Magic on the Line

by Devon Monk

  “Shame, listen. I don’t give a damn what Bartholomew wants. I don’t think I like him and I’m damn sure I don’t like how he’s running the Authority right now. I came here to see if you’re okay, to see if your mom’s okay. And to get a bandage for my head.”

  I walked over to the nearest chair and sat down because my legs were starting to shake. Yes, my back was toward the door, but right now I wasn’t going to be much good in a fight if a fight came through that door. Right now I needed an aspirin. Or maybe just a nice skip down Unconsciousness Lane.

  Shame walked out of the shadows and into the room.

  Boy was too damn thin. The black peacoat Terric had loaned him looked too big on him, and his cheekbones cut a hard line, his cheeks hollowed into shadows. His eyes were green, rimmed by black.

  He moved like he wasn’t in pain—I couldn’t tell whether that was true—but even that small acknowledgment of health made me feel better.

  “What did you do to your head?” he asked.

  “I was Hounding a Veiled and I passed out and hit my head on the sidewalk.” I felt like I’d said that story so many times that the reality of that statement didn’t even bother me anymore.

  “That’s not like you.” He had stopped across the table, and rested his hands, in black fingerless gloves, on top of the chair back. He wasn’t coming closer to me. He wasn’t sitting down. Shame was being cautious. Distrustful.

  Well, he was always those things. He was just being more so than usual.

  “Magic isn’t working right for me, Shame,” I said. “Every time I use it, I get sick. Or pass out.”

  He studied me a second. “Have you seen Bartholomew?”

  “Just that once when he had Melissa work those Truth spells. Well, and today in the meeting where he reassigned the Authority Voice positions.”

  “Did he now? How efficient of him.” Shame smiled. I’d never see so much hatred.

  I suddenly wondered if maybe I should be doing a little judicious mistrusting myself. Shame was not acting like Shame.

  “Do tell,” he said sweetly.

  “Sit down,” I said. “I’m tired of looking up at you. The lights are killing me.”

  “Did you really hit your head?”

  I held up my bloody hand. “Yes.”

  “For Christ’s sake, Allie, why didn’t you say you were bleeding?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because I hit my head?”

  That got a tight smile out of him. “You take any meds?”

  “No. Jack gave me this.” I put the bloody cloth on the table. “I swear, if this room doesn’t stop spinning, I’m going to puke.”

  I pressed my right hand—then thought better of it since it was hot and painful and pressed my left hand against my forehead. At least my left hand was cool. I shifted so that my fingers were over my eyes. And just sat there for a minute, eyes closed, no magic to see, no spinning room to see, no dying angry Shame to see.

  “Here, love,” Shame said from right next to me. “A drink will do you good.”

  “Can’t.”

  “It’s water.”

  I opened my eyes, squinted against the light. Shame sat in the chair next to me. I hadn’t even heard him move. Had I fallen asleep? “I don’t remember you moving,” I said.

  “You hit your head. Mum’s on the way. I was being a dick. Now you’re all caught up. Here’s the water. Here’s the pain pills. Shut up and take both.”

  I took the water, sipped. Cool, clean. I felt like I hadn’t drunk anything in days. Shame dropped the pain pills, two, in my hand. I did what I always did when I was hurting and someone gave me medicine. I took a good hard look at it.

  “Codeine,” Shame said. “I thought about giving you the ones Dr. Fisher usually prescribes for magical injuries, but you hit your head—even the most unmag-ical idiot can do that—and you told me magic was making you sick.” He leaned back in his chair. “Those are straight up chemicals with no magical contamination.”

  I hadn’t even thought about that. If magic was making me sick and I took a pill laced with magic, I wasn’t going to be doing myself much good. “At least one of us is still thinking,” I mumbled.

  Shame just gave me a catlike stare through half-lidded eyes.

  I took the pills and drank the rest of the water.

  “Room still spinning?” he asked.

  “Not so much.”

  “That’s good. So Terric told you to come get me?”

  “Find you. He was worried. Angry. And he couldn’t get away.”

