Magic in the Shadows

Chapter Three

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”Zayvion yelled.

I rubbed at my neck, which already hurt, and worked on letting go of the magic, my panic, and the push of adrenaline that made me want to yell back at him.

“So, you do lose your cool,” I said. “Who knew?”

“Do you know how stupid that was?” he asked.

“I don’t even know what kind of man? Creature. .?” I glanced at Zayvion, whose locked-jaw anger flickered at that guess. “Creature,” I confirmed, “that was. Do you?”

“Yes.”

“Good, because I don’t. Want to see if it’s still in fighting range?”

I wiped my hands on my coat, because I felt dirty, covered in shit and blood even though I hadn’t touched anything in the alley. I strode over to where the creature had been eating.

Zayvion swore, and I mean he pulled out a raft of curses that made me rethink his upbringing. He stormed out of the alley and onto the sidewalk, six feet and then some of pissed-off assassin.

Me, I could hold my calm in high-stress situations. I was good at denial-had plenty of practice. I simply blocked out the fear, terror; shoved a metaphorical sock into the mouth of the little girl’s screaming panic in my mind; and took it one thing at a time. First thing was to see whether anything else was still alive back here.

I took the time to recast Light, got the glow down to a tolerable level, and left the hovering orb behind me as I walked forward slowly and quietly. If something was alive, it was probably also hurt. Sometimes injured people and animals attacked when someone was trying to help them.

I drew a circle in the air with the index fingers of both hands, pinching the point where the circles closed between my index finger and thumb. Containment spells, the basics of Hold, that I could quickly fill with magic and toss at whatever was back there.

After a few steps, I was walking in a thin trail of blood; a few steps more and the blood thickened with gore.

And Nola had wanted me to wear my strappy sandals. Shows you what a country girl knew about city dating.

About twenty feet into the alley, I spotted the mess. It wasn’t moving, wasn’t breathing. I dropped the glyph in my left hand and put my palm over my nose to try to block the stink of death, defecation, and rotted magic.

Large enough to be another person, the poor thing was spread across the entire width of the alley. From the bits I could recognize-a muzzle, tail, a paw attached to half a leg-I knew it was a dog. Had been a dog.

Shit.

That thing hadn’t just killed it, it had ravaged it. There were bloody bits everywhere, but the inside gore-heart, intestine, lungs-none of that was left. Just skin and bits of bone.

Bile rose up in my throat and I swallowed to keep from puking. My eyes watered, and I started coughing.

I scanned the mess one last time, looking for a collar. I couldn’t see any, and I just didn’t have it in me to touch the poor thing’s remains. I backed away from the corpse, blinking back tears.

Zayvion made some noise striding toward me. Probably so I wouldn’t be surprised.

I turned my back on the mess and headed toward him, trying to hold it together.

“What’s back there?” he asked.

“A d-dog,” I stuttered.

Way to sound tough, Beckstrom

, I thought.

Zayvion took a deep breath, filling his chest and making him look even bigger than he was. But when he exhaled, some of the anger was gone, replaced by his familiar, and at the moment much-appreciated, Zen.

He placed his hand gently but firmly on my right arm. “If you ever do that again, if you ever break a protection spell, I will knock you down and drag you to safety. Do you understand me?”

“Not really.”

He closed his eyes and shook his head. Okay, so maybe he really was still angry.

“Hey, it’s not like anyone taught me about protection spells like that, that-”

“Camouflage,” he said.

“Camouflage you did. You want me to stay out of your way, then I will.” I took a step, but he pulled me against him so quickly, my boot slipped down the side of his shoe, probably smearing blood and gunk all over the outside of his leather loafers.

His arms closed around me and I could feel the heat of his body, smell the sweet pine and spice of his cologne over the sharp bite of his fear and sweat, could feel the pounding of his heart-strong. Fast.

But it was not a loving embrace.

“Let me go,” I said.

“Not until you understand me.” Zayvion searched my face. “You could have been hurt. Killed. It had fed-was feeding-and you have too much magic it wants. It could have killed you.”

“Got it. Big scary monster is not my friend. Now let go.”

He didn’t loosen his grip. The stomach-dropping panic of claustrophobia licked across my skin. I didn’t do tight spaces-not even someone’s arms-very well. “Zayvion, let go.” My voice was a little higher than I liked.

“Never storm into a dark alley. Never jump out when someone’s trying to protect you. Never throw magic blind at something and expect it will go away.”

“You better let go,” I said. Panic and gore on an empty stomach were a bad combination.

“There are things in this city, Allie,” he continued like I hadn’t said anything. “Things that will kill you in a second. And if you don’t show some caution you’ll never learn how to defend yourself-”

“I’m going to barf.”

That

got his attention.

I was out of his arms in a flash. Maybe a little too fast. I stumbled back a step or two. His hand on my arm kept me from falling, which was nice. I pressed my hand against the wall and just stood there a second, breathing the cold and fog down into my lungs so it could cool the hot panic in the pit of my stomach.

It took some time, maybe two minutes, for the nausea to pass. Zayvion was silent, waiting, one hand pressed between my shoulder blades. Touch, his touch, felt good. I stood away from the wall. And grinned at the look on Zayvion’s face-something between worry and confusion.

