Magic in the Shadows

Chapter Eleven

I didn’t dream of my father. I didn’t dream at all. One second I was falling into a static darkness; the next my eyes were open.

It happened so fast, my heart tripped in my chest and stuttered hard before it caught up again.

“Morning, Sunshine.” Zayvion Jones, that dark Adonis, leaned down above me, his usually calm expression warmed by a smile.

“Mmm,” I managed. My tongue was stuck to the roof of my mouth. There wasn’t any spit left in me. I tried to swallow, felt like I hadn’t drunk in years. And tasted mint. Lots and lots of mint.

I knew the taste of that mint. Zayvion was Grounding the hell outta me. Which must mean I was using magic. While sleeping?

He drew his hand up my bare leg, cupping the back of my calf, up the smooth, warm inner arc of my knee, then over the lean muscle of my thigh, his thumb trailing the inside of my thigh, until he reached, much too soon, the fold of blanket draped over my hips, stomach, and chest.

He pulled the blanket down over my exposed leg, and looked me straight in the eye as he tucked me in, proper as a priest.

“Water?” he asked.

I nodded, which shook my headache loose. I groaned a little.

“Aspirin?” I asked. It came out sounding a lot like

ass spoon

, but Zayvion seemed fluent in mumbleze.

He handed me water and a pill from my bedside table.

I elbowed up (elbows working, check; stomach muscles working, check; heart and lungs still on duty, check; head hurting like a three-day bender, check) and sat against the headboard. My shoulder still hurt like hell. I closed my eyes and took a second to breathe. Zayvion rested his free hand on my thigh and warm, soothing mint washed over me like a blanket of morphine.

Yums. Even though I wasn’t using magic, I felt burned inside, raw. And the Grounding helped.

“Okay.” I opened my eyes, got lost for a soul’s breath in the deep brown and gold of Zayvion’s gaze before he gently let me free by breaking eye contact.

“Water,” he reminded.

I took the water this time and looked at the pill in my palm. Not the white aspirin that I kept in my medicine cabinet. This pill was blue and had a tiny little glyph carved into it. Magic medicine? How did that work? Did they put glass and lead in the pill to contain the magic?

“What is it?” I asked.

“Painkiller. Prescription.”

“The glyph?” I asked.

He shook his head. “It’s legal. I can get you the bottle to look at, if you want. I’m surprised you Hounds don’t eat this stuff like candy. The small bit of magic in the pill is capsulized in sodium chloride crystals. Won’t hold the magic for long, so that gives it a very short shelf life, but enhances the painkiller. And when the pain is because of magic. .” He shrugged. “It’s a lot better than aspirin.”

I swallowed the pill and drank the rest of the water.

“How’s your shoulder?” he asked.

“Good,” I said. I shrugged my shoulder to see if it still worked. A shot of pain cramped my neck and I hissed and rubbed at my shoulder, trying to work out the knot.

Then Zayvion’s hands were there, thick, heavy fingers, still surprisingly gentle as he moved my hand away. He kneaded the muscle, working it until the cramp eased, and I sighed.

“Better,” I said. I shrugged my shoulder again. A little sore, but it seemed to move more fluidly.

I don’t know if it was the painkiller, the relief from him working the cramp out of my shoulder, or the fact that in order to reach my shoulder at the right angle, Zayvion had to sit on the bed next to me and lean full body over me, but whatever it was, my mind was no longer on pain.

No, my full attention, every last flick of every last nerve, was on the man sitting above me.

“Tell me what happened.” He dragged one finger under the edge of my jaw, fingers catching there, just like in the restaurant, and I inhaled the familiar pine scent of him.

“I-” I swallowed like it was hard to breathe enough to get the words out.

The truth? I hurt. My lips were swollen, sore. My head still hurt, though the meds were starting to kick in. I figured that pill probably had two to four hours worth of painkilling in it.

I intended to make the most of my pain-free time.

Zayvion frowned, braced with one arm on the far side of me, the other still holding the edge of my jaw in his fingertips, as he looked worriedly into my eyes.

“I-” I whispered.

He leaned in a little closer to hear me.

Perfect.

I lifted my right hand, which was bandaged across several knuckles, and dragged my fingers up his side. He was wearing a sweatshirt, and I wished I had the coordination to actually get my hands under that and on his skin, but I was still clumsy.

Zayvion raised his eyebrows as I dragged my palm over the hard muscles of his chest and rested my hand there.

“Yes?” he asked.

“I want you. I want us.”

Zayvion went so still, if I hadn’t had my hand on his chest, if I hadn’t felt every steady thump of his heart beneath my palm, I would have thought he were just an incredibly handsome statue.

Or a dream.

Please don’t let him be a dream

, I thought. I reached up, stretched my fingers, and traced the fullness of his lips. He closed his eyes, and I could see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed.

His lips opened for my finger and he caught the tip of it with his teeth, held it there, and slowly dragged the tip of his tongue across it. He opened his eyes and exhaled, releasing my finger like a man hesitant to give up something so sweet.

“You are hurt,” he began. “You always want. . this. . when you’re hurt. Or afraid. I want us to be more than that.”

Well, I might be a little bruised, but I wasn’t scared. Even though I probably should be. The Necromorph was still loose. He knew my dad was in my head.

If I wanted to get Zayvion into bed with me, this was not the time to bring this stuff up. But he wanted more than trauma sex. So fine. Let’s see how he handled honesty.

“The Necromorph,” I said.

“Yes?” Zayvion went very, very still.

“Last night. He tracked me. My dad, in here?” I pointed at my head. “Cast Camouflage. With my magic. The Necromorph knew it was my dad. I. . lost control of my body. Dad took me. Used me to try and fight him.” Wow, admitting I’d been used sucked. Tears stung my eyes.

I hadn’t allowed myself to think of it that way, couldn’t think of it that way out on the street. But I’d been violated. By my father. From the inside out.

Zay leaned back just a small amount, giving me a little more room to breathe. Waited.

It took me a while to swallow back the tears, but I did it. Mostly because I was really angry at my dad, and I refused to let him make me cry.

“The Necromorph,” I said, my voice steady, “said he killed Dad. And I saw memories, Dad’s memories of a man with a knife and disks. It was the Necromorph before he changed. He killed my dad, and he has a disk, stuck in his neck.”

I took a breath, held it, keeping my calm.

“So, listen. I’m probably always going to be hurt. Some way or another. Hounding means I use magic, and using magic means pain. And wanting you might have something to do with hurting. But that’s not all. That’s not the only reason I want you.”

Zayvion looked away, past me, at the wall above my head. I could feel the heat radiating off his body, but I did not touch him. The decision was his to make too.

