by Devon Monk
“I want you to know that I am going to do everything in my power to clean up the mess you and the other members of Portland’s Authority have made. And if you cooperate, I am confident we will find a place for you and your skills within the organization.”
Sounded like a threat to me. “And if I don’t cooperate?”
His eyebrows hitched up, stacking wrinkles up to his hairline. “If you don’t cooperate, you will expedite procedures that will put your file and service on review. And with the current state of things, I do not think the results of your continued . . . service would be favorable.”
“Good to know,” I said.
He gestured at Goon Two to open the door for me, which he did.
I stormed out of there and through the attorney’s office, not caring whether it would blow Bartholomew’s cover. My head was pounding and I was shaking from after-pain sweats—that I-want-to-crawl-into-bed-and-not-come-out-for-a-week kind of feeling. The backlash in the middle of my chest from the spell still burned hot—it was either blistering or would soon—from my belly up between my breasts to my collarbone. She’d broken that spell with the intent to make me hurt.
And on top of all that I was angry. Angry at myself for going there alone. I’d watched my father in enough business negotiations to know you should always, always bring a witness into any contentious situation. And I was angry at Bartholomew for being a dick.
Zayvion had said as much, though in a politically correct sort of way. I should have paid attention. I should have had him come in with me.
“Beckstrom!”
I stopped. I was on the street outside the lawyer’s office. Somehow got down all six flights of stairs without paying a damn bit of attention. That kind of detail tracking would get me killed.
Could this day get worse?
I glanced at the people walking the streets, then over at the cars.
“Hey!” The voice called out again. And then I spotted him.
Anthony Bell, the kid who wanted to be a Hound. The kid who had been involved with Frank Gordon, kidnapping and killing those girls to try to raise my dad from the dead. The kid who my friend Martin Pike had tried to help out—and instead had died for—was walking my way, smiling.
He had on jeans, a white T-shirt, and a dark hoodie. Walking next to him was a woman who looked enough like him that I figured she was his mom.
“Allie,” he said. “I was gonna stop by and talk to you. This is my mother. Mom, this is Allie. Beckstrom.”
“Marta,” she said, leaning forward to shake my hand. I shook. Her hand was warm around my icy palm.
“Nice to meet you,” I said, trying to get my social norms in line.
“Anthony told me you were considering letting him job-shadow a Hound,” she said.
“Really?” I leveled a look at Ant.
“No, Mom,” he said. “I told you I was gonna ask her for a job shadow.”
“Listen,” I said to both of them. “We’ve talked about this. I don’t think Hounding is a first-choice career move. And I told Anthony that I wouldn’t even consider his Hounding with my—” What did I call us? Group? Union? Pack? “With me and the other Hounds until he got out of high school.”
Marta was nodding and nodding, and beaming with pride. “And he did!” she said. “My boy finally got tired of acting out, got cleaned up, and finished his school. Look.” She dug in the massive purse hanging off her shoulder and pulled out a cell phone.
“Just last week. Isn’t he handsome?”
“Mom,” Anthony moaned.
I glanced down at the cell phone. A photo of Anthony in graduation robe and cap smiled back at me.
“He’s been looking forward to talking to you about the job shadow,” she continued.
“I don’t—,” I started.
“I know it’s a lot to ask. After everything that has happened.” She didn’t look away from my gaze, which I respected. Her son carried a big share of the blame for why Pike was killed. But he wasn’t the only reason for it. Pike had confronted the killer alone with no one to back him up.
Hounds are stupid like that.
“It would mean so much to him, and to me,” she said, “if you would give him this chance. Just a trial run for a month or so.”
I shook my head. “I still don’t think Hounding is a long-term line of work.”
“I just need a start,” Ant said. “A few weeks’ training. I just want a few weeks’ training. Enough so I know.”
“So you know what?” I asked.
“If I can do it like Pike said I could.”
