by Devon Monk
I took a minute to calm the race between my heart and my head, then walked back the way I came, looking for the signs that would take me to the magical-trauma area.
Past the elevators, the only sound on this floor was my boots on tile, and the squeaky wheel of a custodian pushing a cleaning cart toward the elevators. It was a little weird that I hadn’t run into Davy yet. I guess he made good time. I just hoped he hadn’t passed out on the way up here. Anger aside, he hadn’t been looking all that good.
I spotted a sign, and took another right. This hallway was beige and tea brown, the textures in the paint subtle glyphs, mostly blocking and guarding spells that would activate with a flick of magic. Also a lot of glyphs set up for absorption. It made sense, I guess, to cover all the bases on what kinds of problems could happen here. After all, all the patients in this section either came in with a wound inflicted by magic or still had the magic clinging to them.
Down at the end of this hall, with a decent view of the window and roof of the building below us, was a reception desk. A tiny elderly woman sat behind it. She wore a hat that looked like someone had gutted a Muppet, then used it to knit a cap. Way too many blue feathers, and I’m talking neon and fuzzy, with a big pink flower appliqué over one ear.
“Hello,” she said. “May I help you, dear?”
I couldn’t help it. I smiled. “I’m here to see Beatrice Lufkin? I think she was brought in an hour or so ago?”
“Let me see, now. Beatrice, you say?”
“I say,” I agreed.
She tipped her head and looked down her nose, even through she wasn’t wearing glasses.
“Oh, it’s good you made it just in time.”
“Just in time? Are they doing something to her?” Maybe Bea was worse off than Stotts had said.
“No, dear. She’ll be going home soon. Her friend, a Mr. Quinn, is here to take her home.”
“Can I see her?”
“It would be better if you waited. She’ll be out soon. Go ahead, now, have a seat.”
I tasted the slightest hint of honey on her words and suddenly wanted to sit down. Influence. Not strong, just enough to make me want to calm down. Even an old gal like her used magic.
It wasn’t a strong push, so I just paced next to the chairs instead and dialed Zayvion.
I didn’t have time to wait for him to pick up the phone. The doors clicked and I turned to see Jack Quinn pushing Bea, who was in a wheelchair. Jack looked like he always looked. A little like leather that had been left out to dry.
Bea, however, looked like she’d been rolled by a tank. She had a bruise over both eyes, and her lips were swollen. Her normally perky smile was gone, though her lips twitched up at the corner when she saw me.
“Hey.” I closed the distance between us. “How are you doing?”
“Peachy.” It came out a little slurred and I raised my eyebrows. I also found out the eyebrow on the left hurt.
“Pain meds,” Jack said. “The good stuff.”
Bea nodded, her eyes not quite tracking. “Nice to see you, Al,” she said. “I miss a meeting?”
“No, you were out in the park tonight.”
“Yeah?” she said.
“Do you remember that?”
“Not really. Downtown?”
“Yes. What happened?”
She licked her swollen bottom lip and lifted her hand to push back her wild curls, the wristband ID bracelet catching her hair. She didn’t seem to notice. “I got a job. Last-minute contact. Was supposed to meet him there to get the specifics.”
She paused. No more than that—she looked like that was all she was going to say.
“Did he show up?”
She frowned. “I don’t remember.”
Jack just gave me a look that said this was pretty much all he’d been able to get out of her.
“Did you cast magic?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Do you remember any other spell being cast?”
She shook her head.
“Do you remember being hurt?”
Again with the headshake. “I just—I don’t know, Allie. I was there, and now I’m here. And all bruised up, you know?”
“Are you sure the doctors said you can go home?”
She held up a piece of paper. “Right here. I just want a shower and sleep. I think . . . Jack, are you taking me home?”
“Brought my car. Unless you want me to try to strong-arm the ambulance into a little door-to-door service.”
She tried to smile, but didn’t quite make it.
