Magic In the Blood

Chapter Eighteen

“Allie,” Zayvion said. “Breathe, baby. Come on. Come back to me.” His words, heated with Influence, would have woken the dead.

I inhaled, not enough, but even that small amount made me want to scream. Breathing was a bad idea. Bad.

“Good,” Zayvion said. His voice was calm, but a little high, like he was trying to hold panic in check. “You can do it again, honey. Breathe.”

And because he was using Influence on me, I did as he said. And this time I couldn’t stop breathing no matter how badly it hurt.

I wheezed and moaned. I had never hurt this much in my entire life.

“Open your eyes,” he said. “Let me see your beautiful eyes.”

Beautiful. Yep, that was just exactly what I felt like. I worked on opening my eyes. Managed to pry them open, but they were so swollen I couldn’t see out of them very well.

Which was probably a good thing. I had no idea where I was. But it smelled a lot-too much-like blood and death.

Memories brushed through my mind. There had been someone, a man doing magic. Right? Frank. My neighbor? That was as far as I could get before the memory slipped away. Holy shit, I hurt.

A soft stroke of mint washed through me, cooling and warming at the same time. I blinked, squinted up at Zayvion.

I was lying down?

“You are injured, Allie. You’ve been hurt by blood magic and dark magic. And you have a few other wounds. But you are going to be fine.” The last he said with that careful emphasis of Influence, as if his words alone could will me to recover. And those nice eyes of his were more gold than brown. His hands were on me, though I couldn’t quite tell where, and mint, strength, and peace flowed from him through me.

“I am Grounding you, because right now magic is raging through you so hard, you’re burning up. Can you let go of the magic, Allie? Can you let it flow back into the earth?”

Oh, sure, why not? And right after that I’d get up and run that marathon I’d been meaning to get around to.

I licked my lips, tasted my own blood.

“Just try for me,” he said. No Influence. Just him asking.

So I tried. Tried to calm my mind, empty myself of magic. I am a river. Magic flows through me but is not me.

“That’s good. Keep doing that.”

So I did.

Even though I heard sirens. Even though I heard footsteps.

“I called 911,” Davy Silvers, the Hound who should not be following me, said.

“Good.” Zayvion’s voice was tight. Grim. “Can you check on the girls? Make sure they’re breathing?”

More footsteps as Davy crossed the room. Sounds of him moving around. Finally, “Only three of them,” he said angrily. “Who did this?”

“Him,” Zayvion said. My eyes were closed, so I couldn’t see which him he was talking about.

“He’s dead, right?” Davy asked with just a little too much hunger in his tone. I was going to have to talk to that kid about how unhealthy revenge was.

“Very,” Zayvion said.

Sirens, lots of sirens, became louder. I heard a mix of voices, of footsteps and other things that sounded like wheels on wood-maybe gurnies?-fill the room.

“Ambulance and police,” Zayvion said so near me, his voice sounded like his lips were at my ear. It was a good sound. Good to know he was still there with me. That I wasn’t lying here, trying not to burn up with magic, alone.

Heavy footsteps came closer.

“Jesus, Tita,” Makani Love said. “What did you get into now?”

“She needs a doctor,” Zayvion said.

“Yah, yah. They’re here. You don’t go anywhere, Mr. Jones. We need to talk to you.”

I heard Love walk away, heard him talking to someone else-Davy, I thought.

“Zayvion Jones,” Detective Paul Stotts said. “You’ve been a difficult man to find. I’d like you to step away from her and let the paramedics take over.”

“Do any of them know how to set a Siphon?” Zayvion asked. “Because she needs one, and so does the boy on the floor over there.”

What boy? A memory floated through my mind. Anthony? Davy? Someone else?

Okay, I was getting tired of not seeing what was going on.

I worked hard to open my eyes again. Looked up. Saw Stotts and Zayvion sizing each other up. Stotts had a coffee cup in one hand, and the smell of dark roast was pure heaven. Both of Zayvion’s hands were on me, one on my torn-up thigh, one on my breastbone. That was also pure heaven.

“I think she was used for a Proxy,” Zayvion lied. Lied, because even though the exact order of recent events were sort of fuzzy to me right now, he had been here for enough of it to know I hadn’t been used as a Proxy. I’d been used. Used by Frank. For something. Dark magic? Something about opening something.

I reached for it, but the memory skittered away, like there was someone on the other end of an invisible string, purposely pulling my memories out of my reach.

That was weird.

“Hey,” I said, my voice quavering and weak.

Both men looked down at me. Even though Zayvion was trying hard to pull off the I’m-just-a-harmless-street-drifter bit, those burning gold eyes were a dead giveaway. That man was more than capable to cast magic. A lot of magic. What had Frank said? The guardian?

I wondered what kind of trouble Zayvion was in with the police.

“You’re going to be okay,” Zayvion said. “The paramedics are here.”

Stotts nodded. “They’ll set a Siphon if you need one. Just rest, Allie. I want to know everything that happened once you’re on your feet again.”

He shifted a little and an EMT, a woman about ten years older than me with a round, concerned face, stepped forward.

“M’okay,” I managed.

“Good to hear that,” the woman said. “My name’s Lori. I’m going to shine this light in your eyes.”

She did. She did that and a lot of other things, like pressing on my cheekbones and the bridge of my nose, both of which hurt like mad, and cleaning off the blood magic cuts I seemed to have everywhere, and pushing my filthy hair out of my eyes and pouring something in my eyes that made everything go blurry but stopped my eyes from scratching so bad. She spent some time doing stuff to my thigh, and then I think she put an IV in my arm, but I wasn’t sure.

What did you know? I could hurt so much that I didn’t feel a needle.

Zayvion didn’t move away until another man, who had a wide, easy smile and was tall enough to be a basketball player, came over.

“So we need a Siphon set? Let’s take a look at you.” Zayvion stepped aside. The tall man placed his hands on my chest, and his fingers were so long they reached from my shoulder to shoulder without a problem. “My name’s Marvin. I’m the medic with the magic, and I’m gonna take care of you.”

He was joking, right? A soothing wash poured over my body, like water over all my stinging wounds.

Marvin the medic with the magic was very much not joking. I’d never had a Siphon set on me before, but I could feel the gentle lessening, ever so slowly, of the pain in my body-different from Zayvion’s touch. Marvin was good. Very good.

“That your boyfriend?” he asked.

And it was such an utterly normal question, the kind of question you asked in an everyday sort of situation, not in a warehouse full of bloody, dead, and dying people situation, that I smiled, even though it made my mouth hurt. “Think so,” I said.

Marvin leaned in a little closer. “Well, just so you know, he looks really worried about you,” he said in a conspiratorial whisper. “But he doesn’t need to be. I got you covered. What’s your favorite flower?”

“What?”

“I’ll make sure he brings you some when you wake up.”

“Oh,” I said. I was already feeling drowsy, but not in an overwhelming way. Just a soft, comforting, it-was-okay-to-let-go-now-way. “Roses,” I said, even though my favorite flowers were iris. “Pink roses.”

And then sleep-real sleep-found me.