Magic at the Gate

by Devon Monk

  “Zay . . . ” My breath gave out. I was getting seriously fed up with this. I took a deep breath. The room smelled of honeysuckle and antibacterial soap. “Zay’s soul is in Stone. I brought it back with me. He needs to get back in his body. They said he can only stay in Stone for half an hour before it kills him. Can your mom help?”

  “Me,” he said flatly. He moved out of my vision, leaving me to stare at brown wood rafters against a white ceiling. The inn. Maybe even the room Zayvion, the Zayvion who was in a coma, was in.

  I had never felt so tired in my life. I blinked. Opened my eyes when I realized someone was talking. I think some time had passed. My eyes felt hot, sticky. The voices were coming from the left.

  I turned my head, the feather pillow cool beneath my cheek. The voices belonged to two people standing at the foot of Zayvion’s bed. Shamus wore his usual black T-shirt and black jeans, his hair long enough that he had to brush his bangs out of his eyes. He wasn’t wearing his fingerless gloves. Terric, who used to be Shame and Zayvion’s close friend before he moved up to Seattle, was taller and thinner than Shame, with more of a fencer’s build and a hunter’s eyes. He’d cut his silvery white hair to a shoulder-length shag that sharpened his jaw and cheek. It was so good to see him alive too.

  They were, of course, arguing about something.

  They did not get along, even though everyone except Shame knew they should be Soul Complements.

  Zayvion was still sleeping—well, still in a coma—in the bed I’d last seen him in. Between the beds stood Stone. He tipped his head side to side and stared at Zayvion, as if he couldn’t quite figure out something.

  On the other side of the bed was the doctor who had cared for Zay and me the last time we’d been here. Dr. Gina Fisher was stocky, confident, and blended both magic and medicine with such casual elegance she made it look easy.

  Over in the corner of the room, watching every move we made, was Detective Stotts. Who should not be here, and who certainly should not find out what we were about to do with magic.

  “Allison,” Dr. Fisher said, “I’ll need your help.”

  “How long?”

  “It won’t take too long.”

  That wasn’t what I was asking. “How long have I been here?” I pushed at the covers, managed to shove the comforter down to my waist. Wished the room wasn’t spinning.

  “Five minutes is all,” Shame said.

  Terric helped me sit. His hands were strong and cool, and he gave me a brief smile. But there were lines of pain across his forehead and bruised purple circles beneath his eyes.

  He looked as tired as I felt.

  “What do I need to do?” I asked.

  Shame answered. “You are the link, the bridge between life and death for him. You’ll need to be in contact with Stone and Zay’s body. Touch them both. Then I’ll trigger the transfer.”

  “As for you, Detective Stotts, I’d say you could come over a mite closer.” Shame sounded like a professor inviting a star student to step up to the blackboard. “This isn’t something that’s done round here every day.”

  Stotts stepped forward, but kept enough space between himself and the bed that Shame and the doctor had plenty of room to work. For the life of me, I did not know why Shame wanted to show Stotts this kind of thing. The Authority had worked very hard not to let the police, especially the police who specifically dealt with magical crime, like Stotts, catch any hint that other magic, darker magic, and simply undiscovered magic were happening every day in the city.

  The doctor was already tracing a glyph in the air. She whispered a few words, then placed her fingertips on Zayvion’s forehead. She turned her head to watch the monitor next to her. I didn’t know what kind of equipment they had him on, but it showed his heartbeat and other numbers and lines.

  I pushed my hair back behind my ears and took a breath. I needed to do this right.

  “Now would be a good time to begin,” Dr. Fisher said.

  Terric helped me to my feet, both of which felt like overfull water balloons. He propped me up around my waist, and I took the three steps to Zay’s bed.

  “Touch Stone,” Terric said, quietly, calmly. I glanced over at Shame. His head was bent, black bangs covering his face. He was singing, both palms flat toward the floor. I’d seen him like this before, when he’d pulled in magic and energy for the transfer of Death magic. What was he pulling on in the floor? Oh, right. The well of magic beneath the inn. If he could access magic on the other side of the railroad tracks in St. Johns, then I was pretty sure he could get through four or five stories of the inn and tap the well, even with the wards blocking it.

