by Devon Monk
I took the cookies. “Lock that door and do not open it for anyone but us. Call 911 if something funny happens. Call Stotts too, if you need to. Be careful, okay?”
“Me?” she said. “It’s not me who’s mixed up to her eyeballs in magic.”
I gave her a quick smile and then headed out the door, not waiting for Zayvion to catch up to me.
“What?” I asked him once he was striding alongside me.
“Aren’t you going to share those?” He pointed at the cookies.
I bit into one of the warm cookies. Delicious and moist and buttery. “Absolutely not. You probably already ate a dozen of these.”
“Your point?”
We jogged down the stairs. “So, how hard is it to take care of these Hunger things?” I asked.
“It’s not easy. Hardest to do it so no one notices. I think you should stay here.”
“Not on your life.”
We hit the lobby at a fast walk. “How hard will it be to find them?”
“We know how they move.”
“And what, exactly, do they do?”
“Hunt people and magic. Then consume. Kill.”
Comforting. “Car’s this way.” I dug in my pocket and tossed him the keys. He caught them and we strode out the door to the back parking lot.
I realized last time I’d been in this building with Zayvion, he’d been nearly passed out from exhaustion. “You are feeling okay, right?” I asked as we hit the cold late-afternoon air.
“I’m fine,” he said. “Shamus has his uses.”
“Oh? Like what?”
“Like mitigating burn-out. He’s really quite good at what he does. Just don’t ever tell him I said that. I’ll deny all knowledge that this conversation ever took place.”
I shook my head. “You like him, don’t you?”
“Like the brother I never got around to killing.” He flashed me a bright smile, and I couldn’t help but smile back.
“Killing?” Shamus walked out from behind some bushes in the parking lot. “You mean the brother who has saved your sorry ass a hundred times. A little respect, here.”
“That was respect. You’re still alive. Do you have everything?” Zayvion asked.
Shamus pulled one hand from behind his back. A strange collection of leather and silver and glass dangled between his fingers. “I’m always ready with the ass saving, now, aren’t I? Apologize.”
“Sorry you can’t stop thinking about my ass.”
Shamus grinned. “True. It’s just so tight and muscular. Want me to shove these in your trunk?”
“I’d rather you put them in the car.” Zayvion opened his car, and motioned for me to get in the passenger’s side while Shamus put the contraptions in the trunk. Zay walked around and stood by the open trunk with Shamus, like two men comparing guns or tackle boxes or something.
Satisfied with the inventory, they slammed the trunk shut, and Shamus crawled in the backseat while Zayvion got into the driver’s seat.
“There might be some blood back there,” I said.
Shamus shrugged one shoulder. “What’s new?”
Zayvion took a moment to adjust the seat for his legs, and the mirrors. “Safety first,” he said.
“Always,” Shamus agreed.
Zayvion started the engine and turned the car toward St. Johns.
“So, tell me what to expect,” I said.
“Blood, death, horror.” Shamus sat forward so he was nearly between us. “The usual.” He pulled out his cell, hit a button.
“Who?” Zayvion asked.
“Who do you think?” He sat back and answered the phone. “Chase, darlin’. Want to do a job?”
At the mention of Chase’s name, Zayvion tightened. It was only for a second before the Zen took over and he looked relaxed, calm again. But I could tell it was an act. That woman bothered him.
“Should I be worried?” I asked while Shamus kept right on talking behind us.
“About the hunt?”
“Yes. And Chase.”
Zay stopped at a light. Even though it felt like the longest day ever, it wasn’t even dark yet. It was three or four at the latest, and as light as a cloudy day in Oregon could be. To the west, a patch of blue sky opened up, and sunlight shot down in liquid gold, painting the wet city in van Gogh fire. It seemed strange to be going out hunting nightmares in such nice weather.
“Chase is a Closer,” Zayvion said. “She’s good at her job. You don’t have to worry about her.” The light turned green, and Zay moved along with traffic, angling north toward the St. Johns Bridge.
