“Reconstituted?” Britton asked, scarcely able to take his eyes off Downer, to believe she was alive. She sat silently, looking lost. Britton wanted to talk to her but didn’t know what to say, and was grateful for Truelove’s nattering, which kept the shocked silence at bay.

“The last outfit apparently deployed to a bad end. They won’t give us the details,” Truelove said, smiling grimly. “We’re still short, unfortunately. You’re looking at all of us. Well, there’s Richards, but he’s passed out right now.”

“Him, too?” Britton asked, indicating the Goblin, who snorted busily at his cup of wet sugar.

Truelove smiled indulgently at the creature. “Nah, Marty’s just a friend.”

“Marty…?” Britton asked.

“His real name is tough to pronounce,” Truelove said. “Nearest I can figure it’s Mardak Het-Parda. Everybody calls him Marty.”

Marty snorted again, looking up at the sound of his name. “Umans no talk me,” he said. “Only you and Doctor Captain.” His voice hissed from his nose, harsh and nasal.

“I’m Oscar,” Britton said, unsure if he should shake hands. “Nice to meet you.”

“Uskar…” the Goblin said, sounding so much like the demon-horses that Britton started.

“You speak English pretty well,” Britton said to the Goblin, who smiled, wiggling his long ears.

“Better than any other Goblin we’ve got,” Truelove said, beaming with pride. “They use him sometimes to do ’terp work, you know, interpreting, with detainees and tribal delegations. But most of the time he works in the cash. He’s really good with the local flora, and I swear a feel a slight current off him. I think he’s got a touch of Physiomancer in him.”

Britton concentrated, but felt no current coming from the Goblin. Perhaps it was overwhelmed by Downer’s and Truelove’s strong magical tides.

“Of course, they don’t call themselves Goblins,” Truelove said, embarrassed. “I really shouldn’t, it’s not nice. But you start to fall into it since everyone around you does.”

“No angry,” Marty hiss-whispered. “Goblin okay.”

“What do they call themselves?” Britton asked.

“Water baby!” Marty said.

“Like that,” Truelove said. “Near as I can tell, he means children of the stream. I think it means they came from magic.”

Marty nodded, slurping the last of the solution in his cup. Britton frowned.

Truelove smiled at his reaction. “They didn’t have sugar before we came here. They absolutely love it. We keep them clear of alcohol, they can’t process it. Even one sip makes them falling-down drunk. A full glass can kill them.”

Britton shook his head. He looked down at his beer, then cracked it open. “Nothing for you?” he asked Downer, trying to break the silence between them.

She shook her head. “I’m not old enough to drink.”

“I’m not going to tell anyone.” He looked a question at Truelove, but the smaller man only looked down at the bar.

“It’s against regs,” Downer said, frowning. “Harlequin says we’ve got stick to the regs from now on.” Again that wooden voice.

“Harlequin’s not here,” Britton replied. “When I last saw you, the regs didn’t mean a lot to you.”

He meant it good-naturedly, hoping to coax a smile from her, but Downer flushed. “That was a long time ago.”

“That was a day ago,” Britton said, “maybe two.”

“Harlequin said you might talk like this,” Downer retorted. “Sticking to the regs is what makes us different from Selfers.”

Britton knew better than to argue with the patronizing certainty in her voice. What teenagers didn’t think they knew everything? Cut her some slack. She’s been through hell, and is less equipped to deal with it than you are. You put the damned bullet in her. You owe her for that.

Unable to think of a way to recover from the rising tension, he took a swallow of his beer and turned to Truelove instead. “So, Shadow Coven?”

The small man nodded. “Each Coven gets a name and number. We’re Shadow Coven. Entertech contractors, all. Welcome to the company. We’re the one Probe Coven in the whole SOC.”

Prohibited schools. Britton suddenly realized the significance of Harlequin’s comment about Chris’s grandmother. “You’re a Necromancer,” he said to Truelove.

Downer brightened, grateful for the change of subject. She pointed to the floor beside the bar. “Come on, Simon, show him.”

Truelove’s pale cheeks went crimson. He looked uncomfortably at Downer from beneath his narrow brow, and Britton thought he caught of glimpse of the same smitten look Downer had showed to Harlequin.

Pushing the thoughts away, Britton followed Downer’s finger to the floor. A largish roach lay there, crushed flat by an uncompromising combat boot.

Truelove shrugged again and stared at it. Britton felt his tide ratchet up. The broken, flat insect peeled itself away from the ground and stood, one broken leg remaining in the dirt and another dangling by a thread of chitin. It bowed to Britton, shedding the broken leg in the process, then turned a graceful pirouette on the bottom of its abdomen before flopping over on its back.

“Impressive,” Britton said.

“It’s just Physiomancy in reverse,” Truelove said. “They do live flesh. I do the dead stuff.”

“How about you?” Britton asked Downer, trying again. “You’re an Elementalist.”

She didn’t give him a chance. “How about you?”

Britton barked a nervous laugh. “Portamancy.”

Downer worked to keep from looking impressed and failed. “Fitzy said as much,” she said. “We didn’t believe him.”

“Fitzy?” Britton said.

“You’ll meet him tomorrow,” Truelove said. “Don’t mess with him. He’s not a nice man.”

“Fitzy is asshole!” Marty chirped proudly. Downer and Britton laughed, but Truelove looked embarrassed. “I’ve been trying to stop him from doing that …It just makes things harder on him.”