Magic in the Shadows

Chapter Seven

Instead of taking me to the station, Stotts let me give him my statement in the car while he drove me home. Which was good. Because it hadn’t stopped raining, I hadn’t eaten since this morning, and the coffee at the police station wasn’t fit for human consumption. Using magic always made me hungry, and I was tired. Plus, that Disbursement I’d set to pay for Hounding the spell-a nice juicy headache-was in full force.

Stotts dropped me off in front of the building with a promise to contact me if he needed further information. I promised him I’d think about the job offer and let him know soon.

I trudged up the three flights of stairs to my apartment and paused at the top of the third-floor landing. A whiff of onions and beef and bacon made my mouth water. I didn’t know which of my neighbors was cooking, but I seriously considered tracking them down and inviting myself in for a bite.

I stopped at my apartment door, put one hand on the smooth surface, and without drawing on magic, listened for movement. It was a habit I picked up thanks to my less-than-calm last few months in the city with a variety of magic users trying to kill me.

More than movement. I heard singing. A woman’s voice. Nola.

Duh. I had company.

I unlocked the door, feeling like I’d jumped on the idiot train a day early, and walked into my home.

The delicious smell was stronger here, and my heart did a happy little leap in my chest, even though it made my head hurt more. Nola had been cooking!

She stood on tiptoe on a chair at the round table in my living room, her back to me. Her hands were full of vines from the potted plant that was now draping over my no-longer-plain vinyl blinds and white sheers.

On the other side of the wall-sized window was a bushy tree-plant thing-did I ever mention that I do not have a green knuckle in my body, much less a thumb? — which took up the empty space in the corner.

There were other touches that told me she’d been busy. A couple candles, three new throw pillows, and all the roses that had been in the kitchen sink now arranged and placed throughout the house in every vase, mason jar, and wine bottle I owned, plus a few more containers I could only guess she’d bought today.

I didn’t want to startle her, but wasn’t sure if she’d heard me come in. So I made some noise opening the door and shutting it more loudly behind me.

“Welcome back,” she said without turning. “I heard you come in the first time.”

I laughed and hung my soggy coat on the back of the door. “I didn’t want to send you tumbling to your death,” I said. “How was your day?”

“Good. I did some shopping. Hope you don’t mind.” She finished adjusting the vine, some kind of philodendron, I think, over the valance, where it obliged her, as all green living things seemed wont to do, by draping in a perfect waterfall of leaves like an interior-decorating magazine photo shoot. “You really needed some living things in here.”

“You didn’t pay for all this, did you?”

“It’s not that much,” she said as she stepped off the chair, flashed me a smile, then walked far enough back so she could look at her handiwork. “I found a nice secondhand store just down the street for the little things.”

“They were selling plants?”

“No. But the flower shop around the corner was. Think of it as payment for putting me up on such short notice for a few days. Soup’s ready. Did you have lunch?”

“Didn’t have time. I’m starving.” I headed into the kitchen, where I found on the stovetop soup filled with veggies, and bread wrapped in a dish towel on the counter beside it. Heaven. I filled a bowl, took a couple pieces of bread, and headed back into the living room.

“How did the job go?” Nola asked. She sat on the couch, and I sat at the café table. Nola had opened the blinds enough to let in the dull afternoon light. And with the cascade of green leaves in the corners of the room, the light no longer seemed as dreary.

“Good,” I said around a mouthful of the best beef veg gie soup I’d ever put a spoon to. “Any luck with Cody’s stuff?”

She folded her hands in her lap, and I realized I had rarely seen her that still, no knitting in her hands, no bills to pay, no charity items to sort, no chickens to tend, alfalfa to bale, heck, not even her dog Jupe’s big head to scratch.

It was the first time I’d really thought about how lonely her life might be.

“I went down to talk with the supervisor. She wasn’t available, and no one else seemed to have any information except that he was in the care of a psychologist for tests he needs before he can be released. They said that’s customary with cases that deal with the handicapped and their misuse of magic.”

“The forgeries he did when he was younger? Or him being used as part of my dad’s murder?” Cody hadn’t been the one behind the scheme to kill my dad, though he had been a part of forging my dad’s signature on the hit on the kid in St. Johns, and my signature on the hit on my dad. As far as the law was concerned, James Hoskil was the brains behind the crime.

But the law did not know about a lot of things going on in this city, like the Authority, and weird half-dog men running around. Even I didn’t think James Hoskil was powerful enough to take down my very powerful father.

My dad fluttered behind my eyes. I ignored him.

“I don’t know,” Nola said. “They won’t say more than that. I’m guessing it’s from the most recent crime. He was in custody before that. Those records, of why he was jailed for a short time, I can’t find. I’ve tried looking up newspaper articles, courtroom documents, but there are no reports in the news. It’s strange. The courtroom documents aren’t even public. I don’t understand what all the cloak-and-dagger stuff is around this poor kid, and I’d like to know what crimes he committed before I take him in.”

I took another bite of soup. The Authority was probably behind the secrecy. They had put the hush on the circumstances of Lon Trager’s death, Frank’s dark magic shenanigans, and my dad’s stolen corpse. None of those ever hit the news. Maybe the Authority had pull, or people, in the courts as well.

Nola didn’t know much about the Authority, and I was inclined to keep it that way for now. Telling her about the secret society of magic users meant putting her at risk.

I refused to do that.

“I’ll ask Violet if she knows anyone that can help us with this,” I said. “Are you going to call Detective Stotts and see if he can help?”

She twisted her fingers together. “I think I will. What do you think about him?”

I sipped the remainder of the broth out of the bowl. “I only met him a couple weeks ago. He seems to be a good police officer. Dedicated to his job. Determined. Said he grew up in the Northwest. Raised by his mom mostly here in Portland. Has good taste in coffee, so that’s something in his favor.” I smiled.

“I didn’t know his wife had passed away though. I thought the ring. . well, you know.”

She nodded. “He could be lying about that.”

“How very suspicious of you,” I said approvingly. “But I don’t think so. He didn’t smell like he was lying. Oh, one more thing. He’s cursed.”

I took a huge bite of bread, white with a hint of garlic and Parmesan. Delish.

“What?”

I talked around the mouthful of bread. “Cursed. Hounds who work for him die very unusual deaths. Weird, huh?”

“My God, Allie. How can you joke about that?”

“I’m not joking. People really think he’s cursed.”

“Do you?”

I took another bite of bread to give me time to think. Stotts could prove by numbers and odds why Hounds tended to die when they worked for him. But a small, suspicious side of me wasn’t buying it. I didn’t think foul play was involved. I did think Stotts had a knack for being around when Hounds pushed too hard, made the wrong choice, or finally gave up all together.

“I don’t know if it’s a curse. I don’t believe in curses. But. .” I rubbed my fingers back through my wet hair and slouched in the chair. “Something. If nothing else, he’s a magnet for bad luck.”

“And you are working for him because. .?”

“I’m bad luck?” I grinned. “Because I made a promise to Pike that I would look after the group of Hounds he was leading. Make sure they checked in with each other, keep track of who was working with the police, with Stotts, so we’d know who was alive and who was dead.”

“Sounds kind of lonely and grim,” she said.

“Not really. It’s a support group, I guess.”

“And you’re leading it?”

I couldn’t parse her change of tone. “Yes?”

She grinned. “I can’t believe I heard that out of your mouth. You, taking responsibility for others. Good job.”

“Thanks, Mom,” I drawled.

“No, really.” She leaned forward, a twinkle in her eye. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you step up like this. So respectable.”

“Forget I said anything.”

“No, it’s good. And you must have really cared for Pike to promise to look after everything for him.”

“Not everything. Just the Hounds. Have I talked about Pike much?” I asked.

“No. You’ve mentioned his name a couple times. What was he like?”

“Sort of what I wished my dad could have been. Not that he was the nicest guy around. But he was. . fair. He always told it to me straight. Didn’t lie. Even when he knew I wouldn’t agree with him.”

“I’m glad he was in your life,” she said.

Which was just what I needed to hear, because I was glad he was in my life too. I’d just never been able to say that to anyone. See how great best friends were? Even if they were also incredibly annoying.

Someone knocked on the door. I straightened, dug my thumb in a circle at my temple, waiting out the spike of pain. I should have taken some aspirin. “Did you invite someone?” I asked, trying to remember if I had locked the door after opening it the second time.

“No.”

“It’s probably Zayvion,” I said. “I have a. . meeting to go to today.”

I recited a mantra and walked over to the door, clearing my mind. I wasn’t going to call on magic unless I had to.

The locks were not set. I leaned forward and looked out the peephole.

Zayvion Jones stood there, staring right back at me as if he knew I was watching him. He had traded his slick leather jacket for that ratty ski coat thing, had a forest green beanie pulled tightly over his dark curls, and his jeans had been worn down to threads and a couple holes in the thighs.

Street drifter, Zen master, killer, magic user, Zayvion Jones.

I let go of the breath I’d been holding and opened the door. “Hey.”

“Afternoon.” His gaze took me in, from wet hair to soggy shoes. “Are you ready?”