Shit. I could make it easy on him and on me and just tell him he couldn’t. But Pike had told me Anthony was good, and might even be a really good Hound if he could get his life together.
Taking on another responsibility was the last thing I needed. There was no chance in hell I was going to let him follow me around. And I couldn’t leave him alone in a room with the Hound who usually followed me around, Davy Silvers. Davy had idolized Pike and blamed Ant for his death. He’d throw Ant out a window first chance he got.
I supposed there were other Hounds I could buddy him up with. Sid Westerly was pretty even-headed. He could probably take Ant in for a few weeks and show him the ropes. And Sid did some kind of computer programming on the side. Maybe he could push Ant toward a better sort of career and get him out of my hair for good.
“Fine,” I said. “Call me before you come by the den. I’ll talk to a couple people and see who’s up for a shadow. Nice meeting you,” I said to his mother.
“You too,” she said. “Thank you, Ms. Beckstrom. Martin always spoke so highly of you and now I know why.”
I smiled and tried not to let my real feelings show. I didn’t think she understood how dangerous it was to be a Hound. Was pretty sure she didn’t know the suicide rate, or the burnout that drove anyone with any sense out of the business. No, from her genuine smile, I could tell she saw this as a chance for her son to follow his dreams and make something out of his life.
Considering the road he had been headed down—magical crime, jail time, probably death—Hounding looked positively civilized.
“Thank you,” I said. “Remember, Bell—call. If you show up unannounced, I will not be responsible for how you are greeted.”
He nodded. He knew Davy hated him. Knew the other Hounds probably didn’t like him much either. “Got your number. I’ll call.”
I strode down the street toward the MAX stop. The wind, warmer now that May was almost done, picked up and brought with it the smell of the bakery on the corner. My stomach cramped at the buttery toasted smell of bread and I considered stopping to get something to eat. It was almost noon, and I hadn’t had anything but coffee today. But I’d promised Zayvion I’d meet him for lunch at the Works.
No time to go home and change out of my sweaty clothes, I caught the next train and hoped Zay wouldn’t notice just how sick I looked and felt.
But by the time the MAX dropped me off half a block from the restaurant, I was feeling even worse. Fever must have set in from that crappy magic spell. Plus, the burn down my chest was making it painful to move my arms. I don’t know how that bitch Melissa managed to make me bear so much of the cost of that damn Truth spell. I didn’t like it. If that’s the way the new management was going to run things, I wanted no part of it.
I tucked my hands deeper into my jacket pockets and put my head down against the wind that seemed colder than it had just a few minutes ago.
I was in a bad mood and going downhill fast.
I didn’t even see the guy striding toward me. Didn’t expect him to hit me in the gut. I stumbled back, one arm thrown over the echoing agony in my stomach and chest. Managed not to go to my knees, but was slow on the recovery. He was fast, came in close. Close enough I got a lungful of the rotted smell of death and body odor that stank so bad my eyes watered.
Close enough I could see the weird green glow of magic flash in his eyes. A green glow I’d only ever seen from the
Veiled.
He grabbed my backpack and took off running. I turned and traced a Tracking spell, but as soon as I called on magic my arm went numb. Too damn much pain in too short of a time. I botched the spell, swore, tried again, and still didn’t get it right.
Finally nailed it on the third time. But by then he had disappeared, leaving me nothing, and no one to track.
Chapter Two
There wasn’t anything except my sweaty gym clothes and a couple oranges in the backpack. My phone, money, and journal were all in my jacket pocket, where I always kept them.
But in all my life living in Portland, I had never had anyone steal my purse or backpack.
I guess it was that, or the fever, that left me more confused than angry as I walked, a little more carefully, and with one arm protectively across my stomach, down to the restaurant.
The Works was a nice little sandwich shop squished between two larger businesses. On good days, like today, they put two tables out front so people could take in the nice weather. The tables were out, and one was occupied, but not by Zayvion.
So I took myself inside.