“You got any other questions, Detective Beckstrom?” Jack asked.
“Lots. Have the police talked to her yet?”
“No. But all her contact information is on her file. If they want to find her, they will.”
We started toward the elevators. “You going to stay with her?”
“Thought I should. Unless you want me to call someone else?”
“No, it’s fine. If you want to use the warehouse, it’s open.”
“I got that, thanks.”
We made it to the elevator. Another question was scratching at the back of my head. “Jack, what were you doing in the park?”
“Didn’t say I was in the park.”
“So how’d you hook up with Bea?”
“Was downtown. On my own time, not a job. Saw the magic flare. Got curious.”
“You saw what happened?”
“Not really. Saw a magic fire. Thought I’d check it out. Then there was Bea all banged up on the ground. Called 911. Got ahold of the ambulance and cops.”
I studied his expression. Did I trust Jack? As much as I trusted any Hound. Which meant I expected him to have a highly developed sense of self-preservation and a somewhat stunted sense of morals and charitable leanings. Still, it seemed like he and Bea might have become friends over the last couple months. And who knew? Maybe they were more than friends.
But there was always the possibility that Jack hadn’t just been innocently downtown doing nothing at the same time as Bea was hurt.
“Is that it?” I asked.
“You have a suspicious mind, Beckstrom,” Jack said. “That look on your face. Anyone tell you that?”
“Daily.”
“I don’t want to rain on your neurosis or anything, but it was chance that had me in the same area as her. And if it’d been another Hound down, I’d be right here, doing the same damn thing. So stop trying to shove the black hat on my head, right?”
The elevator pinged and Bea jerked. “Oh,” she said. “Scared the crap out of me.”
Jack guided her chair into the elevator, pivoting it so that she was facing the doors.
“I’ll call later to check in on her,” I said.
“You’re not her mother, Beckstrom. Get over yourself.”
The door closed and the last thing I saw was Bea’s eyes, a little too wide, her mouth open as if she’d just remembered something to be frightened about, and Jack’s hard glare, his hand caught tightly on her shoulder.
Shit.
Why did I suddenly think I’d just handed Bea over to the wolves?
No, that was just me being jumpy. Jack had worked for Stotts once or twice in the past, and he’d shadowed several Hounds, and no one had complained. I was just overreacting, too keyed up. Bea would be fine.
And I’d call in an hour or two just to make sure, or maybe I’d send someone else over to her place to make sure everything really was on the up-and-up. What I couldn’t figure out was where Davy had gone.
“Excuse me,” I said to the receptionist.
Muppet-skin-hat-magic lady smiled. “Yes?”
“Have you seen anyone else come in? A young man, blondish hair, T-shirt, jean jacket.”
“No. No one at all.”
“Thank you.”
So no Davy. That meant either he was passed out somewhere, or he’d ditched me.
“Do you need to see a doctor?” she asked.
“What? No. I’m fi
ne.”
She was still smiling, but pointedly gazed at the burnt half of my face.
That. Right. I walked to one of the windows and checked my foggy reflection. Still had all my hair. My skin was a little darker on the left—the burn—but I’d done a pretty good job blotting the blood off my face. It hurt, but no more than a sunburn.
And yet, I looked just dandy.
I pulled out my cell and called Davy. After eight rings he still hadn’t answered.
What was it with my phone tonight?
Okay, there were other ways to find people in this town. The easy way would be to cast a searching spell and see if I couldn’t Hound him down. But the hospital had a sign placed every five feet down the hall stating magic was not allowed inside the hospital.
Yeah, tell that to Muppet granny.
I didn’t want to be responsible for screwing up someone’s life-support system, or clashing with a surgery, so I’d just take it outside.
Magic. Kind of like smoking. Only in the approved areas.
“Are there stairs?” I asked as I pocketed my cell.
“All the way down the hall, to the left and to the left again. But the elevators are much faster.”
“That’s okay. I need the walk.”
