Magic in the Shadows

Chapter Four

Zayvion walked me to my apartment door. We paused there, caught in the proverbial unspoken question of first dates: to kiss or not to kiss?

“I have company,” I said.

He nodded. “Would you like me to come by and take you to class tomorrow?”

“How very college of you, Jones. Does this mean we’re going steady?”

“Now who’s old-fashioned? And yes. Say, around five?” he asked.

I thought about it. I hadn’t told Maeve when I would stop by her place, but if she could do something about my dad in my head, then the sooner, the better. I pulled my journal out of my pocket and made a note.

“Make it one o’clock,” I said. I tucked the journal back in my pocket.

“I will.” He held both my hands in his. “So, this is good night, then.”

I switched my hold, my fingers around each of his, and leaned against my door. I tugged him close, until our bodies were almost touching. I didn’t let go of his hands.

“This,” I said, “maybe this doesn’t have to be good night.”

But Zayvion, damn him, eased back. He let go, took a step, out of sheer willpower or the knowledge that I would have gladly dragged him back, kissed him, taken him into my apartment and into my bed.

“Good night, Allie,” he said evenly.

I swallowed, finally found my voice. Maybe I was acting like an idiot. Pushing him away and trying to pull him close at the same time. “Night.”

He moved off a couple paces, walked toward the stairs, silent and sexy as always. Halfway down the hall, he paused. “Lose the key?”

Right. I was supposed to be going home. Not watching his very fine ass.

“No, no,” I said. “Found it.” I dug it out of my coat pocket and unlocked the door. Zayvion waited until I opened the door.

“See you tomorrow,” he said.

I didn’t trust my voice, so I opted to wave and just shut the door.

I glanced into the living room and guessed that Nola was on my couch, since her luggage was still leaning against one side of it.

I unzipped my boots, wanting to be out of the heels, and then padded off toward my bedroom.

“You should have invited him in,” Nola’s sleepy voice said from across the room.

“Trust me,” I said. “I tried.”

“You make falling in love look hard,” she muttered as she rolled over.

“Give it a whirl again one of these days,” I said. “Show me how easy it is.”

Nola snorted. “I already did it once. The right way. I don’t have to prove anything to you.”

I smiled. She couldn’t fool me. She and John had been crazy in love all through high school, and through the few years they had together before cancer took him. And even though I knew she loved her husband with unwavering devotion, it had been years since his death, and Nola was my age. She had plenty of life ahead of her.

Her answer, I noted, was not a no. Maybe she was ready to open her heart again, to love again. For no reason I could put my finger on, that made me really happy. After all, if I had to trust, love, and be vulnerable with someone, she could do it too. Misery loved a crowd, and all that.

I yawned my way into the bedroom, stripped, and fell asleep almost before I could pull the covers over me.

I drifted, not dreaming, aware of the warmth of my blankets, the curve of my pillows, the rhythm of my breath.

“Allison?” My father stood just outside my open bedroom door, one hand on the doorjamb. Something was wrong about this. I was in my old bedroom, the one I used to have when I lived with him in the condo, but I was not a little girl, I was an adult.

A part of my mind realized this was just a dream. Nightmare, more like it, since my father was a part of it. The rest of me was too tired to care.

I put the book I’d been reading aside, and my dad took that as an invitation to come into my room.

He rubbed his hand over his hair, grayer than I remembered, messing it up in a way I’d never seen him do in real life.

Dream. .

my mind whispered. Right. Got it.

He sat on the bed next to me.

“I need your help.” He looked uncomfortable saying it. As well he should. Because he’d been mean. . treated me badly. . done something bad to me recently. I couldn’t remember what, but I knew I was angry with him. I knew I had every right to be angry with him.

“This hasn’t gone the way I expected.”

“What?”

“Everything.” He laughed, one short sound that was almost a sob. He stared down at his shiny black shoes. “My life. Your life. My death.” He nodded, as if thinking that through for the first time. “Not at all what I’d planned.”