Finally, he looked down at me. He didn’t say anything, which was strange since I’d just given him what I assumed was pertinent information about the Necromorph he’d been hunting, and had also declared my true feelings about us. Seemed like either one of those things would be worth commenting on.

I found I could not read the look in his eyes. And that frightened me.

Wordlessly, he bent to me, his mouth searching for mine. He parted my lips with his own, gently kissing, coaxing. This, I understood. My lips were swollen and sore. I opened for him, wanting to taste him, needing to feel him inside me.

His hands slid behind my back, easing me away from the wall while his tongue dipped like honey, liquor, sex, in my mouth. I kissed him back, fumbling in my need for him. I gripped the back of his sweatshirt with my good hand and tried to pull. It hurt too much to make a fist with my right, so I scooped my hands beneath his sweatshirt instead and dragged my hands, fingers wide, up his back, so I could brace myself closer against him.

He caught the weight of me in his arms, then shifted, standing slowly, still kissing me as he helped me lie back down. He pulled away and straightened. For a moment, he stood there, almond eyes burning with gold, lips parted, nostrils flared. I wondered what he was waiting for.

I licked my lip and tasted blood.

Oh.

“Have you been tested?” I asked.

He nodded. “I’m clean.”

“It’s been a while since I have,” I said honestly. “I think I’m good. But things have been weird.” The bloody needle Lon Trager had stabbed in my thigh. Pike’s blood pouring into my open wounds as he lay dying in my arms. I’d had a lot of dangerous fluid transfer lately, and hadn’t asked if the doctors ran all the tests.

“God.” I threw my arm over my eyes. Blood in the bedroom wasn’t anything to rush into. I didn’t care how many medical advances there were. I didn’t care how many spells could extend a life-for a price. The kinds of diseases blood could transfer were deadly.

Zayvion pulled a tissue out of the box. “Here,” he said quietly.

I pulled my arm off my face. Zayvion stood there, holding a tissue for me. But I wasn’t looking at the tissue. He had taken off his shirt and held it in the other hand.

Sweet holy hells, that man was built. Thick chest, wide at the shoulder and narrower at the waist, muscles that moved beneath his mahogany skin as he offered the tissue to me again.

I took it, though I could not keep my hungry gaze off his body. “If you’re trying to torture me. .” I began.

Zay didn’t even smile. “Yes?”

“Just don’t,” I said miserably. “Put your shirt back on.” I dabbed at my lips, my blood catching in the paper. It wasn’t a lot of blood. But it was enough. Too much.

“Think you can keep your mouth off me?” Zayvion asked.

“What?”

“Nola patched you up. You’re not bleeding anywhere else. The punctures in your shoulder are bandaged. So are your knuckles. And that headache is from a lump on your head, but not a cut.”

“So just my lips?”

“Just your lips.”

That list of wounds brought something else to mind. “Have I had a shower?”

“Do you want one?”

“Yes.”

“Going to let me help you with that?”

I met his gaze. There was a challenge there. Maybe a little bit of anger. I couldn’t tell what he was angry about. “Yes.”

Zayvion tossed his shirt at the foot of the bed. A casual, natural gesture, as if his clothes always belonged at the bottom of my bed. I pushed the blankets away, took his hand, and stood. The room spun a little. He put his arm around me and we walked down the hall to the bathroom.

My bathroom is small, and I don’t like tight places to begin with. But here, right now, in the darkness of predawn, I liked having Zayvion with me in this tiny space, in this tiny room.

He shut the door and locked it, which I thought was sort of strange, but that was okay. I liked a careful man.

I pulled back the shower curtain and turned on the water, adjusting it until it was hot, but not hot enough to burn.

Okay, now I needed some graceful way to get out of my sweater, undershirt, bra, jeans, and panties. With a bum shoulder, swollen knuckles, and bad equilibrium.

Joy.

Zayvion stepped behind me and spread his hands flat against my stomach.

“Can you do this?” he murmured against my neck.

My mind spun with a thousand ideas of what he might be asking me to do.

“Can you get undressed on your own?” he clarified.

“Maybe,” I said. Then, honestly, “No.”

I expected him to be quick to get me naked. But no. He took his time, drawing his fingers beneath my sweater and undershirt, across the soft skin of my lower stomach, just above the waistband of my jeans. I licked my lip, tasted the copper heat of my blood there, and bit the inside of my cheek instead to keep from making any sound. He traced a sideways figure eight, the symbol of infinity, across my stomach.

I wondered if it meant something, but then his hands were gone, catching the hem of my sweater. He moved to one side, gently pulled the sweater and sleeve over my good shoulder, the right, and then he was on the other side of me. I tried to help get my arm out, but he shushed me and pulled the sleeve and sweater off over my head, then down my arm without me having to move my shoulder at all.

He glanced at me, and I smiled.

“Smooth. You get a lot of practice undressing wounded girls?”

“It’s come up.”

I would have said something about that, but one look at his smile, and electric heat caught fire in my belly. The weight and need for him pressed at my chest, and dragged delicious warmth down my stomach to pool between my legs.

Next went the undershirt. Painless. After that, he moved behind me again and unhooked my bra.

I gasped at the warm, moist air that licked my skin as he pulled the strap off first my good arm, then down my bad arm. Once the bra was gone, he stood behind me again and brushed his fingertips slowly up my stomach, then my ribs, which I could feel on the right, but lost track of over the numbness of the scars on my left.

Hadn’t I worried about my scars? About if Zayvion would find them ugly, me ugly, because of them?

But he did not pause over the scars, did not pull away. His fingertips traced the curve beneath my breasts, lifting the weight of me. I leaned into the warm hardness of his bare chest and stomach and closed my eyes. I could feel his heartbeat, pounding, hard, strong. Still, he barely touched me as he traced gentle circles around my nipples. An aching sweetness bloomed beneath my skin. I arched my back and rolled my hip against his, wanting more. Wanting him. All of him.

He made a soft, deep sound, his body responding to my invitation, and plunged his fingertips down my stomach to the warmth beneath the waistband of my jeans.

He kissed the side of my neck, licking along the mark of magic at the curve, then sucking until fire and magic rose through me, answering his touch.

I got my good hand on the button of my jeans, but Zay’s hands were already busy, unbuttoning, unzipping, his fingers slipping down my panties.

Oh. Yes.

But my jeans weren’t loose enough for much more than that. Zayvion pulled his hands away and caught at my belt loops. He knelt behind. As he lowered my jeans off my hips and down to my thighs, he followed with his lips, kissing the small of my back, the side of my hip, back of my thigh, behind my bare knees. Each wet, soft press of his mouth against my skin rolled a shock of heat through me, and left me aching for more.

He paused.

“Zay?” I breathed.

“Lift your foot.”

