by Devon Monk
Thirty-Three
The celebration in the locker room was loud enough and happy enough, you’d have thought we just took home the Stanley Cup, not defeated our rivals for the first time on our home ice.
We were ridiculously happy with ourselves. Coach told us all to bask in it and then get some rest before the next game on Monday.
We’d won this one, but we had a long road ahead of us to the playoffs. If we made those, and I really thought we had a shot at it, then we had a long, hard haul to the Broughton Cup.
But none of that mattered. Tonight was all ours.
By the time I stumbled out of the lockers to meet Gen and Sean and Kit outside the arena, I was giddy with laughter, drunk on the win even though all we’d had in the changing room were energy drinks and soda.
I was halfway down the main hall, the sound of my teammates singing that annoying winner song the Rumblers had sang fading behind me.
We needed our own victory song. And really, since half the team couldn’t carry a tune if it was taped to their hands, we should just leave the singing to the Rumblers.
Duncan was staying behind for the song. I’d gotten a crazy stream of congratulations from my fan club (yes, I kind of liked it) and a more personal congrats from Mrs. Able and Mrs. Strong, which was a selfie of the both of them grinning from ear to ear wearing shirts with 42 on the front, and holding up their fingers in a number one gesture.
They’d been in the audience. Which was humbling and cool.
But it was the message from Gen asking me when I was going to be outside so we could start celebrating that got me moving.
“Hazard?” Steele stepped out from the hallway shadows, blocking my path.
I stopped. Sighed. Did he really think I was going to do some kind of showdown at the O.K. Corral now? Here?
“Steele,” I said evenly. “Good game.”
He nodded a little jerkily, then exhaled all in one fast blast. “I want to apologize for being an ass.” He rubbed his hand over his head. “That shit you threw last game. Pulling magic. It was…creepy.”
I wouldn’t call it creepy, but okay. I could see his point. It must have been really weird to have something step in and take over the magic you’d lived with all your life and pull you out of a shift.
“I shouldn’t have done that,” I said. “It won’t happen again.”
Never. Because the recovery time sucked.
“But tonight. I don’t know how you caught that puck. Don’t know why.” He winced and looked off over his shoulder. “But thank you. Thank you.”
Wow. I never thought I’d hear that out of him.
“You’re welcome. It wasn’t personal. None of this—” I waved a finger between the two of us “—is personal. We both want the same thing, yeah? Good hockey. Can’t do that if someone’s in a hospital.”
He nodded. “Agreed. So. Good luck out there.”
“Oh, naw. We don’t need luck. We’re going to bulldoze this league straight to the Broughton Cup.”
His smile was fast and genuine. Competition was the language all hockey players spoke fluently. “Good luck because you’ll have to get through us first.”
“What, like tonight?”
“One fluke of a game. We’ll take you next time, just like we took you last time.”
“We forfeited,” I reminded him.
“We still won.”
True.
I grinned.
“Steele!” A voice boomed down the hall. Coach Nowak. He looked just as angry as the last time I’d seen him. Or really, as angry as every time I’d seen him. I didn’t think he had any other mood. Even when his team won, he still looked like he had a mouth full of rusted tin cans.
“Get your ass on the bus, Mr. Steele.”
Steele ducked his head like he was expecting to get the back of the man’s hand and headed toward the exit.
Nowak considered him while Steele walked away. His eyes were flat and hard. Sweat trickled down his temple, and his hands clenched and unclenched.
“You want my advice, Hazard?”
“Not at all,” I said pleasantly. “Because I’m not going to take it anyway. I think tonight proved that.”
The scowl on his face could have boiled stone.
“Get the hell out of this league,” he snarled.
“You make one move on me or the people I care about and I will go to the authorities and tell them everything. I showed that letter to a lot of people. And I still have your text. You put Paski up to that hit. You wanted Steele out of the game. And I can prove it.”
I was lying, but he didn’t know that.
“No one will believe you.”
“I’m the first wizard in hockey and I’ve saved two lives before we’re halfway through the season. You really think I can’t get people to listen to me? Important people? You think I won’t take a lie detector test? You think I won’t offer myself to the mental search of a wizard who can read minds? You think I won’t go to the press?”
I thought he was going to yell, but when he spoke it was a hoarse whisper.
“You. Will. Fail. You’re nothing but a fad. Pop Rocks.” Then he turned and stormed away.
“I’m the guy who’s going to see that you lose, Nowak. Every. Time. Until your stink is scrubbed off this league for good.”
I watched him disappear around the corner and only let down my guard after I’d counted to twenty. I was dizzy with relief.
That was a win. And I knew it wouldn’t be the last.
“Wi-zard!” Duncan called out from behind me.
“Hey,” he said, “let’s go celebrate until we can’t see straight!” He dropped his arm across my shoulders.
