Devon Monk - Magic in the Shadows

“Stalking?”

“It’s not like that. Pike decided too many Hounds were being hurt Hounding without a safety net. He set up a buddy system. One person Hounds, and another Hound volunteers to stay back and keeps an eye on things. Calls the police if something goes wrong, but otherwise doesn’t get involved.”

“When did you tell him you were taking this job?”

“I didn’t. He has a lot of free time on his hands and is too curious for his own good.”

Stotts turned and leaned his back against the railing, his arms crossed over his chest. If Davy could hear us, and he might be able to-Hounds were known for having acute hearing-with Stotts’ back turned, it would make it harder to hear, and impossible to read lips.

“I don’t like outside eyes on my cases.”

“I’ll talk to him about it,” I said again. I stood and started pacing, trying to warm up. When was Violet going to get here?

“Good.” Stotts watched me pace from one side of the gazebo to the other. Neither of us looked over at the circle of ashes, as if we wanted to avoid it as long as possible.

“I’d like to continue working with you,” he said. “Just you. I’d like this to be a more permanent partnership.”

I stopped halfway to the railing, and looked back at him. “What?”

“I’d like to formalize this. You working with me. For me. Make it something more along the lines of what I had with Martin Pike.”

“Are you offering me a job?”

“Yes. A trial period, anyway. On call. Contracted to Hound exclusively for the MERC. Monthly stipend. Proxy service. Interested?”

“Let me think about it,” I said. “Is there anyone else in the running for the job?”

“Not until I hear from you, there isn’t.”

I searched his face for a hint of why he had picked me, out of all the Hounds in the city. I’d only worked for him once. Some of the other Hounds had worked for him more than once. Even Sid had, I think.

“Okay, I give up,” I finally said. “Why me?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stared off toward the circle of ash and shifted against the railing, so he was standing more than leaning, his arms still crossed over his chest.

“You aren’t like the other Hounds, Allie. You see and track spells on a level most Hounds don’t even try for. Plus, most Hounds who have more than three years of experience have already burned out on drugs and alcohol. They don’t, or maybe can’t, Hound as precisely as you can.”

“Pike was good,” I said. “Better than me.”

“No,” Stotts said quietly. “No.” He pushed off the railing and stuck his hands in the pockets of his coat. He stopped right in front of me, and then just as quietly asked, “What are those marks on your hands and arms?”

I blinked a couple times. I didn’t know what to tell him. Would he buy it if I said they were just tattoos I’d gotten on a wild drunken weekend?

“They have something to do with magic, don’t they?” he continued. “With channeling it? Using it? Sensing it?”

I could not remember if I’d ever talked to him about the marks. Would it matter if he knew that I carried magic inside me, that I had always carried a small magic in me and after Cody Miller had pulled magic through me, that small flame had ignited into a roaring, barely controlled wildfire of magic in my bones, in my blood, in my soul?

No one else could do that. No one I knew about anyway. Holding magic in your body was a short road to death.

“It is from magic,” I said. My heart was beating too fast. I felt like he’d just caught me, found out the secret I’d been trying to hide. Not that I could really hide metallic whorls of color that spread over my face and arm.

“Magic marked me,” I exhaled. Why was it so hard to tell him this?

Because you know it’s wrong

, my father’s voice whispered in the back of my mind.

He shouldn’t know. He is not one of our kind.

“When?” Stotts asked.

“I don’t remember when it happened,” I said. That was the truth. Nola had told me how I got the marks. The coma had taken that memory from me. Still, deep in the pit of my stomach, I could feel the press and movement of magic, like a sleeping thing curled inside me. I felt the memory of when it had burned through me, pain and pleasure. I felt the memory of when it had first taken root in me.

“After the coma, that’s when I first remember seeing it.”

“And does it enhance magic use? Does it make things more clear?”

I realized I could not look away from his eyes. He wasn’t using Influence on me, but he had a presence, an intensity. As if he were really counting on me to tell him this. To do the right thing. And if I looked away, he would know I was lying.

“It makes using magic more painful.” It came out straight. Even. And I meant every word of it.

He pressed his lips together. “I saw you use magic. When you Hounded for me last time for the kidnapping, I cast Sight, to watch what you did.”

“I thought you were keeping an eye out on the thugs in the neighborhood.”

“I was. When you drew on magic, those colors on your hand, on your face, glowed.”

I nodded. “I don’t know why that happens. I don’t know why this is the way it is. Why I am the way I am.”

He studied me and I did not look away. No deceit. I truly did not understand why magic had marked me, nor why I could hold it in my body while others could not. But that was all I could give him, all I could tell him. I didn’t know how much Stotts knew about nonstandard things about magic. Or how much he knew about the Authority.

Nothing

, my father whispered.

He is not our kind.

Okay, so maybe now I did know how much Stotts knew. But here’s where the trouble started. He was the law. And I was working for him. I was also about to be trained by people who used magic illegally.

Ancient magic use is not illegal. It is only unknown.

“Have you talked to anyone about it?” he asked.

I tipped my head to the side, hoping my dad would just shut up so I could concentrate on one conversation at a time. Because I thought I was missing something here. Stotts was digging for a response from me. But I didn’t know what.

“Not really. I talked to Nola about it before the coma. Or at least she told me I talked to her about it.”

“I mean, since you’ve been back. Back in the city.”

“Is there someone I should talk to?” I asked, shifting the focus of the question so I could gain some ground. “Do you know someone who might be able to tell me more about this?” I held up my right hand, wiggled my fingers.

He didn’t look away from my face.

“The city is full of people. All kinds.” He emphasized the word

kinds

just like my father had, and I worked hard not to show him how that hit me. “Charlatans. Pushers, users, cons. You know the type.”

“Yes. I do.”

“I want you to know you can come to me. Anytime. For any reason. And my. . resources will be at your disposal.”

“Even if I don’t take the job with you?”

“Even if we never work together again.”

“Thanks,” I said. “That’s nice to know.”

My father pushed somewhere behind my eyes, and I tasted leather and wintergreen at the back of my throat. I also sensed his displeasure. He didn’t like Detective Stotts. Probably didn’t trust him. And while I wasn’t sure that I trusted Stotts either, I did find myself liking the man.

Not that I was childish enough to make friends just because my dad didn’t approve of someone.

Okay, yeah, I was that childish.

“Just wondering,” I said. “Did Nola put you up to this?”

He smiled. “You don’t take anyone at face value, do you?”