by Devon Monk
Grounding was extremely difficult and carried twice the pain for the user—in this case, Zay—as other spells did. It was one of the spells I’d never been good at.
No, let me be blunt: I sucked at Grounding. Always had, and it looked like I always would.
Zay could Ground like he was strolling through daisies.
It would be easy to ask him to Ground me, but I had to do this, learn to quiet the magic inside me on my own.
“Hint?” I finally asked.
“You learned it with Victor.”
Okay, Victor was Zay’s boss. Head of the Closers, who followed the magic discipline of Faith. Tall, elegant older man. Cultured, intelligent, and ruthless. He had a sort of calm and deliberation about him that I liked. It was a little like Zayvion’s Zen mode, and I wondered if Zay picked up that particular habit from him.
I may not fully trust Victor—issues; I have them—but other than Maeve, who taught Blood magic, he was my next-favorite teacher despite the fact that he taught Faith magic.
Faith magic was the same magic Dr. Frank Gordon had used to dig up my dad and try to kill me. Well, Frank had used a lot of disciplines, Faith, Life, Death, Blood. He’d probably used everything he could to try to open the gates between life and death. Wanted to control dark magic. Sacrificed a few innocent girls to do it.
I did not regret that he was dead.
“Allie.”
Oh, right. I was supposed to be dealing with the magic that was trying to burn its way out of me.
Victor. What had he taught me? That magic was a river, a constant flow. But it could be thought of as shape and form too. As glyphs. And every glyph had a beginning and an end. Every glyph had break points, corners, places where you could block and stop magic.
So what I needed to do was think of the magic in me as a glyph, find a corner, a break point where it flowed through me, and block it.
Good thing using magic was so easy.
Not.
I imagined myself as a river. Magic flowed up through my feet, filled the pool I held inside me—the small magic I was born with that was now a raging sea—and then magic poured out, too slowly, through my fingertip and into the ground again.
Where was there a break in that?
“Another hint?” I asked.
Zayvion placed his hand high up on my thigh, his long fingers curving downward. I sighed as cool mint washed along all the rivulets and pathways magic had torched through me. Swallowed and tasted mint on the back of my throat, and breathed deep to make room for Zayvion to tap into the magic I carried. I wanted to close my eyes and savor the feel of him within me. I licked my lips, shifted in my seat a little, and drew my fingertips up the back of his hand.
“Hey,” I said all breathy-like.
“Hey. Are you going to pay attention to what I’m doing?” he asked.
Spoilsport.
I rolled my head to one side and looked at him. I didn’t draw Sight. Using magic right now was sort of the opposite of what I was trying to do.
Still, there was that whole soul-to-soul thing between Zayvion and me. When we touched, I could sense him. I concentrated on that, felt what he was doing.
Sweet hells, the man put the multi in multitasking.
He held himself in a very disciplined, meditative frame of mind. He had sort of opened himself up, a lot like how I breathe deeply to let magic move through me.
But instead of just making space for magic inside him, he had made a channel.
He had drawn a glyph, mentally. The glyph of Grounding wrapped through him like cold steel cables. He concentrated on feeding magic into it. I’d never seen this spell worked on a purely mental level.
Probably because I’d never seen any spell worked on a purely mental level.
Zayvion Jones kicked magical ass. I wondered if even my father, who was one of the most powerful magic users I’d ever known, was as strong as Zay.
“Wow,” I breathed.
That got a small smile out of him. His eyes squinted, laugh lines edging the corners.
“Thank you. Can you see how it’s channeled?”
“Other than magnificently?”
We stopped at a red light. He looked over at me. “Other than that, yes.”
I stared into his eyes, at the gold burning hot and deep there. All that did was make me want to touch him, kiss him, pour so much magic into him he’d be begging me for mercy.
Magic rolled in me, deep in my stomach, and I worked hard not to moan with the need to have him.
“You are not winning,” he noted.
“No kidding,” I gasped. Right. The idea here was to not give in to magic. Or, apparently, my need for Zay.
I pressed my fingers against my eyes. My right fingers were hot, and my left were cold, positive and negative from the magic pouring through me. I took a second to breathe in again and clear my mind.
When I looked again at Zayvion, he was paying attention to the road, taking us across the bridge, calm, unconcerned. And he was Grounding like mad on the inside.
All I had to do was find a way to slow magic pouring into me. That meant a glyph that would track back and forth at the beginning, loop and loop so that magic had a long way to travel before it could add to the pool I already carried. I could do that.
I thought.
“Victor said I could use any of the spells that slow magic, right?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.” I didn’t care how good Zayvion was—I was absolutely certain I could not just mentally draw a glyph and expect it would work. I used my right hand and traced a liquid, curvy glyph for Linger in front of me. These kinds of spells were used inside stores, restaurants, and salons. They gave off a comfortable, relaxed feeling. If they were particularly well drawn, they made shoulders drop, smiles come out, and people spend way more money and time in their vicinity.
I pinched the glyph between thumbs and two fingers of both my right and left hands. Instead of pouring magic into it, I was going to push the spell into me, so the magic in me would be forced to follow it.