“How great was that?” he asked, hopped up on energy drinks and the win. “It was so great that’s how great it was! You were great, I was great! Probably greater than you because, dude, I was so great. Why did you take a hit for that Tide asshole? But still, you did magic, and it was whoa and what and boom in his face and so great. And we scored with one damn second left and it was so…so…”
“Great?” I suggested as we moved down the hallway.
“Exactly! Great! I love winning! I love hockey. And I love you most of all buddy!”
He planted a big sloppy wet kiss on the side of my face, then jogged ahead of me whooping and jumping to try and hit the ceiling.
I smiled and followed him.
Out of the arena, out into the cool rainy evening where my family and girlfriend greeted us with handfuls of popcorn thrown in the air and loud cheers.
Like we were heroes. Like we were magic.
And maybe for this night, for this moment, we were.
Thirty-Four
“Okay,” Duncan said, resting his stick near his skate and leaning on it. “Bring it, Wiz.”
“You didn’t even get to pick your own name?” Gen asked next to me.
She had on a pair of figure skating skates, and she knew how to use them. Apparently, along with rock and roll, and cross-stitch anarchy (whatever that was) she could skate.
“It’s a hockey thing,” I said. “You never pick your own nickname. And just for the record, I kind of hate Wiz.”
“Aw.” She caught my hand and skated backward. I went with her, guiding her by leaning a bit to avoid a couple little kids who were all speed and no skill. “But I like it.”
“Well, maybe I do like it now.”
“That happened suddenly.”
“Some of the best things do.”
She smiled like I hoped she would, all bright and hopeful, with that sweet, wicked dimple action.
“Really?” Duncan skated up next to me and jabbed his stick under my skate hoping to trip me.
He’d been trying to knock me down like that since we were eight and it never worked.
“I thought you two lovebirds came out here so Ran could show off his sweet, sweet magic skills.”
“We did.” I guided us all over to the side where there was less traffic. It was the middl
e of the week, early morning, and most of the skaters were under the age of six. The ice would really get busy soon, since we were in the middle of the mall on a public rink.
The big Christmas tree had been set up in the middle of the rink, and three stories above us, the moody blue and gray of an Oregon winter sky filled the glass ceiling. I had been working hard with Mrs. Able and Mrs. Strong and I wanted to show off how far I’d come.
And because, well, I could. “Ready?”
“Yes, already,” Duncan said. “Go.”
I reached out for magic, drawing it through me like a breath, the honey weight and sweetness filling my mouth.
I didn’t fight it, or worry if I would use it wrong, or right. Didn’t worry if it made me more or less of a hockey player because hockey was always going to be a part of me. And so was magic.
A good part of me.
And instead of using it only for life and death, I had worked to find ways I could use it for something fun. Something beautiful. Something just for the three of us. For joy.
I had learned how to handle it so it didn’t burn me out immediately. So I stayed grounded, clearheaded, and could enjoy it.
I held an image in my mind and gave it to magic like setting a rock skipping over waves.
The whole world—well, our little part of it—changed.
A night sky arced above us, stars burning and twinkling in silver and gold. Snow dusted down around us, in blue and pink and white, like feathers and dandelion wishes.
The little kids on the ice all started laughing and screaming, turning with their arms spread wide, their faces tipped to the sky, tongues out to catch the snow.
It would melt and taste like honey.
“That’s it?” Duncan asked. “You can make it snow? So?”
But he couldn’t fool me. His smile was bright and he had gathered up a little pile of snow next to the puck he’d brought along with us to the rink. He liked it when I did magic. A lot.
“I can do this too.” I glanced at the puck and sent it skittering across the ice to smack into the glass around the rink, then back out onto the ice where it traced a figure eight in the snow.
He tipped his head and stared at the puck for a minute. Snow caught in his hair, like an exploded pillow had smacked feathers all over his head. He looked ridiculous.
“Can you do that during a game?”
“I shouldn’t. Penalty, remember?”
“True,” he allowed, still not looking away from the puck. “But during practice. Just to freak the other team out a little?”
“Maybe just a little.”
“Hazard. You are a brother like no other.” He glanced at me and he was happiness and strength and joy and the reason I even had a chance to be standing here, happy and whole. “We are going to get into so much trouble!”
I laughed and he skated off to retrieve the puck.
A little kid threw a snowball at him and Duncan jumped right into the game of chase and dodge, perfectly at home with the five-year-olds.
God, I loved him.
“It’s amazing,” Gen said. “Seriously, Random. Don’t let it go to your head, but you are…this is amazing.” She tipped her head up and caught a snowflake, then laughed. “It’s sweet.”
“I thought about making it taste like turkey just to screw with Duncan.” I pushed off, bringing her with me this time.
She followed, her steps falling into perfect rhythm with mine. “Why didn’t you? That would have been hilarious.”
The snow sang out like little bells as it struck the ice. We glided around a kid making snow angels with his dad while the stars above glittered and spun.
“Because I wanted to do this. For you.”
“Me?”
