by Devon Monk
“Got it. I’ll add it to your files. What brought it back?”
“I don’t know. I think I got lucky.”
I stared down at the empty duffel on my bed. I was supposed to be packing. Instead I’d just stood there, talking to Nola and not doing anything else.
I got busy with my dresser and closet. “I’m going to be staying with Zayvion for a while. My cell phone broke, but I’ll be getting a new one soon. It should be the same number. And let me give you the number out at Shame’s mom’s place.”
“The restaurant?”
“Well, it’s an inn too. Lots of rooms upstairs, more room than my apartment. And Maeve knows good doctors who do house calls. So he’s getting medical care, and it still feels pretty homey. Nicer than staying at a hospital, anyway.”
“Are you sure I shouldn’t come out?”
“I’m sure. I’ll try to call again soon. Here’s the number.” I read it off; then we said our good-bye.
I waited until she hung up before I disconnected the call.
Even though I wanted to see her, it really was better she stayed away for a while. I did not want my very nice, very sweet, very un-magical best friend to wander into the middle of a magical war zone.
I finished shoving clothes in the duffel, looked for my spare pair of boots, and remembered seeing them in Stone’s pyramid contraption. I’d get those on the way out.
All packed, I had one more call to make. Violet.
I dialed her cell, waited.
“Mrs. Beckstrom’s phone, may I help you?” a male voice asked.
“Uh . . . can I speak to Violet?”
“Whom may I say is calling?”
“Allie. Beckstrom. Who is this?”
“Kevin. I’ll see if she’s available.”
And then he hung up on me. What the hell?
I waited a couple seconds, stared at the phone in my hand. Dialed again.
“Mrs. Beckstrom’s phone, may I help you?”
“Don’t hang up on me, Kevin.”
“Sorry about that.” He didn’t sound sorry. “I’ll see if Violet’s available.”
This time I heard the phone set down. Kevin’s footsteps across hardwood floors, then a hush of voices in the background. More footsteps. “Just a moment.”
“Allie?”
Violet sounded happy.
“Yes, it’s me. What’s up with Kevin?”
“He’s been . . . Kevin, would you please let me take this call in private? Thank you.” She waited. I heard a door close. “He’s been horrible!” She laughed. “You’d think ninjas were going to jump out of my underwear drawer or something. I swear, I love that he’s my bodyguard, and ever since that . . . problem in the lab, he’s been extra careful about everything, including phone calls, but oh, my lord, I could use a rest from the man.”
“I’m sorry I haven’t been by.”
“Don’t worry. Maeve told me you were dealing with . . . business. Are things worked out?”
I didn’t know how much Violet knew about what had happened. Dad let her in on a lot of the workings of the Authority. Kevin was a part of the Authority, and Violet knew that. But I wasn’t sure how much she had been told since the storm hit. Last I saw her, she’d been in the hospital, Kevin had been in the ICU, and they were worried she might have the baby too soon.
“The baby!” I suddenly remembered. “Is everything okay? Are you okay? Did you have him or her?”
“Everything is good. No baby yet. I’m on bed rest for the next couple weeks. Then I should be able to deliver just fine.”
“And Kevin? I mean, I heard him on the phone, so I’m assuming he’s back on his feet. Last I heard, he was in ICU.”
“He’s . . . ” She thought a moment. “He’s physically well, or so he tells me. But I think he’s still in pain from the break-in. His mood has changed. He’s angry all the time—not toward me. He’s civil and just as thoughtful as he’s always been to me. But the break-in changed him. I think it’s because he wasn’t able to do his job and keep me safe, so now he needs to prove just how safe he can keep me.”
Yeah, that or maybe it was because people from the Authority, people that he probably trusted, had tried to kill him and Violet for the disks.
Which made me wonder. “Have the police come up with any leads on that case?”
“I haven’t heard much. I think it’s being taken care of by the detectives who specialize in such things.”
