by Devon Monk
“I have an appointment.” I walked over to the door. “Who has the key to lock up?”
Jack held up his hand.
“Good. I’ll see you all next week. Davy, can I talk to you a minute?”
He had already started walking down the hallway, but stopped and waited while I caught up with him.
“Tomi called me this morning,” I said as we kept walking, a little more slowly. “She said you’ve been bothering her.”
“She’s really fucked up,” he said.
And what he didn’t say, but what was obvious on his face, was that he still cared for her, maybe even still loved her, but he was helpless to keep her from screwing up her life.
Love sucks.
“I told her if she’s in trouble we would help. She knows there are other options out there for her. But you need to give her some space.”
“Space?” He turned on me and I took a step back, wondering if I’d have to block a punch. Instead, he leaned against the wall and swallowed hard, his hands in fists at his side.
The light hit his face so I could see his bruised eyes were puffy and red. It looked like he hadn’t shaved for a couple of days. His sweat and breath smelled of beer and cheap whiskey.
Kid was in a world of hurt. His girlfriend dumped him; the man he looked up to, Pike, had been murdered. He was beat, inside and out.
“She’s not going to make it,” he said, so quietly I wondered if he was talking to me or himself. “She’s slipping away. And she won’t listen. . . . Won’t let me help . . . You know how crazy that is?”
I felt a strange twinge in my chest, sorrow for him. I knew what it was like to lose everything. If we were somewhere alone, I might even talk to him about that, give him a sisterly pat on the shoulder or something. Instead I placed my hand on his upper arm.
He couldn’t have looked more shocked if I’d hit him with a Taser.
Have I mentioned Hounds don’t do contact?
“If she won’t take our help, then we’ll get her pointed in the right direction to help herself.”
“Like that’s going to work,” he muttered.
“Maybe not. Lots of Hounds fuck up and die. But Tomi’s pretty smart. And she’s strong. A survivor.”
He nodded, watching me, and not doing a very good job of hiding how miserable he was and how much he really wanted to believe there was some hope left for her.
“Do you know who she’s with?” I asked. “That guy you said she was working for, cutting for?”
“She calls him Jingo.”
“What?”
He shrugged one shoulder. “Mr. Jingo. I looked. There isn’t anyone in Portland by that name. I figure it’s just what he’s told her.”
Bea and Jack came strolling down the corridor. “One side,” Jack said as they neared. Then, “After you, Beatrice.”
Bea smiled and walked past us. “See you later, Allie, Davy,” she said.
Jack just gave us a short nod, and then both of them were out the door into the building proper.
Jingo. Not nearly a common enough a name for it not to be Jingo Jingo. But what would a member of the Authority, a teacher of Death magic, want with a Hound? Maybe he wanted what anyone wanted from a Hound—someone to track magic. Or maybe he had taken her on as a student, like Maeve had taken me on.
“Have you ever met him?”
“No.”
“Okay. Let me look into it. I’ll see if I can track him down. You just stay away from her for a little while.”
He glared at me.
“She said she’ll get a restraining order on you if you don’t.”
“Like that matters,” he said.
“It does. I’ll pay medical bills, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to post bail for you, Silvers.” We glared at each other. I won.
He looked down at his shoes.
“She’ll come around,” I said. “Just give her some time.”
“You don’t know Tomi,” he said. “She never comes around.”
“Just promise you’ll stay away from her until she cools off,” I said again.
He blinked and gave me a disinterested look.
Fabulous.
“I have an appointment to keep.” I started walking to the door. “You going to be okay?”
“Sure.” He didn’t move away from the wall. He just leaned his head back, clenched his hands into fists, and closed his eyes.
“If you need anything, call,” I said.
He didn’t respond. I felt bad leaving him alone in the hall, but I really had to get home if I was going to make it to class on time. And I had some new questions I needed to ask Maeve.
I strolled back out into the building and took the stairs that exited to street level.
