Magic on the Storm ab-4

by Devon Monk

  I tugged Zayvion off toward the kitchen. I needed coffee.

  “Do you think Dad knows something we don’t?” I filled the coffeepot with water while Zayvion pulled the bag of fresh grind-straight from Get Mugged-off the shelf.

  “As far as I know, your father couldn’t tell the future when he was alive.” Zay scooped coffee into the filter, and the warm, earthy smell of the grind blended with his pine scent. I loved this, small things like this that reminded me we were a part of each other’s lives, moving like we belonged in the same space, sharing simple things, like we’d been doing this together for years.

  With the coffee brewing, I leaned back against the counter. “So you think my dad’s just trying to scare me? I would be perfectly fine if your answer was yes.”

  “No.”

  Great.

  “But we should tell Jingo Jingo about it,” he said. “About you hearing him now, and about you hearing him near Greyson.”

  I shuddered. Jingo Jingo was one of my teachers and had been Shamus’s teacher for years. He taught the ways of Death magic just beneath Liddy Salberg, who was the mousy woman I’d first met at my dad’s funeral. I didn’t mind learning about Death magic, but I did not like Jingo Jingo. Sometimes, when I cast the spell for Sight, I saw other things clinging to his heavy body, to his bones-the ghosts of children. And every time that happened, it creeped me the hell out.

  “I’ve already told Jingo Jingo about my dad.”

  “And you’ll tell him again.”

  “Sure I will.” Rock, meet stubborn place.

  He just stood there, quiet. Finally, “You’ll do what’s right. Even if you don’t like it.”

  “Don’t be too surprised when you find out you’re wrong. Jingo gives me the creeps.”

  I pulled a couple mugs out of the cupboard, peered inside them to make sure there wasn’t rock dust in there. Not that Stone shed or anything, but he was getting sneaky about putting away the things he played with while I was gone.

  I poured us both coffee.

  “Allie-”

  “Yes, fine. I’ll tell him. Again.” Not that it will do me a damn bit of good, I thought. “And it’s time for us to go.”

  I grabbed my heavy coat off the back of the door, because it was obviously freezing out there, and took the time to stuff my journal in the pocket. With coffee cups in hand, we left the apartment, locked the door, and were down the stairs and outside in short order.

  We ducked inside Zay’s car and headed off. We both held on to our coffee cups tucked against our palms. It was cold, February still dipping below freezing, but not quite cold enough for ice. There was something about the cold in Oregon that sank in deep and didn’t let go.

  “Maybe I’ll just talk to Shamus instead,” I said, carrying on the conversation from the kitchen.

  “Shame can’t look in your head as well as Jingo Jingo can.”

  “We don’t know that,” I said. “We haven’t tried.”

  “True.” Zay took a drink of coffee.

  I thought it over. Shamus was good. I had a hunch he was a lot better at Death magic than he liked people to know. The first time my dad, through my eyes, had seen Shamus, he’d said he was a master. I think the slouchy goth bit was just so he could get out of doing work. Stay beneath his mother’s notice, maybe, or stay beneath his teacher Jingo’s notice.

  Shame could probably do the job, but he might not want to.

  “Jingo Jingo is a good teacher,” Zay said.

  “I didn’t say he wasn’t.” I drank coffee and stared at the wet city lights through the window. “I just don’t like him in my head.”

  Zay nodded. “He is. . thorough.”

  I would have said creepy, dangerous, maybe even disturbed, but I still hadn’t figured out why Zayvion felt the need to defend him. Shamus willingly admitted to thinking Jingo Jingo was a freak. Zay kept any strong opinions about Jingo Jingo to himself. Of course, Zayvion kept most of his strong opinions to himself.

  “I don’t think I can do much to help with the storm,” I said, switching subjects. “I’m probably the least trained out of everyone.”

  “It isn’t just training that makes a person good with magic.”

  “True. Blind stupidity and a high pain tolerance helps. Still don’t think I’m going to be all that useful.”

  We were on the other side of the river at Maeve’s inn. The drizzle had let up, and the sky was covered by clouds turned webby and gray by the city lights. Zay parked near the tree line by the river.