She meant Stotts and his Magical Enforcement Response Corps, the MERCs. “Do you remember what happened?”
“Only some of it, which is strange. I am usually very clear under stress. Have an almost photographic memory. But all I can remember is someone breaking in, a fight or struggle of some sort, then waking up in the hospital. It’s not like me, but it’s true.”
I had a pretty good idea of why she didn’t remember it. Probably someone had Closed her. Sweet hells, was the Authority going to take everyone’s memories away?
“Allie?”
I’d paused for too long.
“Huh. Well, that is weird. Think it’s because you’re pregnant?”
“That’s all the doctors can attribute it to. I tell you, I don’t regret being pregnant for a second, but I am so ready for this to be over. I want to see my feet again.” She giggled. “But, until then, and since I’m on bed rest, it would be great if you could stop by when you have the chance. I’ve been taking care of the business via e-mail and videoconferencing. I need your signature on a couple documents. Nothing life-threatening, but I’d like to get them taken care of. When can you come over?”
“Are you at the condo?”
“No, I’m still staying with Kevin. Do you have time today?”
Violet had switched out of her girlfriend mode and was all no-nonsense business now. There was a reason I wanted her to take over the job of running my father’s business. She was very good at it.
“Today’s not good. Maybe tomorrow?”
“Let’s make it Monday. I’ll call you in the morning.”
“I better call you,” I said. “My phone’s broken. I’m getting another one today, I think.”
“All right, that works fine.” I heard her tapping on a keyboard. “Call me anytime. I’ll probably be right here.” She sounded resigned.
“Tired of the bed?”
“And the couch. And the recliner.”
“Well, once the baby arrives, you might not get any rest at all. So enjoy it while you can.”
“I suppose. Bye, Allie.”
“Bye.”
I waited for her to hang up. The line still sounded open even though I’d heard her phone click.
“Good-bye, Kevin,” I said.
“Good-bye, Allie,” he said.
We both hung up. I patted my pocket for my book, remembered I didn’t have it on me, and took a new blank book out of my nightstand drawer. I transferred my notes from the napkin into the book, added a quick rundown on my conversation with Nola and Violet, and made a note to check in with Kevin later to see what his angle was on all this.
I thought about calling Stotts. But what would I say? Gee, sorry to tell you someone took your memories away because there is even more illegal magic going on in the city than you know about? Or maybe, Hey, so there’s a magical war going on, gates into death are opening and not closing, which means all sorts of nasties are getting through, and by the way, we shredded your memory.
No, when I talked to Stotts about this, and I very much intended to do so, it would be face-to-face so I could explain everything necessary.
So that meant I needed to give Stone a pat and take my bags back to the inn, where I could tell Victor and everyone else about Truance.
Maybe find out what Terric had done about that shadow man I kept seeing.
I shrugged the duffel over my shoulder. One of Zay’s sweaters, a deep green cashmere that I’d bought him, hung on the back of the door. I walked over to it and held the sleeve against my cheek, inhaling the familia
r pine scent of him. A lump caught in the middle of my chest and I leaned my head against the door, wishing it were Zayvion and not his sweater I was holding.
Sweet hells, I missed him. I rubbed at my eyes, trying to brush away the itch of tears. But the tears wouldn’t stop. I pulled the sweater off the hook and slid down until I was sitting on the floor, holding the sweater against my chest like it could somehow fill the hole inside me. Like it could somehow erase the taint of my father’s hands digging in my heart, giving away pieces of me, using my mouth, my mind, my body. Like the sweater could somehow restore my magic and my body, and make me me again.
I cried silently. I didn’t want Shame to hear me. Didn’t want Stone to hear me. I didn’t want anyone to ask if I was okay. I just wanted to be alone, with enough time to pick up all my broken pieces and put me back together again, a stronger me, a better me. But I couldn’t even be alone anymore. Not even in my own mind.