  Something glowed beneath Shame’s T-shirt, right in the center of his chest. Maybe a necklace? I didn’t know; I’d never seen him wear anything that glowed.

  I put my palm on Stone’s head.

  He rumbled, a deep purr that Stone never made. He lifted up on his back legs, and placed his hands on the bed, shifting until he was balanced on one and could place the other, lightly, on Zayvion’s chest.

  My hand slid down from Stone’s head to the top of his shoulder.

  Magic poured up through me, as it had been trying to since I belly flopped back into life. I felt like I was standing out in the sun with a day-old sunburn heating me everywhere except the cold dead pit where my small magic used to be. I was too sensitive, too aware of both the magic I had and the magic I was missing.

  It hurt.

  “Do I need to do something?” I asked.“Cast something?”

  “No,” Terric said. “Don’t draw on magic at all. You’re just the guide wire for his soul. The lightning rod.” He paused. I didn’t know what he was waiting for. I didn’t know how my hand on Stone was doing Zayvion any good.

  “When I tell you, touch Zayvion’s body.” Terric shifted, his left arm still around my waist, holding me up, and his right hand on my right wrist, so he could guide my hand.

  Like I didn’t have any motor skills or something.

  Stone-Zay purred again.

  Shame stopped singing. He lifted his hands, traced a glyph, and spoke one hard word.

  “Now.” Terric held my hand as I placed it gently on Zay’s stomach.

  Shame’s spell hit.

  It was like someone had pulled back the curtains on my exhaustion and let the sunlight and oxygen in. I felt awake, alive. I tasted mint and pine, and felt the warm wind of Zayvion around me, as if his arms instead of Terric’s circled me, felt his lips brush my own, ghostly and soft, heard his whisper: “Allie . . . ”

  “Don’t leave me,” I thought, or maybe said.

  My eyes were open. Without casting Sight, all I saw was Stone exhaling over Zayvion and Zayvion inhaling deeply. Dr. Fisher watched the screen and Zayvion. Shame chanted, a singsong this time that reminded me of a jump rope song sung in a minor key.

  Stotts’ body language was wire-tight.

  Terric, behind me, was Grounding me. I could taste the cool spring-water scent of his magic at the back of my throat.

  What did he think? I was going to lose control of my magic?

  I wasn’t even using magic.

  “Enough,” Shame said.

  Terric tugged me back so that my hands fell off of both Zayvion and Stone at the same time.

  “No.” I didn’t want to let go, didn’t want to lose the ghostly awareness of Zayvion against my skin, inside my mind, close enough that it would just take a focused thought to hear what he was thinking, to feel what he was feeling.

  To be us, instead of just me. Alone.

  Wow. Déjà vu.

  Terric had broken the connection between us. I tasted the separation from Zay as a sharp bite of heat, like sun-baked rocks on the roof of my mouth.

  Stone dropped down off of the bed and sneezed. Several times, sending out little clouds of dust. He clacked and gurgled, then scrubbed the top of his head on the side of Zayvion’s bed, shaking the whole thing. Poor thing looked like his brain itched.

  “You okay, boy?�
�� I asked.

  Stone just rubbed his head and made bag-of-rock mumbly sounds.

  Shame had one hand on Zayvion’s foot. The doctor still had her hand on his forehead. She traced a glyph there, and for a moment it glowed silver against his skin.

  Stotts shifted to better see what was happening. He didn’t look happy about what was going down, but there was a sort of impressed curiosity in his expression too.

  Seeing magic used like this was pretty amazing.

  “His soul is returned,” Dr. Fisher said. She nodded at Shamus. “Do you agree?”

  Shame blinked, slowly. Traced a glyph with his left hand. I noted his hand was shaking, and Terric, who still had his arm around my waist, grunted very quietly. Probably Proxying for Shame’s magic use.

  That, I realized, was what the argument had been about.

  I couldn’t tell what glyph Shame cast. Maybe Sight. Whatever it was, it seemed to take far more effort than it should.

