Darius circled the vehicle to join us, carrying a simple blue folder. “Once we’re inside, let me do the talking.”
Ezra and I saluted in answer, and Darius smiled. “Then let’s begin.”
He led us to the precinct’s door and swung it wide open, walking in like he owned the place. Ezra and I followed on his heels, and I could only hope I looked as confident as our GM.
A rectangular lobby greeted visitors, with a double row of back-to-back chairs down the center and a third row against the left wall. On the right, a service counter was set into the wall, the room behind it stuffed with filing cabinets and computers.
At the far end, directly ahead, a glass wall with another set of double doors separated the lobby from a bullpen office full of desks. Agents and analysts bustled about, oblivious to the coming drama.
A surprising number of mythic civilians waited in the lobby, most of them scattered among the chairs, with six lined up at the counter. Darius strode for the reception line, and the guy at the back of the queue glanced over. His gaze shifted past Darius to Ezra—and his face went white. He grabbed the sleeve of the guy in front of him and backpedaled.
The rapid scuffle of their shoes drew the attention of the others in line, and an instant later, everyone was backing rapidly away as we approached the counter.
I remembered the pervasive dread of the unbound demon from last Halloween. This week’s demon mage hunt must’ve created just as much of a fearful stir through Vancouver’s mythic community. Ezra had become a celebrity—the infamous kind.
Darius walked to the reception desk and smiled at the white-faced woman sitting behind it. The two administrators at desks farther back in the records room were frozen in place.
“Good afternoon,” he said pleasantly. “Darius King, GM of the Crow and Hammer, presenting myself as per summons MS-19-70493.”
He wasn’t speaking loudly, but just like in guild meetings, his confident voice carried to every ear in the room.
As he slid a paper from his folder and laid it on the receptionist’s desk, he continued, “Accompanying me is Victoria Dawson and Ezra Rowe, guildeds of mine who are facing charges.”
Whispers rippled through the watching mythics. The poor receptionist looked ready to faint.
“I also have appeals prepared for both of them,” he concluded, adding two more sheets of paper. “Who’s in charge of their cases?”
The receptionist just stared.
“Perhaps you should call them,” he suggested gently.
She reached out with a trembling hand, picked up her phone, and fumbled with the ten thousand buttons on it. Lifting the handset to her ear, she continued to stare between Darius and Ezra.
“A-A-Agent Harris,” she stammered. “D-Darius King is here. He—he b-brought … Ezra Rowe.”
Darius held his pleasant smile as she listened. Five seconds passed, then ten.
The glass doors to the bullpen flew open, and a swarm of agents burst through. Half were unarmed and half carried some sort of weapon. A disagreeably familiar face led them, his teeth bared and eyes wild behind thick-rimmed reading glasses.
Ah, Agent Brennan Harris. The supreme asshole who’d tried to coerce me into dishing dirt on the Crow and Hammer. He’d then thrown the hissy fit of all hissy fits when Darius had weaseled me out of murder charges by “proving” I was a mythic.
I swiftly scanned the other agents for faces I might recognize. Since becoming an official mythic, I’d encountered a few agents in brief doses—usually while submitting reports or evidence after one of our fun adventures, plus the occasional agent or two would stop at the guild to speak with Darius.
This time, I didn’t recognize anyone besides Harris—though that might’ve been because they all wore expressions of shock, defensive anger, and fear.
Darius stepped in front of Ezra, shielding him from the oncoming force. The unlucky civilian visitors in the lobby pressed against the walls to get clear.
“Move, Darius!” Harris spat, pointing a silver wand at the GM’s chest. “Protecting a demon mage is a capital crime and we’re authorized to use lethal force!”
“You’d be entitled to do that,” Darius agreed calmly, “if Ezra were a demon mage.”
Harris’s eyes bulged before he pulled himself together. He jerked a pair of handcuffs off his belt. “I’m placing you all under arrest.”
He took a step closer, then froze as Darius’s unyielding stare met his.
“As I was just telling your receptionist,” the GM said in a quiet, dangerous way, “I’m here to appeal the charges against my guildeds—including Ezra. He’s been falsely accused, and we will prove his innocence.”
“He’s already been convicted,” Harris snarled, cuffs dangling from his hand. “We have irrefutable evidence that he—”
“What evidence is more irrefutable than the so-called demon mage presenting himself for the MPD’s examination?” Darius raised a hand toward Ezra, still safely behind him. “Would a real demon mage be standing here peacefully?”
The agents behind Harris shifted uneasily. A few looked relieved that they weren’t about to battle the most feared mythic out there.
“More bullshit, Darius.” Harris dared to step closer, a crazed light in his eyes. “This is just another of your tricks, but we have video evidence of Rowe attacking a combat team with demon magic.”
“And video footage has never, in all the history of cameras, ever been altered,” Darius said with subtle but unmistakable sarcasm. “Nor is it exceptionally easy to do since magic records so poorly.”
Harris hissed under his breath.
“Test him, Brennan. He isn’t a demon mage.”
“If he isn’t a demon mage,” the agent beside Harris asked, “why did you wait a week to bring him here?”
“We had no choice but to wait for the bloodlust to die down after the MPD issued a three-hundred-thousand-dollar DOD bounty without warning—skipping several lawfully required steps along the way, I might add.”
“It was an emergency,” Harris growled.
“Really? And how many murders has Ezra committed?”
“He—we have video evidence that he attacked—”
“Ah yes, the indisputable video. But I’m not here to discuss whether an emergency hearing to sentence him