“Almost. Come on in. I need to change. Do you want some soup?”

“Smells fantastic.” He stepped in and shut the door. Then he purposely set the locks, holding my gaze with that calm, Zen look of his.

Yeah, yeah. Let’s see you go through my day and remember every detail, smart guy

, I thought. “You have something to say?” I asked.

“No.”

“Good. Have some soup.” I wandered down the hall, stopping in the bathroom to take one or three painkillers. I listened to Nola and Zayvion’s pleasant greetings as I walked into my bedroom and dug for dry clothes.

What did one wear to the first class of secret magic training, anyway? Nonflammable jammies, perhaps?

I doubted it much mattered. So new jeans, a gray sweater, and black boots. I brushed my hair back and put a hat over most of it, then strolled out to the living room.

Zayvion sat at the table, in the same chair I’d been in just moments ago. He was slouched back a little, his long legs stretched out, smiling that shy-boy smile at Nola. He looked comfortable there, at my table, in my home. Sexy.

An electric tingle warmed my stomach. I liked seeing him here, at that table, my table. I like the idea of being with him. But with my dad in my head, Hounds to baby-sit, and secret magic classes to attend, it seemed like the chance for that, for us, was still a long way off.

“Hey.” I tried for bright and cheery, but it came out a little too soft. Like maybe I’d just realized I’d lost something.

Zayvion straightened in his chair, and Nola, on the couch, looked over.

“Ready?” I asked.

“I am.” He stood. “Thanks for the soup. It was wonderful.”

Nola stood too, exposing the old-fashioned manners she’d been raised with.

“It was great catching up with you again.” Here she shot me a mischievous look.

“Wait a minute.” I scowled. “You two weren’t talking about me, were you?”

Zayvion shrugged into his coat. Zipped it. “Your name might have come up.”

“Have a good meeting.” Nola gave me a quick hug. I shot Zayvion a questioning look, over her shoulder.

He blinked and poured on the Zen.

“Promise I didn’t tell him all your secrets,” Nola said.

“Better not. Two can play that game, you know.”

“What? With whom? Oh.” A rosy blush fanned across her freckled cheeks. “You’re horrible,” she laughed.

“Remember that,” I said with a straight face. “You do not want to play boyfriend chicken with me, missy. I aim low.”

I tugged my wet coat off the back of the door, rolled the locks, and opened the door. “I should be back in a few hours. I have a dinner date tonight with Violet, and I’ll talk to her about Cody. Don’t worry about cooking.”

“Is her number around here in case I need to get a hold of you?” she asked.

“On the computer, in the address book.” I so had to get a new cell phone. Kevin had told me he might have a suggestion for a phone that would work longer than fifteen minutes, and Zayvion had said the Authority might be able to supply me with something. I pulled my notebook out of my coat pocket, flipped to a blank page while I was walking out the door, and scribbled

Ask Kevin/Zayvion about cell phone.

I clipped the pen on that page, so that every time I put my hand in my pocket I’d know there was a note waiting for me to take care of it.

Zayvion paused, still one step inside my apartment, and said something so quietly to Nola even I couldn’t hear it, before he walked out the door behind me.

Nola shut the door, and I slowed my pace until I was sure I heard her set the locks. “I didn’t realize you two were such good buddies,” I said.

Zayvion tipped his head but did not drop the Zen act. “She and I had some time to talk,” he said evenly. “When you were in the coma.” He said the last part quietly, as if there wasn’t quite enough air to fill in the words.

“You like her?” I asked.

“Yes.”

We didn’t say anything more as we tromped down the stairs to the parking area behind the apartment building.

Zay unlocked the passenger’s-side door, and we both got in the car.

“Dinner with Violet?” he asked once we were on the street and heading northwest.

“I need to talk to her about a couple things. Business things,” I said, “and about Cody Miller.”

“What about Cody Miller?” Zay suddenly seemed very interested. Odd.

“Nola’s trying to foster him out on her farm. Away from magic. She’s running into red tape. Something about psych tests.”

Zayvion was impeccably calm. Blank. Zen.

“You already knew about this, didn’t you?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“Whoa. A straight answer. Are you feeling okay?”

“I’ve been worse.”

“So, about Cody?” I asked.

“The Authority is involved with clearing him so that he can be fostered by Nola. I haven’t been. . updated on the details.”

“Now, there’s the obscure, subject-dodging man I know,” I said. He gave me a look I pointedly ignored. “What should I tell Nola?”

“You can tell her that you found out Cody should be released soon. As soon as the psych eval is done.”

“Psych eval? Is that the story?”

He took a deep breath and let it out. “Allie, if you are going to become a part of the Authority, you are going to have to learn how to keep a few secrets. So, yes. That is the story until we hear otherwise.”

“And that’s all the story you’re telling me?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t think I like that.”

“Too bad.”

I scowled at him. I not only didn’t like being in the dark, I didn’t like that he was comfortable keeping me there. “Is there a list of who I can and cannot talk to about the Authority? I work with the police on occasion,” I said. “Can I talk to them?”

“The police don’t know about us. Detective Stotts shouldn’t either.”

“Shouldn’t?”

“We are fairly sure he doesn’t know about the Authority.”

“Why?”

“Because he hasn’t done anything to try to stop us.”

“You know, that makes it sound like you’re on the wrong side of the law.”

“You can talk to Violet if you want.”

“Way to avoid my observation,” I said.

“She knows about the Authority.” He continued like I hadn’t even spoken. “But she doesn’t know everything. And there are some things that would be best not to tell her. Things that would put her in danger. Like Cody being under evaluation with us.”

I rubbed at my face. “I give up,” I said into my palms. “One slip of conversation and someone’s going to get hurt? How do you keep track of it all?”

“Spreadsheet.”

“Right. So how do you know who knows what?”

The clouds grew darker the farther north we headed to the Fremont Bridge. He was silent awhile, maybe thinking about how to explain it to me, or maybe just paying attention to navigating the thicker traffic.

By the time he turned onto the bridge, it was raining steadily. The windshield wiper squeaked. “It’s not that difficult,” he finally said, picking up our conversation once we had merged with I-5 traffic. “The majority of people in the city, in the world, do not know about the Authority.”

“And why not? Why not just come out and come clean so we can all move forward with the same information?”

“The older uses for magic, the ancient spells, are far more dangerous than the simple magic approved for release to the masses. The older uses for magic-dark magic, light magic-have always been hidden from the world. The few times in history those magics have fallen into the wrong hands, wars and worse have nearly destroyed mankind.”

“Wait. Magic was approved to be released?”

He glanced at me. “You didn’t know that?” He shook his head. “Your father. .” He left it at that, then went on. “When the technology reached such a point that the common man could access magic safely-”

“Relatively safely,” I interrupted.

“Relatively safely,” he agreed, “and not without price or pain. When that technology was released, only certain magics, glyphs, spells, were ‘discovered’ and tested by the pioneers in the budding field of magic.

“And all of that happened under the control of the Authority,” he said. “Mostly.”

“So the Authority has been hiding magic for hundreds of years?”

“Thousands.”

Wow. “What changed?”

“Your father and James’s father, Perry Hoskil, invented the technology to channel and access magic. And they brought it to market, released the notes on their study of uses-spells and glyphs that allowed the users to make magic bend to their will.”

“My dad started this?” I mean, I knew he was one of the driving forces of the Beckstrom Storm Rods, and had found a way to draw magic out from the deep natural cisterns where it pooled. I guess I’d never really thought that he was more than a driving force behind the way to make money off it. I’d never thought of him as an innovator. And certainly never thought of him as the beginning of the common man’s access and awareness of magic beyond superstition, religion, or the things conservative people always wrote off as esoteric nonsense.

“Yes,” Zayvion said, “your dad started this.”

“And the Authority was okay with that?”

Here Zayvion smiled. “That’s one of the things I like about you. You know the right questions to ask. No. The Authority was not okay with what he or his partner, Perry Hoskil, were doing. But there are divisions in the Authority. Lines and boundaries that limit how much high-level magic users can influence and interfere with one another’s experiments and studies.

“Even though it is an ancient field of study, not everything about magic has been discovered, tested, proved. Like space, like the oceans, like the human body, there is still so much we don’t know about it. So much to learn.”

I couldn’t help myself; I smiled. That man had a hunger for knowledge, a respect for it. I’d always gone for the intellectual types. Well, not always. There were those years in college where brawn, not brains, got me in bed, but it hadn’t taken me long to get tired of the pretty-on-the-outside, empty-in-the-head guys like that.

“By the time what Beckstrom and Hoskil were doing was discovered, the damage had been done. Magic was no longer a secret. Magic was now in the hands of the untrained masses.”

“Why didn’t the Authority go public then? They could have established themselves as experienced managers, or at least educators.”

“From what I am told”-he raised an eyebrow, maybe to remind me that he wasn’t around thirty years ago when this all happened-“there were worldwide gatherings of the Authority to discuss a course of action.”

Traffic slowed. Maybe an accident. More likely congestion from merge lanes and exits. The rain drew a veil of evening over the afternoon light.

