Magic on the Storm ab-4

by Devon Monk

  I glanced back at Stotts, who was going through the procedures to reestablish the park for the public. Since there was no sign of magical crime, other than Bea being hurt, this would be treated a lot like a fender bender. Just an accident where the driver used poor judgment and got in the way of someone else’s oncoming spell.

  The wind shifted, bringing me the faintest scent of the spell. Blood, copper, and bitter burnt stink of blackberries. It was just a moment, the slightest hint. But I knew that scent.

  Greyson.

  Holy shit.

  No. He couldn’t have gotten out. They had a cage on him. And with the whole inn filled with powerful magic users, there would be no way he could access magic from there. This had to be something else. Someone else. I had to be wrong.

  I inhaled again, sorting smells, searching for Greyson’s. But the scent was gone, lost to the heavier scents of the city.

  Davy looked worse than just a minute before. I think he’d been putting up a brave front so Stotts would let him Hound the spell.

  He looked like he was going to puke.

  “I think I’m going to puke.” He stumbled over to some rhododendron bushes, and heaved.

  The cops didn’t even look our way. A puking Hound wasn’t that unusual.

  Stotts, however, noticed we were still there and came over. “I thought you were going to the hospital.”

  I waited for Davy to pull himself together. He stood back and wiped his mouth with the heel of his hand.

  “We are.” I hoped Davy had remembered to take the keys when he got out of the car. “If you need me,” I said, “if you need someone else to Hound that, or if anything comes up, call, okay?”

  “The spell’s gone now,” he said. “I think this is done.”

  When I didn’t answer, he exhaled. “You want to tell me something?”

  “Have you noticed anything strange about magic?”

  “Other than you trying to burn the park down and Mr. Silvers telling me that was a spell he’d never seen before?”

  Okay, maybe I shouldn’t tell him. But I liked Stotts. Enough to give him at least a small heads-up. I know I had sworn to keep the Authority secrets secret. I wasn’t going to tell him anything that would get my memory erased.

  I hoped.

  “I don’t lose control of magic like that,” I said. “Not with something as simple as Sight. But magic lagged when I tried to use it. Then it came pouring out too fast.”

  Stotts was not a stupid man. He had one Hound in the hospital, one barfing in the bushes, and one burned and bleeding in front of him. He knew how to put three and three together. They taught that sort of thing in detective school.

  “We’re checking into the networks and conduits here,” he said. “Making sure no one hacked into them.”

  I hadn’t really thought about people hacking the networks, but it made sense. “Maybe it’s more than just the networks.”

  “You have something to back that up?”

  I shouldn’t. I really shouldn’t. I should just close my mouth and not say a word. “I think there’s a storm brewing. Wild magic. And it might already be messing with magic.”

  That, detective school must not have covered. No one had advance warning for when wild-magic storms hit.

  “The coma,” I lied. “After I tapped into that wild-magic storm, I think I’m sensitive to the storm coming in. Like a trick knee.”

  He paused, searching my face for a lie. The wind shifted again, cold. Too damn cold. And on it, I smelled the strange electric scent of lightning and something more. Magic.

  “A storm is an entirely different situation,” he said. He inhaled, glanced at the sky, then exhaled. I could tell he was sorting his options. Not that I had any idea of what he or his crew would do to prepare for a wild storm. “You sure you don’t need a ride?”

  Davy stood-well, swayed-next to me. “I’m good.” I hooked my arm through Davy’s. The poor kid was ice-cold and shaking. “I got it.”

  “Thanks,” Stotts said. “And let me know if that weather knee tells you anything else, okay?”

  “Will do.”

  Then Davy and I walked away, leaving the park, the police, and the glyph I hoped had nothing to do with Greyson behind.

  Chapter Ten

  I cranked up the heat in the car and made sure Davy was actually buckled in this time. I pulled out my phone and dialed Zayvion, trying to look nonchalant about it. The phone rang, but Zay didn’t pick up.

  That wasn’t good.