It was raining. Hard. I paused under the dubious cover of the building’s overhang and dug my knit hat out of my pocket. Hat on head, I strode across the street, not waiting for the light to change. I caught the MAX light rail train instead of waiting for the bus.
I made it to the bottom of my hill and started up. I finally spotted Zayvion’s car, parked a block away from my apartment.
More walking in the rain. I was soaked, cold, and the wind was picking up. Still, instinct told me to slow my steps before getting too close to Zayvion’s car. Something was wrong. By now he should have at least acknowledged that he saw my approach.
The back of my neck tingled and magic, deep and hot within me, pushed to be released.
Danger, danger, danger.
A moth-wing flutter on the back of my eyes reminded me that my dad was still there. Not exactly comforting.
I paused beneath an overhang in front of a glass shop, set a Disbursement—a headache again—then drew the glyph for Sight with my fingertip and poured magic into it.
The street filled with the ghostly multicolored ashes of old spells, many dissolving and regenerating—business spells set on cycles or loops as the magic pulsed into them—the price for the constant refresh going off somewhere to Proxy pits and penitentiaries.
A dozen Veiled, men, women, wandered the street, so far uninterested in me. Time to get a move on before they changed their minds.
I used Sight to look at Zayvion’s car. No new spells wrapped it; no ashes of old spells clung to it. It looked like any other magically unenhanced vehicle. And when I looked a little closer, past the car to the single occupant inside, I did not see traces of Wards or traps or trips there.
It took me all of ten seconds. And in that time, the Veiled turned and shuffled toward me.
I hurriedly dropped Sight, breaking the spell and ending the feed of magic into it. The street snapped back into rain and traffic. I took a couple deep breaths, letting go of the adrenaline rush. I did not like having to worry about the Veiled attacking every time I used magic.
I could show you how to block them, my dad’s voice whispered through my mind.
Do you really think I’d trust you? I thought at him.
We could do so much for each other.
Too late for that. Much too late.
I strode the rest of the way to Zayvion’s car, but kept an eye out for nonmagical threats. All I needed was for some whack job to jump me for my wallet.
Nothing and no one stopped me. Even though all I wanted to do was rush into the shelter of the car, I bent and looked through the passenger’s-side window before so much as touching the door handle.
The car was empty except for Zayvion, who slouched in the driver’s seat, his shoulders angled so that his face was pressed against the window. His eyes were closed. I bit the inside of my cheek and watched. His chest rose, fell.
He was still breathing.
The door was unlocked, so I let myself in. Zayvion didn’t stir as cold wind blasted into the car.
“Zayvion?” I touched his arm.
He jerked awake. His eyes, normally dark brown, were flooded by rivers of gold. He’d been using magic. Lots of magic. The whites of his eyes were bloodshot, and his dusky skin was a shade too gray. He looked sick. I sm
elled the bitterness of exhaustion and the powerful metallic odor of spent magic mixed with his pine scent.
“Allie?” He straightened and rubbed at his face with hands that shook. “Sorry. Tired. Ready?”
I might have said yes if it hadn’t taken him two tries to hold the keys tightly enough to start the engine. This man was in no shape to drive.
“You are not driving.”
He frowned. “Why?”
“Because I value my life.” I got out of the car and didn’t hear his reply.
I jogged in front of the car and opened his door.
“You’re being ridiculous.”
And I might have believed that if he hadn’t slurred his words.
“Doesn’t matter. Let’s go.”
Maybe it was the tone of my voice. Maybe it was the look in my eyes. Whatever, Zayvion squinted up at me, then fumbled with his seat belt and finally got it off. He grabbed the doorframe and used it as leverage to get his legs out of the car.
He paused there, breathing hard.
“Shit,” he said softly.
“What happened?”
“Just.” He swallowed. “Bad day at the job.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” I reached down and gripped his arm to help him get out of the car. “Is this from magic? Did you kill someone? Close someone?” The memory of the Necromorph who had cornered me, and then the strange shadow magic that had brought him back to life, rushed behind my eyes. I literally shivered.