Why did I not believe him?
“The hunt isn’t something I want you to be involved in. At all,” he added, like maybe I hadn’t heard him before. “If we’re dealing with Hungers, they are creatures that have crossed through the gates from death to life.”
“Like the Veiled?”
Zay shook his head. “The Veiled are the thoughts and memories and bits of magic users’ souls impressed on the magic that runs beneath the city. They aren’t so much dead people as a recording of people who were once alive.”
Recordings with burning fingers that like to eat magic.
“What did the Hungers used to be?” I asked.
“Some say they are failed spells from the ancient days when magic was first used by mankind. Some say they are the fears, the panics, the horrors of all the world’s tragedies, the nightmares of mankind’s dreaming mind. Some say they are hunters, killers, creatures that dwell in the world beyond the gates, hungry for the blood and magic of the living world.” He shrugged. “Your basic denizens of death.”
“Huh,” I said.
“What?”
“I was just trying to remember the last time I had a conversation with someone who used the words dwell and denizens of death in the same breath.”
“Your point?” he asked.
“You are a seriously strange man, Zayvion Jones.”
That got a surprised grin out of him. “You don’t know me very well, then.”
Well, well, look at who had gone all Mr. Tough on me. It looked natural, easy on him. I had a feeling there was a side to Mr. Jones that I hadn’t seen yet. The bad-boy hunter side. And I liked it.
“So, the Hungers?” I prompted.
“Right. Cross over from death. It happens, but not very often, and usually only one at a time. You saw more than one?”
“Six, I think.”
“That’s a large crossing. It would have taken a lot of power behind the spell to crack the gate that wide.”
Maybe that was why Tomi looked so exhausted.
“Is Davy being hurt a part of it?” I asked.
“Yes. Death magic takes a sacrifice. It doesn’t have to be a life, just an exchange of energy. But the old ways, dark ways, always use a sacrifice.”
“You said those ways were forbidden.”
Shamus, who was done with his phone call, laughed. “They are. But first someone has to catch you doing it. Death magic is hard stuff to Hound.”
I didn’t know that. I wasn’t sure if that made me feel better or worse, knowing there was a kind of magic less detectable to Hounding.
“There’s something else,” I said. “Davy said Tomi mentioned a man named Jingo. Is she part of the Authority?”
They both got quiet. Finally, Zay spoke. “Not that I’m aware of.”
“Told you he’s a freak,” Shamus muttered. “Gonna be a fuckin’ war.”
The muscle of Zay’s jaw tightened. “Maybe,” he said. “Or maybe we’ll find a way to fix this first.”
Shamus snorted. “Optimism does not suit you, my friend.”
“So is Jingo Jingo using Tomi some other way?” I asked. “For Hounding? A little light on the subject would be nice.”
“I don’t know what to tell you,” Zayvion said. “I don’t know if Jingo Jingo is involved with Tomi at all. There are . . . people who would plant his name. Make false trails to cover their own tracks.”
“Bac
kstabbing and double-crossing? Fantastic show you’re running,” I said.
“There’s a lot of unrest among magic users right now,” Zayvion said. “Especially since your father’s death. A lot of finger pointing, blame of magic and knowledge being improperly supervised, leaked, used.
“But right now, we need to deal with the Hungers,” Zayvion said, changing subjects.
I still wanted to know what Jingo Jingo had to do with all this, but for all I knew, Shamus was more than his student. He could be his spy.
Where was that secrets spreadsheet when I needed it?
“Do you still think they’re in St. Johns?” I asked.
“Probably. There’s a reason the gate was opened there. There isn’t magic in St. Johns. Nothing is piped in, nothing natural beneath the ground. I think Tomi didn’t want us knowing the gate had been breached. It’s possible the Hungers are waiting for nightfall to slip into the rest of the city.”
“And once they’re in the city, what do they do?”
“They kill,” Shamus said.
“So why haven’t I heard about this on the news? Dead bodies? Rampaging nightmare creatures? That’s got to be good enough to at least hit the morning shows.”