Inside was larger than it looked, owing mostly to the high ceiling with skylights and slowly spinning fans. Soft music of a slightly Celtic origin played, and somewhere to the side a fountain poured water over stones.
It had been a couple years since I’d come here. I was suddenly really glad Zayvion had suggested it.
Zayvion sat across the room to the left, near the fountain and, as was his habit, where he could see the door and out the windows. He had on a green T-shirt that looked good against his dark skin and was tight enough to show he was in excellent shape. His ratty blue coat was hooked over the back of his chair.
He and I had been lovers and more—Soul Complements—for long enough, it was hard for me to imagine my life without him. He’d been there when I’d channeled a wild magic storm, lost most my memories of him, of us, and knocked myself into a coma. I’d convinced him we were worth a second chance, and he’d agreed, even though being with him, and knowing who he really was—Guardian of the gates, the Authority’s go-to enforcer of law and order—meant I’d gotten mixed up with all the secret magic user Authority stuff too.
Not that I would have been able to avoid getting mixed up in it all. I was a Beckstrom. We seemed destined to attract trouble.
I lifted a hand in a wave as I walked over to him.
His smile faded to a frown, then a scowl. He stood.
I’m a tall woman. Zay still had an inch or two on me. And when it came to sheer intimidating width of shoulders and don’t-fuck-with-me bouncer vibe, he had me beat flat.
“What happened?” he asked as he pulled a chair out for me.
Have I mentioned those old-fashioned manners of his? So cute.
“Bartholomew called me in today.”
“Allie . . . ,” he began.
“You don’t have to tell me what an idiot I am.” There was a cup of coffee, black, and a glass of water on the table in front of me. Zay had drinks on his side of the table, so I guessed he had ordered for me. I lifted the water. Drank a sip to see if I was going to be able to keep it down. My stomach hurt. Inside and outside.
“You went alone.” He wasn’t asking.
“Yes. You didn’t tell me how bad it would hurt.”
He tipped his head a little like he hadn’t heard me right. “It hurt?”
Oh, wow. He was going to snap the coffee cup in half, one-handed.
“Yes. And it’s over. But my chest still hurts. Zay, put the cup down. You’re going to crush the nice china.”
He put the cup down. “And?”
“And some guy on the street stole my backpack.”
“And?”
“And he hit me.”
“Bartholomew?”
“No, the guy on the street. Oh, don’t look like that. It was a slug in the stomach. If I wasn’t already sore, I wouldn’t have lost my breath.” If I wasn’t already sore and sick from the Truth spell, I probably would have seen him coming and could have blocked him before he got close enough to touch me.
Those were the things I didn’t say. See? I still had some sense in my head.
“Did you recognize him?” he asked in a very reasonable voice considering the anger I could feel wafting off him like steam. That was one thing about being a Soul Complement—you could feel the other person’s emotions. And sometimes, when Zayvion and I touched, we could each hear what the other was thinking.
“No.”
“Could you identify him in a morgue?”
“Funny. I’ll file a police report later. There was nothing valuable in my bag. Right now I just want to hold still for a couple minutes.”
He leaned both elbows on the table and folded two fingers over his mouth. He didn’t say anything, just watched while I picked up my coffee cup, took a tiny sip, and then put it back down. For once, coffee wasn’t making everything better.
I glanced at Zay, who was still staring at me, and then tried my water. Cool, clean, it seemed to go down a little better than the coffee. I closed my eyes, savoring the momentary peace, letting the soft music and gurgle of the fountain take my day away.
One of Zay’s hands rested gently on my shoulder, the other on my elbow. “Let’s go.”
I hadn’t heard him get up. He’s quiet, yes. But I should have heard his chair slide back. I might have drifted off for a second.
“We haven’t had lunch,” I complained.
“I’ll order in.”
And then he was helping me out of the chair and across the room, two things I hated to admit I needed.
