Magic in the Shadows

Chapter One

Rush hour traffic below my apartment window breathed a deep note behind the rise and fall of winter wind. Rain tapped like pinpricks against glass. The only noise besides my rapid breathing was the cold water pouring into the bathroom sink.

That, and my dead father’s voice.

“Allison.” My father’s voice again. Distant, as if he strained to pitch it across a crowded room, a crowded street, a crowded city.

I was the only one in my apartment. And my father was really dead this time.

I’d gone to his funeral that morning and seen him buried-literally watched as his body was lowered into the grave. There was no mistake, no corpse stealing, no weird magical rituals this time. This time, he didn’t have a second chance, third chance. He was well and truly gone.

“Allison.”

“Oh, for cripes’ sake,” I said-yes, out loud-to my empty apartment. “You have got to be kidding me. What the hell, Dad?”

The bathroom mirror in front of me showed my panic. I was still a little too pale from the recent hospital stay, which made the opalescent mark of magic look even brighter where it wrapped from my fingertips up my right arm, shoulder, and onto the edges of my collarbone, jaw, and temple. My dark hair was mussed from kissing Zayvion Jones a few minutes before in the kitchen, but even though one eye was obscured by hair, a shadow stained my eyes. That shadow, I knew, was my father.

He wasn’t in the room. He was in me.

This was going to put a crimp in my date tonight.

You must

, my dead father said in my ear, less than a whisper, more than a thought.

Must nothing. Not this time. Not ever again.

“No. No way,” I said. “No to whatever you were about to tell me. Listen,” I said, cool as a 911 operator talking someone down from a ledge, “you’re dead. I’m sorry about that, but I am not going to let you possess me. So follow the light, or go to the other side, or hang around your own house and haunt your accounting ledgers or something. You do not get to stay in my head.”

Nothing.

But I knew my dad. Nothing was not a guarantee he was gone.

How did one dispossess oneself, preferably before one’s hot date in a few hours? The only thing that came to mind was vampires and thresholds and not inviting them across. I doubted vampire stuff would work on my disembodied father. He might have been a soulless bastard, but he was not an actual vampire, since vampires, as far as I knew, did not actually exist.

And even though I was putting up a brave front, it was hard to ignore the fist-hard thump of my heart against my ribs, the salt of cold sweat on my lips.

“Daniel Beckstrom,” I said, putting all my focus and concentration on the words, giving them the weight of my will, “leave my mind, leave my body, and leave me alone. I do not give you permission to be a part of me.”

Sweat ran a line down my temple. I watched my eyes. Watched as the shadow drew away from my pinprick pupils, dissolving outward like clouds retreating from the sun, until a thick ring of night edged my familiar pale emerald irises.

I blinked, and even the ring of darkness was gone.

Gone.

I exhaled to slow my breathing. In through the nose, out through the mouth. I was fine until I swallowed. The taste of wintergreen and leather rolled down the back of my throat. My father’s scents. In my mouth. In me.

He wasn’t gone. Not at all. He was still there somewhere, a moth-wing flutter, soft and fast, behind my eyes.

I had thought that flutter was just another side effect from all the magic I’d used lately, another price to pay for trying to save those kidnapped girls and trying to save Anthony.

Bloody memories came to me unbidden: the warehouse with the abducted girls tied down by knotted spells; the kid, Anthony, broken and bloody on the floor. My friend Pike’s mutilated face, his remaining eye fever-bright as he held my hand and made me promise, made me swear to look after the ragtag group of Hounds he called family. Just like he called me family. And my father’s corpse. .

I pushed that memory away. The girls were dead or returned to their families. Anthony was back with his mom, or maybe in juvie; I wasn’t sure. Pike was gone. Dead.

Just like my father should be.

My hands had been under the rush of cold water for so long, they’d gone numb. I pulled them out of the water, fumbled the vase and rose I’d been holding. The vase clattered into the sink. I turned off the water and scrubbed my forehead with cold, wet fingers, trying to stop the flutter in my skull.

“We didn’t like each other when you were alive,” I muttered to my father. “You think living in my head is going to change that?”

Find the disks

, my father said from the far side of my head.

I resisted the urge to pour mouthwash in my brain.

“Forget about the damn disks. You’re dead, Violet said the police are looking for the disks, and I don’t want you in my head. Go away.”

The flutter scurried off to the back of my brain, so far from my conscious thought that I couldn’t feel it anymore.

And there it was: the official least-comforting thing that had happened all day. Dad was not only in my head, but he could speak to me, understand me,

and

hide from me.

How fabulous was that?

The only bright side? My father, the most powerful magic user I’d ever known, had actually done something I’d ask him to do. Which was a first. But the thought of him curling up cozy in my brain made me want to stab a hot spork through my head.

