Devon Monk - Magic on the Storm

“For here?”

I shook my head. “To go would be better.”

He plucked a couple paper cups off the stack beside him.

“So who’s looking for me?” I asked.

“The man at the back of the room near the stairs to the loft. The woman who was with him is in the bathroom.”

Okay, I am not a spy. I’m pretty sure I would fail spectacularly at spy school. So instead of trying to make it look all accidental, I just turned and looked at the guy.

Light hair, big eyes that were sort of puppy-sad, chin too narrow, he was the kind of man who spent his life disappearing in crowds. No one would guess he was a part of the Authority, a magic user, and a damn good one too.

He was also my stepmother’s bodyguard. Kevin Cooper.

Well, so much for being followed by bad guys. Violet probably just wanted to talk about Beckstrom Enterprises. Business. Or maybe she had news about the baby she was carrying-my only sibling.

I didn’t even have to ask Grant who the Hound was. I could smell his scents among the people in the room, though the subtleties of his scent had changed. No more sweet cherries, which was good. That meant he hadn’t been around Blood magic lately.

Hunched against the wall to my right, close enough he wouldn’t have to push many people out of the way to get to the door, was Anthony Bell. The same kid Pike had been trying to help.

My heart did double speed for a minute. The last time I’d seen him, he’d been beaten to a bloody mess on the floor of the warehouse where Dr. Frank Gordon was trying to raise my dad from the dead. Dr. Gordon had used Anthony as a Proxy and made the kid pay the price for the magic Frank threw around. I’d heard Anthony survived it. Spent some time in the hospital. Then in the courts. I hadn’t followed his case, not much caring whether he would be convicted of the charges of working with Lon Trager and dealing in illegal Blood magic, kidnapping, murder.

I hated following the media when it came to things that touched me personally. I’d never been much of a spotlight lover when I was growing up in my very influential father’s spotlight-filled life.

Still, another Hound, Davy Silvers, had told me Anthony got off pretty easy, since he was a minor and hadn’t had an actual hand in kidnapping the girls. He’d gotten some counts on forgery of a magical signature, he’d spent some time in juvie, and, last I heard, he was doing community service.

Didn’t seem like a fair trade for Pike’s life.

“Coffee,” Grant announced, as he placed the cups on the counter. “Scone.”

I looked away from Anthony, put a few bucks down, and picked up my cup and the scone Grant had put in a small bag. When I looked back at Anthony, he was staring at the table. Had his hands in his pockets, and there was no cup or plate in front of him. I looked over at Violet’s bodyguard again, and he gave me an imperceptible nod.

Right. Violet could wait. I’d go take care of Anthony first.

But before that, coffee. I took a drink, savoring the heat and rich, dark flavor. So good. No one in the city roasted beans like Grant.

“You’re a doll, Grant,” I said.

“A doll without a martini dispenser,” he said.

I grinned, then started off toward Anthony. Zayvion followed. “You sure?” I asked. Hounds were my responsibility, my trouble. I didn’t want Zayvion to feel like he had to get into this mess with me.

“I was there,” he reminded me, like maybe I didn’t remember he had been the one who untied Anthony and tried to get him out of the warehouse.

I did remember, but it was nice of him to remind me anyway.

Anthony looked up, scowled when he saw both Zayvion and I were headed his way.

I stopped next to his table, between him and his easy escape to the door. Power play? Me?

“You looking for me?” I asked. I didn’t mean for it to come out quite so flat and angry, but hey, this kid was part of what got Pike killed. Sue me.

“I got some things I should say,” Anthony started. His tanned cheeks flushed a deeper red. Boy was sweating this one. I could smell the discomfort on him, could tell it was taking every fiber of his will not to squirm, or maybe get up and get out from under my gaze.

Tough. I just didn’t have it in me to forgive the kid.

“Say it.” I didn’t sit. Neither did Zay.

Anthony, to his credit, nodded, and pulled his hands out of his jacket. “You want to sit, maybe? You could sit. This is gonna take more than a minute.”

I didn’t want to. I wanted the kid to say he was sorry Pike was dead, and then I was going to tell him I wouldn’t accept his apology, and to never talk to me again.

Zay hooked the leg of a chair with his foot, and scooted it out.

His shoulder brushed mine as he took the extra seat, and I felt a flash of his curiosity, his sense of compassion.

It was strange. Zayvion went through his life taking away people’s memories, sometimes taking away their lives, without qualms. I didn’t expect him to have a shred of compassion for a kid like Anthony.

Hells.

I took the other seat. “Talk.”

Anthony licked his lips. His gaze skittered over my face, finally settled somewhere around my chin.

“I’ve tried to think of how I should say this, and I can’t.” He raised his eyes, met my gaze, then looked away. Ear this time. “I’m sorry. For those girls getting hurt. For what I did to Pike.”

“You killed him,” I said. “You might not have held the gun, but you sold him out, and you killed him.”

Anthony’s eyes went narrow. It looked like he was trying hard not to yell. I could smell the heavy stink of guilt on him.

“I know what I did,” he said. “If you can’t forgive me, it doesn’t matter. I just had to say it. Counselor told me.” His looked back up at my forehead, his gaze steady, flat.

I couldn’t forgive him. And there was no way I would ever trust him. I wanted to tell him to go away and never talk to me again. But I had a pretty good idea what would happen if I handed the kid his ass. Sometimes it takes only one word to send someone into a spiral they never pull out of. Then how many deaths would he be responsible for? And how many would be on my hands?

“I don’t trust you, Anthony, and I don’t like you. But Pike saw something in you. Get clean. Get your life together and make something out of it.”

“I want to Hound. I want to be a part of the pack.” Sweet hells. What was I supposed to say to that? I sure as hells wasn’t going to be his babysitter. I was nowhere near as nice as Pike.

“Have you even finished high school?”

“I’m doing online classes.”

“Does your mother know you want to do this?”

“We don’t talk much.”

I took a drink of coffee to keep from yelling at the kid. He was what, sixteen? And already taking his life back down a path that had almost killed him the first time.

No sense.

Of course, most Hounds didn’t have any sense.

Me included.

This was a bad idea.

“This is a bad idea,” I said.

“So you’re saying no?”

I’m sorry, Pike. I can’t do it.

“I’m saying no.”

“That’s what I thought you’d say.”

Kid was angry. But even if I let him join the pack, no one would work with him. Plus, I was pretty sure Davy would kill him if they ever got in the same room together.

“You want to be part of the pack, you have to earn it.”

“Pike wouldn’t-”

“I suggest,” I said over the top of him, “you don’t quote me on what Pike would or wouldn’t do. Ever.”

Kid wasn’t the only one who was angry.

He shut his mouth. Good.

“Finish school. Get clean. You give me your counselor’s number so I can check in on you. You don’t Hound-at all. You got me on that, Bell? Not for the cops, not for a friend, not for anyone, until you’re straight and clutching a diploma in your hand. You do that and I’ll give you a try.”