  Shame’s hands clenched into fists. It was the only outward indication that what I said bothered him. Still was looking at me with catlike boredom.

  “Why couldn’t Terric get away?” he asked.

  “Because everyone was congratulating him.” I gave Shame a steady gaze. “Bartholomew named him the Voice of Faith magic, Shame. He took Victor’s position.”

  The wave of anger that rolled off Shame was palpable. And with my screwed-up vision, it was also visible. A white-hot wave, like the shock ahead of a blast. The crystal, the magic coming into him, all snuffed out under the force of his anger.

  “He didn’t want it,” I said. “You know that.”

  “Do I?”

  I glared at him. “Yes. You do. Be angry at him for something else, Shame. Terric didn’t tell Bartholomew to give him Victor’s job. He was just as mad about it as you are.”

  He blinked, slowly, and the anger went down a notch, that white-hot wave thinning, though it was not gone. “So he’s celebrating now.”

  “No. He’s pretty much trapped by a crowd of well-wishers, and then he and the other Voices have to go to a meeting with Bartholomew. They’re probably there now.”

  “Who are the other Voices? Who did Wray set up in our places?” he asked.

  The door across the room opened, and I heard the three-step rhythm of Maeve walking in with her cane. She still hadn’t recovered from the magical battle in St. Johns during the wild magic storm. Hells, none of us had recovered since then. And some of us had gotten worse.

  “Allie,” Maeve said. “It’s good to see you. Hayden says you hit your head?”

  “Fell,” I said.

  Magic made Maeve look taller and filled her with a silver-green light that reminded me of frost on spring blooms. It certainly made her look stronger than her current physical condition.

  I wasn’t sure what to say to her now that I knew she’d been Closed. I was usually the person in the room with missing memories. It was odd to wonder how much of me she remembered, how much of the things we had done together, been through together she would know.

  “Mum,” Shame mumbled. “Want a seat?”

  “I’ve got it.” She tugged on one of the empty chairs and dragged it over next to mine. “So, I hear you’ve had a hard time of it lately,” she said.

  Hayden set a first-aid kit down on the table and just gave me a steady look.

  “It’s been interesting,” I said. “How are you doing?”

  “Well, I can’t remember much of what happened.” She opened the first-aid kit and pulled out packages of clean gauze, scissors, and wipes.

  “Since the wild magic storm,” Hayden said.

  “Yes,” she agreed. “And I’m not at all happy that I’ve been relieved of my position in the Authority. But it’s very nice of Bartholomew to let us keep our home and business here.”

  Shame swore, and pushed up to his feet. “Nice? That bastard took everything we had—everything you have worked hard years for, Mum. He took—”

  “Shame,” Hayden cut in. “Enough. Your mother’s tired. Don’t make this miserable for us all.”

  Okay, so I could guess she didn’t know she had been Closed. So we what? Tried not to point out the things she didn’t know?

  There was no chance in hell I would be able to keep track of all that. Especially not with a hit to the head.

  “Maeve?” I said.

  “Yes, dear?”

  “Do you know
they Closed you?”

  Shame threw both hands in the air and started swearing again, pacing, and digging in his pocket for a cigarette.

  Hayden just sighed. “I should report you for that, Beckstrom,” he said.

  “Are you going to?”

  He lowered himself into the remaining chair and rubbed his palm over his forehead, eyes, then beard. He laced his fingers together and leaned his arms on the table. “Not yet.”

  Maeve was still unpacking supplies. “I’d wondered.” She gave me a wan smile. “Can’t be in this business without wondering not if but when you’ll be Closed. Was there a strong reason why?”

  “Bartholomew thought it was a good idea,” I said.

  “Do any of you agree?” She looked from my face to Hayden’s haggard expression, to the back of Shame, because he was still pacing and smoking. Maeve didn’t even tell him to take the smoking outside.

  After none of us responded, she raised her eyebrows. “I see. How long ago?”

  “Today,” I said.

  Hayden nodded. “I’m not keen on what Wray has been doing,” he said, “but there isn’t a lot of recourse to fight him at this point. We could take it up with the Ward.”