“You don’t hear it because we are very, very good.” Shamus grinned.
“No, if someone dies, it’s noticed,” I said. “By a neighbor, a friend, a coworker.”
“We don’t hide the bodies,” Zayvion said, “when there are bodies. We just make sure the cause of death never points toward the magical.”
“That doesn’t sound easy,” I said.
“After years and years of training?” he said. “It’s not.”
“Crap,” I said. “Training. Shame, would you call your mom and tell her I’m going to be late—later? Please?”
He just shook his head. “You’re gonna owe me for all this sugar I’m pouring on her.” He dialed, and spent several minutes explaining exactly what we were going to be doing.
Finally, he hung up. “Says she’ll consider it extra credit, but no getting into the middle of anything really dangerous. Thinks I’m gonna look after you.”
“I can look after myself,” I said.
Shamus nodded. “Of course you can.”
I was demure enough not to flip him off with both fingers.
We drove past the park. Police tape closed off the parking lot, but North Bradford Street was clear. Zayvion parked the car several blocks away, tucked down a one-way gravel and bramble dead-end road, then popped the trunk.
Shamus jumped out and started rummaging through the gear in the trunk.
“I don’t suppose I could talk you into staying in the car?” Zayvion asked.
“No.”
He didn’t look surprised by my answer. “Did your father teach you any of the Closing spells?”
“No.”
“Attacks?”
“What? No.”
“Allie . . .” He rubbed the back of his neck and tipped his head down.
“Listen,” I said. “I don’t have to be the one who kills these things, but I do want to see how they are killed. I’m here to watch and learn so the next time one of my Hounds gets attacked, I’ll know what to do. I’ll stay out of your way. Think of me as a job shadow.”
He stopped rubbing his neck. “I’d like to think of you as a lot more than that. Alive and safe, for one thing.”
“How about stubborn and smart enough to look after myself?”
“Mmm, that too. But I’m still going to go with alive and safe.”
He leaned toward me. I met him halfway. We kissed, and delicious warmth spread through me, filling me. The taste of him—a little smoky and sweet, along with the scent of pine that would forever remind me of him, of his touch—poured through me and made me want him more.
He pulled back and rested his forehead against mine. “Please. Please take the keys and drive home,” he said softly.
I leaned away, just enough that I could see his eyes. Just enough that I wouldn’t fall into needing to do what he said. Not because of Influence or anything magical between us. But because I hated to hear the worry in his voice.
“Just tell me what to do if one gets too close to me. I promise I am not going to get close to one of them.”
He licked his bottom lip, and I wondered if he could still taste me, taste our kiss.
“Shield will work against them,” he said. He was all teacher now, all Zen. Calm. Reassuring. Matter-of-fact. Like he hunted nightmares every day.
Which, come to think of it, he probably did.
“Camouflage works too. If things get hot, back off and back out. Most of the defensive spells—Hold, Sleep—won’t do a thing. The Hungers absorb anything thrown at them. So your best defense is to not attack. Try to blend in, try not to smell like magic or give off the sign that you use magic.”
I rolled my eyes, and he nodded. “I know. But try. Blocks will work on you, not on the Hungers.”
He searched my face, his gaze dropping to my lips, then back up to my eyes. “Allie—”
“—tell me later,” I said with a little too much cheerfulness. “When all this is over and you and I are sitting on the couch, drinking a glass of wine.”
“Stubborn,” he said.
“Middle name,” I agreed. And before we could say anything else, before I lost my nerve, I got out of the car.
Shamus bent over the open trunk, humming a tuneless song and smoking a cigarette.
“Need any help?” I strolled over, my boots crunching in the wet gravel. I stuck both my hands in my pockets and was grateful I’d put on a hat. It wasn’t raining or very windy right now, but the air was bone-bitingly cold and damp.
“Sure,” he said without looking at me, “hold this.” He handed me a leather rope that looked a lot like a short-handled bullwhip, but with silver glyphs worked down the length of the leather and a blade of glass at the tip.