What? Oh, right. I lifted one foot, stepping out of my jeans, lifted the other. Zayvion pushed my pants across the floor, out of our way.

From his kneeling position, he caught the edge of my panties and tugged them down off my hips, away from the wet warmth of me.

He didn’t have to remind me to lift my feet this time.

I turned around and faced him.

Zayvion crouched, face level with my stomach, burning gold eyes, deep brown skin. The man radiated power, hunger, need. I caught my breath at the sight of him.

“I need you,” I said. “Please.” I dragged my good fingers though his hair, thick, soft black curls, wet with the steam of the shower. I wanted to pull him up to his feet so I could kiss him.

Wait. No kissing.

Well, none for me. Zayvion’s lips were just fine. He proved it by licking across my stomach. I moaned as he worked his way up.

I arched my head back, closed my eyes again as need thrummed through me.

He rested his hands on both sides of my hips. “Shower,” he said.

What? Oh, no way. Forget the shower.

“Allie.”

I opened my eyes. He was standing.

“I’ll be right here,” he said, low and sexy. “Waiting for you.” He let go of my hips, gave me a little push toward the shower. He leaned his butt against the sink and crossed his very nice arms over his very nice chest.

“I can’t,” I said in a voice that was all breath. “I can’t wait.”

He smiled a slow, dark smile. “It will be worth it.”

From that look, I guessed arguing with him would only extend my wait.

I got into the shower and let the warm water stroke my aching skin. I fumbled with the soap, but managed to wash myself left-handed without dropping anything or falling over. Then I washed and rinsed my hair, which was not as easy as it seemed. My right hand was bandaged, sore, and I didn’t really want to put soap on it. My left shoulder, however, hurt every time I raised my arm, so that pretty much counted out my left hand. Still, this wasn’t the first time I’d had to take care of my battered body. I managed.

I even turned off the water on my own.

I pulled back the curtain.

Zayvion still leaned against my sink. He held a towel in his hands.

I stepped out, took the towel, and wrapped it around me without bothering to dry off.

“I’m done.” I leaned full body against him, warm, naked, and slid my good hand down to the button of his jeans. I pressed my palm there, cradling his warmth. He grunted, and I grinned. Oh, I liked what I could do to this lovely, lovely man.

I thumbed the button through the button hole, letting my knuckles press against his stomach. He needed me, wanted me, that much was clear. But instead of unzipping his jeans, I stepped away.

I unlocked the door and didn’t care how cold it was in the hallway as I swayed off to my bedroom. I didn’t hear him behind me. Of course, I never heard him. But I could feel him. His need so strong, it was like a second pulse beneath my skin. I stopped next to the bed.

I pulled off my towel, let it drop to the floor, and heard the door close behind me.

I turned and watched as Zayvion unzipped his jeans and pulled them off. He stood naked before me-dark, intense. A condom appeared in his hand, and I was glad he remembered. I wasn’t sure I had any in the house.

I wanted to savor him, touch him slowly, taste his body, his soul. I held my arms open for him and he stalked over to me. We pressed together, folding into each other’s embrace. His hands slid down to the back of my thighs and he lifted me.

He lowered me gently onto the bed and held himself above me, his hungry gaze taking me in before he bent his head, his lips searching and finding my breast. He exhaled, something between a moan and a sigh, my name, I think.

He leaned to one side, supported by his elbow, and drew away just enough to trace something with his fingertip against my stomach. A glyph. Infinity, again.

“Zay?” I asked.

He just smiled and kissed the side of my throat, drawing magic up through me. The glyph against my skin warmed. Magic spread through me, hot, sweet, following the stroke of his tongue, circling the glyph on my stomach, growing stronger until I had to stretch to hold it all.

Oh. Oh yes.

Magic drew a second pleasure beneath my skin, settled like a weight in my belly. I wanted Zayvion. Wanted to open for him, wanted to wrap around him, feel him hard, powerful, inside me.

I kissed the side of his jaw softly, not wanting to split my lip on the rough stubble of his skin.

He stroked his palm down my body again until his fingers slipped to the warmth between my legs.

His fingertips were cool and drew a slow, delicious circle, then withdrew.

“Please,” I said.

And then there was no more talking. No more thinking. He was with me, in me, and my heartbeat was too loud. I inhaled, tasted mint, pine, threw my head back, moaned.

Magic licked fire across my nerves, aching, Zayvion pulling on magic. I reveled in the sensation of our bodies together, the stroke and texture of him inside me, stretching my senses, making me tingle, ache, burn, making me needful. I gasped, each breath short, shorter.

Heat, a deep, silken stroke took me, shaped me, shaped us, magic, every inch of my body, until I knew I could not be this any longer, could not be only myself. I wanted more. And magic could give it to me.

I called magic up through me and sent it, racing, wild, into Zayvion. He groaned. Shuddered. His eyes washed with gold.

A plunge of cool mint pressed me down. Like iron to lightning, he Grounded me, drinking down the magic that I poured into him. Magic rolled through me, through Zayvion, then rushed back through me again. I did not know where he began and I ended. Magic and need were one, and I was lost to it. Lost beneath his hands. I closed my eyes, arching, reaching, needing more. More.

Zayvion’s breathing became my breathing, his heartbeat my heartbeat. I wanted to wait, wanted him to beg for me to give him release, but I could not stop, too caught in our tempo, as we slipped up and up and up.

For a brief, bright moment, I was whole, alive, complete, hovering upon the crest of a wave that crashed through me, hot, rushing. I shuddered and trembled and clung to Zayvion, wrapped around him, not wanting to let him go.

Heat lapped over me, simmering into a languid warmth, releasing my breath and heartbeat slowly, and making every muscle in my body heavy.

Zayvion kissed the corner of my mouth, and I exhaled the taste of mint.

We rested there, sated, still embracing, unwilling to draw apart. Zayvion leaned his head against my shoulder-the good one-and I drew my fingertips lazily down the back of his head, tugged at his dark curls before sliding my fingers down the back of his neck.

I was exhausted. Tingling. I felt like I’d just taken a few hits of pure oxygen. Zayvion’s strong, wide body felt so right. This felt so right.

Why had I ever doubted him? Us?

He took a deep breath and kissed my shoulder, my collarbone. I moaned softly, pulsing gently to his touch, as he gently drew away from me and shifted to lie next to me.

I rolled onto my side, toward him, my back to the door. He wrapped his arms around me.

He stroked the curve of my cheek and temple with his thumb, calling magic to rise softly, then fall like mist away from his touch. “I never want to hurt you.”

It was a strange thing to say after making love.

Not knowing what else to do, I just nodded.

We lay there a while. I wanted more, wanted to make love to him again. Instead, I drifted off to sleep.

* * *

A knock at the door woke me.