“What? Never seen a girl get sick before?”

“Are you okay?” he asked. “Did it touch you?”

“The dog thing? No. It’s just …” I swallowed. “Don’t pin me down like that, Zay. I hate not being able to move.”

“I know.” That surprised me. But then, he probably knew lots of things about me I didn’t remember telling him. “I. . wasn’t thinking,” he said. “But you should never break a Camouflage spell, and never assume attack is the best action. Did I make that clear?”

“Loud and,” I said.

The wind stirred the fog just enough to revive the stink of the alley.

“Is that thing out there?” I asked.

“No. But I’ve called some friends. They’re looking for it.”

“Are you going to tell me what it is?” I started toward the street.

“I could. Would you rather I take you home?” Zayvion asked.

Every logical bone in my body said yes. I was a little sweaty, a little spooked, and my boots had blood on them. But, damn it, I wanted a normal date and I was determined to get it.

“No,” I said. “I’d like to try dinner. We have reservations, remember?”

We waited for traffic to slide by, then crossed the street to the car. Zayvion walked around to the passenger’s side with me even though the car was still unlocked.

“Hold on,” I said. I took a few steps away and wiped my boots on the patch of grass near the sidewalk before getting in the car. Zayvion shut the door behind me before walking around to the driver’s door. He got in, started the engine, and pulled out into the street.

After we’d driven a while in silence, I finally spoke. “Should we call the police?”

“I already did.”

“Really?” I turned in my seat so I could better see him. “I didn’t think you much liked the police.”

Zayvion shrugged one shoulder. “I have no problem with the law.”

“What did you tell them? A mutant man-dog was on the loose?”

“I told them there was a mess in the alley. Animal cruelty, criminal mischief, and magic. Stotts’ people will deal with it, make sure there are no magical contaminants in the conduits and cisterns. Make sure there aren’t any hot spots.”

“That makes sense,” I said. Hot spots of too much or too little magic disrupted the power grid and caused problems with city services that rely on a steady flow-places like hospitals and penitentiaries.

“So what was that thing?”

He frowned as if trying to decide how much he should say.

I gave him my best I-can-take-it look.

“It’s a problem,” he said.

“I got that part.”

“The stolen disks-the ones Violet and your father were developing so that magic could become portable?” He paused.

“Yes.” I still had my memories about the disks. It was one of the magic-technology integrations inventions Violet had been working on for my father’s company. A portable way to carry magic. And once carried like that, magic had much less price to pay. It would revolutionize how magic was channeled, networked, piped. Like a wireless phone, it would make magic more mobile. There would no longer be dead zones. Magic could be taken where technology could not, and the theory was, great good would be the result.

It would also put magic, literally, into the pockets of any person who wanted it-and let them use it with hardly a price to pay. Unfortunately, it was becoming apparent great bad could be the result of that.

“The disks can be used for changing the boundaries of what magic can do.” At my blank look, he added, “Allie, those disks can make magic break its own laws.”

“That is a problem,” I said. It explained a few things-like how Bonnie the Hound had teleported herself and Cody off Nola’s farm. Not that I remember that happening, but Nola had told me about it. “So, the thing back there?”

“We think it’s a Necromorph-a magic user who has used some kind of magic, blood magic, death magic, to transform their natural state into something. . dark.”

“Think? I thought you Authority people were good at this secret magic stuff.”

“We are.” He flashed me a half smile. I liked what it did to his eyes. “But we haven’t caught it-him. We don’t know who he is, or who he may be working with. We are certain he has access to the disk technology. If he were Proxying the price to hold his body in such a mutated state, we’d know about it.”

“Why would anyone do that? He didn’t even look human.”

“He’s not.”

It felt like the temperature in the car fell ten degrees. I mean, sure, I use magic. We all use magic. But this was like something out of a horror movie. Some person was using magic to make himself inhuman. On purpose. And it scared the hell out of me to think about what he could do if he could make magic break its own laws. I rubbed at my arms, trying to dispel the chill.

“Why did he kill the dog?” I asked.

Zayvion drove a little while. The tension in his shoulders, the tightness at the corners of his eyes told me the answer was not pretty.

“Transmutation. He was either trying to use magic and the life force of the dog to change himself, or he was trying to use magic and his own life force to change the dog.”

“Into what?”

“I don’t know. Whatever he’s trying to do, he hasn’t been successful yet. We’ve only found his. . failed attempts.”

“And how long has this been going on?”

“A few months.”

“Months?”

He shrugged again. “Things are on the brink in the Authority. A very dangerous brink. Light and dark magic.” He shook his head. “We’ve been busy.”

“Chasing him?”

“And. . other things.”

“Don’t tell me there are more things like that on the streets.”

“Okay,” he said.

I thunked my head against the headrest and watched the foggy city go by.

He glanced over at me. “Not exactly the kind of conversation I planned to have tonight. I was leaning toward suave and mysterious.” He said it quietly, with a smile.

I rubbed at my eyes with the fingertips of my gloves, remembered I was on a date and wearing makeup, and placed both hands in my lap. “I’d be on for a change of subject.”