“I don’t think I want to be here.” I stood.

“Please,” he said. “Hear me out, Allison.” He softened his tone by holding one hand out toward me. “This is only a dream,” he soothed. “What harm in a dream?”

And I could taste it, the familiar honey of his words. When he spoke like that, with magic behind his words, I knew he was trying to make me do as he said, trying to Influence me.

“Please. Sit.”

I sat so quickly, the springs of my bed squeaked.

“Don’t,” I said. “Don’t do that.”

He looked surprised. “Do what?”

“Push me, Influence me, touch me like that. This is my. . dream,” I managed to say. “You can’t push me around here.”

His surprise melted quickly away. He scowled. “This is no longer about you. No longer about what you want. This is about making sure the right things happen. Making sure magic is in the right hands and used correctly. By the right people, for the right thing. You can’t tell me you don’t want to keep the people you care about safe.”

Here he stopped, his eyes flicking from side to side, as if he were reading words printed on my forehead. “You do want the people you care for-Nola and Zayvion and. . Violet?” He frowned, but continued, “You do want them safe, don’t you? And now those Hounds. You have the entire. .”

Dirty, useless, worthless

He didn’t have to say the words. He wasn’t the only one who could read thoughts. Dreaming allowed us both to peer in each other’s minds.

How fabulous was that? Just what I always wanted, a breathing-room-only front-row-seat look into my father’s innermost thoughts. Like I hadn’t gotten enough of that when he was alive.

“Yes?” I challenged.

“The entire pack,” he said, skipping over all the less charitable things he was thinking, “of Hounds looking up to you. Idolizing you after that man’s death.” He looked for his name, found it in my head. “Martin Pike’s death. Trusting you to keep them safe and sane now, something even he could not do.”

“Yeah, so?” Well, there was a choice retort. Apparently, I reverted to a ten-year-old when facing down my father.

Neat.

“You are strong enough to lead them,” he said. “Stronger than Martin Pike. Strong enough to keep them, the Hounds and all whom you. . love”-he said the last word like it was made of hot peppers-“safe. That, I am sure of. And I can help you.”

That, I did not want to hear. Not from him. Because there wasn’t a favor my father wouldn’t play to his advantage.

“What do you get out of helping me? You’re dead. Why do you care?”

His hands clenched together, the knuckles yellow beneath his skin. Anger sat in every tight muscle of his body. He did not touch me, though it looked like it hurt him not to.

“I have always cared.”

“Controlling someone isn’t the same as caring.”

He unclenched his hands and closed his eyes. I’d seen him look like that. Right before he was going to blow.

But when he spoke, his words were soft. “The Authority is crumbling. From within. There are those, like Frank Gordon, who seek to bring back Mikhail. People who are convinced his return is foretold.”

“Who is Mikhail, and where did he go?” I asked.

Dad opened his eyes. “He was the leader of the Authority. And he is dead.”

“Oh, could you guys get any creepier? I mean, seriously. Why would anyone think raising the dead is a good idea?”

“I can only guess.”

“Then guess.”

“If he is the one foretold in legends, then his crossover into death will only make him more powerful when he returns to life. He will bring the magic from the other side with him. He will wield the magic of both life and death. Dark magic, light magic, as one. It will be a new era of power in the world. Magic will become something much more than a billable commodity.”

I rubbed at my forehead. “Crazy. Crazy living people trying to raise crazy dead people. And you call these people your friends?”

“No. They were my equals. In everything, Allison. In the drive to dominate. To succeed. To own magic and those who use it. And you are willingly putting yourself into their hands.” He shook his head.

“I’m not listening,” I said. “I have a rule to never take advice from dead people.”

“Since when?”

“Since three seconds ago.”

“Allison, stop being childish. Maeve will test you. The Authority will test you, push you. When that time comes, you must not hesitate to use everything at your disposal to win. To survive what they will do to you. You must use everything available to you. Including me.”