  He didn’t look at me, just stared out the window into the darkness. “You channeled the last wild storm. You tapped into its magic, and used it to heal me. And you didn’t die.”

  Oh. Right. That. Magic had taken all my memories of that storm, but Nola-and later, Zayvion-had sort of filled me in on the basics. I may not have died, but I very nearly did. A month in a coma is not a successful magical event, though. I’d paid for that like hell.

  “They’re not going to ask me to do that again, are they?”

  He breathed in, his nostrils flaring. He still didn’t look at me, didn’t move. “I’m asking you not to do that again.”

  I laughed, one hard choke. “Like I would.”

  That wasn’t enough for him. He finally looked at me. “I’m asking you to not step in. Not to help. Even if you think you have to.”

  I raised an eyebrow and opened my mouth, but he kept going.

  “I know you’ll do whatever you want. But there will be many storms in the future. This is the first time you’ll be involved. The first time you’ll see what we can do when we all work together and what damage the storm can do, even if we’re at our best. I am asking-” He paused, thought it over. Maybe he noticed the challenge in my gaze. People didn’t tell me what to do. He of all people should know that by now. “I am asking you, Allie. Don’t be a hero.”

  Hero. Was that what he was worried about? “Trust me, I’m the last person in the world who will put on the tights and cape.”

  The muscle at his jaw clenched. And I don’t think he was trying to hold back a smile.

  “I will,” he said.

  “Put on the tights and cape?” I thought about that. With a body like his, he’d look damn fine. “How about leather instead?”

  “No. I’ll trust you.”

  Oh. That was nice too. I nodded. I wouldn’t promise to stand by and do nothing. But I wouldn’t be stupid. I knew how dangerous magic could be. After a couple months of learning with the Authority, it was clear just how much more I still had to learn.

  A tap at Zay’s window made me jump. Shame’s pale face bent into view. “You two kids done bumping boots?”

  Zayvion hadn’t turned to look out his window. He didn’t even twitch. What he did was smile. Then he opened the door so quickly, I thought for sure Shame would land flat on his back. Shame sidestepped the move, and made a little tsk-tsk sound.

  “So slow,” he said. “You’re getting soft, Z.”

  “Want to try it again?” Zay asked.

  They, apparently, had done this before.

  Zay got out of the car and I did the same.

  “You won’t believe who’s at this thing,” Shame said.

  “Try me,” Zay said.

  The two of them walked around the car, shoes grinding in the wet, loud gravel. Well, Shame’s shoes, anyway. Zay moved like he always moved. Silent as an assassin’s shadow.

  “Okay, so, Sedra, Mom, Victor, Jingo, Liddy, you know, the regulars.” Shame nodded at me. “How you feeling?”

  “Why?”

  “After the well-Hounding bit earlier today. You still look a little. . tense.” Without waiting for my answer, he turned to Zay. “Jones, this woman is tense. I thought you were supposed to take care of that for her. Getting soft in more than one way, buddy?”

  “Shut up, Shame.”

  “Just trying to be helpful. I’m here for you. To talk it out, if you need. Or to get you pills for what ails you.”

  “Done t
elling me who’s here?” Zayvion asked. We were at the porch now. My bootheels made a solid thunk as I climbed the stairs and walked to the door.

  “Well, for one, Hayden Kellerman is in.”

  Zay paused, just a second, a half beat in his normal stride. “Huh. Who else?”

  “Oh, you know, some of the Seattle branch.” Shame said that with a little too much forced cheer. “The Georgia girls, Romero, Pham. Maybe a dozen people.”

  “Terric?” Zay asked.

  Shame smiled, like he’d come down with rigor. “Wouldn’t be a party without him.”

  I opened the door and stepped through a ward that had been cast upon the doorway. The ward would probably make me stop cold if I didn’t have an invitation to enter the room. Not exactly screening the participants, so much as letting whoever cast the ward-which, by the sweet Earl Grey tea taste on the back of my throat, I assumed was Victor-know who was coming in, and if they belonged here.

  Even in the off-hours, I’d never seen the main room of the inn so quiet.

