Devon Monk - Magic in the Shadows

No, I wouldn’t let him do it. I could Proxy my own magic use, and Maeve would just have to deal with that.

“So you and Chase trained together,” I pressed, bracing myself for the rest of the story.

He nodded. “The Authority is insular, private-it has to be to survive. And the organization is very, very careful about the people it allows in. Only a few people a year are even tested for it, and most don’t make it. During most of my. . training. .”

I noted his pause, but didn’t ask about it.

“. . I was alone. Sometimes Shamus and I were allowed to train with the same teacher, but Shamus isn’t a Closer. When Chase came to the Authority, and when she was approved to train, she was taught by my teacher, Victor.”

“Have I met him?”

“Not while I’ve known you. Maybe before then, although with how much your father kept you in the dark about this, I’d say it’s doubtful. There are five disciplines of magic the Authority teaches: Life, Death, Faith, Blood, and Flux. Each discipline has its strengths, its abilities. Life is the oldest way of magic. There are some who say it is the only way of magic, and all other branches are wrong to be practiced separate of it and each other. When the Order of the Aegis first began thousands of years ago, it was only Life magic that was known, understood, and practiced. All magic as one.”

We reached the car and he unlocked the door for me.

“But magic is one thing,” I said. “There aren’t different kinds of magic underground.”

He nodded. “True. But there are different ways to tap into that magic, different ways to cast spells, different approaches to make magic do what you want it to do.”

“Like that chanting thing you did.”

“Exactly. Death magic is in many ways the balance, the opposite of Life magic. It is just as old, but its ways were once practiced only in secret. Those were dark days before Death magic was legitimized, recognized, and taught so that users among the Authority could cast it with some manner of safety.”

I opened the door and got in while he walked around the car and slid into the driver’s side.

“Over the years, hundreds of years, Blood magic and Faith magic have been defined and practiced. With your father’s integration between magic and technology, the fifth magic, Flux, has been recognized and practiced.”

“Which magic is the strongest?”

Zayvion shrugged. “Ask a hundred people and you’d get a hundred answers.”

“Okay, let me put it this way: who’s running the show? Who is the boss of the Authority and which magic do they practice?”

“Currently?”

“Sweet hells,” I said. “Does it change hands that often?”

“More often than you’d think. For the last twenty years and currently, it is Sedra. She practices Life magic. The first.”

Having nothing to relate that to, I decided that sounded good. The main magic, the original magic, was the magic used by the one woman calling the shots. I wondered if I’d ever meet her.

“Before that it was Mikhail. He practiced Death magic.”

“And Mikhail’s dead?” I asked.

He gave me a strange look. “Yes.”

I looked over at him. “My dad told me.”

“When?”

“Recently. In a dream, actually.”

Zay started the engine. “Maybe I should take you to Jingo Jingo now.”

I yawned. “Don’t. I have dinner with Violet at eight. So, do you and Chase and Shamus report to Victor?”

Zay started the engine. “Shamus isn’t a Closer.”

“Blood magic like his mom?”

“No.” He glanced over at me. “Shamus works Death magic. He reports to Jingo Jingo.”

“Whom he doesn’t like,” I dot-to-dotted.

Zayvion nodded. “Shame isn’t shy about his opinions. But we don’t get to choose our teachers. We just have to do our job.”

I leaned my head back into the headrest of the seat and watched the streetlamps go by. We were driving parallel to the river. There were few businesses here, which made it feel farther away from civilization than it really was.

I don’t know if it was the beer or the testing, but I was suddenly very tired. I closed my eyes and half-drifted until Zayvion parked.

We were in the parking lot behind my apartment. I must have fallen asleep for a few minutes.

“Want me to come up?” he asked.

I rubbed at my eyes and tucked my hair back behind my ears. “No. I’m just going to take a nap before I see Violet.” I opened the car door. Cool air mixed with the warmth from the heater. I paused, one boot on the pavement. “Do you still love her?”

He turned in his seat, leaning his head against the window of his door. “Chase? What we had was good. It was strong. But it wasn’t love. I know that now. I think she knew it even then.”

That was not exactly a straight answer.

“Were you the one who called it off?”

He tried to smile, didn’t make it, and settled for that Zen bit. “She left me for someone else. A man named Greyson. She thought he was her Complement. Maybe even Soul Complement.”

“I thought you said that was rare.”

“So is lightning striking in the same place twice. Yet it happens.”

“Are they still together?”

“He was killed three months ago,” he said. “Jingo Jingo found him dead just after your father was killed.”

No wonder Chase was pissed at me. Three months isn’t long enough to grieve, isn’t long enough to recover. At least it wasn’t for me.

“I’m sorry.” And though I probably should have, I just didn’t have it in me at the moment to ask him how he had died.

“Good night, Zay.”

“Good night. See you around nine o’clock tomorrow morning?”

“For?”

“Coffee before I take you back to Maeve’s?”

Right. Maeve’s. I had class tomorrow. Wow, I was so totally out of the swing of morning living. I’d been Hounding jobs, mostly at night, for long enough that nine in the morning sounded obscenely early.

“Sure,” I said. “That would be nice.”

I shut the door and strolled to the back entry of the building. Zayvion started the engine, but didn’t drive off until I had opened the door, waved, then stepped into the building.

I made my way to the stairs and couldn’t help but shake my head at the bottom. Why in the world had I decided a walk-up was the kind of place to live in?

Maybe because even the sound of an elevator door opening, that rigor-sweet bell, was enough to make my palms sweat. Claustrophobia was a bitch, but I guess it meant I got my walking in every day.

I headed up the stairs, taking my time to listen to each floor of the building. I caught the drone of a television, music, laughter, an argument, a baby crying, one sweet tenor raised in an operatic chorus, all muffled by the walls and doors of apartment living.

Then I was on my floor and it was silent, which wasn’t that unusual. My neighbors and I did little more than nod hello when we ran into one another. Most of the time we kept to ourselves, and I liked it that way.

Out of habit, I paused at my door, pressed my fingers against it, leaned in, and listened. There was movement in there. I figured it was Nola.

I unlocked the door and it opened-which meant she hadn’t set the chains.

I stepped in and shut the door behind me, turning the locks and setting the chains. It sounded like she was in my bathroom or bedroom. Probably hanging more plants.

“Hey,” I called out. “I’m home. You forgot to set the chain on the door.”

It was the kitchen that tipped me off. One, nothing was cooking, baking, and not even the smell of brewed coffee touched the air. Whenever Nola was in a house, there was always the comforting smell of food present.

Two, every cupboard in my line of vision was open.