Since I didn’t have a spork handy, I leaned over the sink and scooped up a palmful of cold water and pressed it against my face. There had to be a better option than a violent sporking. There had to be a way to get rid of my dad.

Think, Allie. There has to be someone who can figure this out.

I was going to see Maeve Flynn tomorrow so she could start teaching me the things about magic the Authority didn’t like regular people to know about. Secret things, like there was a secret group of magic users-the Authority-who ran their own kind of justice in this city and went around deciding who would and wouldn’t be allowed to use magic. Secret things my father had been involved with-including the disks that made magic portable and nearly painless. Dad had been a part of the Authority, and he had been killed because there was some sort of magical war brewing among them.

And Zayvion, who was most definitely a part of the Authority, had lobbied to get me admitted into the group for training with Maeve. I wasn’t convinced it was the best option, but since my choice had been join or have all my memories of how to use magic taken away from me, I’d joined.

Being possessed by a dead relative sounded like something right up Maeve’s alley.

Okay, so I’d talk to her about it and see what she could do.

Now I just needed to get through my date with Zayvion Jones. I so did not want my dad in my head on my first real date with the man I was pretty sure I might love.

Maybe I should cancel.

Zayvion didn’t carry a cell, and I didn’t know his home number. That’s the problem with dating a secret magic assassin, a Closer: you don’t call them, they call you.

So, the date was on. I’d tell Zayvion I had a chaperone. Maybe he could help me figure it out.

Step one: shower. Would my dad feel me naked? Don’t think about that.

Step two: dress. Would my dad see me naked? Really don’t think about that.

And step three: go on a date with Zayvion. Would my dad know what I felt about Zayvion? Would he hear what I thought about him? Would he feel me hot and needful for him?

Probably. ’Cause I’m just lucky that way.

A knock on the door rang out so loud, I yelled and spun, fingers poised to draw a Hold spell. No one in my bathroom. The knock had come from my front door, not my bathroom door.

Magic flared through my bones, my hold on it slipping. The sensuous heat of magic pushed against my skin, stretching me, straining to get free, and I had to exhale to make room for it to move. It pressed heavy in me, a sweet pain, promising anything, everything, so long as I was willing to pay the price for it.

I felt the moth-wing flutter of my dad in my head, his curiosity at the magic inside me.

“You touch it, and I’ll use it to end you,” I said through my teeth.

The curious little moth became very, very still.

Good. At least he could tell when I was not kidding around.

I very carefully spread my fingers apart and then closed them into fists, consciously resisting the temptation to draw the Hold glyph, to cast magic. Because no matter what magic promised, every time I lost control of it, magic used me like a disposable glove at a proctology exam.

I am a river

, I thought.

Magic flows through me but it does not touch me.

I took another good breath or two, and magic retreated into a more normal rhythm of flowing up from the cisterns deep beneath the city, into me, and, unused, out of me back into the ground.

The knock at the front door rapped out louder.

I fished the vase and rose out of the sink and put them on the little shelf above the towel rack. The pink rose Zayvion had given me looked a little worse for the wear, but it wasn’t dead yet. Tough flowers, roses. All that sweet beauty with the thorns to back it up. I appreciated that.

I dried my hands on my jeans and strode out of the bathroom. I wasn’t expecting company. Well, except for Zayvion. But he said he’d be back in at seven. We had dinner plans. First-date plans. Let’s-be-normal-like-other-normal-people plans.

The knock rattled out again.

There is one thing I can say about living in the city. There isn’t a Ward or Alarm spell on the market strong enough to keep someone from breaking down your door if they have the will, the way, and a strong enough shoulder.

My baseball bat was under the bed, but I always left a hammer on the bookshelf.

Hammers can do all kinds of damage if they are swung low enough.

Yes, it had been that kind of week.

And the knocking just kept coming.

I stopped in front of the door, took a breath, and held still both it and magic in me for a second. I recited my little mantra:

Miss Mary Mack, Mack, Mack, all dressed in black, black, black. .

until the order of those words calmed my racing thoughts.

It took about five seconds. My mind, my thoughts, cleared.

Using magic wasn’t as easy as the actors made it look in the movies. It can’t be cast in states of high emotion-like anger or, say, while freaking out because your freaking dead dad is in your freaking head. Every time you use magic, it uses you back. Sure, you could magic yourself a photographic memory for that big test, for that big interview, for that big stock market job. And all it cost you was a nice case of liver failure.

Or the memory of your lover’s name.

Exhale. Good. Calm? Check. I leaned against the doorframe and sniffed. I didn’t draw magic up into my sense of smell, though I was good at that too. Smelling, tracing, tracking, Hounding the burnt lines of spells back to their casters was how I made my living. But I couldn’t smell anything over the oily tang of WD-40 I’d sprayed on the lock the other day.

