Magic at the Gate

by Devon Monk

  But right now I had a friend’s brain to get back.

  “Stay with him,” I told Shame. He opened and closed his hands like he was itching to strangle someone. Probably me.

  “You don’t get it, do you, Beckstrom? I stay with you.” He caught my left hand. “Listen—” His eyebrows shot up and he turned my hand over. “Fuck me, what’s this?”

  I glanced down. The silver-black circle smudged my palm, the mark Mikhail had left on me. It was darker now, bigger, the lines of my hand still crossing it square through the center.

  I pulled my hand away from him. “A bruise.”

  “Okay, don’t tell me the truth. I don’t care. But you are punching at the wrong wall. I stay with you because Zayvion would want me to look after you.”

  “Like I need—”

  “Not listening. Old, stupid argument. You know going down there won’t be worth the effort to fight over a few non-life threatening memories.”

  “You wouldn’t understand,” I said as I started down the hall. “You’ve never had your life taken away from you, bit by bit.”

  He shut the door, then followed behind me. “He can’t know about this stuff.”

  “He deserves to keep his life and experiences. He’s a police officer. He’s out there every damn day trying to make the city a better place for people who use magic. Isn’t that what the Authority says it’s all about? Making sure magic is safe for those who use it? Or is it just about the power now? Who gets to control magic?”

  “Dying makes you cranky, you know that?”

  I was at the top of the stairs, and trying to brace myself for getting all the way to the main floor.

  Shame leaned against the wall, crossed his arms over his chest. “You could do this tomorrow.”

  “I’m doing it now.” I started down the stairs, and instantly broke a sweat. That didn’t stop me. After the first flight, Shame caught up and walked next to me. By the last flight, his arm was around my waist, and I hated how much I needed that to stay on my feet.

  We were in the hall that led to the dining room, and it was fairly noisy, like most nights. The smell of steak, onions, and rosemary hit me hard, and I wanted to stand there and absorb the flavors through my skin.

  Then Shame cast a very subtle Illusion.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Making it so people don’t see you. You look like an escapee from a mental ward. And while I personally think it’s a turn-on, most people would speed-dial 911 if they caught a glimpse of you.”

  “Do you always talk this nice to girls?”

  “Only the crazy ones.”

  He started down the hall, stopped at a door, knocked, then opened it.

  It was one of the several sitting rooms on this floor. Like the sitting room I had taken classes from Maeve in, this one was dripping in wards, tastefully decorated, and arranged for conversation and magic casting, if the need arrived.

  “Dead girl walking,” Shame announced.

  We stepped in and Shame closed the door behind us, activating the privacy wards.

  Three people in the room: Maeve, Victor, and the mountain of a man, Hayden.

  “Allie, why are you out of bed?” Maeve sat on a love seat, a blanket over her lap, her feet up on the seat cushions and a pillow behind her back. Her hair was pulled away from her face in a loose bun, tendrils falling onto pale cheeks. I noted, with a twinge of dread, the cane propped within hand’s reach.

  “I need to talk to Victor. About Stotts.”

  Victor, sitting in a leather armchair, wore slacks and a dark shirt, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar. His sleeves were rolled up, to allow for the bulk of a bandage over his right hand and wrist. He gave me a long look. “The answer is no.”

  “I wasn’t asking. Give him back his memories.”

  Hayden, sitting on the couch with his legs stretched out, boots propped on the coffee table, chuckled.

  “Allison, take a seat, please,” Victor said. When I didn’t move, he glanced at Shame. “Shame, please help her sit.”

  I didn’t want to admit how much I wanted to sit down, didn’t want to lose the anger that kept me standing, but I didn’t want Shame helping me either. So I sat next to Hayden, who moved his arm down from the back of the couch to make room for me.

  I hadn’t spent very much time around Hayden. He had come down from Alaska to help us deal with the wild-magic storm that hit the city. Last I remember, Shame was hoping Hayden and Maeve would date. But it didn’t look like there had been any time for that sort of thing since the storm.