“I’m going out.” It was Nola. “There’s breakfast in the kitchen for both of you. I’ll be down at the courthouse, and later with Detective Stotts. I should be back around six.”

“Okay,” I said. “Thanks. Bye.” I clutched my blankets like they were going to fly away.

Zayvion wiped his hand over his face and grinned at me. “You didn’t forget she was here?”

And I knew I was blushing because I felt the heat of it spread across my chest and up my neck and face.

“No,” I lied. “Of course not.” I waited until I heard the front door close and then pushed the covers off. I felt the need to be dressed now. Just in case someone or something else decided to drop by. I found clean jeans, panties, bra, a tank, and green sweater. I managed the panties on my own. Then picked up my jeans.

“Gonna go that alone?” Zay asked.

The man lounged in my bed like a cat claiming a sun-beam, stretched out with only the corner of the blanket over his hips. I literally had to wait a second to get my breath back. It didn’t help when he smiled and stretched, flexing all the muscles down his hard stomach.

Maybe all I wanted to do was crawl back into bed with him.

“You offering to help?” I asked.

“Could. Might cost you.”

“So you’re going to blackmail me and leave me naked?”

Zayvion sat up and pulled to the edge of the bed. “You do see where it might be in my best interests to do so.”

“I can get into my own damn jeans,” I said.

“You didn’t ask what it would cost.”

“And I’m not going to.” I held the waistband, got one foot in, pulled the jeans up, reached my good hand across to get my other foot in, pulled the jeans up. Getting them over my hips was a little trickier and involved a lot of shim mying and wiggling.

I even zipped and buttoned the button. “Ha!” I said triumphantly.

“Very, very nice.” Zayvion lifted his gaze from my chest, a wicked grin on his face.

I wasn’t wearing a shirt. Or a bra. I’m sure I’d just given him quite a show.

“Bastard.”

“Worth it,” he said. “Need any help with your shirt, or would you like to prove it’s better if I stay out of your way with that too?”

“Get out.”

He stood, the sheet dropping completely away, then stretched before finding his boxers.

Okay, I really didn’t want him to leave.

I pulled my gaze away from his fine body and worked on getting into my bra. I got both straps over my shoulders, but couldn’t twist my arm backward to fasten the hooks.

Zayvion silently made his way up behind me.

“Hands off, flyboy,” I said.

“Promise I’ll be good,” he said. “Just use a couple fingers and a thumb.” He did just that, only one knuckle brushing my spine as he hooked my bra. Then he stepped back. “How’s that?”

“Nice.” I turned and wrapped my arms around his waist, resting my head against his shoulder. So much for the tough-girl act.

He held me, waiting to see where I would take this. I had all sorts of ideas of where I wanted it to go, but my stomach rumbled. If I was going to be using magic today at Maeve’s class, I’d need food.

I let go of Zay, gave him a small smile. We both wordlessly went back to getting dressed. I managed the tank on my own, but by the time I found my sweater, I was tired and my shoulder was sore.

“How bad is my shoulder?”

Zay pulled his shirt down. “It’s healing. You have a couple punctures.”

I held out my sweater for him. He took it, and without a smirk, without a single smile, he helped position it over my head, and held the sleeves so I could push my arms into them.

“Anyone call a doctor?” I asked.

“As I understand it, Nola called her physician back home and asked him if he thought you needed medical care. He didn’t seem to think so. Do you want me to take you to the hospital?”

“Right now, I just want some of that breakfast I smell.”

Zayvion and I explored the kitchen together and discovered sausage, eggs, and pecan-maple French toast. We moved well together, comfortable in each other’s space. I liked that. It had been a long time since I had someone around me, this close to me, who made me feel good.

We also discovered a note from Davy that said,

Hound meeting 7:30, same place.

A phone started ringing, and I got up from the table to answer it. Except it wasn’t my phone.

Zayvion pulled a cell phone out of his pocket. I didn’t think he had a cell. This thing looked more like a Victorian card case, with metal swirls and gears and beveled glass and tinted mirrors. It took me a second, because I guess I was just slow today, but I finally recognized a Shield glyph etched into the case.

Heavily Warded didn’t begin to describe that thing.

“Yes?” he said.

Whoever was talking on the other line was quiet enough I couldn’t hear them, not even with my acute hearing. Either that or the phone had some sort of Privacy or Mute spell worked into it too.

All I know is the man before me went from a happy lover to a blank wall of Zen.

“Yes.” It was one, stilted word. The answer of a man having to fulfill an unwanted duty. I wondered who it was on the other line and what they had asked him to do.

He hung up and pocketed the phone.

“Nice gizmo, Batman,” I said.

He frowned, and it was strange to see him try to figure out what I was saying. That call must have shaken him up more than I thought.

“The phone,” I said. “It’s neat. All magical and stuff.”

He nodded. “I need to get you one like that. You said your cell keeps dying, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“That’s because of how much magic you use. Hold in you. The Wards on it help with that.”

“Great,” I said, feeling like he and I were talking around whatever was really going on. “Is everything all right?”

He rubbed at the back of his neck. “It is.” At my look, he said,“It’s just a job. I need to take care of something. I thought I had the rest of the day before. . before I had to go.”

He went silent and somber. I tried to lighten things up. “No rest for assassins.” I caught myself on the last word, and Zayvion gave me a sharp look.

“You aren’t going to kill someone, are you?” See how understanding and supportive I could be?

“No,” he said. “Not today. Not this job.” He gave me a hard smile, and I had no doubt that he had killed in the past. And would kill again.

Hells. Now, that was a way to blow all of the fun out of the room.

Still, that’s what Zayvion was-an assassin, a magic user, a Closer. He was also a lover, my lover, and someone who had done his best to help me, and other people in the past. I wondered whether one thing balanced the other.

“Is there anything I can do?” I asked.

“No. It’s fine. I know. . it’s fine.” He took a breath and let it out again, pulling his Zen back over the top of the killer.

“Do you want me to pick you up here?” he asked.

“Why?”

“To take you to Maeve’s today.”

That’s right. I’d forgotten about class again. Ten o’clock or she’d get demon diaper rash or something.

“Sure,” I said. “Around nine thirty.” I gathered up our plates and coffee cups and took them to the kitchen sink. I walked back to the living room.

Zayvion stood at my window, curtains back just enough so he could see the street below. It was six o’clock, and false dawn was beginning to polish the edges of night.

“Huh,” he said.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He let the curtain drop, picked up his coat, and put it on.

“Good luck,” I said, not knowing what else to say. “Be safe.”

“I will.” He touched my arm. “Be careful.”

With that, he walked out my door.

I stood there, not doing much more than staring at the walls and thinking about too many things. A lot had happened in a day.

