Devon Monk - Magic in the Shadows

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.