I peeked through the peephole.

The woman in the hall was dressed in jeans, a knitted vest, button-down blouse, and a full-length coat. Blond, about eight inches shorter than my own six feet, she was a little wet. Portland’s good at wet. The best. But even in the unglamorous warp of the peephole, she looked like a million sunny days to me.

Nola Robbins, my best friend in all the world.

I slipped the locks, which slid smoothly-thank you, WD-40-and threw open the door.

“Oh, thank God,” she said. “I thought I heard you yell.”

“I did. I’m fine. It’s so good to see you!” I practically flew out of my apartment and into her arms.

Nola hugged me, and I caught the scent of honey and warm summer grass even though it was the middle of winter. The familiar comforting scents of her brought up memories of her nonmagical alfalfa farm and old nonmagical farmhouse. I inhaled, filling myself with the scents and memories of pleasant days. I did not want to let her go.

She patted my back, and I gave her one last squeeze.

“What are you doing here?” I asked. “Is something wrong?”

“I don’t think so,” she hedged. “What’s up with the hammer?”

I dropped it on the little table by the door. “Just, you know. It’s the city.”

She shook her head. “You could get a dog.”

“Don’t start with me. Come on in.” I belatedly noticed she had a suitcase with her. “Let me help.”

“I got it.” She strolled into my apartment, wheeling the suitcase behind her.

Out of habit, I looked up and down the hall. No one. Not even a shadow on the wall, watching us. I hoped. I wasn’t the only Hound in the city, and Hounds knew how to be quiet when they wanted to be.

I relocked the door.

“Allie,” she said, scanning my overcrowded bookshelves and my undercrowded everything else. “Have you even unpacked since you moved?”

“Pretty much,” I said. “This is all that’s left.” Or at least it was all I could stand having. Whoever broke into my old apartment had not only tossed everything I owned; he or she had left a scent on it. The stink of iron and minerals, like old vitamins, not only kicked up half-remembered pain, but was also a bitch to scrub out of the upholstery.

And underwear. Not that I tried for long. Some things aren’t worth saving.

Nola shook her head. “What am I going to do with you?” She gave me that sisterly smile that made her look ten years older than me, instead of my age. “How are you feeling? Are those bruises on your neck?”

“Good, and no. Not really. It’s. .” I was going to say nothing, but Nola could see right through my lies. “Well, maybe not fine, but. . you know.” I waved at her to sit on my ratty couch, which she did, and I sat on one of the chairs by the little round table at the window. “What are you doing here?” I asked again.

“You know I’m trying to get custody of Cody Miller?”

I laced my fingers together and rubbed my thumbs over the marks on my right and left hands. Marks put there in part, I was told, by Cody using me as a conduit for magic. A lot of magic.

“Is that his last name?” I asked.

“Yes. I’m running into a little bit of trouble getting him released. He was put in the state mental health hospital for criminal use of magic-forging signatures with magic.” She shook her head. “He must have been eighteen when that happened. They said he suffered a mental break during his trial and has never been the same. But now it’s been determined he needs to undergo more psychological exams.” She shook her head. “They’ve had him for two years; I don’t know what they haven’t tested by now.”

“Wait, Cody’s twenty?”

“Right.” Nola dug in her purse, pulled out a photo of a young man with delicate, almost fragile features. He was smiling, but his blue, blue eyes held the kind of simple intelligence I’d expect from a child.

“He’s twenty on the outside, but not mentally,” Nola said. “I decided I might be able to talk to some people personally, and find out why he hasn’t been released into my custody yet. I’m hoping to take him home with me in the next few days.”

“Want me to see if I can pull some strings for you?”

“Can you?”

I shrugged. “Maybe. I still haven’t talked much with my dad’s lawyers. But Violet basically told me the fate of Beckstrom Enterprises is mine to decide. And I’m sure Beckstrom Enterprises has string-pulling capabilities.” I grinned. “Power in the palm of my hand. Pretty cool, huh?”

“Mmm,” she agreed. “How are you doing with that?”

I opened my mouth to say I was fine, I could handle it, it was no big deal. But there was something about Nola that negated my bullshit ability. I’d never been able to lie to her, so I didn’t even try.

“I’m worried. I’m not sure what I should do. Violet has done a really good job running the business since his, uh. . death. She’s still working on developing magic-technology integrations. She. . she has reasons to keep things running.”

I didn’t tell her Violet was pregnant with the child of my powerful and not-nearly-dead-enough father. My one and only sibling. Violet said Dad didn’t know about the baby before he died. I didn’t know whether he’d hear me if I said it out loud. The idea of having to deal with his ghostly fit when he found out sounded like a joy I wanted to save for later.

