by Devon Monk
Shame huffed out a laugh. “Speak for yourself. I liked it. Control is overrated.”
“You’re wrong,” Terric said.
“Getting tired of you telling me that.”
“Why, because I’m always right?”
Shame shook his head and shoved up to his feet like it didn’t hurt, even though I was sure it did.
“You’re fucking amazing,” he said, getting in Terric’s face and jabbing a finger in his chest. “You hassle me for months to cast magic with you, and now that I have, you want nothing to do with me? Fine. You got what you wanted. It’s not my problem you can’t deal with it.”
“I didn’t say—” Terric started.
Davy Silvers, one of my Hounds who still couldn’t get it through his head that I didn’t need him to look after me, appeared in the doorway of the room.
“Hey, boss. Noticed half of Portland is headed this way. Something going down I should know about?”
Davy had been so close to death in the last week it was startling to see him on his feet. If Eli Collins, a man who had once worked on developing magical technology with my dad, hadn’t literally cut spells into Davy’s skin to give the poisoned magic he was infected with a way out of his body, Davy would be dead.
But like all things with magic, that “cure” had come with a price. Davy had to work hard to stay solid. Those spells made him insubstantial. If he didn’t keep his mind on being a solid physical person, he’d fall through the floor he was standing on.
“Seattle’s on the way to kick our ass,” I said.
His eyebrows jerked up into the ragged edge of his bangs. “The entire city, Space Needle and everything?”
I grinned. “I hope not. Can you call the Hounds? I want them in on this.”
“They’re already in the kitchen eating cookies.”
God, I loved Hounds. Never late to a disaster. Or a free meal.
“Tell them to be in the main ballroom in five.”
“On it.” He headed down the hall at a jog.
“So what’s the plan?” Zayvion asked. I glanced at Shame and Terric, who were scowling at each other, and Maeve, who looked at me with a mix of sadness and determination.
“We tell Seattle to stay the hell out of our city.”
Chapter Four
The ballroom looked like something out of an old movie. Two staircases spiraled down from three stories up, joined at a grand landing, then split one last time to create a perfect arch over a huge fountain in the center of the marble-floored room. The upper two floors came with open balconies looking over the ballroom that I’m sure could be romantically lit for waltzers back in the day.
Nobody was waltzing today.
One wall of the main floor was set with a stage. That is where I and Maeve, Zayvion, Kevin, and Victor stood, waiting for the crowd to settle down.
Victor had been the Voice of Faith magic, and my teacher. A tall, gray-haired man, he was old enough to be my father. He had traded in his slacks and jacket for jeans and a dark brown sweater. His eyes were still bandaged from the flash of magic he’d taken in the face out on the battlefield. We weren’t sure if he was going to regain his sight or not.
He didn’t seem to be in pain, talking quietly to the woman, Grace, who was at his elbow.
Grace was maybe ten years younger than Victor, and had been away in Canada for the last year or so, doing some Authority work there. I’d just met her today and already liked her. Her dark hair swung at her shoulders and was pulled back with combs to show off her deep-set brown eyes and soft, rounded features. She spoke quietly to Victor, explaining the size and shape of the room, and the people it contained.
Shame wasn’t on the stage. Neither was Terric. I scanned the crowd for them, and finally saw them standing on opposite sides of the room, doing their best to fade into the shadows and completely ignore each other.
The room wasn’t quite shoulder-to-shoulder packed with people, but that was only because it was such a large space. Quick count told me we had at least five hundred people here.
All those bodies, all those faces, all those people between me and any exit I could see—not to mention more people streaming onto the balconies—kicked my claustrophobia into high gear.
My chest tightened; my breathing hitched. Sweat peppered my upper lip. My little panic mantra of “I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die” sang through my head.
I hated that mantra.
Zayvion, standing beside me, took my hand.
At just that touch, the fear pushed away, the panic quieted. I was still freaking out, but Zayvion’s calm did me a world of good. I squeezed his hand. I just needed to get through this, lay out a plan, and then I’d go find some fresh air and wide-open spaces.
Antarctica might be nice this time of year.
Victor and Grace walked up to the microphone. Then Grace stepped away so that all eyes would be on Victor alone. We’d agreed to let him tell the news since he had been a respected figure in the Authority for years.
Victor waited patiently. If it weren’t for the gauze around his eyes, you’d think that he was fine, that everything was good, normal.
But everything was not normal. Not at all. Seattle was on its way. Leander and Isabelle were on their way. Magic was poisoned. We were about to enter a battle, then probably a war with an army of magic users, and two of the most powerful Soul Complements who had ever used magic.
We were nowhere near ready for this fight.
But we had no choice, and no time left.
“We have information,” Victor said, “that Seattle has been scrambled by the Overseer. They are coming to shut Portland down and kill or Close us.”
It was so quiet in the room, you could hear feet shift over marble, fabric shush, and distantly, the clatter from the kitchen.
Zayvion pressed his shoulder against mine and I took a deep breath, trying to get my oxygen evenly and calmly through the claustrophobia.
