Magic on the Line

by Devon Monk

  I stood. The room stayed in its current un-spinny mode, so I risked leaning down and giving Maeve a hug.

  She hugged me back. Strong and warm and reassuring as if nothing at all had happened since the day I’d first met her.

  I wanted to tell her that everything was going to be okay. That I was going to try to find a way to save Shame, to bring her memories back, to keep Bartholomew from making all the stupidest, most hurtful decisions possible.

  But instead I just smiled and started toward the door.

  Shame drifted up beside me, quiet, but burning hot.

  “You going to tell me why you didn’t want me to go to the den with Jack?” I asked as I opened the door.

  “I don’t have ulterior motives,” he said. “But if we want to talk, really talk, we’ll have the best chance in the car.”

  “Why couldn’t we really talk back there?”

  He pulled out a pack of cigarettes, tapped out a cig and lit it in his cupped hands. He exhaled smoke and tipped his chin toward the inn. “Do you really trust him?”

  “Him who?” Yes, I’m an idiot. I turned around to see who he might be talking about.

  Hayden was at the door, behind the glass, locking it behind us.

  “Hayden?” I asked. “Oh, come on, Shame. Hayden’s in love with your mother. And he’s fought right along side us every step of the way. Why wouldn’t I trust him?”

  “He wasn’t Closed.”

  “Neither were you,” I said.

  “Does that make sense?” he asked.

  “Nothing Bartholomew is doing makes sense to me. Maybe he just doesn’t see you as a threat.”

  Shame smiled. “Wouldn’t that be grand?”

  We were at his car now. I just waved at Jack, who didn’t respond. Not that I’d expected him to. All I expected was that he’d follow us.

  I got in Shame’s car, and practically groaned at the soft seat and headrest. Shame threw his cigarette into the gravel, scanned the parking lot, then got in the car too. He made it look like he wasn’t hurting, but the scent of pain on him told me otherwise.

  “So are you?” I asked Shame.

  “Am I what?” he said.

  “A threat.”

  He started the car and drove down the access road. “He hurt my mother. I’m not a threat. I’m a promise.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Shame drove like there wasn’t another car on the road. Which was not true. My friendly little warnings and suggestions that he try not to double the speed limit fell on deaf ears. I decided I’d have fewer heart palpitations if I closed my eyes, so I did. With far less horn honking and screeching of brakes than I expected, we arrived at the den.

  “You coming in with me?” I asked as Shame parallel-parked at about thirty miles an hour.

  “Yes.”

  I was actually glad about that. If magic was knocking me out, I couldn’t use it more than once to protect myself before I’d end up sucking pavement. I didn’t have my sword or blood blade on me. Which didn’t mean I couldn’t defend myself, under normal circumstances. But medicated and with a possible concussion weren’t exactly normal circumstances. I was not at my best.

  Not that Shame was either. But he, at least, was in a killing mood. He probably wouldn’t feel the pain of a fight for a week.

  Shame and I got out of the car and strolled down past Get Mugged. He looked in the window and scowled. I had no idea what he was scowling at, so I looked in too.

  All I saw in there were a few people sitting at tables, reading, drinking coffee, and Grant, by the counter, talking to a man and laughing.

  “Shame?” I said.

  “Shut up.” He stormed off toward the den.

  I glanced back in the shop, saw Grant lean a little closer to the man as he handed him back his change.

  Oh. “You knew Grant was gay, didn’t you?” I asked as I caught up with Shame.

  “Not talking about it.”

  “Because I was sort of surprised when he and Terric hit it off back at the wake.”

  Shame said nothing.

  “I mean, I knew Grant was gay, but no one told me Terric was.”

  “Terric is whatever Terric wants to be,” Shame said. “What difference does it make?”

  “Well, it would have explained some of your behavior toward him.”

  Shame spun. “That has nothing to do with him and me.”

  “Doesn’t it?” I just looked at him. Offering no judgment, but accepting no bullshit.