“The argument to go public,” Zayvion continued, “and reveal the mastery of magic was strongly championed. And so were many other arguments, factions of the Authority taking sides, for and against, including the ancient Order of the Aegis, who adhere to the oldest written laws that magic should never be revealed to the uninitiated. Never. Your father came very close to being Closed when the vote was taken to allow his transgression to stand or to remove him. Magic was very nearly erased from common use.”

That was a lot to take in all at once, but the painkillers and soup were giving me a little of my brain back.

“Oh, come on. People wouldn’t willingly give up magic once they had a chance to use it.”

“I didn’t say willingly. But enough engineered failure in the budding technology would prove magic was a wildly unmanageable, unsafe, and, if the members of the Authority did their jobs correctly, perhaps even an unreal resource.”

“Engineered failure,” I said. “Do you mean deaths?”

“That was one option.”

Holy shit. These people really did play for keeps.

“Instead it was agreed to allow magic, the safest form of it, to be accessible to the common man. There was money to be made off of it, and like you just said, members of the Authority were in the perfect position to educate, train, and manage the change in the world.”

“So it all ended happily ever after.”

He frowned. “When magic is involved, there is never a happily ever after. You know that.”

And the way he said it, chills washed down my skin. He was right. I knew that. Magic could lick the happy out of a lollipop.

“There are still members of the Authority who disagree with the decision to allow magic to go public. Your father’s actions were the crack in the ice, and ever since then the Authority has been fracturing, splitting apart. If some of the factions have their way, there will be a war. The Authority will shatter.”

“And that’s bad, right?”

His lips pressed into a grim, flat line. “You have no idea.”

I dug around in my head a little, expecting a comment or reaction out of my dad, but he was silent as a shadow. If I didn’t know better, I wouldn’t think I was possessed. The last time he was this quiet was when Zay and I had been at dinner.

Interesting.

Traffic, which had been crawling, growled back up to freeway speeds. We crossed the Columbia River and within a short while were on the opposite shore in Vancouver, Washington. Zayvion turned east along the river.

“Is it far?” I asked.

“We’re almost there.”

I don’t know what I expected Maeve’s place to be like. Where would secret classes that taught the secret ways of magic be held?

Another fifteen minutes or so and Zayvion slowed and took a road south, toward the river. We crossed the railroad tracks into an abandoned industrial area, and pulled up alongside a long building with identical rows of windows that lined the upper, middle, and ground floors. It sat parallel the length of the train tracks and the river.

I could feel magic radiating like a subtle warmth from the place.

About a half dozen cars were parked along the far chain-link fence that separated this lot from a scrap metal collection site next to it. There were no parking places near the building, which was strange since there was room for several. Instead, big raised boxes and whiskey barrels of plants and flowers took the lion’s share of the parking space, green even in January, filled with sturdy bushes with red and white berries dotting twigs.

“Talk about out-of-the-way,” I said as we parked.

“Used to be right in the middle of everything,” he said. “It was a railroad boardinghouse and inn. Train used to go right through here.”

“It doesn’t anymore?”

He shook his head. “When the Flynns bought the place, they lobbied to have the spur discontinued. No real train business down here, and they didn’t want to risk that kind of attention to the well.” He unbuckled his seat belt and opened the door.

“Well?” I got out of the car. The wind and rain smelled of fir trees and river algae and the dusty grease of the rusting scrap metal next door.

Zayvion tipped his head to one side. “Can’t you feel it?”

I tucked my chin down into my coat collar and calmed my mind. I felt the air, rain that was thankfully a lot lighter, heard the call of crows on the breeze. I paid attention to the ground.

Magic beneath my skin turned and twisted, reaching out for and not quite connecting with the massive pool of magic that radiated a strange heat of its own deep, deep beneath the soil and stone under the inn. I opened my mouth and inhaled. Magic was so concentrated here, I could almost taste it, a faint, fuzzy warmth, like electricity from a thun derstorm, but sweeter, thicker on my tongue.

The well.

The cool metal taste of iron and lead that I always associated with magic, since magic was channeled through conduits of the material, was strangely absent here. Here, in this pocket between two cities, I could almost forget magic was on the grid, controlled, tamed. Here magic roiled in a deep, dreamlike rhythm just below my conscious awareness.

“Wow,” I said.

Zayvion wrapped his arm around my shoulders, a solid warmth that brought me back to my surroundings. Good thing too. I’d stopped walking and was just standing there getting wet.

“Let’s go in,” he said.

I didn’t pull away, preferring to linger against his body and soak up the heat of him.

He started toward the inn, shifting so we were shoulder to shoulder as we walked up the wooden steps to a covered porch that stretched along this side of the building and corner to continue across the front, riverside of the building.

A wooden sign next to the door read FEILE SAN FHOMHER and beneath that, WELCOME.

Zayvion lifted the door latch and pulled open the door, the old hinges giving out a mewl of metal on metal.

The scents of sage, butter, bread stuffing, and baked apples filled my nose and mouth as we entered the high ceilinged, open-raftered main room of the inn. A lunch counter to the right of the room traced a round-edged square in white marble countertop. Only a few people sat in the walnut T-backed stools around the counter, a mix of old and young, suits and jeans.

Rows of round tables filled the space between us and the lunch counter, and square tables tracked along the windows all the way to the end of the building.

A smattering of people sat at the tables. A group of gray-haired men who looked as if they didn’t have a penny between them were working their way through heaping turkey meals. At a table by the window, six teen girls chatted and laughed.And at other tables I saw executives holding business lunches, moms with shopping bags at their feet and children in high chairs, a set of couples, some construction workers, and more than a few loners, men and women, eating lunch, talking, reading papers, drinking coffee while the waitstaff-a couple girls, at the moment-connected them all through service and smiles. Several people behind the lunch counter kept busy cooking and cleaning. The overall atmosphere was a nod to the past, when transitory people gathered and socialized in the comfort of a home away from home.

“Zayvion, Allie.” The voice had a lovely Irish lilt to it, and I looked away from the tables to the woman walking across the room. Maeve wore jeans and deck shoes and a dark green sweater layered over a cream turtleneck. Her red hair was pulled back in a bun and tendrils of it fell free to curl in soft reds and gray around her face. Her eyes were green with wicked intensity, her smile welcoming, if not exactly warm.

What was it Zayvion had said at dinner? My father killed her husband? I suddenly wished I’d asked him more about that.

“Any luck?” she asked Zayvion.

He shook his head. “Still hunting.”

Maeve turned toward me. “I’m glad you made it. Let me take your coat. Then you and I can get started.”

Zayvion tensed. “You don’t want me there?”

“Not this first time. I want to see what Allie can do on her own.” She strode off, talking over her shoulder. “You can stay out here if you’d like,” she said. “I don’t think this will take long.”

I picked up the pace to keep up with her as she beelined between tables, smiling at her guests. She led me back to a wide hallway, where wall lanterns cast the wood in warm tones, then past a white wooden staircase that square-railed up and up. We strolled through a doorway into a small sitting room done up like an old-fashioned parlor.

Plush love seats and chairs big enough for two filled the room. Beside each chair was a small table. In the center of each table was a clear glass bowl, lined with lead.

Magic conducts through glass and lead, if the right glyphs are worked into both. I also noted the wallpaper that at first looked like gold and forest green flowers in a repeating pattern were actually magical glyphs. I caught Shield, Ward, and several other negating glyphs around the room before Maeve had crossed to a dark door that did little to call attention to itself.

She lifted the chain at her neck and caught up a key that she used on the door, before letting the chain fall back beneath her sweater.

“We’ll start in here, since it’s nearest the center.”

Center of what? I didn’t ask because the door distracted me. Wood, but with lead and brown glass worked into it to look like the finest beveled stained glass. The lead and glass were glyphs, but so natural they looked like ribbons in the wood grain.

Holy shit, I’d never seen a magic so artfully carved. I couldn’t resist it; I dragged my fingers across the door. Magic shivered beneath my fingertips, licking at my flesh, pooling in the whorls of my fingerprint.

“You can shut the door, Allie,” Maeve said patiently.

Like a kid caught dipping into the cookie dough, I pulled my hand away and closed the door behind me.

Magic pools beneath the city naturally. There are some points where magic is the most concentrated. Wells. Spring, summer, autumn, winter. The wells are heavily guarded gathering places among the Authority. Never revealed to outsiders.

I rubbed at my forehead. My dad was back and more talkative than ever. How great was that?

With the door shut, it completed the outer spells of Illusion and Blocking, and a half dozen more I was sure I didn’t recognize. I could feel the concentration of magic in the room. It burned like a sun trapped beneath the floorboards, filling me up, scraping through me, pressing, pushing against my skin and bone. I held very still and worked hard to hold it all in.

“Did your father tell you about wells?”

“Not really.” It came out calm, not like I was clenching my teeth and trying to breathe evenly so the magic would quiet, settle, and stop shoving at me.

Maeve was across the room, hanging my coat on a simple hat rack. Unlike the parlor, this room had sparse decor. A red oriental rug took up most of the whitewashed wooden floor; the walls were polished slabs of birch jointed together with diamonds of glass and outlined with lines of lead. Pale beaded board with lines of lead and glass running through it made up the ceiling. A small brick fireplace complemented by a grill worked in something way too gothic grounded the corner.