  It wasn’t that it was empty. There were maybe thirty or so people standing or sitting at the eight round tables with clean white tablecloths, arranged so that the area to the left, where a longer table was placed, held the room’s focus. The lunch counter to the right was empty.

  I had met half of the thirty or so people present, and could only assume the others were the Seattle contingent. Everyone had a drink: water, or coffee, tea, soda. There didn’t seem to be any alcohol present. Ample baskets of bread and cheeses and olives were ready at each table.

  It was clear there wasn’t a regular customer, a non-Authority-sanctioned magic user, in the room. And it was also clear that no one much liked one another. Body language was tight and tense; expressions bordered on civil at best. People were grouped in four sections, probably shoring up with whichever faction they were sided with. Zayvion had been telling me for months that there was a war brewing among the Authority, and that it would break any day. Looking around the room made me wonder if it was going to break tonight.

  The last thing I wanted to do was enter a room of angry, trigger-happy magic users. And that was exactly what I had come here to do.

  Welcome to the bigs.

  Chapter Eight

  Most of the people in the room turned to look. Not at Zayvion, who stood to my right, not at Shamus, who stood to my left, but at me. Or more likely, at Daniel Beckstrom’s daughter.

  I met each of their gazes. A brief blur of faces, of eyes, of expressions: judgment, curiosity, and blatant hatred.

  Yeah, well, I was thrilled to meet them too.

  Maeve appeared from one of the doorways, walking beside a giant of a man, easily six inches taller than me or Zay, and almost as wide-shouldered as Mackanie Love. Black hair, dark beard with a dust of gray cut close to his jaw. He wore an old bomber jacket complete with wool collar over a T-shirt, jeans, and lumberjack boots. He smiled as he talked with Maeve. He gave off an easy, ready-for-a-fight kind of vibe, like he was in the company of old friends and old enemies and would be more than happy to take either down.

  Some of the tension in the room shifted. Not that it was much better; it was just different.

  Zayvion started off toward Maeve and the big man. I glanced out of the corner of my eye to see if this, perhaps, was Terric. But Shame’s fake smile had turned into something introspective. Wicked. Boy was planning something. I didn’t know what he was thinking, but anytime I’d seen that look on his face, it had been trouble.

  “Who’s that?” I asked as I strode toward an empty table in the exact center of the room, not caring who was staring at me, nor what faction I might be sitting down with.

  Shame followed. “Hayden Kellerman. One of Mum’s old friends. Might be my new da, the way she’s looking at him.” He yanked a chair out from the table, grinding the thing across the wooden floor, and then slouched down into it, scowling.

  “You don’t like him?”

  “Are you even in the same room with me?” He gave me a brief, sideways look. No smile, but plenty of twinkle in that eye. “I thought you were good at reading people.”

  “So you do like him. What? Don’t want your mom to know?” I took the other chair, and sat with a lot less noise, thank you.

  “Better that way. For some reason she doubts the purity of my intentions when I give her pointers on her love life. Especially when it comes to me handing out her phone number.”

  “Doubts your purity? Can’t imagine why.”

  He kicked my foot under the table, not hard, and went back to his sullen scowl.

  I’d missed dinner, so checked out the cheese, chose a few squares, and popped one in my mouth. Very good. Mild and a little smoky. I watched Zayvion make his way across the room, pausing to talk and shake hands with at least a dozen people as he slowly strolled toward Maeve and Hayden.

  “He’s popular tonight,” I noted.

  “Guardian of the gates,” Shame said like that explained it all. “I think he’s been in Alaska.”

  “Zay?”

  “Hayden.”

  “And?”

  “And. Nothing.” He picked up a glass of water, took a drink. He looked much more relaxed, or maybe he had been relaxed and I just hadn’t been paying attention. This many powerful magic users in one room made me jumpy.

  No, it made me want to stand up and walk out. But that wasn’t the way it worked. Once a part of the Authority, you didn’t leave without checking your memories at the door. And I planned to keep hold of as many of my memories as I could.

  I watched Zayvion work the room, all Zen and smooth, deadly confidence. Looked good on him. And it made an impression on the other people in the room too. Made them sit back, calm, or sit forward, anxious, reactions that were interesting in and of themselves.