It might be easier to tell Victor, yes. Take my memories. Let me live my own life again. But it would mean leaving Zayvion forever. The idea of that hurt even more.
When I could control the tears again, I pushed myself back up onto my feet and used an old T-shirt to wipe my face and nose. That was it. That was all the time I got for myself. And even though the pain of losing my magic was right there—a lump I couldn’t think around, couldn’t swallow around—I was done with it. That pain might be a part of me, but I refused to let it be the only thing I was.
I was not a broken doll.
I pulled on Zay’s sweater and walked out into the living room. Shame, on the couch, didn’t move. His head was still back, his eyes closed. He was breathing heavily enough, I knew he was asleep. Stone had crawled up onto the couch next to him, his head on Shame’s thigh. Shame’s hand was on top of the big lug’s nose. Stone’s eyes were open—he slept that way—and I was pretty sure he was asleep too.
I quietly put the phone back on the hook, then went into the bathroom and splashed some cool water on my face. Maybe I did get a little more time. If not to myself, at least for myself. Terric and Victor had both said Shame needed to get some rest. And after all the magic he’d thrown around, I figured we could afford to stay here a half hour longer.
What was I going to do with a half hour? Not sleep. I’d never get up again. Not cry. I’d never stop.
When all else failed, make coffee.
Back out in the living room, I managed to tug my boots out of the pyramid and not send the other shoes tumbling. The rock had a good eye for architecture. I put the boots in my duffel, then prowled into the kitchen to brew coffee. I tried to do it quietly, but it was impossible to make coffee in absolute silence. No movement from the living room—that told me Shame was more than tired.
I deconstructed the stack of spice jars and cans on my countertop that looked a lot like Mount Hood, including parsley that had been poured out at the foot of the mountain like little trees. Seriously? Did the beast have to express his artistic side in my kitchen?
Then I filled a mug with hot black coffee and wandered back into the living room.
I sat at the little round table by the window, and tugged the curtain to the side so I could look out at the city below me. Portland looked like Portland. In the back of my mind I half expected it to look like the warped version of the city in death. But even though a wild-magic storm had almost shut the city down, people on the street walked by, unconcerned, going about their daily business as if nothing had happened. It was weird to think that not so long ago I could have been one of them. And even though I was no longer as carefree, I felt a little pride for what I’d done. I had been a part of keeping thousands of people safe. The Authority had been a part of keeping people safe.
I wondered if this was what a superhero felt like.
Halfway through my cup of coffee, and just as Shame moved on from heavy breathing to light snoring, I noticed a man on the street below. He stood in the middle of the sidewalk, his arms extended slightly out to the side, taking up so much room that the other pedestrians had to make an effort to walk around him.
There was something wrong with this picture. The same crawling creepiness I felt around Truance slithered down my spine and one slow, cold pulse spread out from my left palm. I glanced at Shame—still sleeping. Stone too. I calmed my mind, set a Disbursement—I was going to have a migraine tonight if I kept this up—and cast Sight.
Magic drew up through me, sluggish, and aching. I gritted my teeth against the dull pain in my chest, and kept my concentration on the glyph for Sight.
Magic heightened my vision, revealing all the burned-out and still active spells in the city. None in my house, except my door where Zay had set a Ward so strong I hadn’t found how he kept it powered. I suspected he had tied it into the network in some sort of sleight-of-hand way. I’d refused to let him set Wards on my windows. Stone used them to come in and out of the place and I didn’t want a Ward going wrong on him, or hurting him in some way.
Which meant I had a nice clear view of the street.
And where the man should be standing—where I knew he was standing—was nothing but a luminescent green glow.
Just like Truance.
Holy shit.
I dropped Sight. Yep, he was still there. And yep, he was looking up at my window now. “Shame?”
“Just resting my eyes.”
“I need you to see this.”
It must have been my tone of voice. Shame was on his feet and next to me so quickly I didn’t even have time to blink.
“See that man down there looking up at us?”
“Yes.”