“We need the entire Authority in Portland working together against this threat,” Victor said. “We have the ear of the police department via the MERCs and Detective Stotts. We have all the Hounds in the city willing to assist us. The mayor, other governing officials, and emergency departments are in the loop, and ready to lend whatever help and resources we need. In short, the entire city of Portland is joined in this fight.
“We do not make as strong a front as we might like. Magic is poisoned. We are not certain what caused magic to go bad, but we are certain that it is magic itself that has been tampered with, not the cisterns, networked lines, or other storage facilities.
“The more we use magic, the more we will fall ill from it. We’ve sent out public warnings telling people to stop using magic while the networks are being upgraded, allowing us time to try to purify the wells, but we are not seeing any decrease in magic use. The number of ill and infected is growing.”
“What about other cities?” a man in the crowd asked. “Do they know about magic being poisoned?”
Victor paused. Then, “We sent out word to the Authority in Washington, California, Idaho, and Nevada warning them that magic has been poisoned and that it might spread. We also shared our information that the Overseer has been compromised by Leander and Isabelle. We have not received word back. From anyone.”
A low murmur rolled through the room.
“Is that unusual?” I asked Zay quietly.
He nodded. “We usually receive communication instantly from other cities. Especially in times of crisis.”
Okay. So that meant either our communication didn’t get out, it fell into the wrong hands, or the Authority members outside the city had decided not to talk to us.
Or had been told by someone not to talk to us.
Someone like the Overseer.
A chill washed over me as I took that idea a step further. Dad, I thought, if you had possessed me fully—killed me and taken over my body as I’m guessing Leander and Isabelle did with the Overseer—would you have access to my memories?
Just bec
ause I am possessing you, Allison, doesn’t make me an expert on the phenomenon, he said dryly.
Throw me an educated guess, I said.
He was quiet for a bit.
Victor stepped away from the microphone, and moved toward the side of the stage, where Grace helped him sit on one of the chairs there. That was my cue, I guess. To stand up and lay out a plan. To figure out who was going to lead this fight.
If I wanted to preserve your memories, Dad finally said, I would have found a way to do so while in your body. Even if you died.
I suddenly realized what a strange question that had been. And I didn’t much like his answer: If he had wanted me dead, he could have killed me, taken my memories and my body.
Hells.
I shivered.
Zayvion rubbed his hand down my arm. “Your father?” he asked.
“Yes. I just asked him if he could have killed me but kept my memories intact when he possessed me.”
Anger rolled through Zay, through me, a hot, bitter wave. “God, Allie. Why would you ask him that?”
“I wanted to know if it was possible. If I were Leander and Isabelle and had just possessed the head of all of the Authority worldwide, I’d want more than her address book as a resource.”
“Son of a bitch,” he breathed.
I nodded.
“What did he say?”
“That if he wanted my memories, he’d have found a way to keep them even if he killed me.”
“Leander and Isabelle have the Overseer’s memories,” he said. “They know everything we know. You should take the mic.”
“No. You can do it. I hate spotlights, remember?”
He slipped his arm from around me and paused just a moment, turning toward me, his long fingers resting on my hips as he looked me straight in the eye.
Too much gold in his gaze, where only warm brown should be.
“Your voice is stronger in this crowd than you think.”
“It’s not my voice I’m worried about. I hate public speaking. Or public standing.”
“They need to know, Allie.”
“Then tell them.”
“You underestimate your position.”
“What position? Just a couple days ago, I was on the run for my life from the Authority.”
“Things have changed.”
“Sure, I agree. But not enough for people to care what I have to say about it.”
“You’d be surprised.” He let go of my hip and stalked over to the microphone. Even in boots on the hard wood, with what I knew was an aching hip and back, he made only the slightest sound as he smoothly crossed the stage.
He stood in front of the microphone. Man had a presence, even when he wasn’t speaking. Maybe especially then.
Voices quieted and went silent.
“I’d like to bring up a few things Victor didn’t address,” Zay said. “The Authority in Portland is largely without officially appointed Voices. Since there are four wells of magic beneath our city, it has always been tradition for a Voice to not only stand guard over the well that corresponded with his or her discipline, but to also speak for the users of that discipline.
“Bartholomew Wray changed that when he reassigned the position of Voices. Jingo Jingo did even more damage, killing our coworkers, family, and friends.
“Other cities would buckle under the strain of these setbacks. But not Portland. Other people would turn from this fight. Not the people of Portland.
“Leander and Isabelle retained the Overseer’s memories when they possessed her body. They know everything we know. Every procedure, every rule, every regulation and resource. They know what we have, they know how we’ll use it, and they know how to use it against us.
“We need a leader in this battle. Someone the Overseer doesn’t have much information on, and therefore neither do Leander and Isabelle. Someone who knows how to fight and how to survive. Someone who is willing to use unconventional tactics against them.
“We need Allison Beckstrom.”
The entire room seemed to fade away, replaced by fuzzy gray fog that came rolling in from the edges of my vision. A high ringing started up. Me, sliding into shock. Really didn’t have time for that.
