Devon Monk - Magic in the Shadows

“Take care of the kid?” Stotts asked.

“For now.”

“Anything I should know?”

“Not unless you have jurisdiction over teenage love affairs gone wrong.”

“That might be a little outside my expertise,” he said.

A big white box van rumbled up to the curb, then slowly rolled over it and came down the park path. The van parked a good distance from the gazebo, and all the doors opened. Stotts’ MERC crew-or at least the members of his team I had met, two men and a woman-stepped out of the van. They each carried a backpack slung over one shoulder and had on some variation of jeans and dark coats, but that was where the similarities ended.

Garnet, the tall, aging hippy, was probably the oldest of the crew and wore a crocheted rainbow-colored hat over his balding head. He squinted in the pale light like a mole in the middle of summer sunshine.

Next to him and twice as wide strode Roberts, the woman on the team. Built like a shot-putter, she had the look of a weight lifter from the Eastern Bloc. Her cheeks were flushed red beneath her startlingly wide brown eyes. The hood on her coat wasn’t up, leaving her short dark curls free to catch a frost of rain like misty cobwebs.

Julian, the driver, was the shortest of the bunch, about five foot two, and he carried himself with the confidence of a business executive. He wore a tailored black wool coat with a scarf tucked around his neck. He had to be the youngest of the group, fit, good-looking.

“Detective,” Julian said when the three of them were close enough to us. “Ms. Beckstrom.”

I nodded my hello.

“What have you got?” he asked Stotts.

“Spent spell. Physical remains.” Stotts started walking, and we followed. “Dead animal in the bushes over there. Might be someone playing vampire. You know the drill. Pictures of everything. Map the residual of the spikes in magic use off the grid out a hundred feet square. Scrub it down to zero impact-this is a public park and we don’t need the environmentalists on us for sloppy cleanup.”

“Got it covered,” Julian said.

I glanced over my shoulder. Garnet busied himself plunking down orange traffic cones that blocked the pathway to the gazebo, and then farther off, blocking the path along the bushes and trees. Not that anyone was out in this weather at this time of day, but it was probably a good precaution. In Portland, if you aren’t willing to go outside in the rain, you never go outside.

Roberts walked along the path where concrete met the grass in front of the gazebo. In each hand she held witch ing rods. I hadn’t seen those since college. The two narrow lengths of metal were bent and held loosely in each hand; they could be used to detect the presence of water and other energies. They had also proven to be helpful in tracking the natural flow of magic beneath the ground.

I wasn’t close enough to see, but I bet those rods were glyphed up the wazoo, and it was magic, not water, she was searching for.

“You can see for yourself where the spell was located,” Stotts said as we climbed the stairs to the gazebo.

Julian whistled. “What was it?”

“Might be Conversion,” Stotts said.

“Might?”

“It dissolved before Allie could get a strong read on it,” Stotts said.

Julian arched an eyebrow and looked up at me. “Is that so?”

“Fell apart when I touched it.” That was almost the whole truth.

“Do you need anything else?” Stotts asked.

“Nope.” Julian slipped off his backpack and pulled out a pair of leather gloves and a spray can.

“Then keep the spell use to a minimum,” Stotts said. “We’re already up against the wall with Proxy costs this month and I don’t want to fight with the suits to justify an overage.”

“Tell them to cut us a bigger budget.” Julian shook the can and began marking a circle around the entire inside parameter of the gazebo.

Stotts just grunted. “I’d rather not lose any more men.”

Julian shook his head. “Speaking of which.” He held up the spray can. “You might want to step back.”

Stotts nodded at me and we both walked out of the gazebo, passing Garnet and Richards on their way up the stairs.

The three of them recited a mantra, and the air suddenly felt a lot heavier.

I paused, but Stotts pulled me forward so I couldn’t watch anymore. I could still feel the magic they were using. The air was heavy with it, the rain so thick that for a second I wasn’t sure there was enough air between drops for me to inhale. Then they cast the spell-a spell I’d never experienced-and the rain broke free, a cloudburst, colder than natural rain, with a disinfectant smell to it.

“They clean up after magic by using more magic? That’s a smart idea.” I could not keep the sarcasm out of my tone. Probably because I didn’t try to.

“Funny,” Stotts said, “you don’t seem like the kind of person who should tell me how to do my job.”

“Don’t I?” I blinked innocently. “If that’s a problem, you might want to reconsider that job you offered me.”

We’d made it to the car by now. “I might. Get in.” He didn’t even wait for my reply before opening his door and sliding in out of the rain.

I took another sniff of the air, sneezed at the soapy chemical stink that filled my nostrils. No fireworks, no flash or sound came from the gazebo. I hesitated a moment more, heard what sounded an awful lot like a handheld vacuum cleaner whir to life. A vacuum cleaner? To clean up unquantified and possibly dangerous magical residue? Seriously?

Today was just full of surprises.

I pulled the door open and got in out of the rain.

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.