“Almost there,” he said after we’d been walking for a while. He had parked around the corner, and it didn’t take long to get to his car. He opened the car door for me. I eased into the seat with a grateful sigh and closed my eyes again.
“Tired,” I said, or thought I said.
I woke up when the engine turned off. Zay was talking on his cell phone. Apparently someone was going to meet us somewhere.
“What’s up?” I asked. The sleep had helped with the pain and cleared my head enough for me to know I had really checked out there for a while. Whatever had been laced in that Truth spell was a hell that just kept on giving.
“Dr. Fisher is going to take a look at you.” He pocketed his cell phone. “Think you can walk?”
“I’m sore, I’m not dead.”
He just gave me a steady look.
“What?” I asked.
He reached over and gently drew his fingers across my forehead and tucked my hair behind my ear. I loved it when he did that. It was sweet, intimate. But his fingers felt like ice. Zay never had cold fingers.
So, that would be an affirmative on the fever.
Lovely.
“You done arguing?” he asked. “’Cause I can wait until you get it all out.”
I thought it over. He wasn’t joking, and since I had a good hour or three worth of complaints, I gave in. “Fine,” I said with a sigh.
Zay got out of the car and a rush of air stabbed in like an arctic breeze. I knew it wasn’t really that cold out there. The fever made every stray breeze hurt. I zipped my jacket all the way up to my chin and put my hood over my head.
Stupid air.
I reached over to open the door, but Zay was already there, one hand reaching down for me.
I took his hand. Walking wasn’t as bad as I’d expected, but my stomach and chest stretched in painful opposition with every step. It felt like my skin was going to rip open if I moved too fast.
“Did you use magic today?” he asked me once we had entered Dr. Fisher’s office.
“Not really.”
“So, yes?”
“I tried to Track the guy who grabbed my backpack but didn’t get it right in time. I didn’t use the Truth spell. They used it on me, but since I paid the price for it, I guess that sort of counts.”
“More than sort of,” he said.
Dr. Fisher’s office was
on the ground level, surprisingly warm with dark red accent walls and burnt orange, creams, and brown. Plants took up the rest of the decor and made the space feel less like a doctor’s office. There was no one waiting in the lobby.
Zay walked with me up to the receptionist, who was behind a counter.
“Allison Beckstrom to see Dr. Fisher,” Zay said.
She checked her computer and nodded. “Go right in. Last door at the end of the hall.”
We headed off that way. About two steps into it, Zay wrapped his arm around me and I slipped my hand into his back pocket.
Nice. He was warm, smelled of pine and coffee. I could feel his anger radiating through his calm exterior.
“I’m fine,” I said.
“Mmm.” He opened the door at the end of the hall. The room looked like most of the other doctor’s rooms I’d been in except this was painted a warm taupe and the windows, set high where the wall met the ceiling, were curtained. Also, it was large enough I didn’t immediately feel the tickle of claustrophobia down my throat.
An examination table stretched in the middle of the room, and a small desk and two chairs took the other corner. I eyed the examination table, and instead took one of the chairs by the desk.
Zay paced around the room, restless as a tiger in a cage.
“What did they ask you?” he said quietly while studying a chart that mapped the three basic Syphon spells and the circulatory system.
“What happened at the wells.” I kept my voice low. Dr. Fisher worked for the Authority, so it was a pretty safe bet her room wasn’t bugged by the police. Still, the majority of her patients were not a part of and didn’t know about the secret group of magic users—or how those people could use magic. It was worth staying cautious.
“Anything specific?” he asked.
“Who was there. How Dane and Sedra died. A lot about my dad—how he possessed me, if he still possessed me. That kind of thing.” I ran my hand back through my hair, pulling it up off my neck, then letting it fall again. I was tired of hurting.
“Did he ask about Leander and Isabelle?”
“Not much. That’s weird, isn’t it?” Leander and Isabelle seemed to me to be the biggest danger, and the biggest problem we were dealing with right now. Not my dad.