  “Are we going or not?” Davy asked.

  “We’re going.” I pulled out into traffic and headed toward the hospital. Davy scowled out the window.

  “Why aren’t I driving my own car?” he asked.

  “You’re sick.”

  “And you’re bleeding.”

  I wiped at my forehead. The blood had slowed. “Okay, try this. Because I said so.”

  He rolled his tongue around in his mouth and made a sour face. “Got any gum? Mints?”

  “No. You going to hark again?”

  He shook his head. “Mouth tastes like the bottom of my shoe.”

  I didn’t ask him how he knew that particular flavor.

  “Storm, huh?”

  “What?” I merged across traffic, putting a little gas into it. Davy’s car had good response, and I remembered how much I liked driving. Maybe it was time to get my own car.

  “You told Detective Stotts you think a wild storm is coming.”

  “I thought you were puking.”

  “Not with my ears,” he said. “So?”

  “So what? I do. I think a wild storm might hit us. Just because they’re rare doesn’t mean they’re unheard of.”

  “True,” he said. “But there’s a reason they’re called wild.”

  “Right. Because the magic in them is wild, unpredictable.”

  “No, because they hit without warning. Without any sort of hint, sometimes out of a clear blue sky.”

  I glanced over at him. “Where did you hear that?”

  “Everywhere. Everyone knows that.”

  “Well, everyone is wrong. Wild storms can be quantified. Maybe not accurately predicted, but there are indicators. You learn this in college.” I gave him a hard look that didn’t work. I’d never asked him if he’d gone to college or, for that matter, if he was old enough to go to college. And honestly, even if he had, magic was not a required course. He could have a degree in Wiffle ball for all I knew.

  “So you do storm quantifying in your spare time?” he asked.

  “I don’t have to quantify them,” I said. “I have a gut feeling, like I also said back there. I know there’s a storm coming. I can feel it in my bones. Hounds are like that. We’re geared to sniff out things other people can’t sense.”

  He shut up, and it took me a second to figure out why. Oh, right, he had been feeling the pain from other Hounds.

  “Have you talked to your doctor?” I asked.

  “About what?”

  “About the aftereffects you’re still suffering from your injuries.”

  We were almost at the hospital now, the winding twists up the hill between forest and jogging paths emptying out into a maze of twenty-story buildings and parking centers that gave off a little bit of vertigo, even though they were nestled back into the hill around them.

  This late at night, the lights of Portland and the river below spread out between the trees like diamonds against velvet.

  “It’s not like that,” he finally said. “Not a pain that medicine can fix.”

  “And you know for sure it’s only when Hounds are hurt?”

  He shrugged one shoulder.

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “Then what answer will make you get off my back?”

  “The real one.”

  “Fine. I know it’s only when Hounds are hurt.”

  “Can you tell which Hound is hurting?”

  “Usually. I just. . I just know. It’s like their scent, their blood and
pain, is imprinted in my head.” He rubbed his face with his left hand. “I can tell when you’re hurt too.”

  “Really? Right now?”

  “No. It fades. I felt it when you got hit by magic back there. I don’t feel it now. Are you still hurting?”

  “Not much.” I eased the car into the underground parking structure. “Is it only pain brought on by magic?”

  That gave him pause. “I don’t know. I haven’t told anyone else about it, to, like, test it.”

  “Well, I’m not going to slam my hand in the door or anything.” I found a parking spot-there were plenty open this time of night-and turned off the engine. “Did you tell Stotts the truth about that spell? You weren’t just making it up?”

  He exhaled a short breath. “That’s the last time I try to do you a favor. Yes, of course I told the officer of the law the truth. Whoever cast that spell deserves to get slapped with a ticket or get thrown back into casting basics 101. That was weird magic.”

  “Just checking.”

  “What? That I know how to do my job?”

  “That you’re okay. Magic can do more than just mess with your body. It can mess with your head too.” I meant it to come out nice. No luck. It sounded condescending.

