by Devon Monk
Terric shook his head and mouthed: “No, no, no,” over and over again, even though no sound came out.
“Mikhail,” Zayvion said. “This is no longer your world. Shame cannot pay the price for your life any longer. Let him go, or I will kill you myself.”
Shame inhaled, his body arching as if it could not fill with enough air fast enough. As he exhaled, Mikhail stepped out of his body and Shame went limp.
I could see Mikhail. Even without Sight. And next to him stood the faintest outline of a woman. Of Sedra. She smiled, and even though she was only a fragment of her true soul, there was more kindness and humanity in her eyes than I’d ever seen when Isabelle had possessed her.
“There is one promise I must fulfill.” Mikhail bent and pressed his hand on Terric’s head. He looked like he was blessing him or comforting him. “I do not have the power to heal,” he said. “But this I can do.” He said a string of words, a litany, a poem. Terric stiffened; then his shoulders slumped, and all the tension drained out of his body.
Shame seemed to relax too, his breathing steadying. Mikhail removed his hand, and Terric placed his palm over the crystal in Shame’s chest and closed his eyes, a look of peace on his face. The crystal grew brighter at Terric’s touch.
“Open the gate, Guardian,” Mikhail said, his voice that of a ghost on the wind.
Zay glanced at Roman, who was already drawing a gate. His arms were bloody, his face bruised. He calmly cast the glyph for Gate and guided the magic from the well to flow into it.
The magic felt wrong—hot and strange, almost as if it were contaminated—but the sensation was gone as soon as I felt it. I had been through so much, used so much, hurt so much, my perception of magic was probably way off base.
A gate opened into death.
Mikhail, his arm around Sedra, stepped through the gate. But just before the gate closed, he said, “This war is not over, Daniel Beckstrom. Not so long as Leander and Isabelle walk in life.”
Roman spoke a word, and the gate closed in a flash of light.
I blinked to clear my eyes. Roman was gone.
“Fuck,” Zayvion said, obviously realizing the same thing.
The room was a mess. Dead people on tables, Dane and Sedra dead on the floor, their blood channeled by and soaking into the glyphs carved into the floor.
I looked over at Shame. He wasn’t moving. Terric still had his hand over his chest, blood seeping out from between his fingers.
“We need a doctor,” I said, my voice sounding a long way away. My ears were shot. Too many explosions.
Zay stuck two fingers into his pocket. It looked like the other fingers of his hand weren’t moving. He pulled out his phone.
Before he could dial, the door opened.
I spun, a spell at the ready.
“Jesus Christ,” Hayden’s voice boomed out. “What the hell happened?”
Behind Hayden were Dr. Fisher, Sunny, and two men in black suits and sunglasses whom I’d never seen before but who looked like they’d fit in with the Secret Service.
Bartholomew’s men, Dad said.
“Shame’s hurt,” I said, or I tried to say. All the magic I’d been using, all the magic Dad had been using, was starting to stack up. My ears rang.
Through a tunnel of fuzzy black, I saw Dr. Fisher rush to Shame and Terric; then Hayden was in front of me. “What the hell is going on?” He frowned. “Allie?” His voice suddenly seemed a million miles away. Then, softly, just before everything went black. “Dr. Fisher, she’s bleeding. Badly.”
Chapter Twenty-one
I remember hearing voices: Hayden, Sunny, Dr. Fisher, Zay. I remember more voices, and eventually someone asking me if I could stand. I thought I could, and I did, though someone had to help me stay on my feet by putting an arm around me.
There were stairs, and cold air, and a car. I think I slept in the car, though I was probably asleep before then.
I know I woke in my apartment. In my own bed. With Zayvion lying next to me.
He was asleep, breathing deep and evenly. From the look of the cut on his face, we’d been here for at least a day. Maybe more. I slid off the bottom of the bed, not wanting to wake him, and took a shower.
I hurt, but it was the aching pain of the early stages of recovery instead of the sharp hurt of fresh wounds. I dried off, wrapped the towel around me, and looked into the mirror.
