by Devon Monk
I picked up the cup and walked into the kitchen, half hoping Nola would be home, so I could talk to her about everything. But it was only 8:30, and she was apparently still having a good time out.
Stotts better treat her right.
I left her a note saying I was at Tchaikovsky Coffeehouse with Violet and would be home in an hour or two. I considered warning her about Stone, but instead went through the apartment and made sure all the windows were locked.
By the time I was down the stairs and out on the sidewalk, I had about twenty minutes to get to the coffeehouse. Plenty of time.
It wasn’t raining, so I started off walking, and flagged down a taxi just a couple blocks from my place. He dropped me off in front of Tchaikovsky’s.
Inside was warm and candlelit. Every wall was painted a different color, with art hung on nearly every square inch. A few plants were wedged up in the corners of the place. The floor—wood, with a scattering of carpets on which velvet couches huddled—was original to the building. Squeezed between those were tables of various shapes. Right in the middle of the room was a small raised stage, just big enough for the guitarist strumming away. Even though the whole thing should have come across as a crowded mess, it somehow looked and felt energetic and fun.
I grabbed a menu from the TAKE IT AND SIT DOWN box, and wandered into the hubbub. It was busy, but unlike Maeve’s place, where I felt the need to keep up my guard, this felt like the kind of crowd I could lose myself in. I smiled, slid past people who made eye contact and smiled back. A server threaded the crowd with a plate of chocolates and strawberries that made my mouth water.
Even the guitar music was good.
It had been a long time since I felt this relaxed out in public. A long time since I’d done something just for the fun of it. Ever since my dad’s death, my life had been intense.
And not in a good way.
I finally spotted Violet, because she waved and called my name—yes, I was being that observant. She and Kevin had secured a purple velvet love seat with an armchair snugged up against it. I made my way over to them, and pulled off my coat before taking the chair.
“Hey,” I said. “Ordered yet?”
Violet held up her menu. “Waiting for you. I would kill for the mocha fudge pot de créme and a good cup of coffee.”
I glanced at the menu. The vanilla sin almond torte with kumquat drizzle sounded really good. That, and an espresso. “Ready.” I glanced at Kevin. “You good to go?”
He nodded.
The three of us held our menus up over our heads. Silly, yes. But standard in this place, and the server showed up in a remarkably short time. She tucked an empty tray beneath one arm while she took our orders and menus, gave us a smile, and was gone into the crowd.
The guitar guy switched to something a little more up-beat, with Latino influences.
“So.” Violet leaned forward enough to fold one leg under the other. “Is this about your position in Beckstrom Enterprises?”
“I’m that easy to read?”
“It’s been three months since Daniel died,” she said in that matter-of-fact way of hers. “There are still a lot of details that haven’t been settled. We need to take care of the business before people get too nervous.”
“I know. My schedule has been really hectic and it’s only going to get worse. I’m considering a job Hounding on retainer for the police.”
That got Kevin’s attention. He stopped looking like he wasn’t scanning the crowd and instead looked at me.
“Which department?” he asked.
Yes, he was Violet’s bodyguard, and no, I didn’t owe him any answers. But he was also a part of the Authority and a hell of a magic user. I figured he had ways to find out who I was working for, so why keep it a secret?
“Detective Stotts.”
His sandy eyebrows notched up, but that was all the reaction I got out of him.
Violet nodded. “I think that’s a valid choice. I’ve looked into your files.”
“Nice,” I said.
She winced. “I’m sorry if you feel like I’ve crossed a line, but we don’t know each other that well, and . . . your decisions about his company could change my life and my research in the most drastic of ways. Did you know your father kept detailed reports on you?”
“Yes,” I said.
“As I said, I went through them and I noticed you don’t have any self-defense training.”
“What?”
“Self-defense. I’m surprised you never took any training. No martial arts, no sidearms training, no basic self-defense classes. Not even in college.”
“I can handle myself just fine.”
She stared at me for a long, uncomfortable moment. Finally, “In the very short time I’ve known you, you have been chased, shot, robbed, stabbed, drugged, and attacked by magic.”
“I’m still breathing, aren’t I?”
Our dessert and coffee showed up. The server caught on quickly that chatty banter was not going to work at our table. She set everything on the small coffee table in front of us, and walked away a little quicker than before.
Violet picked up her coffee and took a moment to appreciate the leaf design worked in the foam. She held the cup in both hands and closed her eyes, inhaling the aroma.
The flutter behind my eyes kicked up again, and I felt a wash of memories push through me. Different times, different places, all Violet, holding a simple cup of coffee like it was treasure, savoring a plain moment like it was gold.
Go away, I pushed at my dad. Where was that wall when I needed it?
I looked away from Violet, which helped some, then took a drink of my coffee and a bite of the torte. The burst of flavors in my mouth pushed everything else aside. Violet, Kevin, the crowd, and my annoying father would all just have to wait while I ate half that torte and drank half that coffee.
Violet, however, was a multitasker.