There were no windows. Instead, an aged copper wall fountain took up the space where I’d expect a window to be, and the other window had been converted into a bookcase where hardbound books were stacked in rows. As for furnishings, they were all deep browns and reds, and easy-to-clean surfaces: a couch, four chairs, and a table with a pitcher of ice water and lemon slices next to the fireplace.

Maeve crossed the room toward the pitcher of water. “Did your father tell you anything at all about the Authority?”

“We didn’t talk much. He was gone a lot. And as soon as I was old enough, so was I.”

She poured two glasses of water, floated a lemon round in each. “I see. Then let me explain that magic naturally occurs deep within the earth.” She nodded toward the chairs, handed me a glass of water. I settled on the couch as she continued.

“I’ve always thought of it as hundreds of rivers and streams. In some places magic flows more swiftly; in others it is sluggish, or spread out and swampy. The network of conduits and lead and glass lines your father invented did wonders to mitigate and standardize the flow of magic. That made it safer for the common user to tap into it.”

I took a sip of water, and it felt good going down my throat, trailing cold all the way to my stomach. Magic eased in me a little.

She took a sip too, then set her glass on a table and folded down into one of the plush armchairs.

“Those rivers of magic split, join, knot, and pool together. A lot like those marks on your hand.”

I did a good job of not hiding my hand in my pocket, and instead nodded, like this was the most normal conversation I’d ever heard.

“The wells, and there are many of them, some weak, some incredibly strong, are where magic concentrates and regenerates. Most populated areas are within the range of at least one well. This house, this room, is over a well of magic.”

“I can tell.”

“Really? It is very carefully Blocked and Shielded.”

Should I tell her? That I felt magic all the time? That I held it within me, something no one else could do? Could I trust her?

Did I have any choice? It was either trust her or have the Authority Close me, take my memories, maybe even take my ability to use magic, though that would be a pretty trick since I had magic down to the bone.

“I-”

Killer. Betrayer.

The words rushed through my mind like a winter storm.

She is dangerous, devious. Do not trust her.

A headache stabbed at my eyes. A headache named Dad. I coughed to cover my gasp.

Shut up

, I thought.

“I do feel magic,” I said. “Not as strongly as I’d expect, since this is over a well.”

She held very still, that green gaze roving over me like she could see beneath my skin. I resisted the urge to just get up and walk out of there.

Which was probably good, since it was probably not my urge.

“Have you experienced any residual effects since your father used your mind?” she asked in the firm tones of a doctor or schoolteacher. “Dreams, memories, thoughts?”

No, no, no

, he raged.

“Yes,” I said, a little too loudly, since I was trying to drown out his voice, even though I was the only one who could hear him. Then, quieter, “I’ve experienced all those things.”

The flutter behind my eyes turned into blunt fingers trying to rub their way out of my head. It hurt, but I’d endure a lot more pain than that to get rid of my dad. Besides, I was pretty sure my father and I were at cross-purposes. We’d always been at cross-purposes. I’d long ago learned that doing the opposite of whatever he wanted me to do was generally in my best interest.

“Are you experiencing them right now?”

I have never felt my father’s raw fear before. It was just a flash, a moment. Then I could not sense him at all.

“I was,” I said. “Not right this second.”

“I need to look in your mind.” She sat forward, her hands clasped loosely at her knees.

She’d done this once before. I didn’t know why my palms were suddenly sweaty, didn’t know why my mouth was so dry.

“Like last time?” I asked, stalling.

“Exactly the same. You might feel it a little more, though. Since we are so close to the well, I will be able to look more deeply than I did before, to see if it is just residuals of your father’s thoughts and spirit, or if it is something more.”

“Okay.” I was pretty sure it was something more, like maybe his entire disembodied/reembodied spirit, but I’d leave that assessment to the expert.

Maeve placed her hand on my left wrist-the part of me closest to her.

No glyphs, no chanting. She just closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

This time, I could sense the magic rising from far below us. The magic flooded through her-something I’d never seen anyone try-then settled like a cloak or aura around her. And even though magic is fast, the way she called upon it, it was slow and I could see the white and blue shimmer of it with just my bare eyes without calling upon Sight.

She opened her eyes, shockingly silver, shadowed by shots of her normal forest green.

With magic around her, Maeve looked

into

me.

Magic in me flickered, burned too hot along my right arm, too cold along my left. I did not want to use it, did not want to cast magic. But like fire jumping a line, it ignited, filled me.

Maeve blinked, tipped her head to the side. “Allie?”

“It’s okay,” I said as I recited a mantra. Just the first two lines of “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” over and over. “Give me a sec.”

How was I supposed to get rid of so much magic when there was so damn much magic filling the room?

Maeve stood, and I would have worried about that, but I was a little busy trying not to explode and burn the place down. I had a feeling they wouldn’t let me come back to school if I killed the teacher on the first day.

Magic burned, squeezing my bones. I bit my lip to keep from moaning and twinkle-twinkled with all my might.

Something cold and heavy dropped into my lap.

Like blowing out a candle, the magic in me went dead.

Okay, this time I moaned, not from pain, but from relief.

Maeve was standing next to me, bent a little. She studied my face. “I can’t believe it. I never thought. .”

I blinked, looked down at the heavy thing in my lap. A rock. A plain black and gray river rock, smooth and oblong, about the size of a loaf of bread.

“Here,” she said.

I glanced up and took the ice water she offered me.

“Thanks.” I drank, and when I was done, she set the glass back on the table. “Really nice rock,” I noted.

Maeve sat on the coffee table in front of me and put one hand on my knee. “How long have you held magic inside of you?”

“You could tell?” I asked, probably stupidly.

“Not before now. I knew magic had marked you. From the outside. .” She leaned back a little and her gaze wandered over me, her eyes still silver, but with a lot more green in them. “From the outside it does not show.” She shook her head. “Are you Shielding?”

“No. Mostly I just try not to let it burn me up.”

“But you have used it? Drawn upon the magic within you and successfully cast spells?” I couldn’t tell if she was excited or worried.

“A lot. I Hound for a living, remember? Why? Is that a problem?”

She laughed, but it came out a little shaky. “I wouldn’t call it a problem. It’s just so unheard-of. How long have you been able to carry magic?”

“All my life. Just a small bit, enough to work one minor spell. It always took a while to fill back up.”

“You were born with it?” She pinched the bridge of her nose and took a deep breath. When she exhaled, she muttered something that involved my father’s name and a couple curse words. “No wonder he never brought you to us, never let you learn.” Maeve’s hand dropped to her lap. Her eyes were almost all green now, and she looked resigned. “You hold much more than a small amount now, don’t you?”

I nodded.

“And that changed when you received those marks on your hands? Positive”-she pointed at the wild whorl of colors up my right arm to my temple-“and negative.” She pointed to the solid black bands around each of the knuckles and the wrist of my left hand. “Classic natural representation of the give-and-take of magic. Pleasure and price.”

“Yes, it changed when I got marked.”

“When did that happen? How?”

I didn’t want to tell her. Didn’t want to be vulnerable, exposed. Have I mentioned I have trust issues?

“Do you really need to know that?”

“If you want me to stand as your advocate at the testing ground, yes, I really need to know that.”

“Testing ground?”

“In three days, your control of magic will be tested in front of the members of the Authority.”

This must be the test my dad kept talking about.

“Is that when you decide if I deserve to use magic? If you should just erase all my memories about the Authority and put limits on what I can do?” It came out angry, which was no surprise since it pissed me off that someone else thought they could tell me how to live my life.

Yes, I knew that wasn’t the worst thing they could do to me. Zayvion had told me they could go so far as try to kill me if they thought I was too much of a danger or risk to myself or others.

Of course, I wasn’t going to just stand around while they threw rocks at me, or whatever they did to get rid of people they didn’t want in their little club.

Maeve stood and sat back in the plush chair. “It may not seem fair, or lawful in the ways of the modern world. It is an ancient custom. A test to discover your abilities, your limits, your control. Things that can mean the life or death of those you would stand beside. It is necessary. Every person in the Authority has gone through it.”

“So I don’t have to like it, but I still have to do it?”

She nodded.“Tell me when magic claimed you with those marks.” Woman was all about getting down to business.

I did some quick thinking, something I hadn’t done enough of lately. Since I didn’t want to bring undue attention to Nola, I decided to skip the part where I explained I didn’t actually remember getting the marks, and tell her instead what Nola had told me I told her. Confusing, but hey, when you have a memory with more holes than a pair of hand-me-down fishnet stockings, you make do.

“I was trying to get a man to the hospital. He was injured, and when I tried to help him, he reached through me and connected to magic. Then he. . um, pulled magic through me and into me. It fed the magic I already carried, made it stronger so that it burned”-I thought about that, nodded to myself-“burned these marks into me.”

“And where did this happen?”

“Over in St. Johns.”

Maeve’s eyebrows shot up. “Are you sure?”

