Devon Monk: Magic in the Shadows

The flutter started up in the back of my head and I rubbed my forehead until it stopped.

“Allie?” Nola asked.

“I’m fine. My head still feels weird after everything.”

“Pike?” she asked.

I nodded. And before her concern could turn to pity, I said, “I don’t have the training to run Beckstrom Enterprises the way it should be run. I’ve hated it for so long. Still, there might be someone there who could help with Cody. I can call Violet and find out who I should talk to.”

“Are you and she getting along okay?” she asked. “It must be really hard to work together with your dad’s business and money, so close to his death.”

Oh, she had no idea how close to his death I was. Time to change the subject.

“You didn’t get a hotel, did you?” I asked. “You should stay here with me.”

“I did make reservations, just in case.” She glanced over at my answering machine. “I called, but you never answered.”

I looked over at the machine too. The light was green. No messages waiting. “Maybe I forgot.”

She nodded. “Still keeping your journal, honey?”

“Yes. But I’ve been having some problems with phones and stuff.”

“And your computer?” she asked.

“No, that’s been fine. But anything electric I keep on me-cell phone, watch-wears out fast.”

“So your landline is okay?” she pressed.

“Yes.”

“I thought you and I had a deal about your checking in every day for a little while. I even had a phone installed for you.”

“What are you, my mom?”

“No, I’m your extra memory, remember? You, my friend, have holes in your head.” She held up a finger at my faked shock. “If you want me to tell you what’s been happening in your life when magic eats up your memory, then you need to tell me what’s going on. So, what’s been going on?”

I glanced at the clock on the wall.

“Well, for one thing, I have a date tonight.”

She didn’t even fight the smile that made her face light up like she was made of sunshine.

“With Zayvion?”

I nodded. “We haven’t had much of a chance to really talk since I came back to town. Or at least not about normal things. Not about us. He remembers. . things about us I don’t remember. Which is weird. So we’re going to try a date-a real date. Get to know each other a little better.”

“When is he supposed to be here?” She stood and looked me up and down, obviously not impressed by my wet-cuffed jeans and sweater. “Are you going to dinner? How fancy is the restaurant?”

“Less than an hour. And yes, superfancy. He made reservations at the Gargoyle.”

“Tell me you’re not wearing that.”

“Excuse me? Did I just hear fashion attitude from a woman who wears overalls and men’s boots every day?”

She made a face at me. “Only on the farm. Do you even own girl clothes?”

“These are girl clothes.”

“Dress? Skirt? Heels?” She said each word slowly, as if I’d never heard them before.

“Maybe. I think so. I haven’t really looked through my closet. There’s a couple boxes of stuff I haven’t unpacked.”

“Oh my God, Allie. Your date is in an hour and you haven’t even started to look through your clothes?”

“It’s been a weird day,” I drawled.

She laughed. “All your days are weird. Let me help. You go take a shower. Want me to dig through your closet or make coffee?”

“Coffee. You are staying with me, right?”

She was already moving toward my kitchen. “If I’m not in the way.”

I got as far as the bathroom door before I heard, “Oh, Allie!”

“What?” I yelled.

“Roses. Everywhere.” She came out of the kitchen, a single pink long-stemmed rose in her hand. “You do know your kitchen is filled with them, right?”

I smiled. “There are a few irises in there too.”

“Bargain at the flower shop?”

“Nope.”

“Secret admirer?”

“No.”

“Spill.”

“Zayvion.”

The sunshine smile was back, and she got that goo-goo softy look. “Then you definitely need to put on girl clothes. Go. Shower.” She waved her hand at me. “I’ll arrange the flowers too.”

I grinned. Nola never asked; she always just told me what she was going to do for me. I’d gotten pretty used to it, and she’d gotten used to my telling her if I didn’t want her to boss me around.

I walked into the bathroom and shut the door. The flutter winged behind my eyes again. Dad.

Find the disks

, my father’s voice breathed.

Find my killer

.

I cupped my hands over my ears. “No, no, no. Get out. Get dead.”

I squeezed my eyes shut and the flutter, the voice, was gone.

Sweet hells. What was I thinking, going on a date? My father was alive in me. Aware.

Or maybe he wasn’t. Maybe I was just imagining him, his voice, the flutter of his thoughts in my mind. Maybe I was going crazy.

A chill washed down my arms, and I took a deep, shaky breath. It was possible. Possible I was going insane. I’d used a lot of magic lately. Enough to do damage to my body and mind.

And sure, I liked to think of myself as someone who met any bad situation-like insanity and ghostly possession-straight on. But not tonight.

For just a few hours, for just this one date, I was going to ignore my father in my mind, ignore the state of my sanity, and ignore the entire city lousy with secrets and magic and brewing wars. Even if it killed me.

Iducked under the warm stream of the shower and couldn’t believe that this morning I’d been at my father’s grave. Only Violet, his newest-well, his last-wife had cried. I didn’t know how I felt about his death. Sad, I think.

But it was getting pretty hard to grieve someone who wouldn’t just get on with the dying.

The disks

, my dad whispered in my head,

must be found. The disks. My killer must be found. .

“La la la,” I said. “I’m not listening to you.”

I rubbed soap over the burn marks left from the Veiled, the incorporeal bits of dead magic users who had gotten a taste of me they couldn’t resist. The burn marks still itched in a sore kind of way, but the bruised-fingerprint look had faded. I checked my legs. Pale, long, a little bruised and scratched, but worth shaving. If I wore nylons I could probably even try a skirt above my knees.

Nola opened the bathroom door. “I’m going out. Need anything?”

“No. Wait. . nylons.”

“Anything else?”

“Is there something I’m forgetting?” Open mouth, exhale dumb question. Nola, of all people, knew there were probably a million things I was forgetting. And not just about how to get ready for a date.

“Do you have a nice bra?”

“Of course I have a nice bra.” At least I thought I did. Cotton counted as nice if it had lace on it, right?

“Not cotton,” she said.

“I own a bra that isn’t cotton, not that it is any of your business.”

She smiled. “I’ll be back soon.”

I rinsed, got out of the shower, and spent some time looking for remnants from my college dating days. Things such as hair spray, gel, and makeup.

The drawers under my bathroom sink gave up a few useful items. A tube of mascara, lip gloss, cover makeup, blush, and some goo I used to think made my hair look sexy. I applied everything with some degree of caution and stared at myself in the mirror for longer than I wanted to admit.

I looked. . well, if not soft, much more feminine. It was strange to see myself that way, as a woman out on the prowl for sex instead of a Hound out on the prowl for the scent of illegal magic.

I dug my fingers at the roots of my hair again, letting dark strands slide down the side of my face, covering the marks of magic along my jaw and catching on the corner of my lips. This was who I was. At least for tonight. No, this was who I always was, whom I hid behind the lack of makeup, behind the hard edge of being a street Hound, behind the torn blue jeans and Tshirts. This was the woman who had been hurt, betrayed, loved, dumped. This was the woman who hadn’t found a man who could look her in the eye. A woman who didn’t like to admit her own power. This was the me even I didn’t know how to deal with.