I had no frickin’ clue how to do that.
“Uh,” I started.
“You can do it.”
“A little help?”
“I’m watching.”
“I wanted help, not an audience.”
He just gave me a look.
Okay, fine. I recited my go-to mantra, the “Miss Mary Mack, Mack, Mack” jingle, to clear my mind. Then I pulled the glyph into me, toward my chest, concentrating on it wrapping around the flow of magic, the speed of magic, the pressure of magic.
My heart stuttered. Whoa. Not good. I concentrated harder on the spell. Magic, not heart. Find the magic. Just the magic. I released the spell. It sank like a rock toward my feet, then settled beneath my feet and pressed against my arches and heels. It rested there like a layer of sand and stone and soil, soaking up the magic, filtering it, and giving it a place to stretch out before it trickled up into me at a much slower pace.
My head cleared. I broke out in a sweat.
“Holy crap. Good?” I asked Zay.
He nodded. “Not how I would have done it, but effective. So yes. Good. You have control?”
Oh, right. That was the other half of this deal. I cleared my mind again, calmed my thoughts, and pressed back on the magic rolling within me. Magic fluttered, pressed once again, tempting me to use it, to fall to its siren call.
Nope. La, la, la. Not listening.
Magic quieted.
“Very nice,” Zayvion murmured. “I’m impressed.” He drew his fingers slowly up my thigh, then away, leaving the lingering cool warmth of mint and his touch behind.
“Are you still dizzy?” he asked.
“No. I feel pretty good.”
Oh, screw it. I felt powerful. Proud. That had been a fine little piece of magic using I’d just done. Yes, I’d probably pay for it with a walloping headache, but right now, I didn’t care. “I’d feel even better with a hell-of-a-job kiss.”
“So that’s how it’s going to be? One elementary-level spell and you get naked?”
“First, that was not elementary level. High school at the very least. Second, tell me you don’t like the idea of me being naked.”
“How about I tell you I don’t like the idea of driving off the road. Which means your clothes stay on you.” He stopped at a light, then added, “For now.”
“Chicken.”
He grinned. Zay had a good profile, a strong, wide nose, high cheekbones, and a slant to his eyes that I thought was incredibly sexy, and that spoke to his mixed heritage. Under that ratty coat and jeans was a very fine, very fit body.
But he was also a man full of secrets. Even though we’d been officially dating for a couple months now, I still hadn’t gotten much about his past out of him.
I didn’t even know where he’d grown up.
“Did you do time with Shame in juvie?” I asked.
“That’s what you were thinking about when magic was trying to burn you up?”
“No, it’s what I’m thinking about now.”
“Shame?”
“Your past.”
“Hmm.”
We were on the other side of the bridge and making our way southeast along the Washington side of the Columbia River. The sun pushed through cumulus clouds on their way to the Cascade Range, where rain would cover the mountains in snow and keep the skiers happy.
“Well?”
“I never got in trouble with the law when I was young.”
“So why was Detective Payne staring at you?”
He glanced over at me, then back out at the road.
He drove for a while, silent. I’d learned to give him his space. I didn’t know if it was life or if it was just second nature to him, but he was the most private person I’d ever met. I didn’t even know if he had a middle name.
“She helped me out once.”
I waited. I didn’t want to, but I did it. Go, me.
“I was twelve. Fostered to a family that . . .” He closed his mouth, inhaled through his nose. “She caught me digging in Dumpsters for food. Made me give her my foster parents’ names and address. Things got better after that.”
“Is she part of the Authority?”
“No.” He paused again. “The past is the past, Allie,” he said. “I’d rather not go over it.”
I just shook my head, but didn’t push him. Strange. There was so much of my past that I’d lost—memories magic had taken away from me—moments I wished I could have back. It was odd to hear someone choose not to remember. Maybe I’d been that way once too. It was hard to say. Magic had done a lot of damage to my life. Maybe it had done a lot of repair to Zayvion’s.
We made it to Maeve’s and pulled into the gravel parking lot between the inn and the scrap-metal collection site beside it. Both buildings were tucked off the main road, and close enough to the Columbia that I could smell the algae and green off the river as I stepped out of the car.
The inn used to be an old train-station boardinghouse and restaurant. The track didn’t run past here anymore, but the building remained much as it was when it had been built. Fresh white paint, and glittering rows of uniform windows, gave the Feile San Fhomher a welcoming, homey feel.
Zay stood on the other side of the car, silent. I knew why. Something was wrong here.
There was an immense sense of emptiness, as if something huge, solid, and familiar had been removed.
It took me a second; then I finally placed what was missing: the well. I couldn’t even catch a scent of the magic I knew roiled beneath the ground.
“Do you not feel that?” I asked.
Zayvion nodded, then walked silently across the gravel to me. He looked calm, but when I touched his wrist, I could feel the heightened awareness of his senses. He was calm. He was also ready for a fight.
I took a second to check our surroundings. The parking lot was about half full and the rush of cars over the bridge and freeway hummed in the distance. The river on the other side of a thin line of trees gave off that clean, rich green scent, and far off, I heard either a boat horn or a factory whistle.