“We’re almost there. Have you ever eaten at the Gargoyle?”

“No. It was made into a restaurant while I was under my dad’s thumb in college. Have you?”

“Been in college or eaten at the Gargoyle?”

“The last thing.”

“I’ve been there.”

“Waiting tables?”

“Nothing wrong with waiting tables.”

“Good for spying on people?”

“Do I look like a spy?”

“No. You don’t look like a waiter either. Perfect for a spy.”

“Perfect for a lot of things,” he said.

“Is that the suave or mysterious part?” I asked.

“Both.”

The fog got thicker as we wound our way up the West Hills. Wooded neighborhoods wherein mansions lurked passed by to the left until there, up ahead on the crown of the hill, the flickering lights of the Gargoyle, which was once one of the grandest mansions in Portland, pulsed through the fog.

Sweet hells. Even from this distance, I could feel the massive amounts of magic being drawn upon and used by the restaurant. Those lights glowing up the road ahead of us flickered lavender, midnight blue, then slid to red, copper, and on to plum. Not electric. Not neon. Magic. So much magic that even in the enclosed car, I could smell it-deep, rich notes of vanilla and caramel. My mouth watered, and my stomach rumbled. Whoever set the spells on this place was good. Very good. I was already hungry, and we still had half a mile to go.

Three more blocks and the magic shifted, becoming less sweet, more savory. The scents tempted with salt and spice and thick cream sauces. I shook my head.

“How do they afford that kind of Proxy?” I asked.

“Wait until you’re inside.”

He turned the car down the winding driveway. Waterfalls flowed over stones carved into mythic creatures, some as small as my hand, delicate insects with batlike wings, and wide, scowling features. Some the size of dogs, hunched, muscled beasts with too many teeth to fit in a comforting smile. The creatures grew larger and larger, three feet, six feet, twelve feet tall, Gargoyles carved out of slick marble in blacks, grays, whites, and bloodreds, looming behind and hunched beneath the rushing fall of water.

The gargoyles were strangely lifelike-or maybe not so strangely, considering how much magic was being consumed at this place. Even through the veil of fog, the creatures’ eyes followed us, glittering like precious stones; wide batlike wings stretched, flicked, catching and shifting the flow of the waterfalls to reveal glimpses of faces. Taloned hands reached out; heads swiveled; mouths opened and closed; eyes narrowed, went too wide, blinked. Creatures shuffled, moving in the moonlight as if chained down by one ankle, a slow, swaying dark dance of bodies, of wings.

I could smell the magic on them, dank and earthen, cold as a grave. I could smell their hunger, their fear.

I shivered.

“Cold?” Zayvion asked.

“No. Just. . those statues. After the alley. Just a little too real.”

“They are meant to look real, but they’re not,” he said. “The stones are chosen for their ability to foster the magic they are infused with.”

“Huh?”

“A master Hand carved them. A Savant of art and magic combined. Lead and iron and glass are worked into the stone, carrying, supporting the magic. The glyphs worked in the stone with the lead and glass resonate with the naturally occurring magic pooled beneath the hill like two strings tuned an octave apart. It takes very little magic, and really no spells, to give them that sense of. . life.”

Looking at the gargoyles, arms stretched upward and faces tipped to a sky they would never reach, made me think they weren’t too happy about being tied to the magic that made them never quite real enough. Not that I thought statues had feelings. I’m not that crazy. But every line and edge of the stone beasts spoke of a captured melancholy. Power denied, hopes quenched.

I wondered if they’d look happier in the sunlight.

Doubtful.

We reached the front of the restaurant and Zayvion slowed the car. A valet wearing black and gray from head to foot appeared out of the fog, and opened his door.

“Ready?” Zayvion asked.

“I am if you are,” I said.

My door also opened, another black and gray held his hand down for me, and I took it, even though I didn’t really need any help getting out of the car.

Except my skirt bunched up beneath my long trench when I pivoted in my seat to get out. I got one boot heel on the pavement, and flashed calf, knee, and a hell of a lot of thigh.

The valet, male-model handsome, let just the corner of his mouth rise in appreciation. But when he looked away from my thigh back at me, I gave him a glare that would freeze his keys.

Undeterred, he bowed his head slightly and stepped back, allowing me to move and actually stand.

And right there, behind the valet, stood Zayvion. The man was darkness against stone-gray fog, his gaze burning with a heat that seemed impossible for anyone to contain.

Never looking away from my face, he offered me his hand.

I took it, and the moment we touched, everything else faded. I did not notice the valets, did not hear the car being driven away, did not even hear my own footsteps as we crossed the remaining few feet to the wide, carpeted entrance to the Gargoyle.

The two-story-tall doors, glass, gold, and rare imported hardwoods, opened at our approach. I briefly noted the attendants at the doors, black and gray with a touch of bloodred. And then the magic of the place surrounded and overwhelmed me.

Unlike the heavy scents that wafted to me in the car, the magic here was designed to stimulate every sense.

