by Devon Monk
“Please,” he said, his voice still more man than beast, “let me go.”
The spell in her right hand flickered and died, but the orb still burned, deep yellow now, like dying candlelight that caressed Greyson’s face, blurring the edges until it seemed only the man rested within its glow.
She was losing concentration. Probably going into shock.
I didn’t blame her, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to let her shock get me killed.
“Oh, Grey.” Her words caught. She swallowed, tried again. “I—I can’t.”
Greyson lifted one hand toward her but did not touch her, even though he could have. “Then look away. Please look away.”
Chase was shaking. “No. We can help you. We can undo this.”
Greyson shook his head. “No one can. Not even Zayvion.”
Chase’s breath caught in her throat. She pressed the back of her hand against her mouth as if she could somehow keep the sorrow behind her lips. She closed her eyes, just for a moment, but I knew she was doing mad work to clear her mind. Her heart at my wrist fluttered like a hummingbird in flight.
When she spoke, she was no hummingbird. She was steel and ice. “Tell me who did this to you.”
“Daniel Beckstrom,” he growled.
Chase swung on me so fast I didn’t even have time to exhale. And that bitch knew how to throw a punch. I took it just below the eye, and fell. Blood poured down the back of my throat, and the dust from the floor filled my mouth. She’d put something else behind that hit. I couldn’t move. Not even to pull the knife out of my belt.
I’d spun before I landed so now the only thing in my line of vision was the bent metal opening at the back of the building.
I could still hear, which was something, I suppose. I heard Stone growl and jump. I heard Chase chant and throw magic. The ground shook as Stone hit the floor and was silent. After that, I heard Greyson getting onto his feet.
“Chase?” Greyson said.
“Go.”
I heard the sound of four feet running, watched as Greyson headed toward the opening in the wall.
She had let him go. She had let my dad’s murderer free.
But just as Greyson reached the opening, a figure stepped through it. Zayvion, with a two-by-four over his shoulder. He swung at Greyson like a batter aiming for the far wall, and connected with his head.
Greyson flew out of my line of vision. Zayvion adjusted his hold on the board and drew a glyph in the air with his left hand. He threw the spell at Greyson. I didn’t hear any other movement from that part of the room.
“Looks like this worked out to our advantage after all,” Zayvion said. “Do you want to explain this to me, Chase?” He left my vision, weaving another spell, walking toward where Greyson fell.
For a second I thought Chase had left to be beside Greyson too. But she squatted down next to me, her boot inches from my face.
She tugged my chin to one side so I could see her cold, cold face. “You have screwed with the wrong woman, Beckstrom,” she whispered. She pressed her fingertip into the center of my forehead.
And then everything went black.
Chapter Fifteen
It didn’t take me long to decide my dreams sucked. I dreamed Zayvion and Chase were yelling at each other, angry about me, about Greyson, about Tomi. I was a little fuzzy on the details, but it sounded like Chase wanted to Close me or maybe kill me, and Zayvion was having none of it.
My hero.
A third voice spoke up. Shamus. Told them to shut the hell up. Told Chase to take care of Tomi. Told Zayvion to figure out how to move the rock. Told them he would handle Greyson. There were a lot of moving-around sounds. Some silence, during which I drifted. Then more noise.
They were talking about Tomi. About the glyphs cut into her to bind her with Blood and Death magic. Talked about whether Greyson had done this to her, or if someone was working with him. Greyson had been a Closer before he’d been changed. And they could tell he had closed Tomi’s mind over and over to keep her from knowing what she was doing, how she was being used.
None of them seemed to know why he picked her, of all people, though they did begin to question why she had mentioned Jingo Jingo, and whether he or someone else in the Authority was part of this.
I heard Chase say she’d take Tomi to someone, see if her mind could be mended, her body healed.
Then someone dragged fingers across my forehead. It was nice, warm. Plus, I was awake again.
Shamus sat crossed-legged next to me. He gave me a small smile.
“Trouble.”