Which reminded me. I was seriously behind in my journ aling. I pulled my book out of my coat pocket, and the small manila envelope that Violet had given me fell out onto the floor. I was surprised I hadn’t lost that in the fight.

My self-defense list. Might need to make a few calls on that before Violet sent the Beckstrom Enterprises henchmen out to get me.

I took the envelope and journal with me back to the living room and tossed the envelope on the table. That could wait. I found a blank page in my journal and quickly recapped everything that had happened in the last day.

Just reading it made me tired.

I got up and pulled back the curtains, looking outside just like Zayvion had. I didn’t recognize anyone on the street. The city looked normal. I looked across the street and up. There, on the rooftop opposite my building, sat a hunched and familiar form.

I doubted anyone except Zayvion would even look up and see the gargoyle sitting on the roof of the building, his wings pressed against his back. Not because you couldn’t see him in front of the heating vents. But most people did not look up as they went about their daily motions.

Stone’s head was tipped so he looked not out over the building like most gargoyles in architecture, but down at the street. Specifically, down at the street in front of the door to my building.

Well, it looked like I had myself a big ol’ watchdog.

I stared at him for a bit, but he did not move. I didn’t know if that was because dawn was coming on, turning him to inert stone, or if he was pulling the immobile-statue bit for his own reasons.

Either way, I liked the thought of him being out there. Sort of like a big, dumb pet rock guardian angel.

The memory of him tearing into the Necromorph flashed behind my eyes. Correction: big, dumb, deadly pet rock guardian angel.

I let the curtain fall, and straightened the living room and kitchen-not that either needed much cleaning. Nola visiting had some extra advantages. I tried reading one of the several paperbacks I’d been picking my way through, but didn’t have much luck. After reading the same page three times I gave up and opened the manila envelope.

Violet knew how to do her research. Five brochures fell out, each with a photo of the instructor and staff, and a note card with her list of pros and cons attached.

I scanned them. Put two back in the envelope just because the instructors looked too damn smug, and spent some time comparing the remaining three. Two male instructors, one female. All offered a variety of training, from weekend self-defense classes to lifelong fighting disciplines. Not having much to go on, I decided to just call all three and make appointments to meet them.

But before I could dial, the phone rang.

I picked it up. “Hello?”

“Allie?” The voice was young, a woman. I couldn’t quite place it.

“Yes?”

“This is Tomi.”

Davy’s ex-girlfriend, the cutter Hound. The one who had kicked the shit out of him. The one who was running with a rough crowd. The one who hated me.

“Hey, Tomi,” I said. “Are you okay?”

I think the question surprised her. I could hear her catch her breath, could hear the sound of traffic in the background as she paused.

“Tell Davy to leave me the hell alone or I’ll get a restraining order for him.”

“Have you told him that?”

“Yes. He won’t listen to me. It’s over. It’s so fucking over.”

I rubbed at my forehead. She sounded angry and sad and a little afraid. Hells, I hated breakups.

“He’s worried about you,” I said. “About who you’re with and that maybe you’re hurt. Tomi, if you are hurt, or if you’ve gotten in a bad situation, you know the Hounds are here to help you. I know some doctors, lawyers, who would help straighten things out for you if you needed it. I’d make sure they got paid, so you don’t have to worry about the money.”

She paused again, inhaled, held her breath. I could almost feel her thinking it over Finally: “Tell Davy to back off or they’ll kill him.”

And then she hung up.

I stood there with the dial tone buzzing in my ear while I tried to think this out. I could call Stotts, tell him Tomi was mixed up with someone who wanted to kill Davy. Of course, a lot of new boyfriends want to kill old boyfriends, so it might be an empty threat.

It hadn’t sounded like an empty threat. She sounded afraid.

But Tomi was a Hound, and Hounds did a lot of things to manage pain-drugs being one option. She might be high and hallucinating, for all I knew.

I hung up the phone. Stotts already knew I had scented her at the job yesterday. I assumed he was following up on that, so there was a good chance the MERC’s had their eyes on her.

Which meant what I should do was try to find Davy. I didn’t have his number or address.

Note to self: get phone numbers of Hounds.

But I could still make the meeting at 7:30 and see him there, or get his number from someone else.

Since my last attempt to walk the street had ended with me sporting a raft of new cuts and bruises, I called a cab, waited for it to drive up before I left my building, and took it down to Ankeny Square.

The driver dropped me off at a corner with a light. It was cold out but not yet raining. I put my head down and walked as quickly as I could, not looking right or left. Not looking at the buildings or the street. Not looking at the people who hustled through here, like winter ghosts waiting for this graveyard to come back to life in the spring, waiting for the courtyard to fill with booths and music, the smell of incense, handmade soap, and food from carts.

My heart was beating a little too quickly. Ankeny Square felt like death. Pike’s death.

I ducked into the building. Compared to the stark gray light outside, the light inside was burnished a warm yellow. Long mazes of halls and shops and doors that went nowhere pocketed light into corners, lost it in the rafters, and poured it against blank walls. The smell of grilled garlic, incense, and soap hit me so hard, I held my breath. The fragrances filling the building followed me all the way down the central stairs and into the barely finished basement.

Jack Quinn, thin and tough as leather, stood in the middle of the hallway, smoking.

“Morning,” I said.

He nodded. “Evening.” At my look, he added, “Night shift.”

I opened the door to the other unfinished hallway and practiced not freaking out in enclosed places while I strode past the spackled Sheetrock to the room at the end.

The door was open, and the room, which probably had been a Prohibition hidey-hole and gambling parlor in an earlier incarnation, stank of mold and old, wet building. There was one table-a sheet of wood propped on two sawhorses-in the middle of the room, and six folding chairs against the peeling, faded floral wallpaper and bare brick walls.

Hounds, about twenty of them, only six of whom I’d actually met, one of them being Davy, thank all that was holy, stood in the room. A mix of men and women, old and young, insane and even more insane, the Hounds all stood or sat in such a way as to not come into contact with their fellow human beings.

I scanned the faces of everyone gathered, letting the sudden silence at my entrance stretch out. I’d learned years ago that she who controlled the silence in a room, controlled the room.

So far, so good. Every eye was on me.

“Morning,” I said to everyone gathered. No one answered; they just stared.

Neat.

There was a chair at the table, the chair Pike used to sit in. I guess I was expected to go sit in that chair, but my feet would not move. The idea of taking his place, really taking his place, made me want to turn around and leave.

Pike was gone. And I could never replace him.

I stepped in and leaned against the wall on the left side of the doorway so Jack could walk in past me.

“So we need to go over a few things,” I began.

Davy flipped open a pad of paper on a clipboard and clicked his pen. What do you know? He really was going to be my secretary. I gave him an appreciative glance and tucked both my hands in my coat pockets, letting my body language say

relaxed

.

