by Devon Monk
“I just found out yesterday that he was into art. He told me he wanted me to Hound the gargoyle to see what kind of a magical signature he left behind. That’s probably the flare you saw.”
“Don’t quite have it down,” Shame said, “but the idea is when he’s off, people think he’s a statue. When he’s on, he looks real.”
“He does look real,” Stotts agreed. “Just like the statues outside the Gargoyle.”
Oh, shit. More than just like the statues at the Gargoyle. Stone used to be one of the statues at that restaurant. And I’d set him free, woke him up, whatever. But what I hadn’t done was pay for him.
“They have statues up there?” Shame asked.
“One less since a couple months ago.” Stotts holstered his gun. “Reported stolen. Mr. Flynn, I’m suddenly very curious as to where you got your hands on him, why you’re in a graveyard, and what you have to do with the magic spike.”
“You can’t be serious.” Shame smiled, but it was tight, angry.
“I am. You’re coming into the station to answer those questions.”
Shame’s hand twitched. I didn’t know what kind of spell he was going to throw at Stotts, but I didn’t want to see the nice policeman go up in smoke.
“Can’t it wait?” I stepped in front of Shame to foul his aim. “We have a meeting at his mom’s inn to discuss her interest in Beckstrom Enterprises, and Shame and I were both supposed to be there.”
“This late?”
Crap.
Stone, meanwhile, dropped the disk at my feet, then sniffed at Stotts, tipping his big head to one side and rumbling at him.
“He won’t bite,” I said. Adding, “Right, Shame?”
“Sure. Let’s go with that.”
Stotts motioned toward his car. “You’re coming with us too, Allie.”
“Me? Why me? What did I do?”
“I want to hear your side of the story about what happened tonight. Get in.”
Stone, ever a good rock, trotted over to Stotts’ car and lifted up on his hind legs to look in the windows and try the door handle.
“Son of a bitch,” Stotts said. Yeah, Stone was easily six foot when he stood up. Plus he was curious, liked car rides, and knew how to open doors.
“I’m not coming with you,” Shame said.
Stotts shifted to keep an eye on both Shame and Stone. “Probable cause, Mr. Flynn. You don’t want to go down that road.”
“We have a friend,” I said. “He’s in the car. Injured.”
“What kind of injury?”
“I might have miscalculated the charge on the gargoyle,” Shame said. “He Proxied the charge.”
Well, now I knew Shame could lie as smooth as satin over Teflon. I didn’t even smell the lie on him. I was impressed and worried. Once Stotts got Shame and me in two different rooms, our stories were not going to match up.
Hells.
It would be easiest to Influence him, to cast Sleep on him. Yes, to make him forget.
But I refused to take someone else’s memories away. Shame did not have the same qualms.
“I’ll call 911,” Stotts said.
“There is no way I am getting arrested,” Shame said.
“We’ll come with you and explain it all,” I said.
“We?” Shame laughed, and it was not a pretty sound. “Have you lost your mind? We don’t have time for this. There are important things we should be taking care of. For Christsakes, Allie, get your priorities straight.”
He was talking like that in front of Stotts because he had just decided Stotts was going to be Closed. Again.
Not on my watch.
“The art can wait,” I said, keeping my calm and keeping our cover. “We could call your mom and let her know we’ll be late. You don’t mind if we make a phone call, do you?” I flashed Stotts my innocent eyes.
“Phone calls can wait until we get to the station. Let’s walk. I want to see your friend.”
We strode over to Shame’s car. Shame radiated anger. He wasn’t a Closer, and therefore shouldn’t be taking anyone’s memories away, but I didn’t think that was going to stop him.
My phone rang. I answered before Stotts could tell me not to.
“This is Allie. Hi, Nola.”
Hayden, on the other end, caught on quickly.
“Who’s there with you?” he asked.
“I’m sorry. I know I didn’t check in. I’m out with Stotts right now, as a matter of fact.”
“The MERC cop?”