“Whoa, wait.” If he had told me he was the king of Mars, I wouldn’t have been more surprised. “What the hell? You don’t let anyone. .” I didn’t know what I was going to say, but the words

care

and

love

crossed my mind. His eyes widened slightly. I swore and pushed them away. This was worse than that damn blood-to-blood truth spell we’d shared before he died.

“You don’t let anyone so much as

touch

you, much less

use

you. What do you get out of this? Out of me passing those tests?”

“I will live on.”

Immortality. What every egotistic narcissist wanted.

And it was the blunt truth that was both exactly what he was thinking and exactly what he meant, that stopped me cold.

“Listen to me, Allison. The Authority fears you. Fears what I. . what you can become. You are a threat to them. You have always been a threat.”

To us

, he thought, before he pushed that too away. “It is why I have kept you away from them. Hidden. But now that they know what you are, you must not hesitate. When you are tested, you must be willing to kill to survive.”

“I’m not going to kill anyone,” I said evenly. “I am not a killer.”

“Yes,” he said over the top of my unspoken protest, “you are.”

I don’t know if he or if I drew up the memory of Lon Trager, full of bullets, his knife in my leg, my knife sunk so deep in his chest I could feel his heart beating out blood over my knuckles under his skin. Blood poured down the knife, over my body. Trager crumpled to my feet, dead because Martin Pike had shot him. Dead because I had stabbed him. It was real, so real I could smell the blood and sweat again. Bile rose up my throat and I wanted to puke.

“You have killed.” My father’s voice pushed at me. “And you will kill again.”

I could not look away from his eyes, darker than mine, hollowed by a death he would not accept. His own death. There was madness in him, burning with a frenetic hope I had never seen in life.

Life, I suddenly realized, had limited my father’s options and ambition. It had forced him to deal with the all-too-human boundaries of day-to-day minutiae, such as running a business, being married, or other minor irritants like eating and sleeping. But now that he was dead. . -ish, those boundaries no longer applied to him. He was free to do anything his dark, hungry heart desired.

The intensity burned in him like an unholy fire, and I could not look away. It scared the hell out of me.

“To survive, Allison Beckstrom,” he said calmly, in the sort of tone one uses to cast spells. No, in the sort of tone he always used to cast spells on me. “You will do anything. You will use anything at your disposal.” The weight of his words was physical. Each word fell heavier upon me until I couldn’t stand. Could do nothing more than sit there and sweat.

“You will use any magic. Any person. Anything to survive. Even if it means killing. Again.”

He traced a spell with his fingers so quickly, I could not read what it was.

I pulled my hands up and began a Shield spell. Began. I could not remember the correct glyph for Shield. The spell, being half finished and empty of magic, was as effective as if I had waved my hands to stop a hurricane.

My father did not have the same problem. Magic, cold as winter’s caress, followed the glyph he drew and wrapped around my body.The spell tightened, bit into my skin, burned cold like frozen wire twisting around my arms, my stomach, my legs. Everywhere the magic touched went numb.

Binding.

“You,” my father said calmly, “will survive. You will listen to me. You will do as I advise you to do.”

With each short command, the Binding tightened, cutting its own glyph into me. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move. But damn it, this was still a dream-my dream. And I was not going to let my father pin me down.

“Go,” I exhaled. “To.” Pause. “Hell.” I pushed hard against the Binding, straining to move my hands, my arms, to push up to my feet, to slap him, to slap myself, to do anything to end this dream.

As easy as pushing aside a mountain, I finally managed to spread my fingers. Then I made a fist. Magic wasn’t the only way to do someone harm. Hells, it wasn’t even the easiest way.

Dad had gone red in the face. Sweat beaded his forehead-it was an effort to keep me Bound-and I took no end of delight in that. This wasn’t as easy for him as he would have me believe.

Boo-ya for me.