  Shame stared. For a long time. For what felt like forever. Then, “Yes. His soul is there. Faint. But there. You—” He turned and stared at me with his dark, dark eyes. I’m not sure what he was going to say. But his eyebrows shot up. I could only guess that he also saw my dad in my head. Or maybe the hole where my magic used to be.

  “Oh, Allie, what did you do?”

  “I brought him back,” I said. I didn’t need him to tell me how screwed up I was. I didn’t need him to remind me of everything I had lost, of the prices I was still paying. I brought Zayvion back. That was all that mattered. Wasn’t it?

  I tipped my chin up, daring him to call me out on the stupidity of my choices.

  “Terric,” he said softly, “help her back to bed. She needs rest.”

  Terric stepped back, but I pushed out of his arms. “I need to see.” I braced both hands on the side of Zay’s bed and looked down at him.

  Dr. Fisher was applying nonmagical medical care, making notes on a clipboard chart, checking the IV hooked up to his left arm—the arm farthest away from me—and doing other doctorly things.

  Zayvion was very still. Just like I’d last seen him. Coma-still.

  “Zayvion?” This wasn’t right. This wasn’t how it was supposed to work. I brought his soul back from death, for cripes’ sake. Walked into death, fought things, bargained with my father, with Mikhail, gave up parts of myself, and brought Zay’s soul back just how they told me I had to. He couldn’t be so still. Couldn’t be so deathlike.

  “Something’s wrong,” I said. “You did it wrong, Shame. He’s not waking up. Why isn’t he waking up?” My voice climbed an octave or so. Terric put a hand on my arm, but I shook him off. Anger, and maybe panic, was doing plenty to keep me on my feet.

  “He’s in a coma,” Shame said.

  “No. That’s not good enough. Wake him up.”

  “Don’t you think I would if I could?” Shame snapped.

  Stotts stepped forward. “Take it easy,” he said to Shame.

  Shame didn’t look at Stotts. He was too busy glaring at me.

  “You are hurt, and you need to get in bed so the doctor can take care of you.” At least his tone was back to normal.

  The doctor calmly drew a glyph in the air.

  “Do not,” I said to her. “Do not cast magic on me.” I was having a severe inclination to start screaming at people. I’d had too many people doing things to me, taking things from me, sticking their hands and magic where they didn’t belong into me, changing me, to be reasonable anymore.

  “Leave me the hell alone.”

  Terric put his hand on my arm again. Stone, who was done sneezing, growled at him.

  Terric removed his hand and stepped back.

  I needed to leave, leave the room and take Zayvion with me. I needed to find someone who would really help us. Someone who would really make him well. Thoughts rushed through my head so fast, they were a storm raining through me whipped by bitter fear. I needed to go somewhere safe. Somewhere nonmagical.

  I needed Nola. She was my best friend. She always took me in when things went wrong, always let me stay on her farm in Burns that was miles away from any natural magic. I needed away from all this. From magic and everyone who used it. I needed Zay to be alive.

  “I need to take Zay away now,” I said in a voice so stilted it didn’t even sound like my own.

  A small, logical part of my mind was pretty sure I was going into a full-blown panic attack.

  “It’s okay,” Dr. Fisher said in a reasonable tone. “I think Shamus is trying to help. You do need to rest and let me take a look at you. We have time for that. Zayvion’s soul is back in his body. He’s breathing well, his vitals signs are stable, he needs to rest before he goes anywhere with you. Now’s a good time for us to make sure you aren’t hurt.”

  She walked past Detective Stotts, giving him a reassuring nod as she passed. Then, to me, “I think Zayvion just needs a little more rest. His soul has gone through so much. As have you.”

  “He needs to wake up,” I repeated. “I need to keep him safe. Nola. I need Nola.”

  Shame, smart man that he was, stepped away from Zay and leaned against the wall, his head back. He crossed his arms over his chest, watching me.

  Terric, had oh-so-casually walked over to block the door. What did he think? That I was going to grab Zay and make a run for it?

  Oh. Right. That was exactly what I’d said I wanted to do.

  “Shame?” I said, looking for his reassurance.

  He smiled. A little crooked, a little mocking. Thoroughly familiar. It did wonders to take my heartbeat down a notch. “Darlin’, I know you’ve had a fucked-up time of it, but you are speeding down the fast lane to crazyville with no brakes. Listen to the nice doctor.”