  I had to give it to him. He held my gaze for a full thirty seconds before he finally looked away.

  “So none of your damn business,” he said.

  “Agreed. But Grant is my friend. And so is Terric. I probably would have introduced them to each other before, if I’d known.”

  “Terric doesn’t need your help introducing himself to people.” Shame had started walking again. “And I don’t give a damn who he’s with.”

  I followed, a little slower, puzzling out Shame’s body language. I knew he wasn’t gay—he’d told me so, and at this point I could only assume he was being truthful. Since he and Zay and Terric all used to hang out together, I could guess he’d found out Terric was gay a long time ago.

  Shame opened the lobby door, and I was right behind him. “You just find out recently about him?” I asked.

  “About who?”

  “Terric.”

  Shame stopped before the bottom step. He didn’t turn. He didn’t face me. He just stared at the wall. “I’ve known he’s gay since he told me and Zayvion back when we were still teenagers. I do not care if he’s gay. I do not care if he dates men. I am not gay. Terric’s known that since we were teenagers. None of that matters. None of that makes a difference. In what he and I—what we might have to be.”

  “Soul Complements?”

  He winced as if even hearing it was painful.

  “It’s not like you have to sleep with him to cast magic with him, Shame.”

  He turned, just enough that I could see his face and all his sharp, dark edges in profile. “I am very aware of that, Allie. My objections to Terric don’t have anything to do with his sexual orientation.” He turned the rest of the way and leveled a look at me. “Got that yet?”

  “Not really, no.” His heartbeat was too high, and I could smell the discomfort, the fear on his skin. He could tell me, and tell himself that Terric being gay made no difference in their friendship, in their using magic together, but he was lying.

  “If it’s not that he’s gay,” I pressed, “then what is it?”

  “I just . . .” He looked away from me, back at the wall. “Soul Complements. It’s intimate. No, it doesn’t have to be about sex. But it’s about being in someone’s life, hell, in their mind, forever. They know what you’re thinking, know what you want, know your stupid jealousies and fears and desires. They know how much you’re hurting, even if you lie.”

  He paused. Long enough I probably should have said something. But I didn’t.

  “It’s about being committed to someone for the long run,” he said so softly, I almost couldn’t hear him. “And it’s about being vulnerable. I’m no good at either of those things.”

  “I think you’re wrong,” I said.

  “Thanks for the support,” he said.

  “I think,” I said, brushing away his comment, “that you can commit to someone. You already have. You are Zayvion’s best friend. You are my friend. And friendship means you’re going to be there for the long run. It means you feel safe around the other person. No matter how vulnerable you are.”

  “They don’t call it Soul Friendship, Beckstrom,” he said.

  “Maybe they should.”

  He finally looked over at me again. “Is that was it is between you and Jones? Friendship?”

  “No. But Zay and I decide what we have between us. We define what being Soul Complements means to us. No matter what anyone else tells us it should be. No matter what magic wants us to do or be. We decide what we are.”
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  “Magic doesn’t work like that,” he said. “There’s always a price to pay.”

  “I didn’t say it was easy.”

  He considered that for a moment. “You think it’s worth it, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “I—” He shook his head. Then, quietly: “I just don’t know.” He climbed the stairs, his boots making the most noise I’d heard out of him all day. He didn’t look back, which was fine with me. I was holding on to the railing to keep my balance as I walked. My head didn’t hurt—thank you, narcotics—but the only sport I was fit for right now was championship holding-very-still.

  Stairs sucked.

  As I slogged upward, I realized I still hadn’t heard from Zayvion. I wondered where he was, wondered why he hadn’t contacted me. I needed to call him again, but right this minute one-foot-up and one-foot-down was all I could handle.

  I was happy to reach the second floor. I was also out of breath. Shame paused outside the door to the den and seemed to notice I was lagging behind. He frowned. “You look like hell.”

  I lifted my middle finger.

  He laughed. It was good to hear.

  I walked past him and leaned on the door until it opened.