I swallowed to say something, but could not find my voice.
“We’re going to take care of Tomi. Get her some help, then take her home to heal if that’s the best way to go. She won’t remember any of this.
“Greyson is a bit of a problem.”
I raised my eyebrows—because that was as much sarcasm as I could manage.
“We’re taking him in. Have ways we can make sure he doesn’t wake up for a while. Hopefully, we’ll be able to get into his head and find out who he’s working with. Find out who did that . . .” He swallowed, shook his head. “Did this to him. Don’t know that there’s a cure, but if there is, we’ll find it. Fix him.” He took a deep breath. I didn’t think he’d been saying most of that stuff for me.
He patted his pocket, found his cigarettes, and lit up. He inhaled and pulled the cigarette away.
“But the gargoyle? Damn, girl. I’d love to know how you did that. The only Animation I’ve ever seen done that well was on a much, much smaller scale. It’s sentient, or at least free-willed, isn’t it?”
Since I couldn’t talk, I just stared at him.
“Right. Sorry. We’re taking it along with us. With you. Next time you wake up, you’ll be at my mum’s, okay?”
Somewhere behind me, I could hear Zayvion take a breath, hold it, then begin singing softly, casting a spell.
Shamus glanced up, away from me, toward where I thought Zayvion must be. He shook his head. “Beauty.”
Then he looked back down at me. “Hell of a day, love. Not bad for your first day in the field. Took care of all the Hungers, in case you wanted to know. Now get some sleep. You’ll need it.”
He brushed his fingers over my forehead again, and, really, I did the only thing I could. I slept.
Chapter Sixteen
“Come on, now. Wake for me,Allison Beckstrom.” I didn’t recognize the voice. Deep, male, almost a purr. I could not resist it. Influence, most likely.
I opened my eyes. I was lying in a soft bed, not my own, in a clean room that smelled like honeysuckle. I’d never seen this room before. Maybe a hotel?
I had, however, seen the man who sat in the chair next to the bed. He had been at my father’s funeral.
Big didn’t begin to describe him. He was the kind of guy who needed all three seats on an airplane. His eyes and skin were almost the same color, coffee dark, and there was a gentleness to his expression that was at odds with the intensity of his gaze. He might look like a nice guy on the outside, but he creeped me out. I inhaled and caught the sweet scent of licorice and something more chemical that tasted like death.
“My name is Jingo Jingo.” He smiled, and fear rubbed fingers across my stomach. At the sound of his name, an image of candy in his pocket and little bones came to me. What was it my father had whispered to me at the funeral? He had a thing for the bones of little children?
“I am a teacher here,” he said. “I understand you know my student, Shamus Flynn.”
I did. And I also knew Shamus didn’t like him. Shamus said he was a freak.
Shamus was a very smart boy.
Plus, Davy had said Tomi was messed up with Jingo. None of this inspired my trust in the man.
“Yes,” I finally said.
“And I understand you’ve been hearing your father. Ever since that unfortunate happening in the warehouse.”
It took me a second to place which unfortunate happening in wh
ich warehouse he was talking about. Probably the one after Pike had died, after I’d killed Lon Trager, when Frank Gordon had dug up my dad and tried to use him to open the gates to death.
Unfortunate, indeed.
“Have you?” he asked.
What were we talking about? I was tired, muzzy-headed. What the hell had Chase done to me?
We were talking about my dead dad in my head. Right. Even though I didn’t like this man, didn’t trust this man, he was a teacher in the Authority, and innocent before being found guilty and all that. Even Maeve had told me she wanted him to look in my head and see if my father was really still there.
And after everything Greyson had done to my father, now would be the best time to find out if my dad was still alive, still in my head.
“I’ve heard him, yes,” I said. Could I sound any more like an idiot?
“I’m going to look into your mind, Ms. Beckstrom. To see how much of your father is still with you. Do I have your permission to do so?”
“Do you have to have it?” Well, that was a stupid thing to ask.