“Yes, you’re breathing. I think you should take steps to avoid injury in the first place. You need self-defense training, and I’ve put together a list of people you can check into.”
She dug in the purse at her feet and put a manila file on the table. “Contact information, profiles, photos, classes, and costs are there. Beckstrom Enterprises has an employee wellness program set up that will cover any one of these. I’d like you to seriously consider it.”
I settled back in my chair, taking my coffee with me but leaving the file where it was. “I’m not an employee.”
“No, you’re not. You’re an owner. And the members of the board all voted to hire a bodyguard for you.”
“Oh, absolutely not,” I said. “I will not have someone breathing down my neck every second of the day.”
“Then take the training.”
The woman was relentless.
“And if I don’t?”
“Beckstrom Enterprises will take appropriate steps. Allie”—she pressed her glasses up on the bridge of her nose and folded her fingers together—“personal preferences have to be put aside when you are dealing with a corporation this large. There is a lot riding on you and your majority share. The stockholders have some say in how you live your life. I’m sorry if you don’t like that, but it’s true. For years, your father was able to keep that pressure off you while you grew up, went to school. But he’s gone now. Now you have to step up to the realities of living a public life.”
“Gee,” I said, “I know I brought enough money for dessert and coffee; does the lecture cost extra?”
Violet smiled, which I hadn’t expected. I bet she was the head of her debate team in school. “You are so like him. I know that doesn’t win me any favors. Still. It’s true.” She took another drink of her coffee. “Stubborn, sarcastic, annoying.” She flashed me a smile. “But funny.”
Funny? My dad? The flutter behind my eyes scraped and scraped. I rubbed at my forehead and tried to will him away.
I picked up my plate again and finished the torte so I had an excuse not to look at Violet
.
“Have you thought about your role in the company?” Violet asked.
“Yes,” I said. “Well, mostly I’ve thought about how much I don’t want to have any role in the company.”
“Really.” She didn’t sound surprised, just curious. “So you don’t want to take a major position?”
“What, like CEO? No. I’d like to have some say in what happens, but I don’t want to bother with the day-to-day decisions. Or paperwork. Or boardroom meetings. I’d like some money set aside that I can access for myself and for causes I am sympathetic toward. Maybe that money could be sheltered so my decisions on how to use it don’t reflect poorly on the company.”
“Why? Are you going into smuggling? Drugs? Weapons?”
“Worse. I’m thinking of creating some kind of insurance plan or resource for the Hounds in the city. I know Dad never approved of what I did.”
Violet took a drink of coffee and shrugged. “I think he wanted better for you. A safer career. Something more certain. But I don’t think he was ashamed that you are a Hound.”
“Yeah, well, I have my own opinion on that.”
“I know,” she said. “I’m comfortable with your interests being associated with Beckstrom Enterprises. But this is something we should have the lawyers work out. Would you be willing to meet with someone?”
“When?” I asked.
“I’ll have to contact everyone and see when it would work. Hopefully in the next week or so.”
“Okay,” I said. “Oh, and what do you think about me giving you the CEO position in Beckstrom Enterprises?”
“Huh.” It came out like someone had slapped her hard on the back and she’d lost her breath. She frowned and took another sip of coffee. “Let me think about that. You know your father’s will left me comfortable financially, and I own the condo and many of his other assets.”
“This isn’t about the money,” I said. “Well, I mean, it is about the money, but that’s not the only thing it’s about. I think you and I would work well together, even if we don’t always agree.”
“I’m not so sure. . . .”
“And,” I cut her off before she could protest any further. “That will keep the business in the family. For the, uh, future. You know.”
“You mean for your brother or sister?”
And all that scraping and fluttering in my head went dead still.
“Yeah,” I said, because it was too late to deny it now. “For that.”
“I’ll think about it,” she said again.
Somewhere in the center of my head, Dad jerked on something. It felt like he had a rope around my neck. He pulled so hard, I inhaled. Everything went black for a second, but I heard my own voice say, “I love you.”
“What?” Violet said.
Kevin choked on his coffee, then cleared his throat.
Oh, sweet hells.
I pushed against the wall of my dad blocking me from control of my own mouth. He didn’t fight me; maybe he was too weak to fight me. I stumbled back into my conscious mind like I’d missed the last stair. Which is to say, not very gracefully.
I stood, because it was time to get out of here before my dad did something worse.
“I’d love you to think it over,” I said.
Nice save. Go, me.
“Call me when you decide, and let me know when you want to meet with the lawyers.”
I pulled on my coat.
“Okay.” She sounded a little confused. “And you’ll tell me which self-defense instructor you choose.”
Kevin pointedly handed me the manila folder, which I shoved in my pocket.
“If I choose one,” I said.
“I’ll know if you don’t.”
“Not sure that I care,” I said with a smile. I tossed my share of the tab down on the table. “See you soon.”
“Good night, Allie.”
I strode away, but not before my Hound ears picked up Violet’s last comment. “I don’t think she understands the danger she’s in.”
And Kevin’s reply. “She will.”