I held it, leaving the length curled in the trunk among the other weapons—a couple sheathed machetes with glass and glyphs worked into the hilts, more leather whips, some plain rope, a few stained glass boxes that looked like they should hold jewelry, sheathed knives, and several glyphed and Warded cases that looked like the right shape and size to carry guns.
And with all that to choose from, Shamus, who was still wearing his black fingerless gloves, was instead carefully unwrapping silk handkerchiefs off of four small round medallions. The medallions were lead and glass like everything else in the armament ensemble, but each was loose. He opened one of the stained glass boxes and pulled out four leather cuffs. He pressed the medallions into the leather cuffs, and I could feel, rather than hear, a low thunk as they snapped into place.
Zayvion got out of the car, paused to assess what I was holding, then got busy on the other side of Shamus, sorting small bits of glass, leather, lead, and steel.
They each took one of the leather cuffs and snapped them into place on their bare wrists, medallions pressed against their skin.
“You think?” Shamus asked, holding up a leather band with one of the medallions in it.
Zayvion nodded and took it from him. “This,” he said to me, “is for you to wear. We’ll each have one on. They allow us to sense where the other person is. If we’re injured. If we’re unconscious. If we’re alive.”
“Do they let us read each other’s minds too?”
Shamus chuckled. “Trust me, you don’t want to know what’s going on in Jones’ mind.”
“No,” Zayvion answered.
“Which arm?” I asked.
“The right, I think.”
I pulled back my sleeve and he wrapped the leather around my right wrist. The medallion fit like a warm, silky disk against the inside of my wrist and pulsed with two distinct beats. I raised my eyebrows.
Zayvion lifted my hand to his chest and pressed my palm there. I could feel the beat of his heart under my hand and echoed in the medallion at my wrist. And when I took a second to think about it, I could someho
w tell that he was well, confident, and a little excited.
“Shame?” he said.
“Right.” Shamus sucked the last of the smoke out of his cigarette, threw it to the wet gravel, and dragged his shoe over it. He stepped up, and I put my hand on his chest. His heartbeat matched the second rhythm on my wrist, and touching him gave me the sense of his state of mind. He was exhausted, worried. Two things I never would have guessed, looking at him, and I was good at reading body language. He was also determined, like someone who had been working a hard, long shift and was willing to roll up his sleeves and work for however long it would take to get the job done.
He grinned, and the worry shifted to amusement.
“Okay,” I said. “Do you need to touch me?” I asked.
Shamus wiggled his eyebrows. “If you insist.” He lifted both hands—curled, not flat—and reached for my chest.
I took a step back.
“Shame,” Zayvion growled. “Knock it off.”
Zay took my arm and stood half between us, turning his back on Shamus. “We use these all the time. We’re attuned. As long as you’re wearing that, we can sense you without touching.”
“Maybe you can,” Shamus said, “what with the whole Soul Complement thing you two have going on, but I might need a little feel.”
“No.” Zayvion did not look at him. “You don’t.”
The conversation stopped as a car drove down the gravel road and parked behind us. For a second I worried that we were all standing there in front of a weapon-filled trunk. Then Chase got out of the car.
She wore black combat boots, black jeans, and a blue-and-black plaid flannel coat zipped up so that just the turtleneck of her gray sweater showed. Her hair was back in a single long braid, and her eyes, beneath the straight, thick bangs, were wide and sapphire blue.
She made flannel and combat boots look as though they belonged on a Parisian runway.
“Hello, boys.” She nodded toward me. “Why are you here?”
“On-the-job training,” Shamus said. “Plus, we think the things like her. She’s our in.”
Her pretty face settled somewhere between curiosity and disgust as she gave me the full-body once-over. “You saw the Hungers?”
I stuck my wrist with the band on it in my pocket. I don’t know why, but I didn’t want her opinion of me wearing the band that connected me to Zayvion and Shamus. “I saw them. I use Sight a lot when I Hound.”