I took the hall fast, not jogging, but putting my legs to good use. Left and left. I straight-armed the door leading down and got ready for my thighs to start burning.
Three flights down and still going strong, my phone rang.
Finally.
“Yes?”
“Allie, where are you?” It was Zay, and he sounded worried.
“At the hospital. Bea was hurt. I Hounded for Stotts. Davy was with me. Didn’t Shame tell you any of this?”
“Is Davy still with you?”
“No. Why?”
“You’re alone?”
“Yes.”
“Can you get around people, a crowd?”
“Zay, it’s midnight at the hospital. There is no crowd. Especially not in the stairwell. What’s wrong?”
“Get somewhere public. Get off at the next floor and tell me where you are.”
“That bad?”
“Greyson is gone.”
Chapter Eleven
A high-pitched ringing started in my ears. “Dead?” I asked, not at all ashamed at the tiny bit of hope that leaked into my voice.
“No. Escaped. He’ll be hunting you.”
With that as the option, I liked dead better.
“But what about the cage? All that magic holding him. He was supposed to be guarded, warded, blind.”
“Magic fluxed. The wards fell apart. Greyson tore the cage into twisted bits of metal. He’s out. And he’s after you.”
“You never tell me any good news, you know that?” I tried to make light, but the truth was, I was terrified. I turned the last corner and pushed open the door. “I’m on the ninth floor, by the stair exit. I’ll go find a waiting room full of people.”
“I’ll be there in just a second. Hold on.”
He made it sound like I was going to stop breathing or something. “Take your time,” I said. My phone vibrated. I had another call coming in. “Hold on.” I checked the caller ID. Davy Silvers. “Zay, Davy’s calling in. I need to pick this up. I’ll call you back.”
I hung up before Zay could protest. I wasn’t the only one Greyson had nearly killed. Davy had been right there on his fuck-up list, along with his girlfriend, Tomi.
“Davy, you okay?” I answered.
“Allie? Where are you?”
“Ninth floor. Where are you?”
“I’m downtown.”
“What?”
“Took the bus. I’m going home. You pissed me off. But not enough to make you spend all night looking around the hospital for me. Plus, you have the keys to my car and I want them back.”
“Are you crazy? Why did you do that?”
“Forget it,” he muttered.
“No, wait. Listen. Davy?”
“Yeah?”
“There’s someone out on the street who doesn’t like me very much.”
“And?”
Right, like that was news. “And I think he was part of the attack with you and Tomi in the park.”
He took a minute. The sounds of the bus’s engine filled in for his silence.
“Do you need my help?” he asked.
See, he really was a good kid.
“No, I’m calling Stotts. Zayvion is on his way. I’m probably going to go home and let the police take care of this.” Lie. A big fat one. Good thing we were on the phone; otherwise Davy never would have bought it.
“I want you to go home, and stay there until you hear from me. As soon as I have an update from the cops, I’ll let you know. And if you can’t get home, then get to the warehouse and stay there.”
“Oh sure,” he said, “I’ll just go home and sit there staring at the walls until you tell me it’s safe to go out again.”
“Davy, this is dangerous.”
“And?”
“And I don’t want you to get hurt. More. What I want is for you to see a doctor, but since you won’t do that, you should at least go home and lock the doors. This is police business. Be smart. Stay home.”
“Do you think I’ll just do whatever you say?” Oh, that anger could boil the lead off my phone.
“No. I think you’re my friend. I don’t care how angry you are at me. Just do the safe thing for once. I refuse to beg you to listen to me like I begged Pike.”
His breath caught. “That’s low,” he whispered.
“It’s the truth.” And it was. I’d begged Pike not to go find Trager, not to go take him on alone. I’d begged him to let the police take care of it. Begged. And I am not the begging type.
“Fine,” he said. “I’ll go to the warehouse. Lock up. Call me.” It all came out short. A little like someone’s hands were around his throat and he couldn’t get enough air.