  Great.

  Davy opened the door and got out of the car. “You can go to hell.” He slammed the door shut.

  I took a deep breath and rubbed at my eyes. That was stupid. But I didn’t know what else I could tell him without putting him in danger of losing his memories.

  And frankly, magic did mess with your mind. It took away my memories. I was pretty sure it had changed Davy in some way. Blood magic, in particular, left scars. I knew that because I had them.

  Which made me worry about the other things magic might be doing to him, and doing to me. That flare of magic in the park had left me feeling a little shaky inside.

  If magic was acting strange, something both Davy and I had felt on the way to the park, and if magic was draining the wells, then what did that mean for me? I carried magic inside me. How much magic was going to get sucked out of me?

  I didn’t know. But what I did know was I had been stupid to talk to Davy like that. And I needed to mop up the mess I’d made of our friendship.

  I got out, locked the doors, and dialed Zay again while heading after Davy. I wanted to tell Zayvion a gate had been opened, and that I’d caught a whiff of Greyson at the park.

  Davy stormed toward the elevators in the middle of the parking structure. There was no way I’d get in that tiny tin can on pulleys.

  The phone rang in my ear, but Zay still didn’t pick up.

  Yes, that was beginning to worry me.

  “Davy. Wait.” I picked it up to a jog, and was happy to feel my body respond. After too many months of magic kicking my ass, all the workouts and training were finally giving me my strength back.

  Davy did not wait. He punched the elevator button, his back to me.

  The doors opened just as I reached him. I hung up the phone.

  One look inside that wooden interior and all I could think of was nails in a lid. My palms broke out in a sweat and my stomach clenched. I couldn’t stop myself from taking a step back.

  Davy walked in, turned around, and gave me a flat stare.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. It was a stupid thing to say. See you inside.” It came out in one big nervous rush. Just looking at the elevator, with the added bonus of the parking structure’s ceiling feeling like it was pressing down on my shoulders, was giving me the willies.

  He didn’t say anything. The doors closed and I shook my hands out, trying not to give in to the urge to shriek a little.

  The faster I got into the hospital, the faster I got out of this crowded space.

  I strode down the concrete ramp, and back up again, taking the route a car would take to get out of the parking deck. That put me on ground level pretty quickly. I saw a bus coming from farther up the hill, and made it across the street to the glass entry doors of the hospital. Unfortunately, the magic-trauma unit was on the thirteenth floor. I might be able to avoid the elevators in the parkade, but walking up thirteen flights of stairs seemed ridiculous, even to me. I knew I’d have to take the elevators. I hated that.

  Davy was probably already on the skywalk four floors above me. Probably almost at reception to find out which room they’d put Bea in.

  I wiped my sleeve over my face, dabbing away any blood that might be there. The cut had stopped bleeding, which was something at least, but my face still felt tight.

  I made my way down the tile hallway, and past a few unmanned desks, carpeted waiting areas to my right and left edging the tile like manicured lawns, flat-screen TVs showing parks, waterfalls, and wildlife.

  It was quiet tonight. I passed only two people, a man in scrubs and a woman with a backpack who looked like she hadn’t slept for a few weeks.

  I turned the corner to the elevators and pushed the button. While I waited for my own personal hell to creak to a stop, I recited my mantra to calm my mind. I took several deep breaths. Pretty soon, the floor swung a little under my feet. Right, hyperventilating did not equal calming breaths.

  The bell pinged and the elevator door slid open. I could do this. I could step into that tiny space that didn’t feel big enough for my legs, my chest, my lungs. I could duck down and not have the ceiling hit me, hold my breath, and squeeze in there between the walls, scraping my shoulders on either side.

  Sweet hells, I hated this. I bit my bottom lip, and forced-and I mean literally forced-my foot to take a step forward. That got me two steps; then I closed my eyes, held my breath, and took the third.

  I turned around, punched the button for floor thirteen, and positioned myself in the exact center of the elevator. I stretched my arms out to either side, so I could hold back the walls when they started closing in.