It seemed like a normal evening.
And it most certainly was not.
“The well,” I said, somewhat unnecessarily.
He placed one hand on the side of my face, the other on my hip, and pulled me close. I pressed against him, wrapped one arm around his back, the other up around his neck.
His mind was obviously not on the well. Neither was mine.
He tipped my face up, and bent to me. His lips were soft, catching at my lower lip, pressing, then opening, inviting. His tongue dipped sweetly at the corner of my mouth, then drew into the heat of my mouth. Electric tingles warmed me, and made my toes curl. I pressed tighter against him and kissed him back, taking my time, sharing a long, lingering kiss that made me want more.
He finally pulled away, reluctant, then rested his lips against my ear. “Hell of a job,” he murmured.
I leaned into him, my cheek against his chest, and smiled. I loved a man with good follow-up.
We pulled apart. Holding hands, we crossed the parking lot and walked up the steps to the covered porch that wrapped the building. Zay pulled the door open and we stepped inside.
The delicious sweet, buttery smell of pies baking, and something savory, maybe sausage, greeted us. Even though I’d just had lunch, my mouth watered, and that had nothing to do with magic. Maeve knew how to cook.
Light poured down from the high- vaulted ceilings, making the large dining room feel even bigger than it was. The tables to the left were filled with the early dinner crowd. I knew the arched doorway beyond them led to private rooms, and the well-warded study where Maeve tutored me.
Upstairs were bedrooms, and down in the basement, a grand ballroom with the well pulsing just beneath its marble floors.
Here on the main floor, the girls behind the lunch counter to the right of the room were brewing coffee and plating pies.
“Coffee?” Zayvion asked.
“Sure.” I didn’t know if we had time, but I wasn’t one to go into any situation undercaffeinated.
He strolled off toward the lunch counter and I unzipped my hoodie, scanning the room for Shame or Maeve.
Maeve strode through the arched door to the left. Her red hair was pulled up in a loose bun, ringlets touched with gray falling around her face. She wore a dark green blouse, a tan skirt, and a pair of riding boots, all of which gave her the look of a woman who knew how to use a whip. Which, coincidentally, she did.
She carried a stack of menus in her arms, and gave me a smile and a nod as she walked my way.
“Allie. It’s good to see you. Tea?”
“Coffee, thanks. Zay’s getting it. How are you?”
“Busy. Beautiful weather, today. Walk with me a minute?”
“Sure.” I matched her stride and crossed the room to the lunch counter, where she handed the menus to one of the girls there.
“I have a job you might be interested in,” she said. “Hello, Zayvion.”
“Mrs. Flynn.” He handed me a cup of coffee. No, more than coffee. A latte, which the girls had poured to leave the image of a four-leaf clover in the foam.
Very nice.
“Why don’t you come along, Zayvion?”
It wasn’t really a request. We both knew that. Still, to any outsider, it sounded like chitchat between her son’s best friend and his girlfriend, who Hounded for a living.
We strolled along and Maeve took the time to say hello to a few people at tables and ask them if they were enjoying their meals. I knew those people weren’t a part of the Authority. Despite being involved with supersecret magic users, Maeve was also a successful restaurateur.
She led us through the arched doorway, down the hallway a bit, and into the first sitting room. It was decorated in velvets, wood, and brass, love seats and chairs huddled to make comfortable conversation nooks, heavy curtains on the windows giving the room a deep sense of pr
ivacy.
She held the door open as we walked through, and then locked it behind us. With one quick wave of her hand, she cast a ward and activated the Mute spell worked into the wallpaper.
“Thank you both for coming.” She gestured to the seats, and we sat. “Shamus did talk to you?”
“He didn’t tell us much,” I said. “There’s a storm coming, Sedra has called other people from Seattle, and there’s something wrong with the wells.”
She brushed a tendril of hair back up toward the bun, even though it just fell back down to her face. “There will be a meeting tonight among the members of the Authority. To exchange information. To plan for the storm.”
Zay, lounging on a love seat, took a drink of his coffee. I could feel every muscle in his body ratchet tighter and tighter as Maeve spoke.
She walked over to an empty chair and sat. She looked tired. Worried.
“The storm is still a day or two off. At least we think so.”
I opened my mouth and she held up one finger to tell me to shut up. I didn’t know what it was with her and her fingers. She had that motherly no-bullshit way of using her hands as a second communication device and I always fell for it.
I drank my coffee and made a note to ignore her fingers.
“We can’t track them like weather fronts,” she said. “Wild storms are sorely underresearched. One theory is that wild-magic storms are a combination of how the magic in the earth is being accessed and released into the world, and how magic, all disciplines, dark and light, is being used. When things swing too far out of neutral, magic can rise and gather into a storm front—and ride upon a real weather front.
“The other theory is that the magic is wild to begin with, a mix of dark and light that causes nothing but chaos and destruction when it is used.
“You can imagine it has been difficult to test either theory on a large scale in secret. In any case, we do believe a wild storm is coming our way.”
“The gate Mikhail opened?” Zay asked quietly.
“That could be it. There are more things happening in the world that could have accumulated or triggered to set it off.”