“Pike had a lot of hope for the Hounds. He was a smart man. He knew potential when he saw it.

“But I’m not Pike. I don’t know what he had planned for the Hounds, for us. So I’m going to tell you what I’m going to do.”

A few feet shuffled. But other than that, the only sound in the room was Davy’s pen moving across the paper.

Tough crowd.

“First, I’m moving our meeting place to somewhere that doesn’t stink.”

And doesn’t remind me of Pike’s death

, I thought.

“I know the guy who runs Get Mugged. There’s a warehouse right next to him that he’s thinking about buying. I’ll see if he’ll cut me a deal. I’ll set up a permanent meeting place with a couple couches available for Hounds who need to sleep.”

It was like a collective exhale. Body language changed from angry, tense, tight, to. . well, to less of that.

“Who’s gonna pay for it?” a short, athletic man I’d never met asked.

“Me.”

“An’ what are we gonna owe you for it?”

“The courtesy of not burning the place down, or doing illegal crap while you’re there. If you can’t follow those two rules, the door will be locked next time you come calling.

“I’m also setting up a medical fund. Not just for disasters, but for regular doctor visits, pain-management counseling, legal drugs, rehab. That kind of stuff.”

I can say one thing for Hounds. When they have something to say, they are not shy about speaking up. I leaned back against the wall, letting them bitch and grumble until someone actually asked a question.

“You think you can throw money at us and we’ll follow you like dogs, Beckstrom?”

“Listen,” I said with more calm than I felt.“I promised Pike I’d try to do good for the Hounds in the city because

he

cared about you. You don’t want my help, then don’t show up.”

That went over well. There’s nothing like a couple dozen Hounds with stares set on hate.

Yeah, well, they could bite me for all I cared.

Bea, the bubbly Hound who worked the morgues, came bustling in the door, pulling the wide hood of her jacket away from her mop of curly hair.

“What did I miss?”she asked with a grin.

I swear, I had never seen that woman in a bad mood.

Jack, an unlit cigarette in his mouth, leaned toward her conspiratorially. “Beckstrom’s kicking the hive.”

“Really?” Bea looked around, spotted me. “I always knew you’d be trouble.” She sounded excited about it. “So, what’s the buzz?”

I opened my mouth to answer, but Jack cut me off. “She’s aiming for health care, free bunks, that sort of shit.”

Bea’s eyebrows hitched up until they got lost in her bangs. “Really?”

I spoke before Jack could. “Yes. And now I want to know who’s working a job. And I want cell numbers so I can call you to let you know where the next meeting will be held.”

It took maybe an hour to record where and what everyone was working, and to get non-Hounding volunteers to buddy up and keep an eye on the job and be willing to call 911 if something went bad for the Hound.

Davy handed me the notepad he’d been using, and I worked on memorizing Hound names and gigs. Between schools, retailers, hospitals, personal hires, and nonprofits, the Hounds in this room covered all corners of the city, and even some of the other nearby towns.

Strange to think there were that many people who believed magic was being used illegally against them.

Maybe stranger to think that they were probably right.

The meeting broke up a lot like the last one I’d attended. People simply filed out the door when they were done talking. Soon the only people left were Bea, Jack, Davy, and me.

“Anyone have the time?” I asked.

Jack glanced at his watch. “It’s five after nine.”

Which meant Zayvion was probably on the corner of the street outside my apartment, waiting to take me to Maeve’s.

“I have an appointment.” I walked over to the door. “Who has the key to lock up?”

Jack held up his hand.

“Good. I’ll see you all next week. Davy, can I talk to you a minute?”

He had already started walking down the hallway, but stopped and waited while I caught up with him.

“Tomi called me this morning,” I said as we kept walking, a little more slowly. “She said you’ve been bothering her.”

“She’s really fucked up,” he said.

And what he didn’t say, but what was obvious on his face, was that he still cared for her, maybe even still loved her, but he was helpless to keep her from screwing up her life.

Love sucks.

“I told her if she’s in trouble we would help. She knows there are other options out there for her. But you need to give her some space.”

“Space?” He turned on me and I took a step back, wondering if I’d have to block a punch. Instead, he leaned against the wall and swallowed hard, his hands in fists at his side.

The light hit his face so I could see his bruised eyes were puffy and red. It looked like he hadn’t shaved for a couple of days. His sweat and breath smelled of beer and cheap whiskey.

Kid was in a world of hurt. His girlfriend dumped him; the man he looked up to, Pike, had been murdered. He was beat, inside and out.

“She’s not going to make it,” he said, so quietly I wondered if he was talking to me or himself. “She’s slipping away. And she won’t listen. . Won’t let me help. . You know how crazy that is?”

I felt a strange twinge in my chest, sorrow for him. I knew what it was like to lose everything. If we were somewhere alone, I might even talk to him about that, give him a sisterly pat on the shoulder or something. Instead I placed my hand on his upper arm.

He couldn’t have looked more shocked if I’d hit him with a Taser.

Have I mentioned Hounds don’t do contact?

“If she won’t take our help, then we’ll get her pointed in the right direction to help herself.”

“Like that’s going to work,” he muttered.

“Maybe not. Lots of Hounds fuck up and die. But Tomi’s pretty smart. And she’s strong. A survivor.”

He nodded, watching me, and not doing a very good job of hiding how miserable he was and how much he really wanted to believe there was some hope left for her.

“Do you know who she’s with?” I asked. “That guy you said she was working for, cutting for?”

“She calls him Jingo.”

“What?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “Mr. Jingo. I looked. There isn’t anyone in Portland by that name. I figure it’s just what he’s told her.”

Bea and Jack came strolling down the corridor. “One side,” Jack said as they neared. Then, “After you, Beatrice.”

Bea smiled and walked past us. “See you later, Allie, Davy,” she said.

Jack just gave us a short nod, and then both of them were out the door into the building proper.

Jingo. Not nearly a common enough a name for it not to be Jingo Jingo. But what would a member of the Authority, a teacher of Death magic, want with a Hound? Maybe he wanted what anyone wanted from a Hound-someone to track magic. Or maybe he had taken her on as a student, like Maeve had taken me on.

“Have you ever met him?”

“No.”

“Okay. Let me look into it. I’ll see if I can track him down. You just stay away from her for a little while.”

He glared at me.

“She said she’ll get a restraining order on you if you don’t.”

“Like that matters,” he said.

“It does. I’ll pay medical bills, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to post bail for you, Silvers.” We glared at each other. I won.

He looked down at his shoes.

“She’ll come around,” I said. “Just give her some time.”

“You don’t know Tomi,” he said. “She never comes around.”