“It does make this a more . . . pleasant experience.”
“Okay.” I hated that someone I did not know, someone I did not trust, was going to get inside me, feel around.
Sure, I tried to think of Jingo Jingo the same way I thought about having a new doctor. He was an expert. He had my best interests in mind.
I wasn’t buying it.
“Just relax.” He shifted so he could rest his hand on my right wrist, the arm where magic had left its indelible mark.
His fingers were soft. Warm.
Just like Maeve, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened his eyes, copper fire glinted in their brown depths.
He reached into my mind—a slick warmth that felt a lot like a finger going down my throat. But instead of gagging, I felt a numbing sensation follow his touch.
My vision shifted. I didn’t know whether it was because he was in the middle of my head, looking around, or whether I had lost control of the magic inside me and had accidentally invoked Sight.
Jingo Jingo no longer looked like a man. Or rather he did. He just didn’t look like the same man. The man revealed to me was skeletal, lean, empty, and hungry as an addict. All around him, tied by candy-colored lines, were the images of ghostly children.
He had a thing for the bones of little children.
I blinked, but the ghosts did not disappear. They shifted and moved, a fog of sorrowful faces and wide, frightened eyes.
Shamus said Death magic was a transference of energy. Did that mean Jingo Jingo, a user of Death magic, was somehow drawing upon, using, or (shudder) harvesting the souls of little children?
I wanted to look away. Wanted to unsee what I was seeing. But Jingo Jingo’s thick fingers were in my head, holding me still. Pinning me down to the mattress beneath me.
“Beckstrom,” Jingo said in his soft baritone, “come to me, Daniel Beckstrom.”
A flutter, soft as a one-winged moth, flickered at the back of my head.
Betrayer, my father whispered.
Jingo Jingo’s eyes went wide. I saw his fear.
Call me petty, but I liked the look of it.
He withdrew from my mind, pulling away from me both physically and mentally.
He blinked. The copper fire in his eyes was gone. And so were the ghostly children.
He was just a man again. Except I knew he was not.
Still, he smiled that warm smile and hid the fear in his eyes. “You are fine, Allison,” he said. “Your daddy isn’t going to bother you no more. He was something once, but nothing to worry about now. Just a couple echoes of his memories in you. But he’s gone. He’s gone.”
Really? Then why did I feel that flutter in my mind again, still faint, but growing stronger? Why did I smell Jingo Jingo’s sweat? His fear.
I didn’t believe my father was gone. Maybe drained. Maybe broken. But I was pretty sure he was still in me. I was pretty sure I’d just heard him. And I was pretty sure that scared the hell out of Jingo Jingo.
Wasn’t that interesting?
There was a soft knock on the door.
“Come on in,” Jingo Jingo said. He seemed awfully happy for the interruption.
The door opened and Maeve walked in carrying a tray with a bowl and cup on it. I smelled chicken soup and fresh coffee.
My stomach growled.
“Ready for some food?” she asked.
“Please,” I said.
Jingo Jingo took that as his cue to leave. “I’ll leave you to your meal, Ms. Beckstrom.” He pushed up to his feet, filling more space than I thought the room had.
My heart notched up at that, claustrophobia kicking in. I really needed him to go, to leave, to empty out the room and leave me with air to breathe.
Or, hells, he could stay and I’d be happy to leave. He and Maeve could have the room and spend all the time they wanted there.
I pushed the covers down to my legs, thinking now would be a great time to get out of here.
“Could I speak with you?” Jingo Jingo asked Maeve.
She nodded, and expertly deposited the tray over my uncovered lap. “Stay here. Eat.”
No Influence behind it, but such a motherly command it had the same result. Before I could push away the tray, she and Jingo Jingo were out the door, leaving a lot more air and the smell of chicken and vegetables behind to remind me that I hadn’t eaten for what felt like a long, long time.
They shut the door behind them, but that was okay. The room itself was large. It just wasn’t large enough to contain me, Maeve, and Jingo Jingo.
