Magic to the Bone ab-1

by Devon Monk

  The news ended with the reporter reciting a phone number, and summing up that I was a person of suspicion in the case of my father’s death and any information on my whereabouts should be immediately reported to the police.

  The reporter gave the camera over to the weather-man, and I sat back in my chair, acutely aware that Nola and Zay were staring at me.

  “Shit,” I said. I supposed the only good thing was they didn’t say I was armed and dangerous and should be shot on sight.

  I expected Zayvion to say he told me so—Bonnie had ratted me out to the cops and they were looking for me, just like he said. But he sat there quietly, which was pretty decent of him.

  “Well,” Nola said. “I think we need to think this out and make a plan of what to do next. Allie, do you have any ideas?”

  “I still think I should go to the police. Turn myself in.”

  Zay sat back in his chair and watched me from over the edge of his coffee cup.

  “I’m innocent,” I said. “I didn’t do anything.”

  “Can you prove that?” Zay asked quietly.

  “Of course I can.”

  “You have an alibi for where you were after you and I left the deli?”

  I opened my mouth to tell him of course I did, and he could shove it. But my recollection of what had happened from when I left my dad’s office to when I woke up at Mama’s was spotty at best. Even the deli seemed a little foggy to me.

  “I went home,” I said.

  “Did anyone see you there?” Zayvion asked. “Did you make any calls? Talk to anyone in the halls?”

  “No.”

  “No witnesses. No calls to trace. Not good,” he said. “Then what?”

  “I left.”

  “Why?”

  “I couldn’t stand the smell of the building.”

  “Doubt that will hold up in court, but fine. Where did you go, and who saw you go there?”

  This is where the really big black holes and gaps of time filled my head. The hit I Hounded on Boy had kicked in pretty hard by then. I was hurting and maybe even a little delirious. I was lucky I hadn’t wandered around town bleeding out of my ears and singing show tunes. For all I knew I might have done just that.

  Or maybe I’d gotten angry and confused. Maybe I’d found my way back to my father’s office, managed to ride the elevator without having a panic attack, gotten past his perky, nosy secretary, and somehow summoned the strength to draw enough power, through the protection wards—and cast a killing spell—to kill him.

  It just seemed so incredibly unlikely. But it also seemed incredibly unlikely that I couldn’t remember nearly a full twenty-four hours—the twenty-four-hour span when my father was killed.

  “I can’t remember, exactly.”

  Zay said nothing. He didn’t have to.

  Nola rubbed her hand between my shoulder blades and gave me a gentle pat. “I suppose this is a bad time to remind you what I think about using magic.”

  “Yeah, Nola.” I managed a small smile. “I know what you think about using it. And right now, I see your point.” I looked back over at Zayvion. “So maybe I don’t have an alibi. But do they have any evidence that I went back to my father’s place? Do they have any evidence that it was me who killed him? A security camera? Some eyewitness in the lobby or something?”

  “They have Bonnie’s testimony that she Hounded the hit and it was your signature on it.”

  “Bonnie hates me and would do anything to make me hurt.”

  “Can you prove that?” Zayvion asked.

  I rolled my eyes. “Maybe. Probably. We haven’t hidden our hatred or anything. People know about it. The bank job she and I handled—all the people involved in that know how she feels about me.”

  “That would help,” Zay conceded, “but it won’t change the fact that the police brought in three Hounds to sniff the hit, and that Violet hired a separate Hound independent of them to check too.”

  “Violet’s my dad’s current wife?” I asked.

  It didn’t take him long to figure out I was not joking. He nodded.

  “Okay. What did her Hound say?”

  “They all said it was your signature, Allie.”

  Five Hounds sniffing the same hit would find subtle differences if there were any. If five different Hounds said I did it, even I would think I did it.

  But I had zero recollection of killing my father. I’d think a person would remember such a thing. I think I would remember it, memory loss or no memory loss. I would have felt it. I would have tasted it. It would still be in my hands, in my lungs.

  “How do you know all this, Zayvion? Are you a cop? A reporter? How do you have all this inside information that I don’t have?”

  “Allie, I’ve told you all that. Don’t you remember?”

  That hit me like a punch to the gut. I did not remember. If he had come clean about who he was and what he did and why he was always following me around, it had fallen down the same twenty-four-hour black hole growing in my head.

  I opened my mouth to tell him “How about we just pretend I don’t remember and you can tell me again,” but Cody let out a piercing, childlike scream of glee that reminded me why I never wanted to have a child.

  He stood and pointed at the window, and once he ran out of air he filled up again and kept on screaming.

  Nola moved around the table and put one hand on his outstretched arm. “You need to be quiet now, Cody. Use your inside voice. Use your words. Tell me what’s wrong.”

  But Cody was not listening. He pushed away from Nola and hurried over to the window, still screaming.

  Zay was on his feet and moving toward him now. Even though Cody acted like a kid, he was still a man, and none of us knew enough about him to know what he might do.

  Cody pressed his palms flat against the window, then switched so only his fingers were touching the glass. He wiggled his fingers as the pale yellow light of the rising sun filtered through the branches of the willows beyond the road and spilled like ghostly honey across his hands.