I so didn’t want to be the one calling the shots in this fight. I’d already taken the responsibility for one fight. People had died, people had been crippled. I didn’t think I could handle all these lives in my hands again.
You are strong, Allison. Dad’s voice was as comforting and confident as I’d ever heard.
I have no battle experience…
…You have done nothing but fight since I died, he said.
I don’t know how to coordinate a city full of people. Thousands, Dad. Thousands of people could die, are dying right now. I don’t know enough to make everything turn out right.
They’re not looking to you to make everything right, Allison. They are looking to you to stand and be their strength. To make the hard decisions they know must be made. To lead them when they are lost. Each person will make their own choices, will live and die by their own actions. Your place, a leader’s place, is to make them believe they can win this war. And if not win, then survive.
Even if they can’t? I asked.
Is that what you believe?
I thought about it. I didn’t know what to believe. Things had been changing so quickly. Magic had changed. My friends had changed. Hell, even I had changed.
I’d killed a man.
I swallowed hard, trying to push away the memory of Bartholomew’s death that always hovered just below my conscious thought.
I’d managed to handle whatever had been thrown my way, but could I handle this?
It’s a war, I said. We’re talking about waging a magical battle against Seattle, Leander and Isabelle, and all the people they are going to send against us. We fought Jingo Jingo—one man—and almost died. He wasn’t nearly as strong as Leander and Isabelle—he wasn’t even a Soul Complement. They are. I don’t know how we can take on someone more powerful than him.
You are a Soul Complement, Allison. Do not think that is without advantage.
I can’t even cast magic without puking.
Dad sighed, which is sort of weird since he couldn’t breathe. You simply refuse to admit your power. It has always been a vexing and disappointing flaw in your character.
“Disappointing? From a dead guy? You have no right to judge me.”
It is not a judgment if it is the truth. Why must you turn every conversation into an argument?
“I’m not arguing. I’m being logical and you’re talking crazy!”
Someone coughed.
That’s when I realized I wasn’t just thinking to my dad. I was talking. Out loud. On stage. While everyone across that floor stared at me, silent.
Oh, just so classy.
You have their attention now, Dad said. Be their strength, even if you are uncertain. Give them a reason to refute their fears even if you can not refute yours. They need hope. They need you.
I tipped my chin up a little and swallowed. “Well, I heard about half of what Zayvion said.”
“Mic!” someone from the back yelled. It was Jack Quinn, one of my Hounds. I knew he could hear me. Hounds had good ears. But he was probably right that other people might need me to speak up.
I brushed my fingers above my ears again, trying to tuck too-short hair. Yes, it was a nervous habit. I had a lot to be nervous about.
Spotlight, for one thing.
End of the world, for another.
I strolled over to Zayvion, fixing him with a glare. He held one hand out for me, and I took it, very aware of all the eyes on us.
I wondered, for a moment, how they saw us. A man and a woman? An ex-guardian of the gate and a Hound? A poor boy and rich girl? Black and white?
Or maybe, did they see more? See us as we really were: lovers, companions, friends. Magic users. Survivors. Warriors. Soul Complements.
From the slight snap of saltiness in the air
, I knew at least a few people were casting Sight to see what, exactly, we looked like through magic.
I don’t want to do this, I thought, not to Dad, but to Zayvion.
You won’t do it alone. Zay rubbed his thumb over the side of my hand.
I’d rather have him at my side than anyone else in the world.
I pulled my shoulders back, let go of his hand, and faced the microphone. “Hi,” I said a little too close, causing the feedback to buzz.
“For those of you who haven’t met me, I’m Allie Beckstrom. I don’t think I’m the best person to lead this fight. I only joined the Authority this year, have never been a Voice or held any other position of leadership, and I tend to think like a Hound more than a commander. Please reconsider Zayvion’s suggestion. I am sure there are other people more experienced than I who should lead.”
“I will follow Allie,” a voice called out from the back of the room. It wasn’t Jack. No, that voice was Davy Silvers, who was pretty much my right-hand Hound.
Davy sat on the edge of the fountain, his girlfriend, Sunny, who was both punk-rock chic and a hell of a Blood magic user, right next to him. They were both eating cookies. He grinned and raised his hand in a wave.
Great.
“I will follow Allie,” another voice called out. This, to my surprise, was Detective Paul Stotts, who stood near one of the exit doors with his team: officers Roberts, Garnett, and Julian. They all seemed very interested in the entire assemblage, probably because this sort of stuff had never been seen by the police before.
I guess Stotts had decided that since we’d been through so much together, he might as well stick it out with me. Also, I expected his feelings for Nola had something to do with his loyalty.
The next voice was Maeve’s, behind me. “I will follow Allie.” Then Victor. That started off a chorus of people, a rising river of voices, carrying my name.
Not everyone said they’d follow me. As I scanned the faces and the body language, I could tell not everyone was happy about the decision. But no one was angry enough to leave, or to stand up and throw their hat into the ring.
Which meant it was time to come up with a plan. Fast. I shook my head, not believing I was about to do this. But who else would? No one had come forward when Victor had left the microphone open. Only Zayvion. Only me.