“Yes, I’m fine. I’m Hounding a job for a friend of mine, Shame. You remember Shame? Yes. It’s an art thing here in the graveyard. Shame’s into making these gargoyles look like they’re alive. We kind of hit a magical snag. Shame’s friend Terric pulled a hard Proxy. No, I think he’ll be okay. Stotts is calling 911 right now.” I raised my eyebrows at Stotts, who had already looked in the car and seen Terric passed out in the backseat. He gave me a curt nod and thumbed his phone.
“Did you close the well?”
“Yes. Now we’re going to go down to the station and talk to Stotts about the legalities of Shame’s art.”
“I’ll send someone to get you. We’ll take care of Stotts.”
“No, that’s fine. I don’t need you to check in on me later. I’ll call you once it all gets straightened out.”
“I don’t care what you want. We’ll be there. We’ll take care of Stotts.”
He hung up on me. The bastard. To keep from swearing, I laughed. “I know. Guess that’s just the way it goes when you date a cop. Okay. Talk to you later. Bye.”
Ass.
Shame was smoking, and throwing me angry looks. I know. Terric was hurt. The Veiled were loose. And Hayden hadn’t sounded nearly as relaxed as the last time I’d called. I was pretty sure this wasn’t the biggest problem on his hands right now.
The ambulance pulled up in literally a minute—lights, no siren. It helped that there was a station just a few streets away.
The EMTs asked a few questions, which Shame had all the answers to, including that Terric was allergic to penicillin, and that this was a Proxy problem, and that he probably needed a night’s sleep and an aspirin and maybe a doctor who knew how to set a magical syphon.
They dragged the barely conscious Terric out of the car. He looked worse than when we’d put him in there. Shame wasn’t kidding that Terric couldn’t do Death and Blood magic. His color was off, he was shaking, and fever-incoherent.
The void stone wasn’t on him. Shane had probably stashed it before he got out of the car. Boy was smart that way.
And angry. At me. He glared at me, still as a snake before a strike. If Terric was permanently hurt because of me trying to protect Stotts, he would never forgive me.
“Let’s go,” Stotts said.
Shame watched the ambulance drive off. Lights, no siren, which I took as a good sign. He flicked the cigarette to the ground, where it sputtered and died. Didn’t move until the calliope slide of red and yellow lights coating gravestones, tree limbs, and angels was replaced by darkness again.
Stotts gave him a minute. I liked that about him. He really was a decent guy. Which was why I wasn’t going to let him be used.
“Mr. Flynn.” He opened the back door. “We’ll retrieve your car later.”
Shame stared up at the sky, took a deep breath, then shot me a look of pure hatred. “Maybe you should have stayed home.” He got into the car, Stone tromping happily after him.
I walked around to the other door. I wasn’t feeling all that well—a stomachache and fever, I thought. Fever was the beginning of that cold I’d given myself for the magic I’d been throwing around. Stomachache was the fear that I had just made a huge mistake.
Chapter Eighteen
Stotts drove out of the graveyard. He didn’t say anything. Neither did I. Shame was a broody shadow with dark, burning eyes that even the streetlights seemed to slide away from. I sat as far away from him as I could, my shoulder against the cold window.
&nbs
p; Stone sat backward, his head against the rear window, clacking at the city.
It was late. The rush of adrenaline was gone, replaced by the sticky feeling of an oncoming flu. As soon as Stotts parked, I got out of the car. If I was going to throw up, I’d rather do it where there was lots of fresh air.
Shame and Stone got out and Stone trotted over next to me, pressing against my thigh and extending his wing up along my back like he had in death. Guess he could tell I wasn’t feeling very well.
“Let’s go,” Stotts said. Half a dozen steps toward the station and Stone’s ears pricked up. He growled toward a break between buildings, then took off at a gallop.
“Son of a bitch.” Stotts jogged a few steps after him, but Stone was too fast and too quiet. Plus, he had functional wings that tipped the odds in his favor.
Stotts stormed back.
Rock, one. Angry cop, zero.
“Did you tell it to do that?” he asked Shame.