  “No, Closing members is a local problem, and falls squarely on Wray’s shoulders to solve,” she said. “I’ve known many people who have been Closed and have continued on comfortably with that knowledge. I knew what I was in for when I accepted the job.”

  “Now, enough brooding. Allie,” she said in her brisk, motherly tone. “I want to see your head. Shamus, for the love of heaven, smoke outside if you must smoke. Hayden, if you’d bring up the lights a bit?”

  Hayden left the table to do so, and Shame followed his mother’s request by walking to the other end of the room and crushing his cigarette out in the bar sink there.

  “Turn so I can see your head,” Maeve instructed. I did. She put on a pair of gloves and then gently probed the area, eventually employing wet wipes. “You did a number on yourself. Quite the lump. But the cut isn’t too deep. I don’t think you need stitches. Are you nauseous?”

  “The room was spinning when I first came in, but I’d been walking. Also, I’m having weird visual distortions.”

  “Distortions?”

  “I can see magic. Even without casting Sight.”

  Hayden whistled low. “That’s a new one.”

  “That,” Maeve said, “sounds like symptoms severe enough to call in a doctor. Hayden, would you see if Dr. Fisher is available to come out here, or for us to bring Allie to her office?”

  “Be right back.” The big man got up and walked off down the hall a bit and pulled a cell out of his pocket. He dialed a number and paced slowly as he waited for someone on the other end to pick up.

  “Have you taken any pain medication?” she asked as she picked up a chemical ice pack and shook it to activate the cooling properties.

  “Shame gave me a couple codeine. I think they’re starting to kick in.”

  “Good.”

  “Can I . . . can I help you, Maeve?” I asked. “I know—well, I understand what it’s like to lose memories, bits of yourself, your life.”

  “I’m not sure if it’s memories they’ve taken or my abilities and understanding of magic. And”—she handed me the ice pack—“I’m not ready to deal with any of that just yet. Shamus?” she called. “Come back here now and join us.”

  Maeve wasn’t looking at him, but I was. He was leaning against the bar, his arms crossed over his chest, staring at the floor, dark, hot, angry. I didn’t think he’d do what his mother said, but then he tipped his head up. His eyes through the heavy fall of his bangs were green, bright, and feral.

  He untucked his arms and walked over to us, silent, hands in fists at his sides, looking like someone who was about to wade into the middle of a fight.

  She looked up as he stood next to the table. “Are you all right then?” she asked.

  Shame sniffed. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “I’m asking if you’ve been Closed too.”

  “No.” He looked over at me, raised an eyebrow. “Have I?”

  “Not that I know of, not that Bartholomew said.”

  Maeve just leaned back in her chair and chuckled. “I never thought I’d see the day where I was considered more of a risk to the Authority than you, Shamus.”

  Shame opened his mouth and scoffed. “How can you say something like that to your only son?”

  But he smiled, probably the first real, Shame-like smile I’d seen on him since I came in the room.

  “I’ll want both of you to be as clear and honest with me as you can be,” she said. “I know I’m missing things, but I’m not senile. If I don’t understand something you’re saying, and if you don’t think it will cross Bartholomew’s boundaries of what he doesn’t want me knowing, I’d appreciate it if you’d fill in the details.”

  “Bartholomew Wray can fuck off for all I care,” Shame said.

  “Shamus,” she said sternly, “like it or not, he is the Watch of this region. He is your superior. You will do as he tells you to.”

  “Of course I will,” he said.

  “Shamus,” she warned.

  “Promise and cross my heart.”

  They glared at each other for a moment but Shame was not backing down. Maeve finally sighed. “Where did I go so wrong with you?”

  “You didn’t,” Shame said. “You went right with me. I went wrong all by myself.”

  “Well,” Hayden said, walking back to us. “Dr. Fisher will not be making house visits any longer. Neither will she be treating anyone in the Authority in emergency situations.”

  “What?” Maeve frowned. “Why ever not? She’s been doing that for the past fifteen years.”