The flutter started up in the back of my head and I rubbed my forehead until it stopped.

“Allie?” Nola asked.

“I’m fine. My head still feels weird after everything.”

“Pike?” she asked.

I nodded. And before her concern could turn to pity, I said, “I don’t have the training to run Beckstrom Enterprises the way it should be run. I’ve hated it for so long. Still, there might be someone there who could help with Cody. I can call Violet and find out who I should talk to.”

“Are you and she getting along okay?” she asked. “It must be really hard to work together with your dad’s business and money, so close to his death.”

Oh, she had no idea how close to his death I was. Time to change the subject.

“You didn’t get a hotel, did you?” I asked. “You should stay here with me.”

“I did make reservations, just in case.” She glanced over at my answering machine. “I called, but you never answered.”

I looked over at the machine too. The light was green. No messages waiting. “Maybe I forgot.”

She nodded. “Still keeping your journal, honey?”

“Yes. But I’ve been having some problems with phones and stuff.”

“And your computer?” she asked.

“No, that’s been fine. But anything electric I keep on me-cell phone, watch-wears out fast.”

“So your landline is okay?” she pressed.

“Yes.”

“I thought you and I had a deal about your checking in every day for a little while. I even had a phone installed for you.”

“What are you, my mom?”

“No, I’m your extra memory, remember? You, my friend, have holes in your head.” She held up a finger at my faked shock. “If you want me to tell you what’s been happening in your life when magic eats up your memory, then you need to tell me what’s going on. So, what’s been going on?”

I glanced at the clock on the wall.

“Well, for one thing, I have a date tonight.”

She didn’t even fight the smile that made her face light up like she was made of sunshine.

“With Zayvion?”

I nodded. “We haven’t had much of a chance to really talk since I came back to town. Or at least not about normal things. Not about us. He remembers. . things about us I don’t remember. Which is weird. So we’re going to try a date-a real date. Get to know each other a little better.”

“When is he supposed to be here?” She stood and looked me up and down, obviously not impressed by my wet-cuffed jeans and sweater. “Are you going to dinner? How fancy is the restaurant?”

“Less than an hour. And yes, superfancy. He made reservations at the Gargoyle.”

“Tell me you’re not wearing that.”

“Excuse me? Did I just hear fashion attitude from a woman who wears overalls and men’s boots every day?”

She made a face at me. “Only on the farm. Do you even own girl clothes?”

“These are girl clothes.”

“Dress? Skirt? Heels?” She said each word slowly, as if I’d never heard them before.

“Maybe. I think so. I haven’t really looked through my closet. There’s a couple boxes of stuff I haven’t unpacked.”

“Oh my God, Allie. Your date is in an hour and you haven’t even started to look through your clothes?”

“It’s been a weird day,” I drawled.

She laughed. “All your days are weird. Let me help. You go take a shower. Want me to dig through your closet or make coffee?”

“Coffee. You are staying with me, right?”

She was already moving toward my kitchen. “If I’m not in the way.”

I got as far as the bathroom door before I heard, “Oh, Allie!”

“What?” I yelled.

“Roses. Everywhere.” She came out of the kitchen, a single pink long-stemmed rose in her hand. “You do know your kitchen is filled with them, right?”

I smiled. “There are a few irises in there too.”

“Bargain at the flower shop?”

“Nope.”

“Secret admirer?”

“No.”

“Spill.”

“Zayvion.”

The sunshine smile was back, and she got that goo-goo softy look. “Then you definitely need to put on girl clothes. Go. Shower.” She waved her hand at me. “I’ll arrange the flowers too.”

I grinned. Nola never asked; she always just told me what she was going to do for me. I’d gotten pretty used to it, and she’d gotten used to my telling her if I didn’t want her to boss me around.

I walked into the bathroom and shut the door. The flutter winged behind my eyes again. Dad.

Find the disks

, my father’s voice breathed.

Find my killer

.

I cupped my hands over my ears. “No, no, no. Get out. Get dead.”

I squeezed my eyes shut and the flutter, the voice, was gone.

Sweet hells. What was I thinking, going on a date? My father was alive in me. Aware.

Or maybe he wasn’t. Maybe I was just imagining him, his voice, the flutter of his thoughts in my mind. Maybe I was going crazy.

A chill washed down my arms, and I took a deep, shaky breath. It was possible. Possible I was going insane. I’d used a lot of magic lately. Enough to do damage to my body and mind.

And sure, I liked to think of myself as someone who met any bad situation-like insanity and ghostly possession-straight on. But not tonight.

For just a few hours, for just this one date, I was going to ignore my father in my mind, ignore the state of my sanity, and ignore the entire city lousy with secrets and magic and brewing wars. Even if it killed me.