“No.” He stood there, hunkered in his sweater like he was cold. Hurting was probably more like it. He’d pulled on a shitload of magic tonight too, and even if he’d sucked some of it down, and Proxied most of it to Hayden, what he’d done to keep Terric breathing and break Truance’s spell had come at a price.
Stotts didn’t seem to be in pain. The force had legal Proxies to bear their approved limit of magic usage.
“It will wind down soon,” Shame said. “I’m sure someone will stumble across it.”
I wanted to thank Shame for going along with this, for keeping our story straight, for helping me keep Stotts safe. But I was pretty sure he’d just flip me off.
Stotts pulled out his cell again, and told one of his crew—Garnet, I think—that he needed him to look into a magicked gargoyle on the loose. Took him a while to convince Garnet he wasn’t joking. During this, he followed us up the stairs and through the doors into the station.
The lobby was empty except for a man pushing a soft, shaggy broom over the floor. Beyond the lobby people moved and phones rang.
Stotts didn’t take us back to the normal offices. He opened a door to our left and started down the stairs. I expected to stop a flight down, at the wall that was really a door hidden by a powerful Illusion spell. I’d been through that door exactly once, the first time I’d met Detective Stotts.
“Keep going. Next landing,” he said.
We clomped down another flight of stairs and stopped at a normal-looking door. I didn’t touch it. I wasn’t that stupid.
Stotts swiped a card and threw a nice little Trip spell that further unlocked or deactivated the mechanical, electrical, or maybe magical behind the door.
“Come in and shut the door behind you.”
I walked in. Shame shut the door. The room was an office. Not fancy, but enough space for a desk, a couch that looked like it had been used as a bed more often than a couch, a small refrigerator, a few chairs, and shelves of file boxes. No windows. Wards so strong they stung my nose like I’d been snorting rubbing alcohol.
Shame’s mood shifted from broody to carefully interested in the place.
“Have a seat.” Stotts shrugged out of his coat and threw it over the back of a chair with a practiced aim. “Coffee?” He was across the room and in the corner where a coffeepot, microwave, sink, and refrigerator made up a small kitchenette.
“No,” Shame said.
“Not me,” I said.
He poured himself a cup. I picked a chair—vinyl, but padded and deep enough I could sink in it and lean my head on the back—which is exactly what I did.
Shame took the couch. Stuck his feet up on the coffee table between a couple empty Chinese food cartons and a stack of file folders. “Nice place,” he said.
“Thank you. Used to be a storage room.” He looked around the room, gesturing with the coffeepot at the rows of metal shelves and dust-covered boxes. “I think the upgrade is pretty nice.” He clunked the pot back on its burner and drank as he walked over to his desk.
His chair squeaked when he sat. And I mean loudly. Squalled when he swiveled to face Shame and me.
“So. What were you three really doing in the graveyard?” He took another gulp of his coffee, shifted. Squealed.
Shame just gave him a slacker-boy stare.
“I was Hounding.”
“Looking for the statue he stole?”
“He didn’t steal it.” That was true. I did. “Would you give the statue a rest? We were out there checking the signature of magic it threw. And then those other things, the ghost things, showed up. I thought there might be a leak in the network or something.”
Thank you Magics History class. Leaks in the network was one of the old problems when copper lines were used instead of the superior lead, iron, and glass that now networked the city. The leaks had caused widespread hallucinations. Now that I knew about the Authority, I’d say what people had been seeing were not hallucinations.
“And you didn’t call me?”
Oh, he was not going to use that tone of voice. “I’m a Hound. My job is to investigate magic being misused, then contact the police. You were second in line, Stotts. If there had been a crime behind the magic being used, I would have called.”
He drank coffee, tried a different tack. “What did you find?”
Shame had his eyes closed, ignoring the entire conversation. No help there.
“I found those ghost things. There were a lot of them. I don’t know how else to describe them.”
“Uh-huh. And how did you know they were attracted to the disk?”
Shit.
“It was in the report Violet gave me.”
Stotts leaned back, pulled a manila file off the shelf behind him. “This report?” He tossed it on his desk.
The tab said BECKSTROM ENTERPRISES.
