by Devon Monk
I wasn’t a killer.
No, that was a lie now.
I’d changed. I had killed. More than once. I didn’t know what I was anymore.
Alive, Dad whispered from the back of my mind. Then, Strong.
Nothing like a dead man talking in my head while I was taking a shower to remind me that I had plenty of current problems that needed taking care of. One thing was for sure: I didn’t want to talk morality with my father, of all people. I ignored him and got busy with the shampoo and soap and used a scrubby cloth over every inch of my skin.
Dad gave me the decency of privacy, or at least the sense of it, since he didn’t say anything more, and pulled far enough away in my mind that I couldn’t feel him.
Problems. I had them. It was time to make a list:
One, I didn’t know what was going to happen to the Authority now that Bartholomew was dead. Two, we had to find a way to cleanse magic, stop the Veiled, and get a cure to end the epidemic. Maybe that was really two through four. So five, I needed to find a way to cure Davy. And six, we were running out of options and allies.
In short, we were screwed.
I reached out to turn off the shower. Before my hands touched the handle, a flash of light filled the room, bringing with it the stink of hot copper and concrete. I squinted against the glare and pressed my back against the wall, tracing Block before I remembered I couldn’t use magic without barfing.
Shit.
I shook the spell free, breaking it, then pushed off the wall and opened the shower door.
The flash of light was now a concentrated bolt of magic frozen midstrike at a ragged angle from the ceiling to the floor.
In the three seconds it took for that to register, I knew what the spell was.
Gate.
Something, or someone, was about to join me in the bathroom.
And here I was, all naked.
Go, me.
The lightning bolt burned black, then split in half, opening wide enough that I could see the arc of a distant blue sky against the ceiling lamps.
A man stepped through the Gate.
Tall, rugged, world worn, Roman Grimshaw, the ex-con, ex–Guardian of the gates, strode into the room. Ashes of the already-dying spell, the closing Gate, clung to his long leather jacket as the bolt of lightning faded to an afterimage in the steamy room.
For a moment there was no sound other than our breathing and water raining against tiles.
Roman held very still, his hands away from his body, no magic other than the ashes from the Gate on him. His frown slowly shifted to a look of surprise as he focused on the slightly damp, exceedingly naked me standing in front of him with my hands on my hips.
“You going to hand me a towel or what?” I asked.
That seemed to snap him out of his shock. He quickly turned and picked up the towel folded on the edge of the sink.
The bathroom door burst open.
Hey, just what I needed. More people in the bathroom with me and my birthday suit.
Roman spun to face Zayvion, who had a fistful of wicked Impact spell that snapped like a ball of red fire, and his blood dagger in the other hand already halfway through a Cleave spell.
“Peace,” Roman said, with the slightest hint of his Scottish accent. He threw his hands out to the side, dropping my towel on the floor.
Neat.
Zay stopped drawing the Cleave and flicked a gaze at me. I gave him what I hoped to be a bored look and he went back to glaring at the ex–Guardian of the gates. He did not, I noted, drop the Impact spell.
While they were sizing up each other and the situation, all the warm copper-tasting steam was cooling on my bare skin. I shivered and turned off the water. Then I bent and got my own damn towel, shaking it once before wrapping it tightly around me.
No one said anything. No one moved.
Until Shame strode up to the door, a mug of coffee in his hand. “For Christ’s sake, Grimshaw, use the frickin’ front door. Is it some kind of requirement that all Guardians of the gates have to do that creepy stalker thing?”
“What are you doing here?” Zayvion asked.
“I have been hunting Leander and Isabelle,” Roman said.
Straight to the point. I liked a man who didn’t preamble.
“And?” Zay asked.
“They are no longer in Portland.”
“Super interesting,” I interrupted. “Really, just. But I’d rather hear it clothed. Take it outside, gentlemen.”
“You’re naked?” Shame said, trying to get a better look around Zayvion and Roman.
Zayvion canceled the Impact spell and motioned Grimshaw out into the hall with his blood blade.
“She’s naked?” Shame asked again as Zayvion shoved his shoulder to make him turn around.
Zay closed the door so that only he could see into the room. “Are you all right?”
“Peachy. I don’t think he expected to show up in a bathroom. It’s hard to predict where gates will open, right?”
Zay paused. “For normal people. Roman can open a gate on the head of a pin.” He gave me a look and shut the door behind him.
Fantastic. So Roman had intended to show up in the bathroom, alone, with me. Or maybe he just wanted to show up in the bathroom. I wondered how he even knew there would be a room here. He’d been in jail for years before Shame had wheedled his way into homeowner-ship.
More questions that needed answers. And how he knew we’d be here was just the beginning of them.
Devon Monk
The Allie Beckstrom Novels
Using magic means it uses you back, and every spell exacts a price from its user. But some people get out of it by Offloading the cost of magic onto an innocent. Then it’s Allison Beckstrom’s job to identify the spell-caster...
ALSO AVAILABLE IN THE SERIES
MAGIC TO THE BONE
MAGIC IN THE BLOOD
MAGIC IN THE SHADOWS
MAGIC ON THE STORM
MAGIC AT THE GATE
MAGIC ON THE HUNT
Learn more at devonmonk.com
Available wherever books are sold or at penguin.com
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DEAD IRON
THE AGE OF STEAM
In steam age America, men, monsters, machines, and magic battle for the same scrap of earth and sky. In this chaos, bounty hunter Cedar Hunt rides, cursed by lycanthropy and carrying the guilt of his brother’s death. Then he’s offered hope that his brother may yet survive. All he has to do is find the Holder: a powerful device created by mad devisers—and now in the hands of an ancient Strange who was banished to walk this Earth.
In a land shaped by magic, steam, and iron, where the only things a man can count on are his guns, gears, and grit, Cedar will have to depend on all three if he’s going to save his brother and reclaim his soul once and for all...
“A relentless Western and a gritty steampunk bound together by magic...Devon Monk rocks.”
—New York Times bestselling author Ilona Andrews
Available wherever books are sold or at penguin.com
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Books by Devon Monk
The Allie Beckstrom Series
Magic to the Bone
Magic in the Blood
Magic in the Shadows
Magic on the Storm
Magic at the Gate
Magic on the Hunt
Magic on the Line
The Age of Steam
Dead Iron
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