I picked up the fork. It wasn’t soup, but a nice stir-fry that filled the bowl. I took a bite. Salty, savory, with veggies that still snapped with flavor. I ate as quietly as I could, listening to the drift of Maeve and Jingo Jingo’s voices.
Hounds don’t need magic to have good hearing.
“How is she?” Maeve asked.
“Tired. Her father left some memories behind. As is to be expected with the magic Frank Gordon used to resurrect his soul. But Daniel is not in there. I’d go so far as to say he never has been. Nothing but a few of his memories left behind for the poor girl.”
I stopped with a fork full of rice halfway to my mouth. Lies. He was lying to Maeve. He had seen my father in me. And even the tiniest flicker of my father’s presence had made him afraid. Why wouldn’t he want to tell Maeve the truth?
Was he part of Greyson using Tomi? Was he part of my dad’s death? Part of the hit on Boy out in St. Johns that almost got me, Zayvion, and Cody killed?
“Thank you,” Maeve said. “That’s one less thing we’ll have to worry about.”
“My pleasure, always, Mrs. Flynn,” he said.
“If you’d like dinner or a drink, help yourself, on the house.”
“Thank you. But I’m sorry I have to refuse. I have a few errands to attend to before she is tested.”
He said his good-byes, and so did Maeve. I got back to eating.
I don’t know why she waited for so long, but about five minutes later, Maeve knocked on the door. She opened it. “May I?”
“Come in.” I left my fork in the empty bowl and picked up the coffee cup. “This is your place, right? Your inn?” The food and coffee were doing wonders for clearing my head.
She nodded. “Our guest rooms are often used for people recovering from the demands of magic. Though we get our ordinary travelers through the place, too.”
She walked over to the chair where Jingo Jingo had been sitting and pushed it back against the wall where it probably belonged. Then she sat on the edge of my bed. “You were listening,” she said.
“Hound ears.”
“He says your father is not inside you. Which is good. Removing a soul is a difficult, painful procedure. It is nice to have some good news.”
I think Zayvion had told me that once. After experiencing what Greyson had done, I didn’t want to get anywhere near soul removal for
a while.
“So what’s the bad news?” I asked.
“It has been decided by the Authority that you will be tested tonight.”
I guessed I should be frightened or worried. Instead, I was tired enough to just accept it and move on. After all, I’d just faced down a half-beast ex-man who killed my father. Or at least killed most of him. Twice. I could handle a little test.
“What about my classes with you?”
“I’m afraid there’s no time for that now. The things you’ve done on the hunt with Zayvion, Shamus, and Chase, and the things Chase said you did to Greyson, makes it too dangerous to allow you to continue using magic untrained. Or perhaps at all,” she added softly. “Chase demanded you be tested or Closed. There are some who support your Closure. But more who believe we should test you. All agree we can not wait.”
“I didn’t do anything to Greyson,” I said.
She half nodded. Not an acceptance or rejection.
So it was clear I wasn’t going to convince her of my innocence. “Can you tell me what to expect?”
“The test will be held here in the lower level of the inn, where there is an appropriately Warded room. Many of the Authority will be there, including Sedra.”
“She’s the president of the Authority, right?”
“She is the head of it, yes. You will be asked to stand and defend yourself, magically, against one opponent.”
“It’s a wizard’s duel? Seems like a silly way to decide who can be a part of the secret magic club.”
That, finally, got a smile out of her. “It is a magic-user test. Carefully orchestrated to measure you. Both of you will be instructed to draw upon every capability at your disposal. You cannot hold back, Allie. No matter what. If you want to survive the test, you must be relentless. Show us your true colors.”
That sounded familiar. My dad had told me something similar, although he’d told me to use anyone and anything I had to to survive. “I’ll do what I can,” I said.
“Good,” she said, “I expect you to do so.”
“How much time until the test?”
“It’s four o’clock now. We’ll begin at eight. I think it would be best if you got some sleep.”