The dining area was huge, at least three stories high, with a domed ceiling where winged figures wheeled in the ever-shifting lights. I blinked, and the room seemed smaller, intimate, as if the restaurant ended a comfortable few yards ahead of me. We stepped in, and I was suddenly very glad to have a hold on Zayvion’s hand.

Magic pressed like soft hands against my boots, then up my thighs, my hips, my stomach, feathering out at my breasts with just the softest breath across my cheeks. Intimate, but unintentionally so, like a lazy summer breeze following the music that played, low and soft, the rise and fall of sweet strings over the haunting, distant rhythm of drums.

A woman framed by an arch of gold and colored glass smiled and stepped forward.

“Good evening,” she said, in a voice I was sure was either classically trained or had an Enhancement spell that made her sound like the lead alto from a choir of angels. “How may I help you?”

Zayvion, who seemed a lot less dazzled by the overload of magic, said, “Reservations for two. Jones.”

She blinked, and her eyes shifted from green to blue, then settled on a hazel too bright to be natural. Her hair shaded a little darker as she smiled up at him “Our pleasure, Mr. Jones. Ms. Beckstrom. Please, follow me.” When she motioned with her hands for us to follow her, she held herself taller. She was wearing boots a lot like mine.

Illusion, Glamour, Enhancement. Seemed like a hell of a lot of pain to pay for this woman to undergo subtle, and what she must assume were pleasing, transformations for her customers.

We followed the woman, who looked more like me than she had just a minute ago. I watched Zayvion’s body language to see if he noticed. If he did, he didn’t look impressed.

Good.

She led us between candlelit booths with subtle Shield spells that obscured the occupants as if a sheer curtain had been pulled. It begged the question: why didn’t they just curtain off the booths? Why make someone pay for the illusion of privacy?

Answer: decadence. This blatant overuse of magic was obscene, unattainable, forbidden. For every spell used, someone was paying the price for it in pain. In the approved penitentiaries, or maybe in the lucrative Proxy pits, where people hired themselves out to bear the pain of others’ magic use. And the only thing the diners had to do to enjoy this magical excess was pay a fortune in money.

The angel took us up half a dozen steps, and finally stopped in front of a booth decorated in natural woods, with silver, or perhaps lead and iron, worked in subtle glyphs that looked more like art.

“Is this agreeable, Mr. Jones?” the angel asked.

“It should be fine.”

The lady offered to take my coat, but I decided to hold on to it. My journal was in the pocket, and I didn’t want to lose it. I took off my coat, folded it, and placed it on the small bench along the back wall beneath the window.

I sat. Once in the chair, the level of magic went down about a hundred notches, and I exhaled.

“Too much?” Zayvion asked.

There was some kind of Shield spell on our booth too, but it had the added benefit of filtering out some of the magic overload. Maybe that was why they didn’t just hang curtains.

I took a drink of water so I wouldn’t scratch my gloves off. Magic pushed and rolled in me and made me itch. “It’s a lot,” I said. “But not too much.”

Yet

, I thought.

He nodded, and I realized he was worried about it.

“Do you like it?” I asked.

“The food is superb. Not magic. Excellent chef. Makes it worth the glitz. Plus the view. .”

I looked out the window next to us and the tension in my shoulders drained away.

A castle atop a mountain, the restaurant took up the expanse of the hilltop. The lights of Portland, electric gold and baby blue, spilled down the hill to gather like a tumble of diamonds on the valley floor, thickest along the winding cut of the river and the star-spray grid of downtown.

“Oh,” I said. “Gorgeous.”

“I thought you might like it. From this high up, all you can see is the beauty.”

He studied the city below us, the corners of his thick lips drawn downward. I wondered how much pain this man had seen. Being a Closer, someone who could take away a magic user’s memories or life, and being a secret part of a secret society of magic users that casually dealt with horrors like that thing back in the alley, must come at a high cost.

An echo of a memory-just the emotional wash of being in danger and knowing Zayvion was there, doing something to make that danger, that fear and pain, stop-pushed up from deep inside me.

That moment was broken by the polite throat clearing of our waiter.

He recited the chef’s specials of the evening for us, and we both turned our attention to ordering food and wine.

The waiter made approving sounds and melted into the swirl of magic and noise outside our booth. He reappeared within seconds with our sweet black currant liquor and canapés.

“Earlier today,” I said, after our waiter had left and I’d had a chance to let the sweet and dry Kir fill my mouth with the dark berry taste of autumn, “when I asked you if Violet hired you to body guard me. You didn’t answer.”

Zayvion finished a canapé and took a sip of his wine. “I am not working for Violet. Not anymore. But if I were body guarding, you’d be at the top of my list.”

I opened my mouth.

“You,” he said before I could get any words out, “are rich. So at least you’d pay me well. Besides that, your father made enemies in both his public and private lives, and you seem to have inherited his knack for that, though you’ve mostly made your enemies through Hounding. So I certainly wouldn’t be bored. What?” he said to my glare. “Didn’t think I’d be honest? You carry more magic in your body than half of Portland’s cisterns combined, and you are the leader of a pack of Hounds, half of whom don’t like you, and all of whom are unpredictable addicts.”

“Whom?”