I thought back on it. I was sure Nola told me I had found Cody down by the river in St. Johns. I’d been running from gun-toting Bonnie at the time, but was slowed by trying to carry Cody and his cat. I’d told Nola that Cody was nearly dead when I found him. But she said by the time Zayvion had driven Cody and me out to her farm, his wounds were gone.

“I’m sure. St. Johns.” I suddenly realized why she looked so surprised. St. Johns was off-grid. A dead zone. There was no naturally occurring magic there, and Portland hadn’t seen fit to budget in a network out into the fifth quadrant of the city.

Which meant I should not have been able to pull on that much magic like that there. Which meant Cody should not have been able to pull on that much magic like that there either. “Who was the man you were helping?” Maeve asked.

“I wasn’t formally introduced-”

“Allie,” and there was tangible weight behind her words and a familiar honey taste. “Tell me the name of the man you helped in St. Johns.”

“Cody,” I said, under the spell of the Influence she’d just used on me. “Cody Miller.”

Maeve didn’t ask me anything more. All the color washed out from beneath her skin. She traced a circle in the air and drew her finger across it in a slash, breaking the Influence she’d used on me.

I hated Influence. “I would have told you without the push,” I said.

“I’m sorry. It was-it is-very important.” She wasn’t looking at me anymore, but instead over my shoulder at the middle distance there. She sounded distracted, her voice thin.

“Maeve?”

She cleared her throat and visibly pulled herself together enough to give me a small smile.

“Thank you for your honesty. I won’t Influence you again-it is rude. Most people don’t notice it, though,” she said. “Tell me how you’re feeling. Is the stone helping with the overflow of magic?”

I took quick inventory. I felt great, actually. A little tired, but a lot less pushed around by magic. As a matter of fact, even my headache was better. I felt light, like someone had just pulled a lead blanket off me.

“Better,” I said. “What kind of stone is this?”

“A void stone.” At my look, she waved her hand dismis sively. “Some stones have the right combination of chemical compounds and exposure to magic that they actually become void to it and are able to project a calming or negating effect on magic.”

I looked over her shoulder and around the room and noted several more small, round river stones in grays, greens, browns, and blacks scattered among the tables and shelves.

“How much does this thing cost?”

Maeve’s smile, this time, was genuine.

“That one stays here. Most stones are much smaller. I’ll see if I can find something for you, if you want. Now, on to the matters at hand. I need your permission to look into you again.”

I nodded. “You have my permission.”

Maeve placed her hand on my wrist and did her silver-eye trick again. This time I felt the press of magic filtering into my mind, and I leaned back, away from Maeve. I could not look away from her eyes. The white magic around her cast red shadows against the back of my eyes like a flashlight pouring light toward the back of my brain.

“Breathe,” Maeve said gently, without Influence. I realized I’d been holding my breath. I exhaled. While I was at it, I loosened my death grip on the rock in my lap.

“That’s good. You’re doing fine.” Maeve, Magical Proctologist.

I didn’t know if the wall I’d built between my dad and myself was still standing. Found that I couldn’t really turn and assess anything in my own head. Not while magic and Maeve’s gaze held me still.

But I could still feel my head, could still think. Something, like a small, many-legged thing hiding from the light, scrabbled across the back of my skull.

Nauseating. As comforting as a tapeworm.

Maeve looked a moment longer, then closed her eyes. When she opened them again, they were green-just green-and the magic around her was gone.

“More water?” she offered.

“No. Did you see him?”

“I saw something that needs to be looked at by someone more familiar with the transitional magic of life and death. It’s not my expertise,” she said apologetically. “Jingo Jingo should be by this evening. I’ll have him look into it as soon as he’s here.”

As if on cue, a short, sharp set of knocks rapped on the door. Maeve flicked her fingers, releasing, for my benefit, I realized, the Ward she’d put on the room when we had entered. A Ward I hadn’t seen her cast, even though I’m usually good at paying attention to those sorts of things.

Okay. That was spooky. If she was always that smooth with magic, she was a hell of a lot more dangerous than she looked.

Maybe my dad was right about her.

Fantastic.

The door opened and a kid-okay, he looked a few years younger than me, maybe twenty-one-stepped into the room. Thin as the pages of a fashion magazine, he wore black head to toe: black hair in ragged edges around his pale face, black T-shirt over a black long-sleeved thermal, black fingerless gloves, black pants with dull silver buckles running down both legs to the black tips of his combat boots. He gave off a sort of goth mixed with reluctant rock star vibe.

The only shot of color on him was the shock of green from the large potted plant he carried.

“Ready, Mum?”

“I think so. Come on in.” She waved at the other chair next to her. “Sit.”

His boots muffled across the rug, as if there was very little weight behind each step. He folded down into the chair next to Maeve, graceful but elbow-y, a long-limbed marionette with too much string. He plunked the potted plant on the floor next to him. The plant was so tall, the leaves were level with his shoulders. I expected him to adopt that I-don’t-give-a-damn slouch, but he sat on the edge of the chair like a man ready to pony up to a bet. He leaned over the coffee table and extended his left hand toward me.

“Shamus Flynn,” he said. “Everyone calls me Shame. You’re Beckstrom’s daughter, aren’t you?”

“Allie.” Shaking his gloved hand made me wish I had my own gloves on to cover my markings.

Shamus smelled of cigarettes, booze, and hot cloves.

“Nice,” he said, tipping my hand to catch the light before letting go. “Sorry your da was such a prick.” He settled back like a man used to casually dodging a fist to the face. “But damn, he was powerful. Guess it gave him rights to be a prick, eh?”

“Not from my point of view.”

“Grew a mind of your own?” he asked. “Bet that disappointed him.”

“You have no idea.”

He raised his eyebrows, once, quickly, and grinned. “Might be I like you, Beckstrom.”

“You should probably hold off on that.”

“Got yourself a boyfriend?”

“Yes.”

“Jones? That bucket of ice water? Isn’t that a surprise?” he said, like it wasn’t a surprise at all. “Don’t you think that’s a surprise, Mum?”

“No,” she said. End of conversation. “Allie, place the void stone on the table, please.”

I so did not want to do that. I did it anyway. She was my teacher, and I apparently only had three days to learn a lifetime of magic.

Magic began filling me again, a warm, tingly rise from my feet upward.

“Are you comfortable with the level of magic in the room?”

I nodded.

“Good.” She stood and moved behind the chair, pacing to the center of the room. “Come stand here.” She pointed at a position about four feet in front of her.

I did, and to my relief, magic continued to fill me but did not try to break free of my control. I wondered if I could smuggle one of those stones out of here.

“Shamus, stand here, please.” She pointed at the space beside us, effectively creating a human triangle on the ornate red and brown carpet. “Close enough to touch her if you need to.”

“Don’t I know? Not like I haven’t done this.” He picked up the plant and lugged it with him, muttering, “Stand there, Shamus. Don’t bother the new girl, Shamus. Don’t back-talk me when I’m teaching, Shamus.”

Maeve raised her eyebrows. “Don’t back-talk me even when I’m not teaching, Shamus,” she said.

He set the plant down between himself and his mother. He was standing, I noted, close enough that he could touch me if he stretched his arm full length. He gave his mother a smile that I bet worked on the girls, but wasn’t having any effect on her.

“So, Beckstrom,” he said, not looking at me. “You ever done a face-to-face Proxy?”

I had, twice, in college. It was required that you understand just how much pain you could put someone through by making them pay your price for using magic. You had to cast a spell and watch your Proxy sweat, cry, and/or puke right in front of you.

Good times.

“Yes.”

“Often?”

“No.”

“Won’t this be fun, then?” He slapped his hands together, the knit fingerless gloves softening the sound. “All right, Mum. Name the poison.”

“Allie, I want you to cast Proxy to Shamus.” She stood across from me, both hands at ease at her sides. The rest of her body language was alert, taut, like a watchful cat.

Shamus angled toward me. “Give me all you got, girl, an’ don’t be shy. I can take it. Twice as hard as Jones.”

“I don’t Proxy to Zayvion,” I said as I mentally intoned a mantra-the jump rope jingle

Down by the river where the green grass grows. .

“No, he Grounds you. Says you’re more than a sweet handful. Says he likes doing you that way.”

Okay, now he was pissing me off. I had enough sense to suspect that was all a part of the test. Could I keep my mind on the job when someone was dicking around?

I traced the sharp, pointed glyph of the Proxy into the air in front of me. Even though I couldn’t see it, I caught at where the bottom corner should be, reached out, and touched Shamus with it with no more force than necessary-see how controlled I was? — and pressed it into his skin while I held the shape of it, the intent of it, clear in my mind’s eye.

Corporations hired a bevy of casters to do these sorts of spells, and were supposed to Offload their magic use to the legally accepted outlets like prisons and the regulated Proxy pits.

There were also people who made their living free lancing as full-time Proxies. Short, high-paying career if it didn’t kill you. Some people were into that kind of pain and abuse.

Shamus looked like he might be one of those people.

His lips were parted and he held the tip of his tongue between his teeth. I hesitated, wondering if the Proxy had connected. It had been a long time since I’d done this. He nodded slightly, letting me know we were okay so far.