“Just promise you’ll stay away from her until she cools off,” I said again.

He blinked and gave me a disinterested look.

Fabulous.

“I have an appointment to keep.” I started walking to the door. “You going to be okay?”

“Sure.” He didn’t move away from the wall. He just leaned his head back, clenched his hands into fists, and closed his eyes.

“If you need anything, call,” I said.

He didn’t respond. I felt bad leaving him alone in the hall, but I really had to get home if I was going to make it to class on time. And I had some new questions I needed to ask Maeve.

I strolled back out into the building and took the stairs that exited to street level.

It was raining. Hard. I paused under the dubious cover of the building’s overhang and dug my knit hat out of my pocket. Hat on head, I strode across the street, not waiting for the light to change. I caught the MAX light rail train instead of waiting for the bus.

I made it to the bottom of my hill and started up. I finally spotted Zayvion’s car, parked a block away from my apartment.

More walking in the rain. I was soaked, cold, and the wind was picking up. Still, instinct told me to slow my steps before getting too close to Zayvion’s car. Something was wrong. By now he should have at least acknowledged that he saw my approach.

The back of my neck tingled and magic, deep and hot within me, pushed to be released.

Danger, danger, danger.

A moth-wing flutter on the back of my eyes reminded me that my dad was still there. Not exactly comforting.

I paused beneath an overhang in front of a glass shop, set a Disbursement-a headache again-then drew the glyph for Sight with my fingertip and poured magic into it.

The street filled with the ghostly multicolored ashes of old spells, many dissolving and regenerating-business spells set on cycles or loops as the magic pulsed into them-the price for the constant refresh going off somewhere to Proxy pits and penitentiaries.

A dozen Veiled, men, women, wandered the street, so far uninterested in me. Time to get a move on before they changed their minds.

I used Sight to look at Zayvion’s car. No new spells wrapped it; no ashes of old spells clung to it. It looked like any other magically unenhanced vehicle. And when I looked a little closer, past the car to the single occupant inside, I did not see traces of Wards or traps or trips there.

It took me all of ten seconds. And in that time, the Veiled turned and shuffled toward me.

I hurriedly dropped Sight, breaking the spell and ending the feed of magic into it. The street snapped back into rain and traffic. I took a couple deep breaths, letting go of the adrenaline rush. I did not like having to worry about the Veiled attacking every time I used magic.

I could show you how to block them

, my dad’s voice whispered through my mind.

Do you really think I’d trust you?

I thought at him.

We could do so much for each other.

Too late for that. Much too late.

I strode the rest of the way to Zayvion’s car, but kept an eye out for nonmagical threats. All I needed was for some whack job to jump me for my wallet.

Nothing and no one stopped me. Even though all I wanted to do was rush into the shelter of the car, I bent and looked through the passenger’s-side window before so much as touching the door handle.

The car was empty except for Zayvion, who slouched in the driver’s seat, his shoulders angled so that his face was pressed against the window. His eyes were closed. I bit the inside of my cheek and watched. His chest rose, fell.

He was still breathing.

The door was unlocked, so I let myself in. Zayvion didn’t stir as cold wind blasted into the car.

“Zayvion?” I touched his arm.

He jerked awake. His eyes, normally dark brown, were flooded by rivers of gold. He’d been using magic. Lots of magic. The whites of his eyes were bloodshot, and his dusky skin was a shade too gray. He looked sick. I smelled the bitterness of exhaustion and the powerful metallic odor of spent magic mixed with his pine scent.

“Allie?” He straightened and rubbed at his face with hands that shook. “Sorry. Tired. Ready?”

I might have said yes if it hadn’t taken him two tries to hold the keys tightly enough to start the engine. This man was in no shape to drive.

“You are not driving.”

He frowned. “Why?”

“Because I value my life.” I got out of the car and didn’t hear his reply.

I jogged in front of the car and opened his door.

“You’re being ridiculous.”

And I might have believed that if he hadn’t slurred his words.

“Doesn’t matter. Let’s go.”

Maybe it was the tone of my voice. Maybe it was the look in my eyes. Whatever, Zayvion squinted up at me, then fumbled with his seat belt and finally got it off. He grabbed the doorframe and used it as leverage to get his legs out of the car.

He paused there, breathing hard.

“Shit,” he said softly.

“What happened?”

“Just.” He swallowed. “Bad day at the job.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” I reached down and gripped his arm to help him get out of the car. “Is this from magic? Did you kill someone? Close someone?” The memory of the Necromorph who had cornered me, and then the strange shadow magic that had brought him back to life, rushed behind my eyes. I literally shivered.

“Did something attack you?”

“No,” he said. “Sleep. Just need sleep.”

“Well, you’re in luck. My bed’s upstairs. Come on, big guy,” I said as I pulled back to get him up on his feet. “Time to go for a walk.”

I tugged his arm toward me, ducking to put it over my shoulder.

“Walk?” he muttered.

“Walk,” I said, pushing a little Influence behind it. “You need some sleep, so we’re going up to my place. Ready?”

“Influence doesn’t work,” he grunted as he took a step, “on me.”

I’d forgotten that. “Well, how about, ‘Please don’t argue with me, because I can’t fucking carry you up three flights of stairs’?”

He took a deep breath. Exhaled while he spoke. “Since you asked so nice.”

I led us to the apartment door, keeping his arm over my shoulder and my arm tight around his waist. “Are you hurt?” We paused by the door so I could dig the key out of my pocket. “Were you attacked?”

“Just tired. Should pass in an hour or so. Heavy lifting.” He didn’t say

magic

, but I knew that’s what had exhausted him.

“There’s this new thing on the market. Called a Proxy,” I said. “Maybe you ought to try one sometime.” I pushed open the door.

“Did,” he said. “You don’t know. It’s. .” He lowered his voice to mitigate the echo in the lobby. “I am the only one who can do it. Closing. Closed. Like that.”

Well, at least now I knew what he’d done.

“Does it always hit you this hard?” I asked as we walked over to the stairs. “Closing?”

“No. He. This one. Complicated.”

“Who’s complicated?”

He looked over at me, gold eyes too gold, too red. Exhausted. Maybe feverish. Very quietly, he said, “Cody. I closed Cody. Took his memories, his magic away.”

It was like a razor-sharp finger dragging down my spine.

“What in the hell?” I said, low, vicious. “He’s an innocent.”

“No.” Zayvion shook his head sadly. “He’s never been innocent. Powerful. Hand.” He blinked and seemed to realize where he was and what he was saying. He clamped his mouth shut and glared at the stairs.

“Shit,” he said quietly. “Not here. I need to rest. Then.” He lifted one foot and set it down on the first stair.

“Then you’ll tell me what you did?”

“Then,” he agreed.