I nodded. “I want to do a lot of things for you. Until I somehow find the way to tell you how incredible I think you are. How real and funny and smart and…perfect.”
She leaned in, filling all the space between us, eyes bright, lips curved in a gentle smile. “You know what makes this so wonderful?”
I raised an eyebrow. “It’s magic?”
“No. What makes this wonderful is it’s you. Bright, unexpected, thoughtful. And just a little amazing.”
“Just a little?”
She shrugged. “Well, I haven’t seen all the ways you’re going to tell me I rock yet.” And then she tipped her face up. Not to catch snow. Not to skate.
But to move close, closer until there was no space between us. Until I could see the kindle of joy in her eyes.
She kissed me, soft, hopeful. Asking me questions neither of us were brave enough to say yet: Us? Yes? Forever?
I kissed her back, holding her tight and giving her the only answers in me: Yes. Yes. Yes.
Her lips tasted like honey and magic and promises. Like laughter and hope and song.
And in this moment we became something new. Something to explore, to build, to share.
Here, I belonged.
I breathed, and she breathed, and it was everything.
It was life.
It was victory.
It was magic.
SPARK
WEST HELL MAGIC - 2
Duncan Spark’s life can’t get any better, but it’s about to get much worse....
* * *
Duncan Spark is an unapologetic hockey player and gleeful wolf shifter. Playing hockey in the West Hell freak league with his wizard brother, Hazard, is a dream come true. He’s got family, teammates, pack.
But when a rival team swoops in to steal Hazard, Duncan’s world is blown apart. Duncan throws himself into the line of fire to save his brother, and volunteers to take Hazard’s place.
Surrounded by enemies on a team that hates him, Duncan is a wolf without a pack. But everyone knows that backing a wolf into a corner only makes it more dangerous.
Acknowledgments
This book wouldn’t be nearly as strong without the effort of several generous people.
I’d like to thank my amazing cover designer, Kanaxa Designs, who came in with creative guns a-blazing and captured Hazard perfectly in this absolutely fabulous cover.
Thank you also to my wonderful copy editor, Kimberly Cannon, for not only catching my grammatical errors but for also keeping an eye on the hockey rules. I’m so glad you laughed at that one part where you-know-who was mentioned.
Big thanks to my sharp-eyed beta readers Dejsha Knight, Christy Keyes, and Evil Eye Editing and to the extraordinarily vigilant proofreader, Eileen Hicks. Thanks also go out to Indigo Chick Designs for the skillful formatting of the print edition of this book.
To Karen Mahoney, Rinda Elliott, Jenna Glass, Lilith Saintcrow, Keri Arthur, and Rachel Vincent, each of you are amazing authors. Thank you for your unflagging behind-the-scenes support. Dames forever.
Shout-out to my hockey sisters Deanne Hicks and Dejsha Knight. It wouldn’t be the same if I couldn’t share the joy and excitement with you. Let’s knit more hats!
This book might not have happened without the enthusiasm of my husband, Russ Monk. Thanks for all the games, trips, and keeping track of the stats. I owe you one for those two months I made you listen to my never-ending list of possible team names. I might also owe you one for making your GPS app sing in a boy-band voice while we navigated Canada. I love you.
To my sons, Kameron Monk and Konner Monk, thank you for your encouragement, hockey good-humor, and being the best part of my life. I love you both.
And to you, my dear reader. Thank you for strapping on your skates and pushing off onto the ice to give Hazard’s world a try. I certainly hope you’ve enjoyed the game!
About the Author
DEVON MONK is a national bestselling writer of urban fantasy. Her series include West Hell Magic, Ordinary Magic, House Immortal, Allie Beckstrom, Broken Magic, and Shame and Terric. She also writes the Age of Steam steampunk series, and the occasional short story which can be found in her collection: A Cup of Normal, and in various anthologies. She has one husband, two sons, and lives i
n Oregon. When not writing, Devon is drinking too much coffee, watching hockey, or knitting silly things.
* * *
Want to read more from Devon?
Follow her online or sign up for her newsletter at:
http://www.devonmonk.com.
Also by Devon Monk
ORDINARY MAGIC
Death and Relaxation
Devils and Details
Gods and Ends
Rock Candy - An Ordinary Magic Story
Paper Stars - An Ordinary Magic Story
Scissor Kisses - An Ordinary Magic Story
SHAME AND TERRIC
Backlash
HOUSE IMMORTAL
House Immortal
Infinity Bell
Crucible Zero
BROKEN MAGIC
Hell Bent
Stone Cold
ALLIE BECKSTROM
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
Magic without Mercy
Magic for a Price
AGE OF STEAM
Dead Iron
Tin Swift
Cold Copper
Hang Fire (short story)
SHORT STORIES
A Cup of Normal (collection)
Yarrow, Sturdy and Bright (Once Upon a Curse anthology)
A Small Magic (Once Upon a Kiss anthology)