“Good,” Maeve said. “Now access as much magic as you can from the well beneath the room. Cast the strongest Lightning spell that you can.”

Oh, she had to be kidding. “I’ll blow the walls out.”

“I’d like to see you do it.” She really did sound curious.

“No. It would kill him.”

“I won’t let that happen,” Maeve said firmly. “Now cast Lightning.”

She didn’t look worried. I noted she had both hands held at ready to cast-probably Cancel or Hold or some other negating spell. Hells, maybe she had a pocket full of rocks she could throw at the spell if she had to.

Okay, fine.

Back to the jump rope song, back to clearing my mind. I traced a glyph in the air in front of me. A very different glyph this time. Lightning wasn’t as pointed as Proxy. It flowed in a series of broken lines and arches.

Magic rolled in me, painful, sharp. But that was just the magic that I held inside of me. The other magic, the magic in the deep well beneath us, I had been very careful not to touch.

I took a short breath, braced for the torrent, and tapped into the well. Magic stormed through me like heat through a lightning rod, riding my bones, my blood, my flesh. I burned with it, shook with it, tasted the scorched earth of it thick and hot at the back of my throat. I held my focus, directed the magic pouring through the colored whorls down my arm to my fingertips, fingertips that glowed neon blue with an afterimage of soft rose, into the glyph I continued to trace. Magic spun from my fingers.

The corners of the room fell into shadow. Lights dimmed, went out. The spell raged against the room, burning and arching against the Blocks and Wards and glyphs worked into the walls, floor, ceiling. Wild electricity struck and was sucked into Shields and Wards that were deeper and more complex than I’d ever seen.

And still more lightning poured from my hands.

Shamus groaned, swayed, taking the full painful price of my using so much magic. He did not fall. That man was tougher than he looked. Magic exacted an equal pain for power. This strong of a spell should have knocked him unconscious.

Now I understood why there were no windows. Now I understood why Maeve had wanted to teach me here, have me access power here. This room was built like a vault. What came into it stayed in it.

Even my spell.

Magic poured through me, feeding the spell, growing it larger and larger. I think Maeve and I realized at the same time that while the spell was going to stay in the room, if it continued to grow, to feed on itself, there wouldn’t be room for the rest of us in here.

There wouldn’t be any room to breathe.

I was trapped, suffocating. My heart pounded. There was no room to breathe.

Hello, claustrophobia. I wondered when you’d get here.

I met Maeve’s gaze. The walls shook, assailed by a thousand fists. The floorboards creaked, trembled.

We were in trouble.

“Close it,” Maeve said, her voice strong, pitched loud enough to carry over the din of the spell.

“I don’t know how.” And that was true. I had never cast with so much magic behind a spell, had never really cast this spell, as there isn’t that much use for Lightning in Hounding.

And yet I had cast it perfectly. As if I’d done it a thousand times before.

Child’s play.

It was only a whisper, but my dad’s voice was the loudest thing in the room. Although I was pretty sure I was the only one who heard him.

It is easy, Allison

, he breathed.

So easy. Inhale, exhale. Relax.

Sweet hells. Of all the time for my dad to kick up and try to Influence me, he had to do it now. I fought to hold my focus, to not fall beneath his words.

I never had a chance.

He had full control of my mind, of my hands. I was pressed, not unconscious, but simply away from myself, my body. I felt daydreamy and drifty and didn’t even see it as my father used my hand to trace a new spell.

End

, he said. And my daydreams were filled with his memories of using that spell in hand-to-hand combat, canceling spells other magic users threw, canceling his own spells and changing them into new, wicked blades to throw at his enemies.

The air flashed hot, cold. The spell in the room extinguished. Lights crackled to life; the lingering scents of roses and apricot and ash filled the air.

My ears popped from the pressure, and I inhaled greedily as I came back to myself, like someone had been holding my head underwater.

Shamus fell to his knees next to the plant. His fingers spread and sunk in the soil, his head bent, hair hiding his pale face, back heaving with each heavy breath. I was amazed he was still breathing.

He grunted and rocked back the rest of the way onto his heels, one hand still in the plant that now looked shriveled, dried, dead. Drops of sweat, blood, or tears made small

plick

sounds against his jeans.

“Are you okay?” I thought I could get it all out, but my voice was hoarse and I had to take a breath between each word.

“Allie,” Maeve said softly. Or at least I think she was talking quietly. It could also be that my eardrums were blown.

Come to think of it, I wasn’t feeling so great myself.

“Fuck it all,” Shamus muttered, his words nasal and stuffy. He lifted his free hand to his face. I noted his hand was shaking as he wiped at his eyes and nose.

Maeve had not moved. “Allie, I need your attention right now. It is very important.”

I didn’t know why she wasn’t worried about Shamus. He was her kid, after all, and that spell, my spell, had just kicked the holy hell out of him.

I looked up at her.

Maeve was a tower of authority, twice as tall as I’d last seen her, red hair flowing like a river of flame in a wind I could not feel. Her skin glowed so bright it was like she had swallowed the moon. Only her eyes, deep, earth-holding green, showed a speck of her humanity.

I had had this kind of vision before, had seen Zayvion covered in silver whorls and glyphs, his skin burning with blue-tipped black fire.

But if Zayvion had been night and the edge of magic and ebony heat, Maeve was the pale, cruel light of dawn.

“Come to me,” she commanded.

“Hey.” I exhaled, inhaled. “You told me you”-pause for breath again-“wouldn’t do that.” It probably wasn’t Influence she was using right now anyway.

Still, I started toward her. Okay, four feet had never felt so much like four miles. I didn’t so much hurt as feel very, very drained. I was empty and beyond tired.

Maeve reached out one impossibly long arm. Her cool white fingers tucked under the right side of my jaw-the side marked by magic. She tipped my face so she could look into my eyes.

And I mean

look

Just like before. And just like before, my father skittered away somewhere in the back of my head, quiet as a rat.

She drew the index finger of her other hand across my forehead, and I sighed at the cool relief that brought me.

“How did you know End?”

“I don’t know,” I mumbled. “Think Dad knew it, maybe, used it, maybe?”

Okay, I wasn’t thinking too well right now. Right now, all I wanted to do was sit on the floor and take a nap.

“Yes,” she said. “He did. It is a dangerous spell, very old, rarely taught. I’d rather you not use it again without training.”

She let go of my chin and took a step back. She looked normal again, her red and gray hair piled in a messy bun, her skin creamy and freckled, her eyes green. Just green.

“Sure,” I said. “Sorry. It’s my first day.”

A sound halfway between a snort and a choked laugh rose from where Shamus sat.

“She’s right, Mum.” He tipped his face up. Black hair fell back, revealing the livid bruises across both eyes that were nearly swollen shut, and the bloody smear of red from under his nose and across his cheek.

“This is only her first day. Give the poor slacker a break.” He laughed again, then rubbed his forehead. “I’m going to need a lot more to drink if I’m going to make it through her second day. So. You, Beckstrom, give a man a hand, eh?” He held his hand up toward me.

I walked over to him, my energy slowly coming back-whatever Maeve had done with my forehead had helped-and took his hand. I hefted back as he rolled up onto his feet. He rocked a little too far forward, putting his mouth close to my ear. “Holy fuck,” he whispered. “No one throws that much power untrained. Impressed the shit outta Mum. Good for you.”

He straightened, though he rocked a little precariously on his feet. “Call it a night?” he asked.

Maeve exhaled and seemed to let go of whatever it was that was bothering her.

She’s afraid

, my dad said. Smug.

Hells. Me too. I so needed a drink.

Maeve reached over and touched Shamus’s face, studying the blood and bruises. She drew her finger across his forehead, and he sighed happily. The bruises around his eyes faded just a little. Maeve made a

tsk

sound. “Next time we’ll have a Grounder here for you.”

Shamus stiffened like she’d just told him she was going to dip him in fire.

“Not Terric,” he said, a tinge of panic in his voice.

“No, no. Of course not Terric,” she soothed. “Maybe Sunny. She works well with you.”

Shamus relaxed.

“All right, then,” Maeve said. “I think we can all call it a night. This wasn’t exactly what I had planned for your first day, but we’ve done well enough. How are you feeling? Any headaches? Pains?”

I shook my head. I mean, I was still tired, but I felt more awake by the moment. “Shamus took the brunt of the spell.” I hated watching someone else pay the price for a spell I used. And seeing Shamus take an ass-kicking just to prove to his mother that I didn’t know what I was doing irritated me. “He did a good job.”

Maeve’s eyebrows shot up. “Of course he did. He’s a Flynn. He knows his way around magic, not that you could tell by his manners. Or choice in clothing.” She gave him a wholly disapproving motherly look. “Out now.” She flicked her hand toward the door, and made it obvious she had released the Lock and Ward set there. “Allie, I want to see you tomorrow at ten. You too, Shamus.” She marched out the door ahead of us.

“And Shamus, eat a decent meal. Then I don’t care how drunk you get.”

“You’d think I was a bloody child,” he muttered beside me. “She never lets up,” he whispered, loud enough his mom was sure to hear. “Personally, I think she needs to get laid.”