“I went to school. You Hounded for Detective Stotts, who has logged more Hound deaths than any other law enforcer on record,

and

I know you’d do it again in a hot minute. Plus, for some reason, your father refused to bring you into the Authority back when you were young-”

“Watch it,” I growled.

He grinned. “-younger, to train you in the less standard and more useful ways of magic that you, of all people, should know. On top of all that, you tend to stroll into the middle of situations that can kill you, and you have no formal self-defense training.”

“Is that all you got?”

He put both elbows on the table and rested his mouth against his fingers, covering his smile. “Well, I’ve only known you a few months.”

“Might just stay that way.”

He watched me a moment while I sipped my water. “I don’t think so.”

I gave him a noncommittal nod. “Never know. You left out a few things, though.”

“Oh?”

“For one, I can read you like yesterday’s want ad.”

“Is that so?”

“Absolutely.”

He leaned back. “Well, then. Get on with it.”

“Reading you?” I rested one elbow on the table and folded my fingers under my chin. What did I really know about Zayvion Jones? Not a hell of a lot. He had the advantage of a complete memory, and time spent following me around for my father.

But I had instincts. Good instincts.

“You aren’t as patient and calm as you look. As a matter of fact, you have a short temper, which is why you put on the Zen Maseter bit all the time.”

He raised one eyebrow but didn’t say anything.

“You have a lot more money than you’d like people to know, but you don’t spend it because you don’t have a life outside your work. You don’t have any friends, and you never speak to your family anymore. You are a total loner, Mr. Jones.”

He gave me a blank look and took a sip of his wine.

“You can pour on the charm and get any woman in a room to go home with you, but it’s always a one-night stand, which suits you just fine. And even though you like to pretend you’re deeply moral and just, you’d willingly break the law, lie, and cheat if it’s for something you believe in.”

“Is that it?” he asked.

“Almost. Your favorite color is blue.”

“Green,” he said, looking straight into my pale green eyes.

Oh. Nice.

“Okay,” I said. “Green. Am I right?”

“You’re not all wrong.” He took another bite of his appetizer. “Not a big fan of one-night stands, though.”

Just what I needed-a rundown of his love life. “Really. So you’ve had multiple long-term relationships?”

“Want to see the scars?”

“Depends on where they are.”

He flashed me a smile. “On my. . heart, of course.”

“Of course,” I said.

The waiter interrupted our conversation, and we got busy ordering. We both chose the onion soup au gratin for our appetizer. Zayvion ordered lamb medallions with garlic for his main course, and I ordered the duck with apples and porto sauce.

“So tell me about Maeve Flynn,” I said once the waiter had left.

“What do you want to know?”

“Anything. It would be nice to have a clue about what I’m getting into.”

“She’s a good teacher. A master in her chosen magic-blood magic. She will teach you how to access and control magic in the ancient ways. The hidden ways. She won’t be easy on you. Maybe much harder now. .” He shook his head and gazed out the window again. Nothing out there but darkness and stars fallen to earth.

“Harder now?” I prompted.

“She lost her husband a few years ago. It. . changed her.”

Oh. I took a drink of my water. “How did he die?”

“The death certificate says heart failure.” He looked away from the window. Waited. Waited for me to ask.

“Okay. Now tell me how he really died.”

“Your father killed him.”

“Shit.” I sat back and tucked my hair behind my ear. “Terrific. My teacher hates me.”

“I don’t know that she hates you. Maeve has always been fair-minded. Kind, in her way. She’s not. . or at least she hasn’t been. . the kind of person to punish someone for their blood relations. There’s a chance she’ll very much enjoy teaching you the things your father didn’t want you to know.”

“And there’s a chance she’ll want me to fail spectacularly.”

“Maybe. Will that stop you?”

“No. I want to learn. Holding all this magic isn’t easy, you know? Plus, I can be pretty stubborn when I put my mind to it.”

“Really? I did not know that.”

“Ha-ha. You can stop trying to look so surprised.”

The waiter swooped down upon our table and placed the soup in front of us, then refilled our wine before disappearing back into the swirl of color and light beyond our booth.

“Stubborn might help,” Zayvion conceded.

“At least I have one family trait going for me.” Speaking of family, I might need to talk to Zayvion about my dad.

Did I know how to do romantic dinner conversation or what? How did one casually bring up possession?

I thought about it while I ate the soup. Zayvion was right about the food. It was spectacular.

“Um, I had a weird thing happen today,” I said.

Okay, that was dumb. The day had been filled with weird things, starting with attending my father’s second funeral.

“Yes?” Zay asked.

“I thought I heard my father call my name. Twice.” Zayvion wiped his mouth with his napkin. “When? Where?”

“In my bathroom-well, in my head. After you left this afternoon.”

He frowned. “What did he say?”

“My name. Told me to find the disks. Find his killer. Aren’t you even a little freaked out by this?”

He took a drink and shrugged one shoulder. “I’m not thrilled by the idea, if that’s what you’re asking.”

And I guess if he could deal with that thing that jumped us on the street with relative calm, a dead magic user in my head probably didn’t seem like all that big a deal.

“He is dead, isn’t he?” I asked.

“Very.”