I looked like me. A little tired, a little bruised. Dad darkened my eyes. I knew he was still with me.
Do you know what happened? I asked him as I brushed my teeth.
Members of the Authority took all of you from the well. They dealt with the bodies. You passed out after that, and I was unable to stay conscious. He sounded disappointed about that.
I spit out toothpaste, thinking it over. Wondered if Shame was okay, if Terric was okay. Wondered if Zayvion and I were okay.
At the thought of Zay, I could suddenly feel him as if he were standing behind me. No, not behind me, around me, as if we were one person, not two. He was sleeping, restless, worried. If I concentrated, I thought I could see what he dreamed.
Allison, Dad said, his words pulling me away, pulling me back to myself and centering me in my own mind. You must not go to him that way. Two bodies, two minds. If you become too much of him, that road will only bring you insanity and sorrow.
I didn’t want to listen to my dad. But I knew he was right. I’d seen Chase and Greyson die trying to be one person instead of two. I’d seen what it did to Leander and Isabelle—how their insanity had broken magic. I did not want to become the very thing I fought to protect myself and others from.
Do you know what day it is? I asked.
No, he said. And then he said no more.
I left the bathroom and got dressed in the slouchiest clothing I owned—a T-shirt, hoodie, and sweatpants. Zay slept through me getting dressed. I was pretty sure it was morning, but I couldn’t see the alarm clock from there.
I snuck out into my living room.
And stopped dead.
Sunny was sitting on my couch, dark hair tipped with hot pink and braided behind her ears, jeans, a couple layers of T-shirts, and earbuds on, looking through a magazine.
I walked over into her line of vision.
She glanced up. Nodded and turned off her music, pulling out the earbuds. “Didn’t hear you get up. You know what day it is?”
I shook my head. “Is it a day that starts with coffee?”
She smiled. “I didn’t make any. Didn’t want to intrude. It’s Tuesday.”
I walked over to my curtains and pulled them open. Nice blue-sky day out there. Definitely morning. The gold glow of the sun brimmed at the lip of rooftops but didn’t quite spill over into the shadows of the streets below yet.
“So you’re here because we were unconscious for two days?” I wanted coffee but didn’t feel like going through the trouble of brewing it. Maybe I’d find a way to go down to Get Mugged. I wished Grant delivered.
“Yeah, partly. Dr. Fisher thought you’d be awake sometime today. But I’m mostly here because Bartholomew wanted someone keeping an eye on both of you.”
“And you volunteered?”
She didn’t say anything, so I glanced over at her.
“Sure, we can go with that,” she said.
I smiled and sat in the chair by the window. “So Bartholomew’s calling the shots now?”
“He deposed Victor.”
“What?”
“The trial; do you remember there was a trial going on?” When I nodded, she continued. “He wanted Victor Closed, but Melba—she’s a lawyer—proved to Bartholomew that Victor was not the sole person responsible for what has been happening lately. And since you guys took care of two of the three prisoners and … well, that thing with Sedra …” She shook her head. “Terric said she was possessed by Isabelle. Is that true?”
“Yes.”
“Bartholomew used Truth on him to find out what happened. Anyway, Victor was removed as the Voice of F
aith magic.”
“Was he Closed?”
“No. But I think Bartholomew is going to talk to you and Zayvion too. About everything.”
“And Maeve?”
“She’s still Voice of Blood magic. Don’t know who’s going to replace Victor, though.” Her phone rang, and she glanced at it. “So I have another thing to get to. Are you okay here? Need anything?”
“I’m good. Do you know if I need to report to Bartholomew or check in or something?”
She stood and scooped up her messenger bag off of the couch, texting on her phone as she walked to the door. “Don’t know. But they have your phone, and Zay’s. They’ll call if they want something. I’ll let them know you’re awake.”
“Thanks,” I said.