Maeve lifted her hand over her shoulder and made a little waving motion that somehow also managed to level the threat of a particularly uncomfortable spell-something in the line of an embarrassing rash-at him.

“Love you too, Mum,” he called after her as she walked through the adjoining, empty room out into the restaurant area.

He paused and touched my arm.

“What?”

He patted his pockets for a cigarette, pulled one out, and offered me the pack.

“No, thanks.”

He nodded, lit up, and took a hard suck. “Balls, woman,” he said, exhaling smoke with every word, “you pack a punch. Where did you learn to throw magic like that?”

“On-the-job training.”

“Well, don’t let my mum fool you. She was impressed.”

“She didn’t look impressed. She looked angry.” The memory of her standing tall, pale, and burning above me flashed behind my eyes.

“Naw, not angry about what you did. Just pissed she was wrong about you.”

“Oh?”

“She argued against you getting trained. ’Cause of what your da did to my da-not a lot of forgiveness in the Flynn blood. She said you were too old, too stubborn, too likely to be the sort of person your da was-a prick,” he added, in case I’d forgotten what he thought of my dad.

“But Z-Jones-” he explained, “wouldn’t give up on giving you a chance. He pushed hard for you, took it all the way to the top-and I mean the top. Wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t have to pay something for that.”

“Huh,” I said rather ungracefully.

“Do you like him?” he asked.

“Who?”

“Zayvion.”

I focused on Shamus, his body language-leaning against the wall like he was just being casual, but the smell of fatigue mixed with the cigarette smoke told me he was leaning there because keeping his feet wasn’t going so well. Shamus was no slouch. He had Proxied a lot of pain. A hell of a lot of pain. And since I didn’t know what he thought of Zayvion, I didn’t know what answer would do Zayvion the least harm. Especially since I’d just found out Zay might have put himself in some sort of debt to get me training.

It was like the frickin’ magic mafia around here. I didn’t know whom to trust.

I went with the truth. What else?

“I like him. And that’s none of your business.”

Shamus pushed his hair away from his face and smiled. “Aren’t you the sweetest? Now I see why he has it so bad for you. Tough on the outside and sweet in the middle. Well.” He shoved off of the wall. “Good on you both, and I mean that with all my cheating little black heart. It’s about time Mr. Somber had some fun in his duty-unto-death life. And watching my mom eat crow hasn’t been half bad either. As a matter of fact, for that alone, I’ll buy you a drink.” He pushed away from the wall, found an ashtray, and ground out his cigarette.

“What’s your pleasure?”

“I don’t care,” I said. “Anything.”

He walked through the door, and I followed him.

I felt the tingle of a Mute spell slide over my skin as I passed through the doorway.

The noise of people talking came on suddenly. The entire room was full now, every table occupied with people eating, drinking, talking. The light outside the windows was diving into evening. I’d been back there with Maeve and Shamus for hours. No wonder I was so tired and hungry.

“Pick it up, Beckstrom,” Shamus said.

I did so, and followed as he wove his way between tables. He was aiming at the lunch counter, although in the dim light I didn’t see any available seats there either. Just suits, fancy dresses, T-shirts, and jeans. A mix of Northwest just-off-work and out-for-the-evening. Shamus made his way through the noise and down the length of the counter, then turned left, where eight or so stools held the end of the lunch area.

Two of those seats were free. Shamus slid down into one and was already yelling over the loud conversations for the attention of one of the girls behind the counter. The stool next to him, toward the wall, was open. And in the seat next to that was Zayvion.

He was partly turned, his elbow resting next to a half-empty glass of beer on the countertop, his back toward me.

Being six feet tall gives me some advantage. One is I could look around Zayvion and see whom he was talking to.

A woman, about my age, brown hair cut in straight bangs across her forehead and pulled back in a single long braid. Her face reminded me of a movie star’s-wide, catlike eyes, high cheekbones, and lips most women would mortgage the house for. She had on a black tank top, over which she had thrown a long-sleeved plaid flannel shirt, black jeans, and boots. No makeup-and she didn’t need it.

She looked over Zayvion’s shoulder at me, and her eyes were sapphire in sunlight.

“Allie?” Zayvion said-had been saying, I realized. I hadn’t heard him over the din. Well, that and I was still thinking a little slow.

“Sorry.” I looked over at him. “Kind of loud in here.”

His Zen was on full strength, making his face a dark, unreadable mask. But his gaze held some worry as he searched my face.

I smiled to let him know I was okay.

“This is Chase Warren,” he said.

I stepped around Zayvion enough to shake her hand. Calluses on the girl. Strength. She obviously worked for a living.

“Nice to meet you,” I said.

“So, you’re

the

Allie Beckstrom,” she said. “Zay’s said a lot about you.” She gave me the oh-so-female up-down appraisal that made me want to grind my teeth. Really, I didn’t care what she thought about me, my faded jeans, or my sweaty, messy hair. And I smiled at her to let her know it.

“That’s nice,” I said to cut this little convo short. I took the only seat between Zayvion and Shamus, and leaned both elbows on the bar.

Shamus had finally managed to snag the attention of one of the girls behind the counter and she stood there, a small pad of paper in her hand.

“What are you buying me, Shame?” I asked.

“Beer. Wait. Bet you’re a wine girl.”

“Beer’s fine,” I said, even though I didn’t like beer much, “dark.” Then to the waitress: “Could I get a glass of water, burger, and fries, please?”

She nodded and headed off.

“Nice shiner,” Zayvion said to Shamus. “How did she do?”

Shamus leaned back so they could talk behind my back.

“She’s sitting right here, you know,” I said.

“Fucking amazing. I can’t believe the amount of power she pulled on-and you were right-she took it in her body, right through it. Got my mum’s panties in a knot, seeing all that. Might even make your bullshit about you two being Soul Complements a little easier for the Authority to swallow.”

Zayvion made a little

huh

sound, then took a drink of his beer, hiding his smile. He was exceedingly pleased. It rolled off him in waves.

“Did your mother actually say she was impressed?” Chase, who had leaned forward so she could see around Zayvion, asked. I caught a whiff of her vanilla perfume.

“As much as.”

“That’s a no, then.” Chase gave me a hard, flat look, and I wondered what the hell I’d done to piss her off.

Maybe it was just hate at first sight. Lucky me. ’Cause that’s what I needed-another person who didn’t like me.

I turned away from her. “What do you mean ‘bullshit about Complements’? We are, aren’t we?”

“Not without Authority sanctioning you’re not,” Chase said.

This time I looked at Zayvion. “I thought you said we were.”

Shamus laughed. “Oh, sure. If I had a dollar for every time a man used that line to get a woman in bed, I’d be richer than your daddy-wait. Richer than you, Beckstrom.”

“Shame,” Zay said, “you talk too much.” He leaned in toward me and the hops smell of beer mixed with his pine cologne. “It isn’t easy to quantify. Soul Complements are rare. So rare it is hard to prove.”

“But there is a way to tell. Some kind of test?”

“Yes. There is a way.”

“Let me guess, it’s dangerous?”

“Yes.”

Great.

“And if we don’t do it?”

Zay pressed his lips together. I noted Chase, behind him, suddenly stiffened. “That’s a choice we make. It’s a practical choice. A safe choice. It’s the choice people who are afraid to risk it all take.”

Chase swore. She dug money out of her pocket and threw it on the countertop next to her empty glass. Her pale cheeks were washed in red.

“But?” I asked.

“Safe doesn’t get you anywhere in life,” he said.

Chase, now standing, tipped her head up and groaned loudly. “Give it a damn rest.”

“Problem?” Zayvion asked her while still looking at me.

Chase, behind him, looked back down. The smile she wore was not pretty-no easy feat with a face like hers.

“With you?” she said. “Plenty.”

“Will you two shut the hell up?” Shamus said. “This is supposed to be the beginning of a beautiful friendship. Hot new girlfriend meets hot ex-girlfriend, both get along like twins separated at birth, there’s probably at least one drunken three-way, and voilà, happy all around.”

“Girlfriend?” I said before I could bite back my surprise.

“Shame,” Zayvion warned.

Shamus laughed. “Priceless. You didn’t tell her? You are such an idiot.”

Zayvion gave me a pleading look while Chase scowled death at Shamus. I leaned back, and Shamus swiveled his stool completely around so that both his elbows were on the counter and his back leaned against it. He flashed Chase an innocent smile and held up his middle finger like he’d just discovered he had one.

“Allie,” Zayvion started.

“I just want my burger and beer,” I said. It came out calm, considering the thoughts spinning through my head. Normally I would be pissed off that Zayvion had put me in this kind of social situation without telling me he used to date her. If I’d known they were lovers, I would have handled this totally differently.

Or maybe I wouldn’t have. In the long run, I didn’t think it mattered.

See? I can be practical about these kinds of things. I mean, I knew he hadn’t been saving himself for me all his life.

And besides, he and I were together now, even though he didn’t look quite as sure as I was about that. His Zen slipped and he looked an awful lot like a man who realized he might have made a big mistake.

Chase leaned full body against Zayvion’s back, wrapping her hands up under his arms so she could splay her palms over his chest.