“Did something attack you?”
“No,” he said. “Sleep. Just need sleep.”
“Well, you’re in luck. My bed’s upstairs. Come on, big guy,” I said as I pulled back to get him up on his feet. “Time to go for a walk.”
I tugged his arm toward me, ducking to put it over my shoulder.
“Walk?” he muttered.
“Walk,” I said, pushing a little Influence behind it. “You need some sleep, so we’re going up to my place. Ready?”
“Influence doesn’t work,” he grunted as he took a step, “on me.”
I’d forgotten that. “Well, how about, ‘Please don’t argue with me, because I can’t fucking carry you up three flights of stairs’?”
He took a deep breath. Exhaled while he spoke. “Since you asked so nice.”
I led us to the apartment door, keeping his arm over my shoulder and my arm tight around his waist. “Are you hurt?” We paused by the door so I could dig the key out of my pocket. “Were you attacked?”
“Just tired. Should pass in an hour or so. Heavy lifting.” He didn’t say magic, but I knew that’s what had exhausted him.
“There’s this new thing on the market. Called a Proxy,” I said. “Maybe you ought to try one sometime.” I pushed open the door.
“Did,” he said. “You don’t know. It’s . . .” He lowered his voice to mitigate the echo in the lobby. “I am the only one who can do it. Closing. Closed. Like that.”
Well, at least now I knew what he’d done.
“Does it always hit you this hard?” I asked as we walked over to the stairs. “Closing?”
“No. He. This one. Complicated.”
“Who’s complicated?”
He looked over at me, gold eyes too gold, too red. Exhausted. Maybe feverish. Very quietly, he said, “Cody. I closed Cody. Took his memories, his magic away.”
It was like a razor-sharp finger dragging down my spine.
“What in the hell?” I said, low, vicious. “He’s an innocent.”
“No.” Zayvion shook his head sadly. “He’s never been innocent. Powerful. Hand.” He blinked and seemed to realize where he was and what he was saying. He clamped his mouth shut and glared at the stairs.
“Shit,” he said quietly. “Not here. I need to rest. Then.” He lifted one foot and set it down on the first stair.
“Then you’ll tell me what you did?”
“Then,” he agreed.
“Promise?”
“Word.” He put a few more stairs behind him and added, “You have mine.”
Man was barely able to walk and make sense at the same time.
So we climbed the stairs, not saying much. Me, fuming. Zayvion, less winded than I expected him to be. I wondered if the fatigue, if the price he was paying for Closing Cody was already fading.
He was going to have to come up with a hell of a good reason to convince me taking Cody’s memories away was a good thing. That kid already had enough going against him without dealing with people like the Authority. Like Zayvion.
By the time we got to my door and I checked and listened before opening, Zayvion was moving a little better than he had at the bottom of the stairs. But as we walked into my apartment, he stumbled, and I leaned back hard to correct his balance.
“How much do you weigh, Jones?” I groaned.
“Sorry.” He swayed a little and put his hand on the wall.
“Do I need to call someone?” I asked.
“No. I’m sleep.” He let go of me and walked a straight line into my living room. “Gonna couch. Okay.”
“Couch is fine.” I threw my wet hat on the half wall between the foyer and kitchen and glanced into the kitchen. No one there, and no note, which meant Nola hadn’t been back yet. Just in case, I checked the bedroom and bathroom too. No Nola.
The phone rang.
Zayvion was off the couch in one smooth motion. He stood slightly crouched, hands spread in front of him, ready to cast, eyes startlingly alert. If I had ever doubted it before, it was very clear just how deadly this man was.
“Hang on, hero,” I said. “Don’t kill the phone.”
Zayvion straightened, rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. He blinked and looked around, trying to get his bearings, then sat on the couch.
I picked up the phone. “Hello?”