“Do you think he could be dead and in my head? When Maeve came to see me, right after I got out of the hospital, she was worried about that.” I took another drink of wine. My glass was almost empty. How had that happened? I was starting to feel it despite the heavy soup. It was probably time to slow down with the wine.

“Possession-full possession after death-is not well documented.” Zayvion refilled my glass. “Your father had enough mental strength after he was dead to step into you in spirit form and wield magic through you.” He lifted his glass in a subtle toast.

“That threw some rocks at the theory that no one can possess the living after death. But then, your father’s spirit was being. . supported. . by Frank Gordon and dark magic. What he did was uncharted territory. Forbidden.”

“Which he? Dad or Frank?”

“Both. It’s a problem.”

“A problem,” I repeated.“So that list? The one I just made about you? I’d like to add

master of the understatement

.”

The waiter appeared, whisked away our bowls, and replaced them with the main course. It smelled delicious, and we both took some time to eat.

“It is possible you have his memories in your mind,” Zayvion said.

“Is it possible he’s actually alive?” I asked again.

“I don’t. . We don’t know,” he finally said. “Sometimes I think anything is possible with you. Maeve is going to do a more thorough search when you see her.”

“Wait. You’ve talked to Maeve about me?”

“Maeve was my teacher for a short time. We see each other fairly often. She’ll know what to do.”

“Are you sure you can’t just look for me?” It came out smaller than I expected. No matter how little I knew Zayvion, I knew Maeve even less. I could let her be my teacher, but I was not ready to let her mess with my brain.

Zayvion reached across the table and caught the fingers of my hand. “If I could, I would. We are Complements, Allie. More than that, we are Soul Complements. Lightning and steel. We can. . manipulate magic together, as if we were one person. That’s. . amazing. But there are things we should never do, lines we should not cross. Using magic together is one thing. Powerful. Stepping into each other’s minds. . even with the best intentions, the clearest need. . that never ends well.”

“I suppose that’s documented somewhere?”

“Soul Complements are rare.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He took a moment to study me. I was not as drunk as he might think I was.

He sighed. “This isn’t what I wanted to talk about tonight either. I don’t suppose you’d like to discuss the weather?”

“Foggy,” I noted. “Tell me the truth. I can take it; I’ve had plenty of wine to soften the blow.”

He smiled, but it didn’t make it to his eyes. “The truth? The few Soul Complements that are documented read like a tragedy. It has never ended well. For any of them.”

“Hold on, let me get this straight. Soul Complements are just two people who can cast magic together without blowing themselves up, right?”

“No, you’re thinking of Complements-two magic users who handle magic so similarly, they can, on occasion, cast magic together. There are also Contrasts-magic users who handle magic in opposite ways, and can, on occasion, cancel or enhance certain affects of each other’s spells.”

“So Soul Complements are?”

“Two people who can cast magic as if they are one person. Two people whose minds and souls fit each other perfectly. Two people who could become so close they feel each other’s emotions, hear each other’s thoughts, feel each other’s pain. Two people who can take magic to levels otherwise unattainable.”

I know that should sound wonderful, being so close to someone you could share their thoughts. But I was nothing if not the queen of trust issues. Letting someone know everything I was feeling and thinking sounded like my own little corner room in hell.

I finished off my wine. “So tell me the downside.”

“Those Soul Complements who have become too close stop being who and what they are. Lost in the shared magic, shared emotions, shared thoughts, they lose control of their magic, or use it in ways. . in horrible ways. And if they are not broken apart, then, insanity results.”

I took a minute to absorb all that. “You and I are Soul Complements?”

He nodded.

“We’re going to drive each other insane?”

“Probably.”

“I’m serious.”

“All right. We won’t go insane if we just use magic together, and we won’t go insane if we are with each other in all other intimate ways.”

“Sex?” I asked.

He grinned. “I wasn’t talking about water-skiing. There are boundaries-how close we can be with each other mentally, soul to soul. Boundaries that must be obeyed so that we can be together, closer than anyone else on Earth, but not so close that we lose ourselves.”

“So, the shared thoughts and feelings are out?”

“It’s better that way.”

Well, I for one wasn’t seeing a downside.

“I could look in your mind to see if your father’s memories are still there,” he said. “I have the training. Should I? Once in your mind, once that close to you, I may not be able to step away.”

I blushed. No, I don’t know why. Okay, yes, I did. Zayvion was looking at me like I was something beautiful he wanted and could not have.

“I could make you leave my mind,” I said uncertainly.

“I don’t think so.” He let go of my hand and pushed his plate to one side so he could rest his arm in front of him. “You aren’t the only stubborn person at the table.”

I smiled. “Speaking of which, about that other thing.”

“Which other thing?”

“All those long-term scar-filled relationships you were talking about.”

“You aren’t the first woman I’ve dated.”

Yeah, well, I knew that. “Go on.”

He leaned both arms on the table. The table was small, intimate. We were close enough that if I stretched just a little more, I could touch him, kiss him. His gaze held me exactly where I was. “You just might be the last I’ll survive.”

The blush rushed up my neck and washed hot across my face.

Slow

, I told myself.

We said we’d go slow.