“Look at him with Sight.”
Shame cast magic—he was behind me so I didn’t see it, but I felt it.
“Balls. What is it?”
“A Veiled?”
“Not like any I’ve seen. Pale things, ghostly. This thing’s solid. At least to the outward eye. How long’s he been down there?”
“A few minutes. Do you recognize him?”
“No. Do you?”
I hesitated. Dad, do you know him? Only silence in my mind.
“No. But I saw a woman like that, like him. When I went to get you chocolate. Her name was Truance. I tried to tell Victor, but we were in public.”
“Not a lot of Truances around,” Shame said. “One used to work for the Authority. Back in the day. Like when your da was young and killing his way up the ladder. She’s dead, by the way.”
“She might be dead, but it hasn’t stopped her from walking around Portland’s chocolate shops. We fought. She has a disk.”
“And you tell me this now?”
“Do not,” I warned him.
He gave me a surprised look. “Okay then. Let’s go see if that fellow downstairs happens to be a friend of Truance.”
Stone had lumbered over and pressed his forehead against the glass. He growled.
“You see him too, huh?” I got up. “Stay here. Don’t go out there. It’s too light. Someone will see you.” Stone listened with his head cocked to one side as he trotted behind us to the door.
“Stay,” I said, opening the door.
Stone lowered his head, his butt up in the air.
“I said stay, not play. It’s sleep time. Don’t you want to get some sleep?”
He grumbled a reply, then shoved past me and was out in the hall before I could stop him. Luckily, no one was on the floor right now. “Bad gargoyle,” I whispered. “Get back inside.”
Stone trotted down the hall to the window at the side of the building that overlooked the alley. He stood on his back legs, and used his very humanlike fingers to unlock the window, push it open, then pull himself up into a crouch on the sill. He fanned his wings and leaped.
I jogged down the hall, caught the window. Stone was already on the building next door, stuck to it with hand and claw like a big gray gecko the size of a Saint Bernard. He muscled up another story or so, then slipped silently over the roofline.
“Fantastic. Now there’s a g
argoyle on the loose.”
Shame was already heading down the stairs. I shut the window and jogged to the stairs, then down, catching up with him by the time we hit the bottom floor.
“Back door?” I asked.
“Straight out front.” Shame cast something with his left hand and shoved the door open with his right.
I thought it might be some kind of Illusion or Camouflage, but when I stepped out into the fresh air and smelled the sweet scent of cherries, I realized it was Blood magic.
Shame muttered something, then bent his arm like he was pushing his sleeve aside to look at his watch. The spell cast across the street.
The man hadn’t run. Not at all. Instead, he walked across the street toward us, paying no mind to cars that slammed brakes and horns as he cut across traffic. I shifted the grip on my duffel and drew a Shield with my left hand, holding it pinched between my fingers, empty of magic but ready to cast. Shame’s left hand was at his hip, clenched in a fist, as if he had a rope there he was pulling.
And he did. Blood magic worked that way. A drop of blood fell to Shame’s boot and was immediately absorbed. That would be Death magic.
The man was shorter than I expected, dark skin, wide smile. Not a nice smile. He had a scar down one cheek. I noticed what he was wearing—not because it was all that unusual—dark slacks and a leather jacket, but because he had a thick black scarf wrapped several times around his neck. Just like Truance.
Shame placed his right hand over his heart and tipped his head down. He was humming a soft song, pulling on Death magic. I’d seen him do this when we hunted down the Hungers out in St. Johns.
The man either didn’t notice or didn’t care. He bulled straight at Shame, his right hand out, palm forward, chin high.
Shame stopped singing. Looked up, and opened his arms to the man.
The man tried to stop. I could see it in his face. But Shame pulled him in, left fist clenched, blood pooling in the spaces between his fingers, but not losing even one drop. They embraced. Shame muttered a long list of syllables, and suddenly the guy was all smiles, patting Shame on the back, talking to him like an old friend.
