Kavon stomped down on an overprotective well of anxiety that made him want to wrap Darren in cotton. While it was true, as Darren always reminded the group, a bullet stopped a bad guy faster than a chant or spell, these ifrit had changed the equation.
“Kavon?” Darren gave him an odd look.
Kavon tightened his control over the bond. “I'm fine.”
“So,” Darren said, “did our mysterious visitor drop magic bombs outside because of the NCCP, or is this a coincidence?”
Kavon scanned the lobby. Now that he knew there was a convention, he could see how most of the guests stood close to each other. They were a tribe, and only a few people didn’t fit that pattern. An older woman sat at the hotel bar watching the room and a man wandered from group to small group trying—and failing—to engage others in conversation. A young hotel employee projected aggravation, and a man with a service dog appeared to be busily reading his laptop, but his hand kept twitching. Kavon kept his attention on the lobby as he answered. “You know how I feel about coincidence.”
“Yep, but your disbelief does not change the fact that sometimes it happens.”
It was equally possible that the ifrit had decided to target these people because one of them wanted power. Kavon suspected most of them hated Talent because they felt insecure around those who could control magic. If a powerful and old guide offered them magic, Kavon imagined more than one would take that offer.
“Ten o’clock,” Darren said under his breath. Kavon glanced over to see Mr. Schmoozer heading their way.
Kavon stepped forward, and the man gave him a smile. “Good morning.” The stranger held out his hand. “Mason Butler. So are you here for the conference?”
Kavon ignored the outstretched hand, but Darren shook it. “Darren Oberton, and this is my partner Kavon Boucher.”
“Partner?” Mason looked from one to the other. “I’m going to assume you’re not part of the NCCP. So, are you gentlemen here to protest the action? To serve legal papers? To poison the buffet?” Butler said the last part with a little too much enthusiasm.
“Why? Are you security?” Kavon asked.
“If you’re planning on poisoning someone, I'd love to get a comment.”
“You’re a reporter,” Darren said in a flat tone.
Kavon wanted to run. Not even ifrit with cosmic powers scared him as much as reporters. He’d seen good people destroyed by unfair news coverage.
“Guilty as charged, not that I want to show my credentials around this place.” Butler put his back to the wall and scanned the room. “These people are a little on the fanatical side, and my publisher happens to support shamans’ rights. So, would you care to give me your opinion on the new conservative freedom party's platform?”
“No comment.” Kavon walked away.
“Come on, you must have an opinion.” Butler chased after them. “Everyone has an opinion.”
Kavon pinned Butler with his coldest glare. “Why do you care about mine?”
The unctuous charm vanished, and Butler’s expression turned more serious. He leaned closer and dropped his voice to a whisper. “Maybe I’m curious about why one of the three members of the DC shamanic council would show up for an NCCP conference. Is this FBI business, or are you out here for the council?” Butler’s body was braced as if ready for a fight.
Kavon cursed the council seat that had made him a damned public figure. People with an interest in shamanic business went out of their way to know his name and face, and Butler obviously had. Tapping his limited pool of magic, Kavon felt for the emotional threads around him. As an adept, Les could read emotional piles more easily, but with effort and an expenditure of his own resources, Kavon was able to do the same.
Without Bennu’s power, the emotions felt dulled and muted. Curiosity pricked at his skin, and suspicion. Kavon might have picked up a hint of anticipation. All that fit with a reporter wanting to make a story, but this guy wouldn’t get a comment on or off the record. “No comment.” He nodded toward the door, and Darren high-tailed it.
Butler followed. “I’ll keep it anonymous and just use you for background. Off the record, is something going on?”
Kavon walked faster.
“Has there been a threat made against the crazy brigade?” Butler guessed.
“Aren't you supposed to maintain journalistic objectivity?” Kavon asked.
“They’re inside voting on whether or not the Bible commands them to kill anyone with Talent.” Disgust stained the air. “That’s my Bible they’re maligning, and I'm pretty sure objectivity ends when conspiracy to commit homicide begins. Is that why the FBI is here? Are you looking at the NCCP as a potential terror group?”
Darren spoke up. “No comment means no comment.”
“Move away or I will consider this harassment,” Kavon added. Now that he was a political figure, he wasn’t sure he could make that charge stick as well as when he’d been a simple FBI agent, but he was willing to try.
Butler backed away, his hands up. “Right. Fine. But if you are here as part of your job in the FBI, I might unofficially encourage you to keep up the good work.” Butler walked backward for several steps before he turned and went back into the hotel.
Darren frowned, worry seeping through the bond. “What does he know that we don’t?”
Clues that didn’t fit always gave Kavon hives. Maybe the ifrit had already made a move here, something that had emboldened the reporter to chase the story. Then again, attacking the anti-Talent brigade felt like too human a motive for an ifrit. “Text Les and see if there are any open investigations featuring the NCCP, and while you’re at it, check out the reporter.”
“Assistant Director White is going to kill us if we stumble into a terror plot on our vacation,” Darren complained softly, but he was already texting. Kavon was less worried about White than he was about the last flare of fear he’d gotten from Butler. If someone was plotting a terrorist act, the staff were in the best position to know about it. And they’d know if a powerful shaman was asking questions about them.