To hell with slow. I leaned forward, my wineglass still in one hand. Zayvion had both hands free, and drew his fingers down the side of my face, fingertips stroking the length of my bare neck. He bent toward me, his fingers slipping up to cup the edge of my jaw, as if he wanted to make sure I wouldn’t disappear, as if he wanted to draw my mouth to his. I opened my lips and inhaled.

My heart beat harder. I wanted to taste the wine on his lips, wanted to savor the pine scent of him against the tip of my tongue.

But instead of pulling me closer, instead of kissing me, his fingertips clenched gently beneath my ear. He ran his tongue across his bottom lip and then slowly, mechanically leaned back, away, shoulders squared against the back of his chair, fingertips splayed wide against the tablecloth, brown eyes filled with fire that had nothing to do with magic.

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. But I did.

“This isn’t going to be easy,” I said.

He held very still, watching me. “The best things never are.”

Our waiter of impeccable timing returned, cleared away our plates, and brought burgundy and cheeses.

I nibbled on the cheese, but mostly drank the burgundy and thought about Zayvion’s lips. Well, thought about his lips, and tried to pull up even the smallest memory of his naked body. No luck.

For his part, Zayvion finished his food, gave me a few smiles, and moved on to lighter subjects. The weather again-still foggy. The view-still sparkly. The time-late. As a matter of fact, it was past midnight, and the warm glow from all the wine was making me yawn.

“How about we skip dessert?” he asked after I’d hidden yet another yawn behind my hand.

I nodded. “I’m sorry. It’s been long. The day, not the dinner. I think I’m a lot more tired than I thought I thought.” Wait, what had I just said?

Zayvion grinned. “We’ll save dessert for next time.”

“Next time?”

“You didn’t think this was the only date I was going to take you on, did you?”

“Uh. . no?”

The waiter appeared like magic, took Zayvion’s credit card, and returned just as quickly.

“So,” Zayvion said as we both stood and pulled on our coats. “That list of things you said about me earlier?”

“Yes?”

“You forgot

determined

.”

He helped me with the sleeve I wasn’t having any luck getting into on my own. Damn. Too much wine. Especially now that I was standing, my head was a little muzzy. “And

old-fashioned

,” I said, as he offered me his arm.

“Old-fashioned?” He actually looked offended. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He placed his hand over mine on his arm and stepped closer to me. “May I have the honor of escorting you home, Ms. Beckstrom?”

I giggled. Seriously. Giggled. Bad sign. “Maybe that wine was more than I thought I drank.” Smooth, Beckstrom.

“Just try to relax when we walk out into the main flow of the restaurant.”

I was going to ask him what he meant by that, but then we took two steps away from the table and I got my answer. Like a hammer. A great big answer hammer over the head.

Magic pressed in around me, pushed up through my feet, sunk needle-deep into my skin. The spell that veiled our table had done more than offer us privacy from other diners. It had kept the thick crosscurrents of the restaurant’s long-standing and short-term spells from being so overwhelming. But now, out here, I was most certainly whelmed.

Magic sparked within me, a fire rushing up my bones, urging me to release it, to cast, to use.

I gritted my teeth and exhaled through my nose, resisting the urge to use magic. Not easy after a couple glasses of wine.

“Zayvion?” I said. He must have caught the urgency in my voice.

He didn’t talk, didn’t ask me if I was okay. He set a quick but not rushed pace and guided me out between the tables that roiled with clouds of magic, thick ribbons of it in jewel tones, so strong I could see it shifting like currents of rainbow oil through the air, even without drawing Sight.

Magic prickled beneath my skin, grew hot, hotter, until my entire body was one big sunburn.

I tried to concentrate. Sang a mantra to clear my head.

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

Magic swelled, pressed, begged to be used. And my mental hold on it slipped. Oh, hells.

Mint washed over me, cool, sweet, soothing all the places where magic burned in me. Zayvion, my lightning rod, Grounding me.

The restaurant was behind me now, glowing with so much magic, I could feel the heat of it like a bonfire at my back. We were in the parking lot, in the cold air, the wet air. I took a deep breath, let it out.

My head was no longer muzzy. The magic, and Zayvion Grounding me, had the side effect of making me stone sober. And right now, I was really glad.

“Better?” he asked.

I nodded.

He walked around in front of me, his hand sliding down my arm. “Wait here while I tell the valet to get our car.”

I thought I said okay, but he bent a little to make eye contact. “Okay?” he asked.

“I’m good,” I said. “Fine.”

He didn’t look convinced, but turned and walked away.

Absent his touch, magic pushed in me again. The ground swayed a little beneath my feet, and I decided pacing might help. Taking even breaths, I strolled down the brick pathway that lined the front of the restaurant. The cold air did some good keeping my head clear, and I recited a jingle to stay calm and to keep the magic in me easy.

A movement in the landscaped flower bed to my left caught my attention. I stopped and peered into the brush and ferns. Two yellow eyes as big as my fist stared at me from the bushes. For a second, I thought it was alive, a dog, a cat, or-shudder-that thing from the alley, but the eyes were too large and too perfectly round. Then the wind shifted, brushing through the bushes. I caught a whiff of stone-just damp stone-and I knew what it was. A gargoyle statue.