“From your tone of voice, I’m going to say no. Not that report.”
“Funny, she said she gave us a full disclosure on the disks. I don’t recall her mentioning ghosts.”
“I know what she told me. If you have a question about it, maybe you should ask her.”
“Good idea.” He screeched forward and pressed speed dial on his cell. “Anything you want to add, Mr. Flynn?”
“I didn’t steal the gargoyle.” He didn’t open his eyes. “May I go now?”
“No.”
“Then tell me what charge I’m being held on.”
“Shame.” I rubbed at my eyes. My hands trembled, my fingers felt like icicles. I was rocking a fever. And the burns from the Veiled were starting to sting.
“Listen, Allie,” Shame said. “I get he’s a friend of yours. But your friend just dragged me to the feckin’ police station while my friend is in the hospital. I want to know what I’m being held for, or I am out that door.”
“Theft, magical mischief, trespass, failure to Proxy in legal limits, destruction of property,” Stotts intoned over the top of the cell.
Violet hadn’t picked up yet. I hoped Kevin hung up on him.
“Then I want my phone call.” Shame finally opened his eyes. He didn’t look worried. Annoyed, yes.
Stotts’ desk phone rang. He stared at it a second, then hung up his cell and squeaked over to answer the other phone.
“Stotts. Who?” Pause. “Interesting. Thank you.” He hung up.
“You’re both free to go.” He took another drink of his coffee, watching us. “Don’t leave town.”
Okay, that was the fastest about-face ever. “Why are we free?”
And that was the dumbest thing I’d said all day. Don’t argue with the nice policeman when he says you can go home, Beckstrom. But the fever, the night, the fight, everything was stacking up.
Shame didn’t have any problem with the news. “Well, then. It’s been lovely. Just. I’m sure I’ll see you around, Detective.” He was on his feet and walking toward the door.
I stood, feeling a little uncertain. Did I follow Shame or stay here and make sure Stotts didn’t get Closed?
That was ridiculous. I couldn�
��t babysit the policeman. I couldn’t even protect him from the Authority if they really wanted to Close him. And unless I wanted to tell him all of their secrets so he could protect himself, I’d just have to hope I’d done enough to keep him safe.
“Who called?” I asked.
“Violet’s lawyer. They’re waiting for you outside.” Stotts didn’t stand. He didn’t look any the worse for wear unless you counted the fingerprint burns on his neck.
“Where did you get the disk?” I asked.
“Found it out in St. Johns. Fully charged.”
“That’s strange,” I said, and I meant it.
“Isn’t it?”
I would have expected him to contact me to Hound it. But he hadn’t. I felt like I’d somehow failed him. Like we were breaking up, choosing different teams, going our separate ways. “If you need a Hound, if you don’t want me, you have the list and our contact information, right?”
“Yes.”
“Davy’s keeping an eye on the phones at the den.”
“You’re calling it the den now?”
I shrugged. “You can get hold of him anytime and he’ll tell you who’s available.”
“That sounds like you’re saying good-bye for good.”
I tried to smile, didn’t make it. “Of course not,” I said. I walked across the room and out the door that Shame held open for me.
Chapter Nineteen
Shame took the stairs like his shoes were on fire. I kept up, but was breathing hard by the time we made it to the lobby.
Shame kept walking.
“Shame, wait.”
Wonders of wonders, he turned around. Stopped.
I huffed over to him.
“What’s your hurry?”
“I hate police stations.”
“From all that trouble you got into when you were a kid?”
He scowled. “No. You hate elevators. I hate cop shops.”
“Allie?” A woman’s voice called out. I knew that voice—Violet.
I looked back toward the regular offices and watched as she walked, slowly due to the girth of her belly, my way. On one side of her, looking like he was ready to catch her if she sneezed, was Kevin Cooper. Medium height, medium hair, medium everything, Kevin always faded into a crowd. If I didn’t know him, I’d never guess he was a deadly good magic user. By the way he walked, quiet and respectful, and bodyguardish next to my dad’s widow he just looked like an ordinary guy. He was not.