I cocked back my elbow and punched my fist forward with every ounce of strength in me, breaking the Binding and aiming for my father’s face.

“You will not-” His command cut off, replaced by the mechanical buzz of my alarm clock.

I rolled over, turned off the alarm, and lay there, staring through the darkness at the ceiling. The clock said it was morning-ten o’clock, to be exact, but I didn’t feel like I’d gotten any sleep at all. I pressed my fingers over my eyes and concentrated on my father. Was he there in my mind? Or had he retreated into the territory of my nightmares?

The moth-wing flutter behind my eyes flickered. An electric snap of pain stabbed at my eyes. Ow. He was still there. And he was angry.

“Enjoy it while you can,” I said. “First chance I get, you are so out of my head.” I didn’t know if he could read my thoughts while I was awake, but the fluttering stopped and that feeling of otherness, of someone else’s awareness hovering behind mine, grew quiet and distant.

I sat and stretched. The Binding he had cast in my dream had felt too damn real. My muscles twitched, sore as if I really had been straining against ropes. I rubbed my hands over my bare arms. That was no memory of my father. That was him. His mind. First thing I’d ask Maeve was how to dig my dad out of my brain.

The warm smell of freshly brewed coffee floated into my bedroom. Nola must already be wake. I swear she was half rooster-always up before the sun. Of course, running a farm required early rising. The great thing about her visiting was since she was up earlier than me, I didn’t have to wait for the coffee to brew.

I heard her voice, and another voice. A man. Radio? TV?

I pulled on my robe and shuffled out into the living room. Nola was at the small table by the window, drinking coffee. That, I had expected. What I had not expected was the man sitting across from her.

Gray trench coat with a nice maroon scarf at the collar, slacks, and loafers, Detective Paul Stotts looked like he was at the end instead of the beginning of his day.

“Morning?” I asked.

They both looked over at me. Nola gave me a bright smile. “I wondered if I was going to have to come in there and get you. Let me pour you some coffee.” She stood and bustled past me toward the kitchen. I couldn’t quite place the twinkle in her eye. Something was making her very happy. And I was pretty sure it wasn’t the coffee.

“Sorry to catch you so early,” Stotts said, his gaze lingering just a little too long on Nola. “I thought you’d be up by now.”

I crossed my arms over my robe and tipped my head to one side. Something looked different about him too. He raised one eyebrow, and I realized what it was. He hadn’t shaved in a while and his five o’clock shadow gave him that just-rolled-out-of-bed, sexy-cologne-ad look. But more than that, he looked comfortable. In my living room. What was wrong with this picture?

“Okay, I give up,” I said. “Why are you here?” Stotts and I weren’t exactly buddies. I’d Hounded for him. Once. The kidnapping case that had nearly gotten me killed more than once and had left me with new scars and my angry father lurking in my brain.

Stotts told me he ran the MERCs, Magical Enforcement Response Corps, an undercover branch of law enforcement that handles magical crimes. Other than that, we barely knew each other. Or at least didn’t know each other well enough to have breakfast. In my living room.

He leaned back a little, looking too damn at home. “I called. Ms. Robbins told me to come by. “

“This, whatever this is, couldn’t wait for me to shower?”

Nola breezed back into the living room, a cup of coffee and a plate of something that looked a lot like homemade coffee cake in her hands.

“Hope you don’t mind me getting comfortable in the kitchen.”

I took the cake and cup she offered and glanced at Stotts.

He was not watching me. He was all eyes on Nola. And, I noticed, Nola was pointedly not looking at him, all the while hiding a smile.

“I could wait for you to take a shower,” Stotts offered amiably. “Is there a chance I could get a piece of that coffee cake?”

“Sure,” Nola said. “I’ll get us both a slice.” Nola tucked her hair-unbraided, which was weird; she always wore it braided-behind her ears and gave me an innocent look. “Shower. Take your time. We’ll wait.” And then she was off to the kitchen again.