  I didn’t see any injuries on the big man, though he smelled faintly of cloves and eucalyptus—like a heated rub for muscle pain.

  “Good to see you’re back,” he said.

  “Thanks.”

  “How was it?”

  I frowned.

  “Death,” he supplied.

  “Strange and painful.”

  He grunted. “Here I thought it’d be different than life.”

  “Trust me, it was. Victor, I want you to un-Close Stotts.”

  Victor pressed his fingertips together gently and didn’t flex the right-hand fingers at all. Unless he could cast left-handed, which I wasn’t sure about, he was in no shape to be drawing glyphs.

  “I understand your concern—”

  “Anger. Not concern. You can’t do this to him. He’s a police officer and he is my friend.”

  “We are well aware of that. It is the reason we removed his memories. For him to continue to do his job, a vital function for magic to work well in this city, and for people to stay safe, he can’t know about the Authority.”

  “He saved Zayvion’s life and you punished him for it.”

  Victor simply held my gaze. Zen, calm. Just like Zay. Except I hated him for it.

  “There is no negotiation on this matter,” Victor said in his teacher voice. “I understand it offends you.”

  “Fix it, or I’ll fix it.” I pushed up onto my feet. No, I wasn’t a Closer and I didn’t know how to retrieve someone’s memories. But I’d find a way.

  Looked like Victor could tell I was serious. He was a smart man.

  “That would be a grave mistake,” he said. “You could do far more harm to him.”

  “I bet if I told him he’d had memories taken away, he’d be more than happy to let me try to get them back.”

  He didn’t say anything, but there was a smile at the corner of his mouth. It was the look he gave me when I’d done a spell or a sword routine particularly well.

  He leaned back into his chair. “We can’t un-Close him now. It is too soon. Closing someone is delicate, and the last thing I wish out of this is for our haste to harm Detective Stotts.”

  Reason. Like that would stop me. “There has to be a way.”

  “There is. And in the next two weeks, I will discuss it with you again. We may be coming to a point in time where it behooves us to have a man such as Detective Stotts on our side.”

  I swear, he was the only guy I knew who used behoove in a sentence.

  “That sounded like a yes.”

  “It was a positive maybe. But until we take care of other matters first—the disappearance of Sedra and Jingo Jingo and others, the gates, the unrest—we should best let Detective Stotts’ mind alone. If we do give his memories back to him, it will be done safely, and according to the rules, laws, and strictures of the Authority.”

  “I want your word on that.”

  “You have my word.”

  “And your blood.”

  “Allie,” Maeve said, shocked. Like I’d just asked him to strip naked or something.

  I looked over at her. “I won’t believe him any other way.” Plus, I didn’t know why she was so shocked. She was my Blood magic teacher. She was the one who had taught me these spells. Oh, maybe that was exactly why. Victor was my teacher too. I shouldn’t have to question his word.

  And Liddy, who had turned against us all, had been my teacher. I had reasons to be suspicious.
<
br />   “It’s fine, Maeve,” Victor said. He produced a straight pin from his cuff and stood.

  The pin was gold—just like the pin my father had given me when he let me use Truth on him. Back when he was alive.

  The room spun a little, and I felt tears at the back of my eyes. My throat hurt. Oh, of all the times for me to get teary-eyed over my dad’s death. He wasn’t even dead. He was renting out a corner of my mind.

  I blinked a couple times and waited for Victor.

  “Your hand.” He held his left hand out, the straight pin in his right, bandaged fingers.

  I held out one finger, tipped up, and he placed his bandaged right hand in support under mine, pricked my index finger, which hurt, and then pricked his thumb. He whispered a spell and pressed his thumb against my finger.

  Blood magic was intimate. I could feel Victor’s emotions; he was angry, frustrated, and not nearly as Zen as he looked. He was also tired.

  And I knew he could feel my emotions.

  That was the downside to this deal.

  Still, if he noticed how angry I was, and how pass-out exhausted, he didn’t say anything.