  Not a lot of people in the den. Sid was there, watching a game on TV. “Welcome back,” he said without looking away from the TV. “Nice to have you by again, Shamus.”

  The way I was huffing and puffing, Sid had probably heard us coming a block away.

  “Hey,” I said, heading straight to the kitchen and pouring myself a glass of water, “anyone else around?”

  “Bea’s upstairs,” he said.

  With Davy, probably with Collins. “Is Collins still here?”

  “Yes.” He said that like maybe he wished the good doctor would pack it up and take off.

  “Trouble?”

  Sid turned the TV on mute and finally shifted so he could look at me. “Allie? Are you okay?”

  “So good.” I finished off my water, keeping one hand clenched on the edge of the countertop, my knees locked.

  “She needs to see the doctor,” Shame said. “Is he upstairs?”

  “Yes. Let me help.” He got up and then Sid and Shame were walking over to me with twin expressions of worry.

  Fabulous.

  “Oh, knock it off. I’m not in that bad of shape.”

  “The last person I saw who was as pale as you,” Sid said, “had been dead for twenty-four hours.”

  “Who says I haven’t?” I laughed. I thought it was funny. They weren’t laughing. They were taking my arms and putting them over their shoulders. And then they were walking. I think I lost track of exactly where we were going. But when the elevator door dinged, I was awake like the damned sirens of Armageddon had just gone off.

  “Don’t,” I said.

  “Darlin’, why don’t you ever stay unconscious when I want you to?” Shame asked.

  “Bet you say that to all the girls,” I slurred. And then we were in the elevator and I closed my eyes. Between the weird stomach-pressing lurch of the elevator, my fear, and my general discomfort, I was pretty sure if I kept my eyes open I’d scream.

  “Still with us?” Shame asked. We were walking again. I must have checked out. I checked back in.

  “I’m fine,” I said. Didn’t even slur. Go me. “Let me walk, Shame. I got it.”

  “Fine. Show us what you got, hotshot.” He let go of me. So did Sid. I brushed my hair back out of my eyes, my right hand too hot and trembling. Then I squared my shoulders and walked into the loft space.

  The lighting here was soft, yellow, and much easier on my eyes than the fluorescents downstairs. Note to self: upgrade lighting. Even though there were plenty of floor-to-ceiling windows, someone had managed to carefully unroll the ancient shades and pull them down so that only the uppermost parts of the windows let light into the room, catching it up among the rafters, and filtering it down into the rest of the room.

  Bea was indeed in the room—sitting sideways in the big easy chair I’d fallen asleep in, and doing a crossword puzzle in ink.

  “Hey, guys,” she said. “Here, Allie. Do you want to sit down?”

  Her tone of voice must have broken the trance of whatever it was on the table filled with ever-growing numbers of contraptions that had held Collins so riveted.

  “How’s Davy?” I asked.

  He gave me one long, slow look, from my feet all the way up to the top of my head. And then he totally ignored me and talked to Shame instead.

  “It’s been a long time, Flynn,” he said.

  “Wish it were longer,” Shame said.

  Collins bit down on a reply. “What happened to her?”

  “She fell and hit her head.”

  “Is that your story too, Allison, or did Flynn help you make that up?”

  “It’s my story. But mine also has me trying to cast magic and passing out. Then hitting my head.”

  “That’s quite a different story,” he noted. “Let’s see if you can lie down.”

  “Where?” We didn’t have an extra bed up here. We didn’t even have a couch.

  “The chair should work.”

  I walked over to the easy chair. Bea, the sweetie, came to my side and put her arm around mine, helping to steady me.

  “You are hot as fire, girl,” she said. “Literally. I think she’s running a fever,” she said before I could get my reply together.

  I sat in the easy chair but didn’t lean back. Instead I cradled my face in my hands, and kept them there by propping my elbows on my knees.

  “Took two pills,” I said, figuring Collins would want to know.