I scowled at Stotts. “Are you hitting on my friend?” Have I mentioned that I am not known for my tact? Especially in the morning?

“If that’s how you define a cup of coffee and friendly conversation, I suppose I am.”

“Listen, Wedding Ring,” I growled. “She’s my best friend. And I won’t let her be hurt by anyone.”

Stotts, who was in midswallow of his coffee, choked and coughed into his fist. He wiped at his eyes. “What did you just call me?”

“You heard me.” I raised my eyebrows and stared at his left hand and the gold band on his ring finger. “As far as I’m concerned, this will only ever be a friendly conversation between the two of you. You got that?”

“I don’t think I could miss it,” he said. “It was a threat, right?”

Since I could hear Nola heading back our way, I smiled sweetly. “Yes, it was.”

“Are you going to eat that standing?” Nola asked as she passed me to sit back at the table in front of Stotts. She placed a coffee carafe-the one she’d given me a few years ago-in the center of the table.

“No. Save me a seat. I’ll be right back.” I put the plate on the table (yes, between their plates) but couldn’t bring myself to leave my coffee behind. With one last warning look at Stotts, I took a drink of coffee and headed to the shower.

I wasn’t going to linger in the shower, but the heat and steam made me realize that I really was stiff from my dream. Or maybe I was just stiff from running around in four-inch heels all night.

Whatever, the water and warmth felt great. I eventually got around to washing with the mild soap that seemed to be helping the fingertip burn marks on my skin, left there by the bits of dead magic users, the Veiled. And even though I didn’t want to, I found myself drawing my fingers over my newest permanent scars. The thumb-sized circle beneath my collarbone-a bullet I did not remember taking. The thicker palm-sized scar beneath my left rib cage that was still numb to the touch. And the spread-hand scar on my thigh where I’d made a mess trying to cut out the blood magic Lon Trager had worked on me.

I wondered if the scars would bother Zayvion. Wondered if they would remind him that my life seemed to be one long series of screwing up and trying to fix it, with and without magic.

Not anymore

, I told myself. That was why I was going to learn from Maeve. So I could stop screwing up. So I could understand how to use magic. The right way. No matter what.

A chill snaked down my spine. That thought, those words, did not sound like me. They sounded like my father. They sounded like what he’d said in my dream.

Sweet hells, but I wanted to be rid of him.

I scrubbed a little harder, wishing I could wash free of him, and knowing I couldn’t.

One thing at a time

, I thought. First, find out why Stotts wanted to talk to me, and make sure he wasn’t gunning to break my best friend’s heart. I wondered if he had found out about the gargoyle statue. Technically, that was a magic problem-or crime, I guess. Criminal mischief? Tampering with other people’s property? Stealing? Well, no, not stealing, since I hadn’t actually taken the statue, I’d just sort of broken it or set it free or something.

I got out of the shower, toweled off, and brushed my hair, slicking it back, then messing it up with my fingertips so it dried halfway decently. No, I did not look in the mirror to see if my father was behind my eyes. I knew he was. But his occupying my brain was a limited-time offer, and it was about to expire.

I dressed in my bedroom, tugging on a pair of jeans, T-shirt, and heavy brown sweater that I’d picked up at a thrift store and loved down to holes. I took the time to put on my tennis shoes. Stotts might be here to ask me to Hound for him. I didn’t often contract out to the cops, but now that Pike was dead, I guessed his job had some need of filling.

Laughter rolled through the apartment-Nola and Stotts having a good ol’ time. That was my cue to lay on some wet-blanket action.

I strolled into the living room. They were still sitting at the table. I’d caught them just as they were both lifting their coffee cups to drink. I hated to admit it, but they looked pretty good together. Nola was shorter than me, compact, blond as summer, and freckled. She looked like the country, honey and wheat fields. Stotts was her opposite. Dark hair, wide shoulders, unconsciously intense and strong in that way cops always are, and he took after his Latino heritage, with a square face, heavy brows, and amazing eyes. When he smiled, or when he looked at Nola like

that

, the cop intensity melted away into something else. If she was sunlight and the country, he was sunset against the mountains, strong, vibrant, dangerous, and yet somehow sheltering, protective.