Yeah, I knew how he felt. I still really missed Pike too.
“Is Bea okay?” he asked.
Right. That was what we’d come to the hospital for. “She has a concussion, but she’s going home. You were right. She got hit by magic. Can’t remember what happened, and can’t remember casting magic. Jack took her home.” Silence. From both of us.
Finally, “Davy?” What more could I say? “Thanks for listening.”
“Yeah.” He hung up.
I hung up too and realized I wasn’t paying attention to my surroundings. Oh, that was a great way to get myself killed.
I was in another hallway, this one wide and lit by fluorescents that weren’t up to the job. I could smell coffee, so there was either a cafeteria nearby or maybe a coffee station. That was a good sign, right? Where there was coffee in Oregon, there would be people.
The hallway curved to the right and deposited me into a waiting area where six people sat. A little girl, maybe five years old, spun around and around, her pink skirt puffing up, her heavy snow boots scuffing the carpet.
“Becca, do you want to come read with me?” a woman, probably her mother, asked.
Becca just kept spinning.
I didn’t take a seat. Being around people was not a sure way to stop Greyson from attacking me. And if he did show up here, I wanted to be on my feet and ready for him.
I’d been doing a lot of learning since he’d attacked me. I knew more physical self-defense, and I knew a hell of a lot more about magic. I hadn’t had a memory loss for two months. That meant that right now I was pretty much at the top of my game.
A little part of me—okay, a big part of me—hoped he would try to take me down. Just so I could show that bastard what I was made of. Pay him back for what he did to Tomi and Davy. For what he did to my dad.
I paced, and kept an eye on both ends of the hallway. I didn’t pull on magic, but I was good at paying attention to details, like whether I caught a whiff of the burnt-blackberry and blood smell of him. My cell rang again.
“Yes?”
/> “Ninth floor where?” Zay asked.
“I’m in surgery and admissions. By the windows. You?”
“Almost there. Anything?”
“No. Davy’s going to the warehouse, I think. I need to tell you about the job with Stotts.”
“I see you.”
I turned. Sure enough, Zayvion Jones was striding my way, wearing that ratty blue ski coat and a dark blue ski beanie. He didn’t look particularly concerned as he tucked his cell into his pocket, didn’t look like a guy who could throw around enough magic to tear a city apart, raise the dead, and pull the heavens to the earth. Didn’t look like he was on the hunt for a creature that had murdered, destroyed, broken the boundaries between life and death. Didn’t look like a killer.
But he was all those things. And he was mine.
I hung up and strolled over to him. “We headed out?”
“What happened?” he asked.
I frowned. I’d just gone through all that. “Oh. My face?” I shrugged. “A spell kicked back on me.”
He took a breath and looked like he wanted to tear something apart. The little girl stopped spinning and ran over to sit with her mother. Kids. They have great instincts.
“Just a burn?” he asked.
“It doesn’t feel too bad. A little tight, like a sunburn.” I decided not to tell him I’d also been bleeding. No need for the man to go ballistic and make the little girl cry.
“My car’s outside,” he said.
“So’s Davy’s,” I said.
“We’ll leave his car here. Should be fine overnight.” He started toward the elevators and I followed. “Think you can do the elevator?”
Crap. No, I very much did not think I could do the elevator. But that wouldn’t stop me. “Oh, I’ve been looking forward to it, thanks for asking.”
He gave me a sideways glance, and wisely said no more. The elevator door opened, and an orderly maneuvered a patient in a wheelchair out, leaving the elevator empty.
Zay stood behind me. Probably blocking me from running away. Damn.
I took a deep breath, held it, and stepped in. Zay moved behind me like my shadow. I recited my “Miss Mary Mack Mack Mack” jingle, trying to calm the screaming in my brain. There wasn’t enough room—it was too hot, too full, too small. Any minute the ceiling would slam down into me, crush me. I couldn’t breathe.