  “Mmm,” he said, as he pulled a chair in front of me and put a blood pressure cuff on my arm. “What sort of pills?”

  “Shame said they were codeine.”

  “Were they, Shamus? Were they codeine?” Collins asked.

  “Yes. They were. What’s that?”

  “A stethoscope,” Collins said with droll emphasis. “You’ll find them all the rage these days.” He pressed the disk against my back, my chest, and listened. Then he brought a flashlight out of his vest pocket and examined the back of my head, then my eyes, and then he helped me lean back in the chair.

  A blanket seemed to appear out of nowhere and wrap around me. Good blanket. Stay.

  “Shame?” I said.

  “What?”

  “Don’t let him get me naked.”

  Collins laughed, one hard bark that turned into a cough. Someone patted my shoulder, Shame, I was pretty sure. “Don’t worry, love. He couldn’t if he tried.”

  With that, I went to sleep. Deep, like diving from a cliff into tranquil dark waters.

  It was wonderful. And ended much too quickly.

  “ . . . going to have to get a few supplies, and a change of clothes. She should wake up soon.”

  “She’s awake now,” I mumbled. I opened my eyes, stretched. Sweet hells, I felt good.

  “How are you feeling?” Bea asked.

  The light in the room had changed. It was early evening now. I must have gotten a couple hours of sleep.

  “A lot better.” I sat forward and my head didn’t hurt. Also, I was still dressed. Bonus. “Really a lot better.”

  “Want something to drink?” Bea asked. “I made iced tea.”

  “Sure.”

  Bea went to the kitchen and it took me a minute to realize what was different. I could see the magic around her. The magic around Jack had been a charcoal haze. But Bea seemed to have a fuchsia aura. Very pretty, actually. She even left fuchsia footsteps on the floor that faded away almost instantly as she walked.

  “So,” Collins said as he unrolled his starched white sleeves. “You have a concussion. After talking to Jack Quinn, I’m surprised you didn’t do worse damage. There might be a slight headache off and on for the next week or so. Otherwise, clean bill of heath there.”

  Collins didn’t have magic surrounding him like Bea did. Yes, I was staring.

 
Instead, magic wrapped a thin wire garrote around his neck, so tight that it moved when he swallowed. Silver wires bound his wrists and both his thumbs, and when he turned to the table to pick up something there, the magic that lingered on the table drew away from his touch, like oil retreating from water.

  Those wires, those bindings, repelled magic. I wondered how he could even get his hands on enough magic to complete spells, much less cast those delicate medical spells. It must have taken a hell of a lot of focus on his part.

  Shame was sitting in one of the windowsills, the window cracked open. He had his knee up, his elbow propped on it. The cigarette in his hand was near the open part of the window, smoke drifting outside.

  Magic made Shame look like a sleek, dark-edged fighter. It also bathed him in sunset-colored mist that streamed in from the windows—magic from trees and other living things feeding him, feeding the crystal burning in his chest.

  Shame nodded at me. “The clunk to your noggin wasn’t the worst of it.”

  “Okay.” I stood. Felt more like me than I’d felt in a long time. I stretched again, rocking up on the balls of my feet. “What was the worst of it?”

  “You apparently cast a spell on yourself,” Collins said. “But it was so tangled up, so compressed and impacted that it took some time to unwind.”

  “I threw magic at myself?”

  “I said apparently,” Collins repeated. “There are other theories.”

  “Such as?” Bea showed up with a glass of iced tea.

  “Such as someone had a spell already cast on you and when you pulled on magic it triggered.” He plucked his coat jacket off the back of the chair and shrugged into it. “Or you were pulling on magic and somehow never let go of it, leaving it to run rampant through you. Or about half a dozen other possibilities. Whatever it is that has caused magic to do this to you will not kill you now. The outcome—” He stopped buttoning his coat and tipped his head down, letting his eyes take me in again, from the bottom of my feet, slowly up the curves of my body, then finally to my face, where his gaze shifted from my lips to my eyes and settled there.