And married.

Picnic, meet rain.

“So,” I said as I pulled up an extra chair and sat down so close, both of them had to scoot back to make room for me. “What brings you by, Detective?”

If he was annoyed by my intrusion, he didn’t show it.

“There’s a job I’d like you to Hound.”

“Today?”

“While the trail’s fresh.”

I thought over what I had to do today. Go see Maeve, but that wasn’t until one o’clock. It was only ten thirty. I had time. Except I had promised to help Nola with the Cody situation. I didn’t know how I was going to fit both those things in, but I’d try.

“That works okay for me.” I took a drink of coffee, and put my fork to use to wolf down half my cake. I hoped there was more in the kitchen. “This is fantastic,” I said to Nola.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Do you mind if we catch up a little later today?” I asked her.

“That’s fine,” she said.

To Stotts, I said, “I was going to contact you about Nola anyway.” Wait, that didn’t sound good.

“Oh?” Stotts said.

“Nola has been working to get custody of Cody Miller.”

“The Hand?”

I frowned. “You know him?”

He took a drink of coffee before answering. “I know his case.” And his gaze said more than his words. He had probably been a part of that case. After all, Stotts dealt with all the magical crime in the city. And Cody, Nola had told me, had once been involved with some shady characters and forgery. But if Nola had made her mind up to look after him, nothing and no one would get in her way.

“She’s working to get him out on her farm,” I said.

Stotts looked over at Nola. “Isn’t he in the state hospital?”

“My farm is in Burns,” she said. “No magic for miles. We’re completely off the grid.”

Stotts grunted. “And you decided to put it upon yourself to do this because. .?”

“Because,” Nola said, “I do not give up on the people I care about. And I think Cody is a good young man who should have the chance to live a good life without the push and pull of magic, or the people who would use him for it.”

Oh, that did it. If Stotts had been looking at her with barely disguised interest before, he gave her a short but clear look of admiration.

“I don’t hear that every day,” he said, switching admiration for the more standard police skepticism. “Not in my line of work.”

Nola couldn’t hide it. She beamed. What was it with these two? They were getting along better than ice cream and spoons.

“What I was saying,” I said, “is Nola needs some help making sure she contacts the right people who can see that Cody can be released into her care.”

“Were you running into trouble with that?” he asked.

“Not at first. But about two weeks ago, I suddenly stopped hearing from anyone. I’ve mailed, called, e-mailed. I was told there was something about additional psychological testing needed. Is that something you could help me with?”

“I could at least look into it for you. Find out where they’re at in the process. How long are you going to be in town?”

“I could stay awhile. A few weeks, if I need to. I wasn’t sure how long this would take, so I have someone looking after the farm and animals for me.”

“Your husband?” he asked over the top of his coffee cup.

“No.” The light in her dimmed a little, like it always did when she spoke of John. “He’s been gone for several years now.” She tried to smile the light back up, but any fool could see the old pain in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Stotts said. “I lost my wife, Aryanna, just a year ago.”

Me? I felt like an idiot. And a jerk. A jerkiot. I didn’t know his wife was dead. Or maybe divorced? I glanced up at him. From the look in his eyes, it wasn’t divorce. Well, hells. I’d called that wrong.

“I’m sorry,” Nola said. Her gaze shifted to the ring on his left hand. She had noticed it, just like me, but unlike me, she had given him the benefit of the doubt.

“I would really appreciate any help you could offer to Cody and me,” she said. “I thought I’d go downtown today and see who I could talk to. Would you have time to meet with me?”

“I should. Well.” He stopped, like he suddenly remembered there was someone else in the room with them-me. “If you don’t think the job will take too long.”

“You haven’t told me what the job is,” I said.