  “You have my word I will reconsider the state of Detective Paul Stotts’ memories, once matters have settled.”

  I felt his promise as if it were my own, tasted it in my mouth like the warm sweetness of Earl Grey tea. He meant it.

  That was good.

  “Thank you.” I pulled my finger away, breaking the spell.

  He looked past me to Shame. “She needs to get some sleep.”

  “I’m fine,” I said, or at least I think I said it. All of a sudden my ears weren’t working too good.

  “Allie?” That was Maeve.

  “Fine,” I repeated. The room was getting black at the edges, like someone was slowly turning down the lights. Had Victor cast something more than just a promise in that spell? Had he knocked me out?

  “What did you—” I mouthed, but no sound came out. The room rushed up around me as I fell. I was swallowed in darkness. Before I hit the ground, I felt Hayden’s arms catch me. Then . . . nothing.

  Chapter Seven

  I woke next to Zayvion, feeling too good to be mad at Victor for knocking me out. The pine scent of Zay’s cologne was muted by soap and sweat. His breathing was even, almost mechanical. I knew he was still in the coma, still in bed, still at Maeve’s.

  And I was apparently still at Maeve’s too.

  I scooted closer to Zay, checking first to make sure I wasn’t going to foul up any tubes or wires on him. I was on his right side, his arm tucked under the covers with me. I ran my fingertips gently down his arm. Muscle and smooth skin. No wires.

  I pressed up against him, his arm between my breasts and down my belly so I could rest my head on his shoulder. “Morning,” I said. “How about a nice cup of coffee and scones? I could go out to Get Mugged and see what fantastic concoction Grant has baked up today. Then maybe we could catch a movie, or drive to the coast. Bet it’s a nice day for some sand and rain.”

  I rubbed my hand over his chest. He was wearing a thin T-shirt, and through the soft material I could feel more of his bones than I should. It was a grim reminder of how long he’d been here.

  Math was not my strong suit. I frowned, trying to calculate how many days he’d been in bed.

  It would help if I knew what day today was. “You have any idea was day it is, babe?” I asked.

  “Saturday.”

  I lifted up, peered over Zayvion at the man sitting in the corner. Silver hair, dark button-down shirt tucked into jeans: Terric.

  “So how long since I’ve been back?”

  He put down the book he was reading, a Bradbury, I think, on the table next to him. “You came back four days ago. It’s the morning after you talked with Victor. You’ve been asleep ten hours or so.”

  Wow. From how much better I felt, I was surprised I’d only been asleep that long. “It’s morning again?”

  “Eleven o’clock. Hungry?”

  I shifted in the bed, made sure I had on a shirt and pants. Check and check. “I could eat something. Got any scones?”

  “The kitchen might. I’ll go down with you.”

  “What, no breakfast in bed?”

  Terric stood. “The doctor said you should get up today. You are feeling better, aren’t you?”

  The way he said it made me suspicious. “Yes? Why?”

  “Victor worked a small healing spell on you. Something to encourage your body to rest and recuperate. He didn’t expect it to knock you out. You must have been running on empty.”

  I ran my fingers down Zay’s arm one more time, then slipped out of the covers as carefully as I could and tucked them back around him.

  “Still on empty.” The room didn’t sway, but I could eat a pachyderm twice dipped and deep-fried in batter. “Let me use the bathroom. I’ll be right out.”

  Terric pointed over at the empty bed. “We raided your apartment. Shoes and clothes if you want them.”

  “How’d you get in my apartment?”

  “Zay’s key.”

  Oh. I hadn’t thought of that.

  Terric picked up the book—definitely Bradbury—as I grabbed some of the clothes they’d brought, then walked to the bathroom. I used the facilities, washed my hands, and splashed some warm water over my face.

  I was surprised my dad had been so quiet since I returned. I hadn’t heard or felt him more than once. I wondered if I’d dreamed that he had come back to life with me.

  One way to find out. I could always see the shadow of his presence in my eyes.

