Page 53 of Gates of Tartarus

“Oh Christ!” he says, starting laughing again. “The cat! With the marshmallows and the cake and you accidentally…”

Flying across the chairs, I slap a hand over his mouth, locking eyes with him. “Shut it, Tanaka!”

The fuckerlicksmy hand, and I pull back, squealing slightly. “Ohgross, dude!Gross!”

Maddox’s dry voice interrupts our reminiscing. “Well. A strange ten minutes for sure. It’s time to focus though. Get your drinks and let’s get to it?” he half-asks, half-commands, though not unkindly, and Deo answers for me.

“I’ll go grab you a mocha,” he says softly. I smile up at him in gratitude, but it slides off my face as he turns and pushes by Jonah in a completely un-Hideo-like move, saying dismissively as he passes, “notagreen tea.”

Concerned, I start to stand, but, unexpectedly, Walker comes to my side and gently pushes me back into my chair and says quietly, “He needed a win there, Kai. Let him be.”

I look at him, confused, as he and Jonah exchange knowing looks, Jonah shaking his head ruefully and flopping down beside me.

“Worth it,” he says cryptically, and Walker grins at him, eyebrows raised speculatively. By the time Deo finishes making our drinks, everything is back to normal, except for the strange, lingering pit of emotion in my stomach, and the uncomfortable feeling that pieces are being moved on a chessboard without my knowledge.

Can’t Go on Without You

Tuesday, 13 November – Maela

We’re all out the door bright and early the next morning. Kavi has an introductory training session with some of the older agents, who have proven surprisingly receptive to the wellness program, so I’m going to be doing some gentle stretches and basicasanasin the MI5 gym, as I’m not allowed to travel on my own. All of the other participants in the clinical trial have also been placed under discreet surveillance, just in case Magda or the mysterious Artemis decide they’d like a real live test subject.

I finish up early – Kavi would be cross with me, but without him there, meditation becomes a chore – and decide to treat myself to a coffee in the cafeteria. To my delight, Jorge and Emlyn are both at a table, talking earnestly. They wave me over.

“Maela!” Emlyn stands up when I reach them. “What would you like?”

“I’d kill for a caramel-mocha latte with whipped cream on top. But they probably won’t do that here, so, a flat white?” I sink into a chair as Emlyn goes off to the counter.

“You have a sweet tooth,querida.” Jorge looks at me and smiles tiredly. He’s looking dark and dramatic today, dressed all in black and his stubble grown back in.

“You havenoidea. So, what’s up? Shouldn’t you be mind-scanning baddies?”

He raises a thick eyebrow – honestly, a few more weeks living and working with Emlyn, and Kavi’ll start doing it too – and observes, “I think you should still be meditating,sí, querida?”

Touché. “Hmm. Well. Mmm… So, training’s going well? Are you learning how to push past walls?”

He nods: “Slowly. The more I practice, the easier it gets. Before, with addicts, I never wanted to go where I was uninvited, but here, I have to. You can use emotions, you know, to sort out truth from lies, or to confirm asospecha. If someone responds with panic or fear to a question, they have something to hide; with arrogance, perhaps they have managed to fool you.” He frowns, face darkening. “I sat in on an interview with a member of Ratko’s gang this morning.Un parásito.” Jorge shakes his head in disgust. “He just proves what I have always suspected: that the world would be better off without three-quarters of its population.”

“Jorge!” I’m shocked: I know now that Jorge can be moody, but that seems an unusually bleak statement.

“Sorry!” He curves up one corner of his mouth in amends. “Don’t pay any attention to me. It was a bad one this morning.”

I reach forward, placing my hand over his. “Sorry,” I echo him quietly.

“Thanks.” He turns his palm over and takes my hand in his, gently rubbing his thumb across my knuckles. “I’m fine, really. I just got out of bed on my left foot.”

My brows draw together quizzically. “On the wrong side of the bed?”

Jorge pauses. “How can a bed have a wrong side?”

“The same way you can have a wrong foot, I’m guessing. The Romans thought that the left side was bad luck. The Latin word for ‘left’,sinister, is where we get the English, well, ‘sinister’. So you should always get out on therightside of the bed.” I titter at my feeble pun.

“And just for being such a studious little bee,” Emlyn breaks in, “here you go. One caramel-mocha latte,sanswhipped cream, I’m afraid, but drowning in syrup. Enjoy.”

I look at the grande-sized mug delightedly. “You are my hero! Ahh,” I breathe, lifting it to my nose and inhaling the aroma. I close my eyes on the first sip, letting the sugary goodness slide down my throat. When I open them, it’s to see Jorge and Emlyn staring at me, in almost horrified fascination.

“What? Don’t tell me you don’t like flavored coffee?”

“Querida,” Jorge looks pained, “coffee should not be mixed with anything but milk, or perhaps brandy, after dinner.”

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