  For the first time, I realized Zayvion was a respected, or maybe even feared, member of the Authority. Not just a student. Not just a man who patrolled the streets looking for bad guys. But a very dangerous man who used all forms of magic-Life, Blood, Death, Faith, light, and dark-to guard the gates, to keep magic in the way the Authority intended it to be kept, and the people of this city safe. Even if it meant opposing fellow members of the Authority.

  “Shame?” I asked, keeping my gaze on Zay.

  “Mmm?”

  “Am I dating royalty?”

  “You tell me.”

  I smiled. “King Jones. Doesn’t sound very royal.”

  That got a chuckle out of him. “He’s a beauty, though, isn’t he? Especially when he’s working. Can make a mountain bow down to the sea.”

  I sat back to enjoy this. Maybe I’d get a good look at a part of Mr. Private I hadn’t seen before.

  Zay finally made it over to Hayden. I was right. Hayden was about six inches taller than Zay, and twice as broad at the shoulders. He made Zay look tiny, towering over him like that. Hayden would make a hell of a Viking, swinging a battle-ax or carrying a cannon over one shoulder as he stormed the castle gates.

  He shook Zay’s hand, then wrapped him in a huge bear hug, slapping him on the back so loud, I winced as it echoed through the room.

  “Good to see you, boy!” Hayden’s voice carried over the rest of the conversations filling the place. “Looks like you’re about to be put through your paces! Think you’re up for it?”

  Zay stepped back and answered, but his response was so quiet, I couldn’t pick it up, not even with Hound ears.

  Still, Hayden laughed. “That’s what I like to hear. Got some new kind of fire burning in him, doesn’t he, Maeve? What you been doing to this boy while I’ve been gone?”

  “Excuse me,” said a man behind Shame and me. “Are you Daniel Beckstrom’s daughter?”

  Danger. That was all I knew. Shame tensed from head to foot, both hands off the table now. The cheese knife was missing.

  I inhaled, taking in the stranger’s scents-the plastic of too much hair gel, and a deeper note of something faintly metallic. He was not familiar to me. I turned.


  He was maybe midthirties, shorter than me, looked like he knew his way around a gym, and gave off that professional broker, banker, doctor vibe. Wore a Nike T-shirt under a Windbreaker, and jeans with tennis shoes. Clean haircut. Clean-shaven. Small, close-set brown eyes. I’d never seen him before in my life.

  “Your father was a good man. I’m very sorry for your loss.”

  If he thought my father was a good man, my opinion of him just took a dive. Still, I had manners. “Thank you. And you are?”

  “Mike Barham.” He held out his hand. I didn’t take it.

  “Nice to meet you,” I said. “If you’ll excuse us, I don’t want to miss out on the main event.”

  He glanced at Shamus and gave a halfhearted attempt to look surprised. “Shamus Flynn,” he said. He didn’t sound angry, but hate radiated off the man. “I didn’t know you were in town. Still living with your mother?”

  Shame didn’t turn. Didn’t twitch, didn’t look at him.

  Mike’s smile slipped. He walked around to stand next to Shame, which did not seem like a very smart thing to do. “You still mad at me about the position up north?” he asked. “You know the best man won. Plus, you’d never make it out there without your dear mother to protect you. It’s dangerous out in the real world.”

  Something inside Shame coiled and burned, ready to leap. One more word out of Barham, and I was pretty sure Barham would have a cheese knife stabbed in his throat.

  “Blow me, Barham,” Shame said.

  Barham shook his head. “You are a spoiled little boy, Flynn. Your father used to tell me you were his biggest disappointment. He used to tell me he had wanted a son, not a fag.”

  Shame rolled his head back and smiled up at him. “Tell me more about my father, Mike. Please do.”

  I’d never heard that tone out of Shame. It was sweet, nice. And scared the hell out of me.

  “You,” I said to Mike Barham with enough Influence to stun a rhino, “move away. Now.”

  He jerked, and glared at me. He opened his mouth.

  “Go,” I said.

  He did as I said, because he couldn’t not do it. Under my Influence, he turned and walked away. He ended up across the room, where he sat at another table, and threw me angry looks.