  “Wray’s orders,” Hayden said.

  We were all silent for a moment. Maybe it was just sinking in how total, how complete, his rule was going to be.

  “Fucker,” Shame muttered.

  “I want you seen by someone, Allie,” Maeve said, undeterred. “A doctor who knows the ways of the Authority.”

  I thought about it. “I know a guy,” I said. “He seems to be up on the magical tech/medical interface. And he used to be a part of the Authority, I think.”

  “What’s his name?” Hayden asked.

  “Eli Collins.”

  “Collins the Cutter?” Shame asked.

  “What?” I said, startled.

  “He was a brilliant up-and-coming surgeon on the Authority’s rosters,” Hayden said. “Did one too many unapproved experimental procedures and got Closed, and Closed hard. I thought the best he’d be able to do with his future was relearn to tie his shoelaces.”

  “How did you come across him?” Maeve asked.

  “He, uh, knew my dad.”

  They all stared at me.

  “Was he working for your dad?” Maeve asked.

  “I don’t know. Maybe. Yes.”

  “Huh,” Hayden said. “Maybe he had more connections in the Authority than I’ve given him credit for. Fell into the Beckstrom safety net.”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Did he hurt anyone with his experiments?”

  “Oh, most definitely,” Shame said. “Wicked bugger. Hurt a lot of people.”

  “When he was practicing magic,” I said. “But he’s a medical expert, right?”

  “As much as any torturer is,” Shame said.

  “Enough, Shamus,” Maeve said. “Why do you think he’d help us now?”

  “Because I hired him. To help a friend of mine, a Hound, Davy. Who was . . . hurt.”

  “Hurt how?” Shame asked.

  “He was bit, but I think he was bit by a Veiled.”

  Maeve frowned. “Has that been a problem lately?”

  I couldn’t help it; I laughed. “No. Or I don’t think so. Yesterday was the first time I’ve seen it happen. Though I think—” I shook my head and regretted it. “Ow,” I said. “I think I’ve seen more Veiled on the street. And, um . . . inside peop
le.”

  “Ick,” Shame said.

  Maeve just took a deep breath and let it out. “I didn’t realize how very annoying it would be to have gaps in my memories. I don’t know how you put up with it, Allie. So tell me what Mr. Collins is doing with your friend.”

  “He’s trying to treat the infection the bite caused. With what appears to be normal medical intervention, and also with magic, and magic tech.”

  “And,” she said, “you think he’d be willing to look at your head, and maybe hazard a guess as to why you are seeing magic. Were you bit by a Veiled?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Take off your clothes,” Shame said.

  “What? No.”

  “If there’s a bite, we’d see it. You saw the bite on Davy, didn’t you?”

  I couldn’t help but notice that he was trying very hard to hold back a smile.

  “Yes, I saw the bite.”

  “So we’d be able to see yours.”

  “I am not taking off my clothes.”

  “Do you remember being bit?” Maeve asked.

  “No. I passed out the last time I used magic. But a lot of people were around. I think someone would have noticed if I were being bit.”

  “Without my memories of the full situation, I don’t feel comfortable giving you advice, Allie,” she said. “But you should have your head looked at by a doctor, and you should have a doctor see if your vision problem is of a physical or magical nature.”

  “I’ll go see Collins.” I figured I needed to check in on Davy anyway.

  “If you think that’s right,” Maeve said.

  “I, for one,” Shame said, “still think you should take your clothes off.”

  “Not a chance, Flynn.”

  “Fine. Then let me drive you,” he said.

  “I have a ride. Jack Quinn’s out there.”

  “I’ll take you anyway.”

  I didn’t know why he was being so insistent about it, but was too tired to fight him. “Fine.” I turned to Maeve. “Thanks for the medicine and for everything.”

  “Ah, now,” she said. “This isn’t the last of things. Just because I’m not a Voice of Blood magic doesn’t mean I’m done with the Authority. Despite what Bartholomew may or may not do, this is my home. And the Authority has always stood as the protector for all those who use magic. I’ll fight for that cause until the day my bones are cold.”