Chapter Ten
I was restless, wanted to be on my feet, moving, thinking, doing. My apartment wasn’t exactly within walking distance; still, I walked a little while before catching a cab. Halfway to my apartment, I decided I wasn’t ready to go home yet. I asked the driver to drop me off about six blocks from my house and got out. I stood there on the sidewalk for a moment, trying to decide if I wanted to just walk home and let the cold, damp air clear my head, or if I wanted to go out for a while, get away. Maybe spend some time in the comfort of Get Mugged.
It didn’t take me long to decide. I wanted warmth, light, and a crowd around me. Get Mugged it was. I started down the hill. The air was bitter cold, the light of dawn hours off. Most of the bars were just getting going this time of night, but I wasn’t about to go wandering through dark alleys or unlit parking lots. I stuck to the streetlights, to the bus lines, and kept a good pace.
Just as my muscles were beginning to warm enough that I could really stretch into the walk, and I was actually a little more relaxed and a little less restless, I heard the sound of footfalls behind me.
Someone was following me.
I took a deep breath, searching for a scent.
The smell of blackberry burned down to a bitter, thick tar, the jarring scent of bubble gum and booze, and the dark heat of copper. The same smells from the Necromorph in the alley. The same smells from the job I Hounded for Stotts.
The wind shifted just enough to bring the smell closer, stronger. My heart skipped a couple beats.
That thing, that man-thing was here, on the streets. Stalking me.
Holy shit.
Panic drew delicate fingers through my stomach and legs, leaving behind a weak, watery sensation. I didn’t know how to defend myself against that thing. I didn’t think I could outrun it. Zayvion had been very clear that I should not throw magic at it.
Think, Allie, think.
Camouflage, my dad whispered in my mind.
Holy hells, I had forgotten he was there. I don’t know how I had forgotten, since I was still pissed at him for taking over my mouth, but right now, I was glad he was with me.
How screwed up was that?
Cast Camouflage, he said again. Along with that came the memory of the butterscotch-and-rum spell Zayvion had thrown around us in the alley.
That was a great idea. Terrific, really. Camouflage had kept us hidden before I messed things up.
Only problem? I had no frickin’ idea how to cast that spell.
I can talk you through it, Dad said a little louder, a little stronger, the presence of him growing bigger in my head. I can teach you.
And while, yes, warning bells went off in my head—I did not trust my father, had never trusted my father—that thing trotting between buildings behind me was possibly worse than my father. Maybe even probably.
Not by much, but the devil you know and all that.
Fine, I thought at him. What do I need to do?
Put a wall to your back. A strong building, not abandoned.
I didn’t know that it mattered what kind of wall was behind me, but magic, especially spells I’ve never cast, can be tricky the first time. If Dad said I needed a good wall, I’d find a good wall.
I picked up the pace to a jog, falling into a rhythm of breathing that helped clear my mind. I didn’t know if that thing could smell fear or panic, but just to cover my bases, I decided I was not going to panic.
I jogged past plenty of buildings. How hard could it be to find a strong wall?
It was impossible.
All the buildings along this block were either separated by fences, or because of the slope in the hill, were too far above me.
There—a five-story stucco jobber with wide, fancy framed windows. Even better, the streetlamp poured enough light on the building that I should be able to get to the wall without stepping on homeless people or barging into the middle of a drug deal or something.
The creature was gaining on me. I could hear it closer, louder every few yards I ran, and my dad was critiquing my choice of hiding places.
How fandamtastic was that?
Up ahead was a one-story cedar-shingled shop huddled between two higher buildings. It was set back from the sidewalk a couple yards, but seemed to be in good repair. No light reached the walls and the windows were dark. Perfect crack house.
This one? I thought.
Perfect, he said.
Lucky in every way. That’s me.
I jogged down the short brick walkway to the door and ducked into the shadows there, pressing my back against the wall.
The thing was close. Its snarl echoed from a block away, and I shivered from the sound of it. Not human enough to be a man, not animal enough to be natural.
What do I do? I thought as calmly as I could.
The snarl came closer, maybe two buildings back. Tracking me.
Clear your mind, he said.
I thought calm thoughts like my life depended on it. Which, strangely enough, it did.
I recited a mantra, the Miss Mary Mack rhyme, until my racing heartbeat and thoughts slowed, became calm as still water.
Very good, he said with the strangest tone in his voice. Approval, I think, but I wasn’t sure. I’d never heard him use it before.
Let go of your hands, and I will use them to trace the spell.
What? Use me? My body? Oh, hells no.
I stay in the driver’s seat, I told him. Just tell me what to do.
There is no time. He pressed outward, spreading like a heavy ache, reaching into places in my mind I was positive I didn’t want him touching.
No, I pushed back at him, trying to picture him trapped in a small corner of my head, a small room where he could not get out, could not touch me, could not make me do what he wanted me to do for him. A place where he could talk to me, maybe do charades through a window at me, but not touch me, or take me over.
If you fight me, he will see me—see us, he corrected.