“Sure. Oh, and Davy Silvers came by last night and stayed for a little bit. Said he’d check in with me tonight. About you, I mean,” she added. But her blush told me she’d gotten it right the first time. She liked Davy, and it looked like he might feel the same way.
“Sounds good,” I said without smiling.
“Your phone rang a few times. I let the machine take messages. I wrote my number and left it by your phone if you need anything.”
“Thanks,” I said again.
“No problem. See you later.” She unlocked the door and was gone.
“Everything okay?” Zay asked from the bedroom. His voice was a little hoarse. I could tell he was tired still, but hungry. I could tell he knew I was tired too and really wanted Get Mugged coffee.
Dad did that thing in my head again, anchoring me into myself. I didn’t like to admit how much it helped.
“Sunny just left,” I said. “I want scones.”
I heard the bedsprings squeak as Zay got up. He grunted, his ribs and back stiff. I tried not to focus on his pain, and it faded a little from my awareness.
“Give me a second.”
The bathroom door closed and the shower turned on. I thought about getting up and checking phone messages but didn’t want to move. So instead I stared out at the street.
It took Zayvion only a minute to shower. As soon as the water turned off, I found my shoes, a hat to put over my wet hair, and my jacket.
I felt Zay approach the living room like a fire coming near. I tried to think of other things, tried not to wish his arms were around me, tried not to want to be one with him, soul to soul.
He was doing the same. It worked. Mostly.
“Morning,” I said.
Zayvion looked a little better than the last time I’d seen him awake. His eye wasn’t swollen. The bandage on his face had been replaced with stitches and a smaller bandage. The three fingers of his right hand were taped together. I didn’t think his ribs were wrapped.
“Morning,” he said. “Scones?”
“I’m starving.”
He stepped up to me, and I wrapped my arms around him. He held me close, but we did not kiss—were both afraid to be that close, that intimate.
It was a strange, uncomfortable feeling, knowing being with the one you loved could do him harm. We let go of each other at the same time and walked to the door, no longer touching.
“Any news about Shame?” Zay asked as we headed down the stairs.
“Sunny didn’t say anything. We could call Terric.”
Zay thought about it for a half flight of stairs or so. “After coffee. I don’t want to deal with anything until I’ve had caffeine.”
He sounded like me. I tried not to let it worry me. We got in the car, and Zay started driving. I realized I hadn’t told him I wanted to go to Get Mugged.
“So where?” I asked.
“Get Mugged, right?” He flicked on the blinker and turned into traffic.
“Did you read my mind?”
He looked over at me. Must have realized I was serious. He smiled. “No. You always want to go to Get Mugged for breakfast. And you sleep talk about Grant’s scones.”
“Do not.”
“Yes,” he said, “you do. What are you so worried about?”
“Dad said … back there, when we were fighting Leander and Isabelle … when he pulled me out of my body … he said if I was too close to you, we’d be insane. Like Chase and Greyson. Like Leander and Isabelle.”
“Do you believe that?”
“I didn’t want to get back in my own body.”
“Why?”
I thought about it. “I wanted to be a part of you.”
“Is that a problem?”
“It is when I want it more than I want to live. More than I want to be me.” Scared the hell out of me when I said it that way. I’d spent all my life trying to be myself and not something someone wanted me to be.
He didn’t say anything. Finally, “Do you still feel that way?”
“No.” It was not quite the full truth nor yet a lie. He probably felt my indecision. But neither of us commented on it.
We pulled up to Get Mugged, and Zay parked a little way up the street. He turned off the car and twisted in the seat so he could see me.
“When you crossed into death, we joined there. Do you remember?”
I nodded. He had fallen into me, and I had not wanted to let him go.
“Do you remember what happened?”
“You pulled away. You broke our connection.” He had been furious then, angry that I stepped into death to save him, angry that I’d given up my small magic to Mikhail.
He nodded. “I broke our connection. Not because I wanted to. Because I knew we would not survive. Because I knew we needed to be ourselves, two people, not one. Back at the Life well, when you were not in your body, why didn’t you just stay with me?”