“I’d rather discuss it with you in private. . ”

Nola caught the hint and stood. “Let me clean up the dishes. You two take your time. There’s coffee in the carafe, if you want. I’ll be in the kitchen.”

She walked off, and I finished my cake. I watched Stotts out of the corner of my eye.

“You like her,” I said, pressing the moist crumbs on the plate together with the tines of my fork.

He held his breath for a second, the only indication of strong emotion I could feel off him.

“I don’t really know her,” he said, “yet.” Calm, cool, coplike.

“She’s my best friend,” I said.

“I got that.”

“And I will go to no ends to keep her safe. From anything. And anyone.” It came out cold. Matter-of-fact. A lot like my father. Except it was all me.

“Do you really think she needs your protection?”

I stuck the fork in my mouth and pulled the cake crumbs off with my teeth. “In this city? Yes.”

He made a sound in the back of his throat. At least on that point, he and I agreed.

“What do you want me to Hound?”

“I’ll take you there and you can see for yourself.”

“Illusion?” I asked. “Dead body?” I shuddered, really hoping it wasn’t a dead body. “Illegal Offload?”

He just gave me a level stare. That was the problem with cops, especially the ones who dealt with magical crimes. They wouldn’t tell you a damn thing for fear of contaminating your opinion before you Hounded the spell.

“Right,” I said. “So how long do we have before whatever it is fades?”

He shifted in his chair and rubbed his palms over his slacks. “I’d like to get to it as soon as possible.”

“Then let’s go.” He stood and so did I. We were of a height. I headed across the living room.

“What if I hadn’t been available?” I asked.

“I would have asked someone else to Hound it.”

“Do you keep a list?”

“Usually Pike-” He stopped, probably aware that Pike had been my friend and he was very recently dead.

I looked over my shoulder at him. “What about him?” It came out relaxed and easy. Not at all how I was feeling inside. Every time I heard Pike’s name, it felt like there was a fist behind it. I wondered if that would ever fade.

“Pike used to keep me up-to-date on which Hounds were available for jobs. Even though he took most of the jobs himself.”

I figured that’s what Pike had been doing all those years. Hounds had always worked for the police, the nonmagical police, but I’d just heard about Stotts’ particular branch of magic law enforcement this month.

It was true that magic cannot be used in high-stress emotions, so people generally believed it wasn’t that common to find magic at crime scenes. But I had seen enough with my own eyes and heard enough from other Hounds, and Zayvion, to know there was more dirty magic being used in this city than any sane person would feel comfortable knowing about.

And it was Stotts’ job to make sure any sane person didn’t have to worry about it.

Maybe it was my job to do that now too.

My only problem suggesting other Hounds work with Stotts was that he was cursed.

And the last thing I needed right now was a curse. On me or on the Hounds I had sworn to look after.

I pulled my coat off the back of the door. There was a half wall separating the kitchen from the entry hall. Nola, true to her word, was at the sink, washing dishes.

“Nola?”

She glanced over, caught sight of me shrugging into my heavy coat. She turned off the water and dried her soapy hands on the kitchen towel she’d wrapped around her waist in a double V. She even made a dish towel look cute.

“I’m going to Hound a job. I’ll try to be back in a few hours. Before one o’clock, for sure. If you need me. .” I was going to tell her to call my cell, but it had died over a week ago and I hadn’t gotten a new one to replace it yet.

Stotts picked up where I left off. “You can call me. Here’s my number.” He walked around the edge of the half wall and stood a little closer to her than I thought absolutely necessary. He handed her his card.

Smooth.

Nola took it, looked it over, and tucked it in her back pocket. “Thank you. I will.”

I made some noise opening the door.

I held the door open for Stotts so he could walk through, which he did.

“Bye, Nola,” I said. “Lock the door behind me, okay?”

“I will. Allie?”

“Yes?”

“Be safe.”

I gave her my best invincible smile. “Where’s the fun in that?”