  “I’m crazy?” Sad thing was, that would not surprise me.

  “No, love. You’re downright sane for someone who’s been dead for a week.”

  Stotts shot a look at Shame. “Would you like to explain that to me, Mr. Flynn?”

  “Sure. There was a huge magical fight out in St. Johns. Right when the wild-magic storm hit—you remember the storm, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  The doctor had made her way over to me and she gently took both of my hands in hers. “You’re okay. Let’s get you in bed.”

  I let her lead me to the bed, too tired to fight, too tired to panic anymore.

  She pulled the covers up over me and placed her hand on my forehead. “Any pain?”

  “No. Wait. My chest. And my skin. And my head.”

  “That’s a lot of no pain,” she observed.

  I nodded, not really listening to her. I was listening to Shame tell Stotts all the secrets the Authority had worked very hard to keep away from police like him.

  “So we created a storm rod using the disks—you do know about those? The disks Allie’s da and his wife, Violet, developed? They hold magic in them, and then let you use that magic for no price.”

  “I know about them,” Stotts said. “They were recently stolen.”

  “Right. They were brought to us. And we used the disks to channel the wild magic of the storm, so it wouldn’t blow out the city’s networks. Problem is, a few of the people in on this little maneuver decided the time was ripe to push their own agendas.”

  “What agendas?”

  “It’d take a while for me to go through them all, but to sum up: some magic users got angry and started a fight.”

  Oh, that was the understatement of the year.

  I checked to see if Terric was aware of Shame blabbing all the Authority’s secrets to the police. He caught me looking and lifted his eyebrows in a tolerant expression. Apparently, Shame doing this wasn’t that big of a surprise.

  What the hell? Had the Authority suddenly decided to let the cops in on their secret—and if not illegal, certainly unregulated—use of magic? And all this time they’d been telling me that if I let one little secret slip, they’d take my memories away. Totally unfair.

  “In the middle of that f
ight,” Shame continued, “a gate into death was opened, which brings me to the reason I’m going into this round-a-ways explanation. Allie went through that gate into death”—he turned and looked at me—“because she is a crazy, lovely fool.”

  He looked back at Stotts. “And today you were there to catch her when she fell out of death. Then you brought her here instead of to a hospital or a mental ward. I can only guess because whatever she told you, you believed. I have to admit I’m more than a bit curious what she said to you.”

  Stotts didn’t say anything. I was surprised he didn’t just laugh at Shame. It all sounded ridiculous when rattled off like that.

  But Stotts had seen enough, dealing with magical crimes in this city, to know the truth—no matter how far-fetched—when he heard it.

  “What are you planning to do with her now?”

  “Let her get some shut-eye, and some medical care. She and Zay both, for that matter. As for the rest of us sorry souls, we have coffee and pie two floors down. Let’s say we get out of the doctor’s way and get in the way of some apple pie à la mode.”

  “That would be fine, Shamus,” Dr. Fisher said. “If you have further questions, Detective Stotts, I’ll join you for coffee in just a few minutes.”

  Stotts hesitated. He looked over at me.

  “I’m fine. Tired.” And just in case he didn’t believe me, I added, “Dr. Fisher has taken care of me before and I trust her. Everything sort of hit me at once.”

  He glanced again at Zayvion and at the doctor, who was currently taking my blood pressure. “I wouldn’t mind a cup of coffee,” he said. “Mr. Flynn?”

  “Shame,” Shame said. “All my friends call me Shame. Coffee it is. You’re not coming are you, Terric?”

  “Someone has to make you pay the bill.”

  Shame snorted. “I’ll put it on my tab.”

  They walked out, Shame in the lead, talking to Stotts about his mum being out of town. Terric paused at the door, watching the two men walk down the hall.

  “Is he okay?” I asked.

  “Shame?” I couldn’t read his expression, but his body language was tight with exhaustion. The way family members look when a loved one is fighting a disease and the outcome is grim. “He’s very stubborn and focused.” He turned enough I could see his eyes. Tired, but with that hunter’s glint.