I leaned forward and pushed a branch out of the way so I could see the gargoyle’s face better.

The statue’s head swiveled, following my hand like a snake follows heat. Magic. Just magic, nothing strange about it. There was enough light that I could make out the creature’s body-big as a Saint Bernard’s, haunches in the back like a dog, longer human arms and human hands with wide, extralong fingers. Its broad face wrinkled back from a generous fanged and smiling mouth along a doglike snout. The huge eyes were almost comical beneath a heavy brow, and pointed ears perked up from its rounded skull. Behind its shoulders, batlike wings spread out and trembled. It looked worried but happy, as if confused at being noticed.

It looked vulnerable. Lonely. It looked too damn lifelike.

Zayvion wasn’t kidding about the artist being a master Hand.

The wind pushed again, stirring leaves, and I let the branches I’d been holding fall back into place.

Just as I pulled my hand away, cool stone fingers reached out and touched my wrist.

Holy shit.

A chill ran down my spine. I looked down, and the creature, no, the

statue

was looking up at me. Huge eyes wide. Pleading. It was frozen in place, hand on my wrist, head tipped at a beseeching angle.

I knew there were spells on this thing; I could smell them. But I could smell something else too, a bitter scent of sorrow. Without wanting to, I also held still and looked at the creature again, trying to convince myself that it was not alive, but just a very clever infusion of magic and art. A chain collar dug into the creature’s neck, the chain spilling down its chest to somewhere at its feet.

I pulled my hand away from the creature and it did not move, did not change position.

I touched the chain at its neck. Stone. Stone and magic. The chain cuffed the creature’s other hand and linked to an iron rod driven into the soil.

It was irresistible, the magic that infused the stone and chain. I drew my finger along the links, marveling at the spell that ran through the iron and stone, a constant conduit to the magic that pooled in the channels that had been laid deep beneath the soil here to feed and maintain the spells on the statues.

At my touch, magic flared along the chain in a sudden wash of heat. I pulled my fingers away, not wanting to interfere with the spell, but it was too late. Magic twisted along the carved glyphs and-I am not kidding-sort of jumped the carved route it should have taken. Like a freak electric arc, magic stalled for a moment and poured through my hand, making the whorls of color on my skin flash neon bright as the magic completed the arc.

The creature jerked, shuddered. Wings flapping, it pulled against the chain.

I pulled my hand away.

I heard the grinding groan, low like a dog’s growl, as metal and stone strained, snapped.

I took a step back, my hands up in a warding position.

But there was no movement in the bushes. Only darkness. Only silence.

The statue was not moving. Its wide round eyes looked at me, blank, unfocused, no longer lifelike. I looked closer and realized the chain had broken at its neck, and now lay upon the ground in front of it, glowing softly blue with unspent magic.

Hells. I broke their statue. Broke the feed of magic to the spells that bound it. Great. I was sure they had monitoring devices on the things for just this sort of problem. Any minute a gardener, sculptor, magic user, or security guard would be out here re-chaining the beast and writing me a fine.

“Allie?”

I looked away from the gargoyle. Zayvion walked my way. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yes.” I walked over to him. When I was near enough: “I think I might have broken the statue.”

Zayvion gave me a long look, decided I wasn’t lying, and followed me back to where I had been standing. He brushed the bushes away and peered into the darkness. “What statue?”

I moved up beside him and looked. Bushes, dirt, iron rod, broken chain. No statue. The soil where it had crouched just a moment ago looked scraped clean, tended, as if someone had run a rake over it. Or claws.

“There was a gargoyle,” I said. “Right there.”

“And you broke it?”

“I interrupted the feed of magic, I think. Through the chain.”

Zayvion touched the chain, frowned. “There is no magic here. Are you sure there was a statue?”

“Well, I touched it. And it touched me, so yeah, I’m pretty clear on that.”

He made an isn’t-that-interesting sound and brushed off his hands. “They’ll probably charge you for it,” he said. “I bet you reach over the velvet ropes at museums and fondle the statues there too.”

“Zayvion, this is serious.”

“Really? Why?”

“What if it’s loose?”

“Allie, they’re statues. Magic and art, yes. Alive, no. There’s probably a hydraulic lift under each statue so they can take them underground to do maintenance on them. I don’t think touching the chain could break the magic or the chain. Unless you have bare-handed stone-crushing abilities you haven’t told me about? No? Then I think it’s more a strange sense of timing.”

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“No.” He smiled at my look. “But if there’s a gargoyle loose in the city, I’m sure we’ll hear about it.”

“Ha-ha. Funny.”

He caught my hand. “Thank you. And for my encore, I’m going to take you home before you cause more trouble.”

“You call this trouble?”

“Yes.Yes, I do.” He put his arm around me, and I wrapped my arm around his waist.

“Then I’m not sure you’re going to be able to handle our second date,” I said.

“We’ll see, won’t we?” He pressed the palm of his hand against my lower back, and the warmth of mint spread out from where we touched.

I leaned into him a little more, enjoying him. Enjoying us. For as long as I could.