  He stopped screaming, transfixed by the sight of sunlight on his hands. Then he looked up and through the window. “Sunshine,” he said softly. He looked over his shoulder at Nola. “Sunshine.”

  Wow. The guy really liked sunshine.

  Back on the table, the kitten stuck her paw in the milk, slipped, and dunked her face in it. She mewled and Cody reluctantly turned away from the sunshine to retrieve her. “Sunshine, Kitten,” he said. “Sunshine.” He picked her up, but became confused as to what to do with the milk-soaked cat.

  Nola handed him a towel and he dried her feet and face.

  “Zayvion,” Nola said. “Stay here with Cody, please. Allie, let me get your clean clothes for you. Do you want to shower?”

  “All right,” I said.

  Zayvion cleaned the table, taking dishes to the sink, and I followed Nola to the laundry room.

  “What?” I asked her when we got there. Her not-so-subtle attempt to get me away on my own meant she wanted to talk to me without Zay around.

  “I’ve been thinking about everything you told me last night, and I have a couple questions.” She opened the clothes dryer, letting out the floral fragrance of fabric softener. She pulled out my jeans, T-shirt, socks, and underwear, and dropped them all in my arms.

  “Okay.”

  “Are you sure Cody had been stabbed?”

  I leaned my hip against the washer. “Yes. It wasn’t an Illusion, or a scratch that looked worse than it was. I know a bad puncture when I see one. And this one was sealed with magic.”

  Nola leaned against the dryer and crossed her arms over her chest. “Did healing him have anything to do with the marks up your arm?”

  I nodded.

  “You don’t think you can do it again?”

  “Nola, no one’s ever done that. You can’t just pluck magic out of the ground and make it do anything you want it to do. You have to study, learn the shapes it will accept, memorize the glyphs, mantras. It’
s work—hard work—and it hurts if you do it wrong. It hurts even if you do it right. To just suck up a handful of magic and wave it at someone until they stop dying is impossible.”

  “Impossible?”

  “Improbable. To the extreme,” I added.

  “So who can manipulate magic that way?”

  I knew what she was getting at. “Nola, I am so not a Savant.”

  “I don’t know about that, Allie. You did really good in school.”

  “I flunked every course. The only reason they didn’t kick me out was because my dad owned half the building and staff, and I left before they got up the nerve to tell him I sucked.”

  “I think you may not remember all the details of college.”

  I scowled. “It’s been recently pointed out to me that my memory isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

  “And you often lose bits of your memory when you use magic, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “But not every time?”

  “No. And before you ask, I don’t know why. I don’t know why magic sometimes takes my memory and sometimes doesn’t.”

  “Still, you remember healing Cody, even though you were manipulating far more magic than you usually do.”

  “Nola, just say whatever you’re getting at.”

  “Allie, you are a Savant whether you want to admit it or not. I know it, Zayvion knows it, I think your father knew it, which is why he wanted you to get so much schooling, and also why he wanted you involved in his business. You have the ability to use magic in amazing and powerful ways.”

  “Like to kill my father?” I asked quietly.

  Nola just looked at me. “Do you really think you could do that?”

  “I don’t know,” I said in a small voice. “I’ve been really angry at him for a long time.”

  “And you never killed him. Why would you do so now?”

  I rubbed at my uncombed hair. “He put a hit on a little boy, Nola. A good kid who didn’t deserve to take the brunt of my dad’s business maneuverings. It was like the last, worst thing I could handle letting him get away with.”

  “Do you really think you could have killed him?”

  I thought about it. I’d been angry—furious. Magic never works when you are in a highly emotional state. I knew that was true of everyone, no matter their level of proficiency—no matter if they were dumb to it or a Savant. I’d gone to my dad to make him pay for his actions. But even then I knew Boy had gotten to a doctor and I was sure Mama would make a pretty penny suing my dad for all she could get. I wanted him to pay. I wanted him to stop using money and power as an excuse to do horrific things to people who did not deserve it. But I did not, deep down, want him to die.

  “I haven’t told anyone this,” I said. “Cody said he knew who killed my dad. He said he was there when it happened.”

  “Did he say you were there too?”

  “I don’t think so. He was babbling, but he seemed pretty . . . adult about it. Which is strange, considering what we’re seeing in the kitchen.”

  “You haven’t told Zayvion that Cody might have information?”

  “No. I’m not sure how much I should trust him.” I could feel the hot prickle of a blush rise up my face. “I know. Last night I was stupid. But now . . .” I lowered my voice and leaned toward her. “What if Zay just wants to get in good with me because I’m about to inherit a lot of money, and one of the biggest power broker companies in the business of magic? He might even work for one of the corporations that have been after Dad’s patents for the Storm Rods for years.”

  “Or,” Nola said, “maybe it’s as simple as what he told me. That he worked for your father, and realized he liked you too much to spy on you anymore.”

  “He told you that?”

  “When you first came, and he and I were getting Cody to bed.”

  “And you think it’s the truth?”