“I couldn’t.”
“You could have possessed me just as your dad possesses you, just as Leander and Isabelle possessed Sedra.”
“I knew it would destroy us.”
“And so you chose life. You reentered your own body. And we survived.”
“Yes.”
He took my hand in his, and a shock of heat and need rolled through me. His emotions and my emotions buffeted and swirled and finally drew apart.
“One of us will always be strong enough,” he said. “That is how I know we are going to be fine. We won’t turn into Greyson and Chase. We won’t turn into Leander and Isabelle. So long as we can deny that one desire, we can have everything else.” He squeezed my hand gently.
“Nothing without a price to pay,” I said.
“Yes. We can use magic together, can live and love together, and all we have to do is stay out of each other’s minds. Magic is worth that. Love is worth that. We are strong enough.”
“Don’t you think Chase thought that too?”
Sharp sorrow rolled through him. He let go of my hand, leaned his head against the driver’s door window. “Do you want to end this? End us?” Flat, calm. But I could feel how angry he was.
I looked away from him and dragged my fingers back along my temples, tucking my hair behind my ears. “I don’t want it to end.” That was the truth. And it was just as true that I knew the possibility, the probability, of us having to walk away, stay away, was very real. “Can we finish talking about this after a cup of coffee?” I asked.
He exhaled a breath he’d been holding, and I felt his tension as if it were my own.
“How about after a pot of coffee?” he said.
“And a dozen scones.” I looked at him and smiled, which kindled a smile from him too. We strolled down to Get Mugged, and I took Zayvion’s hand. Yes, because I liked touching the man, and also to prove to myself that I could touch him and not get lost in the sensation.
His left hand was warm and calloused across the palm from weapons and work. It felt right to touch him, to hold him. And I didn’t feel the immediate desire to abandon my own mind for his.
So far, so good.
Get Mugged was busy. Jula and Grant worked behind the counter, while another employee—Ryan—bused tables. There was a table open at the back corner of the shop.
&
nbsp; “A large black, okay?” I said to Zay. “And whatever scone he has left?”
He nodded.
I walked off to claim our table. For all that it was noisy, busy, crowded, I couldn’t help but smile. I loved this place. Sitting here felt more like home than my own home.
It didn’t take Zay long to order, and he came over to the table with two large coffees and a plate piled with a half dozen baked goods.
“Oh, what did you do?” I asked, taking the coffee cup in both hands but keeping my eye on the goodies.
“You said a dozen scones. Plus, I’m hungry. There’s two omelets headed this way too. With cheese.”
I grinned. “Keep this up, and neither of us is ever going to cook breakfast again.”
“That’s pretty much my evil plan.” The table was big enough for four. He took the chair next to me so he could keep an eye on the shop and the door.
Which was probably good. The only thing I was keeping my eye on was the scones, coffee cake, and berry crumbles on that plate.
I lost a little time to baked-goods bliss and washed it all down with hot coffee. Got a refill too from Ryan, who also delivered the omelets.
I am not ashamed to admit that I ate every scrap of cheese-slathered egg on that plate. Zay finished his before I did.
I don’t know how much we’d eaten in the last few days, but I was sure we’d skipped a meal or two, and using magic always made me hungry.
I sipped the last of my coffee and finally looked around me again. The shop had emptied out a bit; a few tables had different people sitting at them. I shook my head. If someone had wanted to kill me just now, I wouldn’t have seen them coming if they had been driving a tank.
However, I did notice Terric when he walked through the doors. He paused, held the door open, and Shame walked through behind him.
Shame looked like he hurt. He wore a black beanie and a black peacoat—Terric’s, I thought—buttoned up to his chin against the mild spring morning. Black fingerless gloves, blue jeans, and black boots. Pretty standard Flynn wardrobe. But he waited for Terric to let go of the door, and walked beside him, step for step, slowly, across the room, Terric’s hand under his elbow.
Very much not standard Flynn behavior.
