Courts and Cabals by G. D'Moore (e reader comics txt) 📕

bed from your face fucking, and now you’re about to duel to the death,” there was no smile on her face despite the words. “Fight with honor. Remember what we’ve taught you. Use anything and everything to your advantage,” I had to bend over so she could plant a kiss on my forehead, and the smack she gave my bare ass wasn’t entirely unexpected. “Now, go get’em.”

I stepped out into the stone circle and the world outside seemed to fade. It was just me and the troll. I started my warm ups: stretching, some hand-to-hand drills, and finally my sword. The troll watched me carefully. Aveena might be a royal bitch, but the knight was a professional warrior. He knew not to take anything for granted.

Twenty minutes came and went before I even knew it. Before I could object, Aveena was calling the trial by combat to order.

Ser Fredrick stood to face her, bowed, and saluted with his sword. “For the honor of Chloe Clearwater.”

“For Chloe,” Aveena replied formally before turning to me.

I was fighting for my cabal, my new family who’d done everything in their power to defend me; not to mention my continued existence. There was only one way to respond to the noble Fae’s accusatory glare.

“Up yours, bitch,” I gave her the finger. “Let’s get this over with.” I caught Lilith’s smile out of the corner of my eye.

“Very well,” Aveena’s composure didn’t break. “Ser Fredrick, kill him slowly,” she ordered.

The last ray of light from the sun vanished beneath the artificial horizon, and the duel began.

***

The clandestine raid Vernon had attempted was long gone. Blue and red lights flashed around the perimeter, and half the town of Vincent’s Hollow was watching.

“. . . you can’t just,” the Sheriff was throwing a temper tantrum, but Vernon held up a finger and turned his steely gaze on the mundane man.

“I can do whatever the hell I want,” he towered over the man, who visibly shrank before the pissed off shifter. “Your deputies will continue to hold the perimeter until I release them. If any of them abandon their posts, I will charge them with obstruction, and you . . .” he leaned forward until he was inches from the man’s face, “don’t think I don’t know about the little text message you sent out. If you want to stay out of a prison cell, you’ll shut the fuck up, and follow my orders. Are we clear?”

The man just glared at Vernon before walking away.

“What text message?” Becky stepped into the vacated spot.

“Hell if I know,” Vernon shrugged. “We’d need a warrant to go through that data. We only had the phone lines monitored, but I’m betting the good, old Sheriff tried to get word out anyway, and the easiest way is by text. Judging by his face, I’ve got him dead to rights.”

“And I’m pretty sure he’ll never work with me again, so thanks for that,” she didn’t sound that upset.

“If you want, I can put in a good word with my bosses for you,” he tested the waters.

“Let’s see how this goes first,” she replied, but the look on her face was a definite maybe.

Despite all the lights and people gathered within a block of Joe’s Pizza Joint, there was a whole lot of nothing actually happening. It became abundantly clear that Vernon had neither the skill nor the power to help the other UN mage with the task of breaking into the Fae’s pocket dimension. The mage described it like having to break into the latest high-security bank vault, blind, my touch alone, when there wasn’t even a dial to turn or tumblers to click into place. That sounded impossible to him, but he told her to keep at it. They needed to do something.

He was thinking of calling in to report his status when his phone rang in his pocket. Since it was on silent for the operation, the fact it was chiming loudly and flashing colors meant the call was pretty damned important.

“Why don’t you secure the back,” he asked Becky. He might want her to quick the now-dead-end Sheriff’s job and come work for the UN, but she didn’t have the clearances to listen in on this.

She read between the lines and jogged off. Even with jeans and her heavy Sheriff’s jacket, her ass looked great. Pushing his girlfriend’s magnificent tushy out of his thoughts, he took a deep breath and answered.

“Agent Dud,” he kept his tone unreadable.

“Vernon,” it was the Director, and she sounded off. “What’s your status?” the words rushed out of the septuagenarian.

“We tracked both parties into the target location, but they slipped into a subspace pocket, likely created by the Fae noble Lady Aveena Foxbelle. We’ve established a perimeter and are attempting to enter the pocket. If we are unable to, we’ll catch them when the pocket collapses.”

“Good . . . good,” the woman sounded like she was talking to herself. “Make sure that perimeter is tighter than a tick’s asshole. Abandon the attempts to gain entry, that’s nearly impossible. I need you to hold until an Echelon team arrives. They will relieve you.”

The shock of getting relieved was only outweighed by the surprise that an Echelon team was on their way. As a special agent, Vernon was more like the typical detective/cop. He investigated supernatural crimes in violation of the WRA, and participated in targeted enforcement operations with local authorities. Sometimes, like this time, he had another agent or agents to assist.

Echelon teams were the SWAT teams to his lone-wolf agent status. They were a dozen, highly-trained and tactically deployed supernaturals. They were the hammer that the UN brought down on people who really pissed off the world. When an African warlord-mage brought death and disease on a rival tribe, the UN sent in Echelon. When a drug cartel kingpin