  Nola tipped her head to the side. “I’m not sure. He seemed sincere. I think we can safely assume he finds you attractive.” She paused while I blushed again. “But there’s something about him that gives me pause. I think you pegged it when you said he was insular.”

  “And doesn’t that make you suspicious? He must have something to hide.”

  Nola smiled. “My best friend is pretty insular, and I still think she’s a wonderful human being. Even if she does move too fast into relationships, and then panics when things get too serious.”

  “Oh, that is so not what I’m doing right now.”

  Nola chuckled. “Why do you think I wanted Jupe to stay in the room with you? I knew you’d do this. You are so predictable.”

  And there it was, the down side to having a really good friend.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “Anytime.” She patted my arm gently, and then stopped as if my arm were injured. “Are you sure you don’t need something for that?”

  “No, it doesn’t hurt.” Which in itself was odd, but I didn’t want to think about it. “Nola, if it were you, would you trust Zayvion enough to tell him about what Cody said and go back into the city with him?”

  “No,” she said. “But if I were you I would.”

  “Because I’m crazy?”

  “Because you always push away men at the first sign they might see that you’re vulnerable and use it against you. And you have rarely been right about that.”

  “So you like him.”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know him yet. But he drove you all the way out here. He knows how to do dishes. He’s certainly not hard on the eyes. What I think is, you like him. And you are too afraid to face that.”

  I rubbed at my eyes with one hand. “No, I just don’t want to die because I fall for a pretty smile and a pair of strong shoulders.”

  Nola gave me a doubtful look. “Is that all he is to you?”

  “No,” I said quietly. “Listen, Nola. It’s different out here on the farm, far away from magic and what it does to people. Magic drives people to do things you can’t even imagine. The Proxy laws only came into effect a few years ago—before that anyone could inflict the pain and price of using magic on any random person they chose. People were dying so that a select few could have green yards, or get rid of wrinkles, or eat as much as they wanted and never gain weight. Regulations help, but even the best people can do horrible things when magic is involved.”

  “Which means good people can do great things, too,” she said. “Good people like you, like me, and maybe even Zayvion.”

  I shook my head. “You are such an optimist.”

  “Yes, I am. And it isn’t a dirty word in my book. Go take a shower. Think about it. I’m going to talk to Zayvion about Cody.”

  “What about Cody?”

  “I think he should stay with me. I’ll pull a few strings and see if I can find out where he came from and who he really is. Don’t look at me like that—just because I don’t use magic doesn’t mean I don’t have connections. And besides, if he’s here, and if he really does know something about your father’s death, I don’t think it would be safe for him to stay with you until you make contact with the police and get that straightened out.”

  “I could call your local police station and turn myself in here.”

  She shook her head. “I’d rather not be on record as being involved in this yet. Cody was stabbed and left for dead. I don’t know who would have done that, but I don’t want them on my doorstep until I find out what his story is. Besides, the sheriff out here kisses up for any publicity he can get. I think he’s angling for a higher office—maybe mayor—and I don’t want you, or Cody to become his political platform.”

  “I had no idea you had such a calculated, conniving side,” I said.

  “I prefer to call it ‘practical.”’ She sashayed out of the room.

  I took her advice and headed off to the shower.

  Nola had a good head on her shoulders and could usually see between the lines of my personal drama and history, and give good advice. But she was wrong
about one thing: Zayvion. Maybe he was a good enough guy, and maybe he found me attractive. But every instinct in my body told me that there was more to him than met the eye. And I refused to completely trust someone who appeared out of nowhere so conveniently every time something horrible happened.

  He must want something out of this, something out of me.

  As the shower sluiced away the musk and pine scent of him from my skin, I found my thoughts returning to his touch, to his lips, to the silent strength of him. And I realized I wanted something from him too. Not just sex. Not just companionship. Something deeper that I could not yet name.

  Chapter Eleven

  I changed back into my clothes, brushed my hair, and used Nola’s toothbrush. The black bands on my left knuckles and wrist were still there. So were the whorls of red on my right. They didn’t hurt, not even when I rubbed at them. I wasn’t sure how I felt about bearing a lasting, visible mark from magic. It would be a conversation starter, I supposed, but probably not a conversation I’d much want to get into. Which meant if I ever had a social life again—barring I got shot, locked away in jail, or otherwise derailed from trying to live a quiet life—I’d have to make up some pretty good excuses for why I tattooed my left hand and had permanent henna painted from my right eye down to my fingertips.

  If things weren’t so serious right now, I might have some fun making up stories about it, but as it was, all I could think was that it would really make me stand out in a crowd.

  Or a police lineup.

  This was not the most convenient time for a drastic makeover.

  I strolled out into the kitchen and found Nola and Cody there. Cody stood by the window, kitten in his hands, sunshine on his face. Nola was sipping coffee again.

  “Don’t you have some farm-type things to do?” I asked.

  “Got them done before sunrise. Zayvion’s packing up.”

  I nodded and walked over to Cody. I stood next to him, looking out the window. Nola had a wide porch railed in white wood. Farther out was a length of green grass and flower beds that were done blooming for the year. Her driveway was to the left and just out of view from here.