The jet touched down on the scorching tarmac of a private airstrip outside Phoenix. Amelia felt the cabin pressurize, her ears popping slightly as they taxied to a stop. The flight attendant moved to open the door, and instantly the cabin filled with a blast of desert heat.
"Good lord," Noel muttered, fanning herself with a thin manila folder. "I forgot how primitive the climate control is in this godforsaken state."
Amelia rose from her seat, smoothing her simple white sundress. "A Phenex threatened by heat? Now I've really seen it all."
She stepped to the door, sunlight bathing her pink hair in golden light. At the bottom of the stairs, leaning against a midnight black convertible Jaguar with his arms crossed, stood Kyrie Astaroth.
Even from the top of the steps, Amelia could appreciate the picture he made. Tall and athletically built, his dark skin gleamed like polished bronze in the Arizona sun. His black dreadlocks, tipped with stark blonde ends, were pulled back in a loose ponytail. He wore designer sunglasses, faded jeans with artful tears at the knees, and a vintage band t-shirt.
He looked like he'd wandered off a fashion shoot, not like the head of one of the most powerful shaman clans in the Southwest.
"You're late," he called up, his voice carrying a lazy drawl that somehow managed to sound both bored and amused. "I've been baking out here for ten whole minutes."
"The sun king of the southwest, still allergic to wearing proper clothes to a meeting?" Amelia reached the bottom step and gave him an appraising look. "What will the Higher-Ups think?"
Kyrie's mouth curved upward. "That I'm a terrible disappointment to my ancestors and that you two are enabling my delinquency."
He stepped forward and wrapped Amelia in a brief, familiar hug. She allowed it, catching the scent of sandalwood and desert heat on his skin.
"Missed you too, troublemaker," he murmured near her ear before releasing her.
Behind them, Noel descended the stairs with the rigid posture of someone who'd been forced to eat a lemon.
"Astaroth," she said with a curt nod, stopping several feet away. "I see you've dressed to impress, as usual."
Kyrie's grin widened as he spread his arms. "The Higher-Ups expect me to be the disappointment. Why break tradition?" He gave her an exaggerated once-over. "Someone's gotta balance out all that... whatever this is you're doing."
He gestured vaguely at her formal attire. Noel's cheeks flushed.
"Some of us respect the gravity of our position," she snapped.
"And some of us," Kyrie replied, sliding his sunglasses back down, "have better things to do than iron our underwear."
Amelia took a slow sip of her champagne, the corner of her mouth twitching. The old, familiar rhythm. Kyrie would push, Noel would bristle, and the world would continue to turn. It was a tiresome, predictable, and utterly entertaining show.
"If you two are finished with your foreplay," Amelia interjected, "we have a jet to catch."
Kyrie snorted and moved to the trunk of his car and hefted a single leather duffel bag. "Let's get this over with. The sooner we get to New York, the sooner I can get back to my Mami."
"You have duties to attend to," Noel reminded him, her voice dripping with disapproval. "The Higher-Ups summoned us for a reason."
"Yeah, yeah." Kyrie waved a dismissive hand as he strolled past her toward the larger jet. "Duty, honor, clan legacy, blah blah blah."
Amelia followed Kyrie up the steps, enjoying the way Noel fumed silently behind them. The jet's interior felt blissfully cool after the Arizona heat. Kyrie tossed his bag onto an empty seat and immediately sprawled across a three-seat section.
"So," he said, folding his arms behind his head, "what's this meeting about anyway? Must be something serious if they're dragging all of us across the country a month early."
Noel perched primly on the edge of her seat. "If you'd bothered to read the briefing—"
"Why would I," Kyrie interrupted, yawning, "when I have you to summarize it in that cute, outraged voice you do?"
"The Daemonic Object thefts," Amelia said, watching his reaction. "Seven major artifacts stolen from secure vaults across the country."
Kyrie's expression didn't change, but Amelia noted the slight tension in his jaw. "Sounds like a hassle," he said, stretching. "Hope they don't expect us to actually do any legwork."
"Of course they do," Noel said, straightening her already perfect posture. "We're the regional heads. Security of artifacts in our territories falls under our jurisdiction."
"Mmm," Kyrie hummed noncommittally. He turned his head toward Amelia. "You've been quiet, Pink. What do you think about the Moreno family suddenly buying that vineyard estate outside Tucson? Quite the purchase for a minor clan that was practically begging for loans last year."
Amelia kept her expression neutral, but her interest sharpened. The Morenos were a small clan in their territory, barely worth mentioning in most conversations. She hadn't heard about any major purchase.
"I hadn't heard," she admitted.
His lips quirked in the barest hint of satisfaction. "No? Huh. Guess my info network isn't as lazy as the rest of me."
The intercom crackled with the pilot's voice. "We're cleared for takeoff to JFK. Please secure your belongings."
Kyrie reached into his bag and pulled out a pair of expensive noise-canceling headphones. "Wake me when we land. Or don't. Preferably don't." He slipped them on, closing his eyes and effectively removing himself from the conversation.
Noel waited until the jet was in the air before leaning toward Amelia, her voice low. "He's insufferable. I don't understand how the Astaroth elders allow him to continue as clan head when he treats everything like a joke."
"He's not treating it like a joke," Amelia said quietly. "He's treating it exactly as seriously as it deserves."
Noel scoffed. "You always defend him."
"I respect him," Amelia corrected.
"Well, at least my Covenant members are loyal and disciplined," Noel said, looking smugly pleased with herself. "A proper reflection of their leader."
"A reflection, yes," Amelia agreed. "Though not always the one we intend."
The jet climbed higher, breaking through a layer of clouds. Below them, the Arizona desert stretched out like a vast copper sea. Amelia's thoughts drifted back to New Pacifica. To Isaiah, who would soon face his first real mission without her. A half-incubus who might be the first of his kind in a millennium, learning to navigate a world he'd never known existed.
The Joker in her deck. The wild card no one saw coming.
Learn quickly, little incubus, she thought, her fingers absently tracing the outline of a card that wasn't physically there.
The game is already in motion, and I need you ready to play.