  They started closing in on the seventh floor. Good thing the elevator was fast.

  I was sweating by the time the bell dinged again. It felt like an eternity before the doors slid open. And I was there, pressed up against them, my hands out in front of me. As soon as the door started to open, I stuck my hands in it, pushing it wider, and stepped out, escaping.

  I hated elevators.

  I took a right and strode down the hall, not knowing where I was going, but needing to be a hell of a long way away from that damn elevator. I took the hall as far as it would go, until a set of double doors that were marked AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY showed up in front of me.

  I stood there, breathing hard and sweating. Okay, I needed to pull myself together. It was just a (shudder) elevator. I could handle it. I could kick that elevator’s gears into next year, if I had to.

  I took a minute to calm the race between my heart and my head, then walked back the way I came, looking for the signs that would take me to the magical-trauma area.

  Past the elevators, the only sound on this floor was my boots on tile, and the squeaky wheel of a custodian pushing a cleaning cart toward the elevators. It was a little weird that I hadn’t run into Davy yet. I guess he made good time. I just hoped he hadn’t passed out on the way up here. Anger aside, he hadn’t been looking all that good.

  I spotted a sign, and took another right. This hallway was beige and tea brown, the textures in the paint subtle glyphs, mostly blocking and guarding spells that would activate with a flick of magic. Also a lot of glyphs set up for absorption. It made sense, I guess, to cover all the bases on what kinds of problems could happen here. After all, all the patients in this section either came in with a wound inflicted by magic or still had the magic clinging to them.

  Down at the end of this hall, with a decent view of the window and roof of the building below us, was a reception desk. A tiny elderly woman sat behind it. She wore a hat that looked like someone had gutted a Muppet, then used it to knit a cap. Way too many blue feathers, and I’m talking neon and fuzzy, with a big pink flower appliqué over one ear.

  “Hello,”
she said. “May I help you, dear?”

  I couldn’t help it. I smiled. “I’m here to see Beatrice Lufkin? I think she was brought in an hour or so ago?”

  “Let me see, now. Beatrice, you say?”

  “I say,” I agreed.

  She tipped her head and looked down her nose, even through she wasn’t wearing glasses.

  “Oh, it’s good you made it just in time.”

  “Just in time? Are they doing something to her?” Maybe Bea was worse off than Stotts had said.

  “No, dear. She’ll be going home soon. Her friend, a Mr. Quinn, is here to take her home.”

  “Can I see her?”

  “It would be better if you waited. She’ll be out soon. Go ahead, now, have a seat.”

  I tasted the slightest hint of honey on her words and suddenly wanted to sit down. Influence. Not strong, just enough to make me want to calm down. Even an old gal like her used magic.

  It wasn’t a strong push, so I just paced next to the chairs instead and dialed Zayvion.

  I didn’t have time to wait for him to pick up the phone. The doors clicked and I turned to see Jack Quinn pushing Bea, who was in a wheelchair. Jack looked like he always looked. A little like leather that had been left out to dry.

  Bea, however, looked like she’d been rolled by a tank. She had a bruise over both eyes, and her lips were swollen. Her normally perky smile was gone, though her lips twitched up at the corner when she saw me.

  “Hey.” I closed the distance between us. “How are you doing?”

  “Peachy.” It came out a little slurred and I raised my eyebrows. I also found out the eyebrow on the left hurt.

  “Pain meds,” Jack said. “The good stuff.”

  Bea nodded, her eyes not quite tracking. “Nice to see you, Al,” she said. “I miss a meeting?”

  “No, you were out in the park tonight.”

  “Yeah?” she said.

  “Do you remember that?”

  “Not really. Downtown?”

  “Yes. What happened?”

  She licked her swollen bottom lip and lifted her hand to push back her wild curls, the wristband ID bracelet catching her hair. She didn’t seem to notice. “I got a job. Last-minute contact. Was supposed to meet him there to get the specifics.”