“Promise?”

“Word.” He put a few more stairs behind him and added, “You have mine.”

Man was barely able to walk and make sense at the same time.

So we climbed the stairs, not saying much. Me, fuming. Zayvion, less winded than I expected him to be. I wondered if the fatigue, if the price he was paying for Closing Cody was already fading.

He was going to have to come up with a hell of a good reason to convince me taking Cody’s memories away was a good thing. That kid already had enough going against him without dealing with people like the Authority. Like Zayvion.

By the time we got to my door and I checked and listened before opening, Zayvion was moving a little better than he had at the bottom of the stairs. But as we walked into my apartment, he stumbled, and I leaned back hard to correct his balance.

“How much do you weigh, Jones?” I groaned.

“Sorry.” He swayed a little and put his hand on the wall.

“Do I need to call someone?” I asked.

“No. I’m sleep.” He let go of me and walked a straight line into my living room. “Gonna couch. Okay.”

“Couch is fine.” I threw my wet hat on the half wall between the foyer and kitchen and glanced into the kitchen. No one there, and no note, which meant Nola hadn’t been back yet. Just in case, I checked the bedroom and bathroom too. No Nola.

The phone rang.

Zayvion was off the couch in one smooth motion. He stood slightly crouched, hands spread in front of him, ready to cast, eyes startlingly alert. If I had ever doubted it before, it was very clear just how deadly this man was.

“Hang on, hero,” I said. “Don’t kill the phone.”

Zayvion straightened, rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. He blinked and looked around, trying to get his bearings, then sat on the couch.

I picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“It’s Davy,” Davy said. He sounded out of breath. Strained, like he was running. “I’m at Cathedral Park. Can you get here?”

Cathedral Park was in St. Johns. “What are you doing there?”

“Following a Hound. I need your help.”

“Who, Davy? Which Hound are you following?” He hadn’t volunteered to follow anyone at the meeting today. “If you’re in trouble, call the police.”

“Forget it,” he said. “I’ll handle it.”

And then he hung up.

Great. Just what I needed. A lovesick idiot kid out getting himself killed.

I swore softly. Davy wasn’t thinking straight. I’d put money on it being Tomi he was following. And I’d bet money he was about to get his ass kicked again.

Or worse. Tomi had said they would kill him if he didn’t stop bothering her.

Hells.

“Okay?” Zayvion mumbled. He was lying down again, on his side, since my couch wasn’t wide enough for his shoulders if he lay on his back. He had a pillow bunched up under his head. His eyes were closed.

“It’s fine,” I growled. I pulled a blanket out of the linen closet and brought it over to him.

“Should take you to class,” he said.

I pulled the blanket over him. “I can get to class on my own. I’ll call Maeve and let her know I’m going to be a little late.” And buy myself some time so I could take a trip to St. Johns and drag Davy home, in chains, if I had to.

“Mmm.” He was snoring before I made it back to the phone.

I had Maeve’s number in my book. I dialed.

“ ’Lo, you’ve reached the Feile San Fhomher,” a familiar male voice answered. “How may I help you?”

“Shamus?” I asked.

There was a short pause. “Allie?”

“Yes. I need to talk to Maeve.”

“Right, right. Well, you can’t. She’s. . busy.”

“Can you take a message for me?”

“Sure.” There was a little shuffle sound like he was digging out a pen and paper. “Shoot.”

“Tell her I’m going to be late for class. Two hours, maybe.”

He let out a hoot. “Oh, no, no, no, darling. Don’t do that. She hates it when students stand her up.”

“I don’t have a choice, okay? I can get there in about two hours.”

“Hmm. And what will you be doing in those two hours?”

At my pause he said, “Allie?” dragging the sound of my name out, like he knew I was hiding a naughty secret. “Are you up to something?”

“No.” It didn’t even sound convincing to me.

He chuckled. “What have you gotten yourself into? Come on, now. You can tell me.”

Annoying. And Zayvion’s best friend. Fine, if he wanted to know what I was dealing with, he could deal with it too.

“Zayvion was supposed to drive me out there, but he”-I paused, not knowing what Shamus knew and how much I should say-“he’s passed out on my couch.”

“Is he breathing normally?” Gone was the laughter. Gone was the teasing. Shamus was deadly serious.

The turn of conversation made my stomach flip with panic. I looked over at Zay. He was still snoring.

“Does snoring count?”

“Good enough.” Shamus sounded relieved. “How did his eyes look?”

“Gold. Really gold. And bloodshot.”

“Was he talking clearly?”

“Not really. He did climb three flights of stairs.”

“Idiot,” he muttered. “Okay, here’s what you’re going to do.”

“Whoa, back up,” I said. “I already know what I’m going to do. I have a friend who’s in some kind of trouble. Zay said he just needed an hour to sleep it off.”

Shamus grunted and exhaled with a click that told me he was sucking on a cigarette. “And you believed him? Fine. You go take care of your friend. I’ll see that Z is on the mend.”

“You’re coming over to my apartment? I have company. . ”

“Your friend Nola? I know. Just tell her to let me in when I come by.”

“She’s not here.”

“So leave her a note.”

Truth was, I didn’t like the idea of Shamus coming over to my apartment. Didn’t like my privacy invaded. I had lived alone for a long time. I didn’t like it when other people thought they could move through my space.

Who was I kidding? I might have been that private, closed-off person before, but in just the last couple days I’d had my friend, a magical detective, my boyfriend, and a gargoyle in my living room. Not exactly the life of a hermit.

“I’ll let her know,” I said. “Knock loud. If she’s not back by the time you get here, you’ll have to get Zay to open the door.”

“Don’t worry, love,” he said. “I know how to wake Jones.”

“Tell your mom I’m going to be late,” I reminded.

“Right. Later, then.”

“Bye.” I hung up and then wrote a note for Nola, letting her know Zayvion’s friend Shamus was going to be over to sit with him until he woke up. I also mentioned that Zayvion was okay, just exhausted and needed a place to crash.

I left the note-which I hoped was innocent-sounding enough that Detective Stotts wouldn’t get suspicious if he was with Nola-on the coffeepot, grabbed my spare knit hat off the hook behind the door, and left, locking the apartment behind me. I paused out in the hallway and considered setting a Ward on the door. I never used them, but good Wards could at least warn the person inside that an intruder was coming.

No. A good Ward took more time and concentration than I had right now. And all it was likely to do was set off when Nola came home, freak Zayvion out, and cause a ruckus.

No Wards for the door.

Interesting, though, that I had wanted to set one. That I had wanted to do something to make sure Zayvion was safe. Even though he’d told me he had just taken away Cody’s memories. What did that say about how I felt about him?

And what would Zayvion feel about me when he found out I was stealing his car?