“It’s Davy,” Davy said. He sounded out of breath. Strained, like he was running. “I’m at Cathedral Park. Can you get here?”
Cathedral Park was in St. Johns. “What are you doing there?”
“Following a Hound. I need your help.”
“Who, Davy? Which Hound are you following?” He hadn’t volunteered to follow anyone at the meeting today. “If you’re in trouble, call the police.”
“Forget it,” he said. “I’ll handle it.”
And then he hung up.
Great. Just what I needed. A lovesick idiot kid out getting himself killed.
I swore softly. Davy wasn’t thinking straight. I’d put money on it being Tomi he was following. And I’d bet money he was about to get his ass kicked again.
Or worse. Tomi had said they would kill him if he didn’t stop bothering her.
Hells.
“Okay?” Zayvion mumbled. He was lying down again, on his side, since my couch wasn’t wide enough for his shoulders if he lay on his back. He had a pillow bunched up under his head. His eyes were closed.
“It’s fine,” I growled. I pulled a blanket out of the linen closet and brought it over to him.
“Should take you to class,” he said.
I pulled the blanket over him. “I can get to class on my own. I’ll call Maeve and let her know I’m going to be a little late.” And buy myself some time so I could take a trip to St. Johns and drag Davy home, in chains, if I had to.
“Mmm.” He was snoring before I made it back to the phone.
I had Maeve’s number in my book. I dialed.
“ ’Lo, you’ve reached the Feile San Fhomher,” a familiar male voice answered. “How may I help you?”
“Shamus?” I asked.
There was a short pause. “Allie?”
“Yes. I need to talk to Maeve.”
“Right, right. Well, you can’t. She’s . . . busy.”
“Can you take a message for me?”
“Sure.” There was a little shuffle sound like he was digging out a pen and paper. “Shoot.”
“Tell her I’m going to be late for class. Two hours, maybe.”
He let out a hoot. “O
h, no, no, no, darling. Don’t do that. She hates it when students stand her up.”
“I don’t have a choice, okay? I can get there in about two hours.”
“Hmm. And what will you be doing in those two hours?”
At my pause he said, “Allie?” dragging the sound of my name out, like he knew I was hiding a naughty secret. “Are you up to something?”
“No.” It didn’t even sound convincing to me.
He chuckled. “What have you gotten yourself into? Come on, now. You can tell me.”
Annoying. And Zayvion’s best friend. Fine, if he wanted to know what I was dealing with, he could deal with it too.
“Zayvion was supposed to drive me out there, but he”—I paused, not knowing what Shamus knew and how much I should say—“he’s passed out on my couch.”
“Is he breathing normally?” Gone was the laughter. Gone was the teasing. Shamus was deadly serious.
The turn of conversation made my stomach flip with panic. I looked over at Zay. He was still snoring.
“Does snoring count?”
“Good enough.” Shamus sounded relieved. “How did his eyes look?”
“Gold. Really gold. And bloodshot.”
“Was he talking clearly?”
“Not really. He did climb three flights of stairs.”
“Idiot,” he muttered. “Okay, here’s what you’re going to do.”
“Whoa, back up,” I said. “I already know what I’m going to do. I have a friend who’s in some kind of trouble. Zay said he just needed an hour to sleep it off.”
Shamus grunted and exhaled with a click that told me he was sucking on a cigarette. “And you believed him? Fine. You go take care of your friend. I’ll see that Z is on the mend.”
“You’re coming over to my apartment? I have company. . . .”
“Your friend Nola? I know. Just tell her to let me in when I come by.”
“She’s not here.”
“So leave her a note.”
Truth was, I didn’t like the idea of Shamus coming over to my apartment. Didn’t like my privacy invaded. I had lived alone for a long time. I didn’t like it when other people thought they could move through my space.
Who was I kidding? I might have been that private, closed-off person before, but in just the last couple days I’d had my friend, a magical detective, my boyfriend, and a gargoyle in my living room. Not exactly the life of a hermit.