  I looked up into the mirror and jerked in surprise. Not because of my eyes—my eyes were mine, pale glass green, with the multicolored ribbons of magic at the corner of my right eye swirling down my jawline. My eyes and face were the same.

  The difference was the strands of white that streaked my normally dark brown hair. Not gray. Not silver. White.

  Death couture. Funky.

  It didn’t look bad. Kinda edgy. It gave my face a harder angle, and made my green eyes shine like a predator’s. I decided I liked it. A lot.

  Might have to buy myself a leather jacket and some stiletto boots to go with the new look. I tucked my hair back behind both ears. Yep, with the marks of magic down one side of my face, and the shock of lightning-white tattering my hair, I had cornered the market on tough.

  Zay was going to love it. As soon as he woke up.

  I brushed my hair and teeth, put on my own underclothes, black jeans, and a heavy slate gray sweater. Wished I had my gloves and boots, but at least they’d brought my running shoes.

  I walked out of that bathroom feeling hungry, human, and ready to kick ass.

  “Breakfast?” I asked.

  Terric put the book down and stood. “You look a lot better.”

  “Than what?”

  He grinned. “You look like you’re feeling better.”

  “I am. Good enough that I’m going to go home and take care of a few things today.”

  “Hmmm.”

  “I’m not forbidden to leave, am I?”

  “No. But I doubt you’ll be going alone.”

  “You can’t put me under guard, Terric. I’m a big girl. I can handle myself.”

  “Not me.”

  I took my coat off the back of the door as we stepped out of the room and strolled down the hall, our feet making hollow thunks on the old hardwood floor.

  “Who?”

  “Shame.”

  “Wish he’d give it a rest. Would you talk to him for me?”

  “I don’t think you want me in your corner. He’s . . . uncomfortable with our current arrangement.”

  I headed down the stairs, happy that my knees were holding up. I didn’t know what kind of healing spell Victor had cast, but it had really done the trick. I’d have to thank him for it. But first, breakfast.

  “What exactly is your current arrangement?” I asked. “I saw the crystal.”

  He exhaled loudly behind
me. “It had side effects I didn’t imagine.”

  “The connection.”

  “Mmm,” he agreed. “It’s been difficult. We’re both used to privacy. I’ve tried to ignore him. But you know Flynn. He doesn’t make anything easy—he is one of the most difficult people to ignore.”

  We made it to the bottom of the stairs. I smelled bacon and sausage, fried potatoes and fresh coffee. I was starving.

  “This way.” Terric stepped past me with a smooth movement that reminded me of someone who knew how to dance. Or who knew swordplay. The room was filled with the breakfast crowd: families, couples, friends, going out on a Saturday morning for a good hot, home-cooked meal. A small table by the window was open, and that was where Terric was headed. I followed.

  It was strange to look at those normal people with normal faces and normal lives and realize I didn’t feel like I was a part of them anymore. Somewhere in the last few months I had begun to see myself as a person living on the edges of normal—more so than I used to be when I was a Hound doing questionable jobs for questionable people in questionable parts of town. Somehow I had started thinking of myself as a magic user caught up in so many important, dangerous things that a normal morning out for breakfast sounded as foreign and strange as walking through a gate into hell.

  When had I changed?

  Or maybe I’d always been this, and trying to be normal, trying to blend into the crowd and want the same things everyone wanted—a house, a job, a lover—hadn’t been enough for me. Maybe I’d always needed more. Or if not more, different.

  Wanting different was a lot of what had driven me to become a Hound.

  Speaking of Hounding, I was surprised Davy wasn’t around. Davy Silvers was a good kid, and a good Hound. He was my right-hand man when it came to providing basic support for Hounds in the city, and he did a hell of a job at it too. But he had some crazy idea that it was his job to follow me. Everywhere.

  Terric stopped at the table near the windows. Sunlight, real, beautiful, buttercream sunlight, splashed in through the old watery glass and drew copper and honey tones out of the tabletop.