He tensed, and it wasn’t love in his eyes. Not quite anger either. Maybe tolerance. Maybe denial. It got me thinking about those scars he said he had on his heart. It got me thinking maybe she had put them there.

Chase tipped her head down to Zay’s face, her perfect lips so close she wouldn’t have to move an inch to lick him. “Fuck you, Zay.” I didn’t actually hear her words over the noise in the room, but I was plenty close enough to read her lips.

Shamus, who must also be pretty good at lip reading, laughed again.

“Good night, Chase.” Zayvion did not move, but it was like he suddenly drew a wall of ice between himself and her.

She tipped her head and rested her chin on his shoulder. She smiled at me, and for the life of me I could not figure out what kind of game she was playing.

Have I mentioned I have always sucked at all the bitchy backstabbing games women play? Consider it mentioned.

“Enjoy,” she said.

I nodded. “I will.” Simple. Honest.

I guess that wasn’t what she was hoping for. She stood, turned off her smile, and strode out the door on this side of the building.

“That. Was. Awesome,” Shamus declared.

Zayvion rubbed the back of his neck. “You,” he said, spearing Shamus with a look, “talk too much.”

Shamus chuckled. “And you are too easy to rile up, but you’ll forgive me anyway.”

“No,” Zayvion said, “I won’t.”

From the tone of his voice, it was clear he liked Shamus. Maybe the way a person likes paying their taxes, or hanging out with an annoying little brother.

Zayvion put his hand on my upper arm. Since I had planted my elbow on the counter and was cupping my chin in my hand, willing the waitress to bring me my burger, I leaned my head sideways to look at him.

“What?” I asked.

“I feel like an explanation is in order.”

My willing must have worked. The waitress appeared with two plates on her arm and glasses in her hand. Sweet heaven, it was about time.

She set the burger in front of me, and the beer and water, then deposited a plate of what looked like chicken, mashed potatoes, gravy, and corn in front of Shamus.

The overpowering aroma of the food reached my nose, and my stomach cramped in hunger. Using magic made me hungry. And Shamus wasn’t kidding, I’d thrown a hell of a lot of magic around a few minutes ago. The nice thing? Whatever his mom had done when she brushed my forehead had totally wiped out my Disbursement headache.

“Go ahead.” I got both my hands around my burger and bit into it.

“I didn’t know Chase was going to be here tonight.”

“Mmm-hmm.” I took a swig of beer to wash down the burger, and tore into the fries.

“She and I. . we were. . we did date. Well, not date, but we had. .”

“Sex,” Shamus offered helpfully. “You and Chase had hot, screaming sex. A lot,” he added, with a serious nod to me.

I stopped chewing. I didn’t know if I should tell him to shut up or just laugh. He was shameless.

“Shame,” Zayvion said in a voice that wasn’t even close to Zen.

“Sex everywhere, all the time,” he continued, with a wicked glint in his eyes. I noticed he had pushed his plate away and dusted off his hands, as if in preparation for a fight. “One time during training, I actually had to carry bags of ice around and lob them at the two of them to keep them from spontaneously fucking.”

Zayvion was up out of his chair so fast, the only thing I had time to do was duck. Zay towered over me, caught Shamus by the shirt, and had him in a headlock before he could squirm away.

“Tell Allie you apologize for your mouth and your manners,” Zayvion said.

Shamus made a horrible choking sound.

“Hey, hey,” I said, figuring I better break up this little testosterone hug before someone got hurt. Then I realized Shame wasn’t choking, he was howling with laughter.

“Tell her. Tell her you are incapable of telling the truth, because you are an immoral ass.” Zayvion calmly squeezed just a little harder.

“Can’t. . breathe,” Shamus wheezed.

Zayvion squeezed one last time, then released him. “Remind me why I keep you around?” He glowered.

Shamus tugged on his shirt to straighten it, and brushed his hair back down over his eyes, covering the bruises, then raked it back to one side.

“My good looks, quick wit, and, best of all, my connections,” he said. “Need I say more?”

“No,” Zayvion said. “You need say less. Much, much less.”

They both settled into their seats again.

“Well, see, I may not have morals, but I do have a conscience.” Shamus pulled his plate back in place and took a bite of mashed potatoes. “And I know when to speak my mind. Not at all like you, Jones. Silent. Shifty. Temperamental. Sullen. Morbid.”

“How long have you two known each other?” I asked.

Zayvion shook his head. “Exactly one hour too long.”

Shamus made a rude noise. “You said that three hours ago.”

Zayvion lifted his beer and flashed me a quick smile before taking a drink. “Several years,” he said. “Long, painful years.”

“Grew up together,” Shamus added around a mouthful of chicken.

I took a drink of my beer. During the hubbub I’d managed to get through half my burger and made a serious dent in the pile of fries. The food did a decent job of clearing my head and settling my mood.

I was feeling a lot better. “Well, then, I’m sorry for you both.”

Shamus coughed and laughed, and Zayvion’s faint smile spread out into a grin. He looked good when he smiled. Looked like someone should be kissing him for it.

I guess some of my thoughts showed in my expression. Zayvion raised one eyebrow and pushed my knee with his knee, swiveling my stool toward him. I was now mostly facing him.

“How was class?” And even though he was relaxed, a hint of a smile still playing on his lips, he spoke a little more quietly, privately, and somehow that made it easy to hear him, only him, over all the other voices and people in the room.

He was concerned about me.

How sweet was that?

“I learned a lot. There’s um, still some question about my dad.”

He nodded. “She say anything about that?”

“She wants someone else to look into it. I think Jingo Jingo?”

Zay’s smile faded away.

“What? Is that bad?”

“No. No, not bad. He’s very good at what he does.”

“He’s a freak is what he is.” Shamus finished off his beer and tapped the counter for a refill.

“Shame,” Zayvion said.

“Sure, you go ahead and deny it. You know it’s true.”

“What does he do?” I asked.

“It’s not what he does.”

Shamus snorted, and Zayvion gave him a silencing look, then leaned in a little closer to me so he could lower his voice.

“Death magic. He is Liddy’s second, and deals hands-on with the dead. It makes sense Maeve wants him to see. . what your father may have done.” He pulled back, his gaze searching my face for understanding.

And I was absolutely positive he didn’t find a single stitch of it.

“What the hell?” I asked. At his look, I lowered my voice and leaned closer to him. “Death magic? I’m not letting anyone use death magic on me. Besides, it’s illegal.”

“Just because the law doesn’t know how to use something doesn’t make it illegal.”

Wow. There was a concept I didn’t want to think about.

“Isn’t that the magic Frank used on me, on the kidnapped girls in the warehouse?” I couldn’t remember much of what happened there, but I knew my dad’s corpse had been there, that was where he had possessed me, and that was where the girls had been tied down and killed.

“He abused it, twisted it. Used more than just death magic. He used dark magic. Forbidden. Jingo Jingo is one of the Authority. Sworn to use magic in the ancient ways.”

“Frank wasn’t part of the Authority?”

“He was. A faction. Part of the splitting off, the breaking that has been going on. But he wasn’t even near the same level of ability or responsibility as Jingo Jingo.”

“Is that your comforting speech? Because I am not feeling the comfort,” I said.

Zay rested his palm, warm and heavy, on my thigh. “Jingo is the best person to deal with this. I’ll be there with you, if you want.”

I suddenly wanted that very much. “I’d like that.” I slipped my fingers between his.

Two glasses of beer descended slowly between us, held with the tips of fingers wrapped to the second knuckle in black fingerless gloves.

Shamus, standing next to us, held drinks in both outstretched hands. “More drinking, less flirting,” he said. “Or so help me God, I’ll throw ice at you.”

Zayvion gave Shamus a withering glare. “You just don’t know when to keep your mouth shut, do you?”

“Nope,” he said cheerfully. “A toast.”

I took one of the beers, and Zayvion leaned back, let go of my hand, and took the other beer.

“To what?” Zay asked.

“To the only thing worth drinking to. Love.”

“That’s not what you said last week,” Zayvion said. “Last week you were toasting magnificent breasts, if I remember correctly.”

Shamus grinned. “Also lovely, but I’ve matured since then. To love.” He lifted his own glass and took a long drink.

Zay looked over at me. “To love,” he said quietly.

“To love,” I said. And joy, I also blushed like mad, my face washed with heat from that look in Zayvion’s eyes.

“You,” I said to Shamus, to have an excuse to look away from the raw intensity of Zayvion’s gaze, “are a trouble maker.,

“Aren’t we all?”

“No,” Zayvion said. “Some of us are trouble enders.”

Shamus chuckled. “Like hell.”

And he toasted us again, drained his glass, then patted Zayvion on the shoulder. “My friend. Be well. I need a smoke.”

“That’s gonna kill you someday,” Zayvion said into the rim of his beer.

Shamus nodded. “I could only be so lucky.” Then to me: “Tomorrow, love. Ten o’clock. Don’t be late. The mum has the temper of a demon with a diaper rash.”

He lifted a hand in farewell and walked across the room, weaving his way between tables, until I couldn’t see him anymore.