Devon Monk - Magic on the Storm

Zay pulled away so we no longer touched.

I’d never seen Victor looking so ragged. His eyes were bloodshot, and his usually clean-shaven face shadowed a beard.

“I’m going to go over the quadrants and coverage with the Closers now,” he said. “Would you join us, please?”

“What about Chase?” Zay asked.

“She’s here.”

Zay took a second to find her in the crowd. I did too, since I hadn’t seen her earlier. I spotted her walking in through the archway at the front of the room. Beyond that arch was the hall that led to sitting rooms and a stairway to the basement, where her ex-lover Greyson currently resided in a cage. She looked angry, shell-shocked, sick. Like she’d just seen something, or done something, very, very wrong.

Yeah, I didn’t think I’d be doing any better if it were Zay in that cage. Chase was handling this a lot better than I would, even if she hadn’t come to see Greyson before now. And it didn’t take a genius to know she had just come from seeing him.

The woman radiated a don’t-fuck-with-me vibe stronger than any Repel spell she could have cast. It worked like a charm. Everyone steered a wide berth around her and left her alone.

Another person detached from the shadows beyond the archway and walked in behind Chase.

I’d wondered when he was going to show up.

Jingo Jingo was a big man, not like Hayden, who had height to balance out his width. Jingo was just heavy. There was something about him that made him seem even bigger. He had an immensity that took up more room than his bulk justified. He radiated a dark presence as if shadows and other, haunting things clung to him. The light, pouring down from the high rafters, couldn’t clean the room of it.

He bothered me, even when he was laughing like he was everyone’s friend. I didn’t trust him. I didn’t like him.

He rambled over to Chase, right into her leave-me-alone zone.

Fire, meet oil.

I thought for sure Chase would give him hell. But when he neared, she seemed to cool down, her fire snuffed to ash, her anger suffocated, gone dead as he reached out and stroked her arm reassuringly. Her shoulders slumped, her head fell back to rest against the wall behind her, and she closed her eyes. She looked exhausted.

And when he spoke-a low rumble I couldn’t pull into words-she opened her eyes. She looked like a lost child, hopeful, maybe even desperate for his reassurance, his guidance. She did not look like the powerful, angry Closer I knew.

What was he doing to her? What was he telling her? What had they done down there with Greyson?

“Allie?” Zayvion said.

Right. He had been asked to do something. Look over Victor’s plans or something.

“See you soon,” I said.

Zay walked off with Victor, both heading toward Chase.

Even though Jingo Jingo did not turn around, as soon as Victor and Zayvion were on their way toward Chase, he dropped his hand off her arm.

Chase seemed to come to, and get her bitch back on. She scowled at Zay and Victor, and made it clear she didn’t like following them to one side of the room where Terric and a small group of other people-Nik and Joshua and maybe three others, probably all Closers-stood.

Closers. People who could reach into someone’s mind and take away their ability to use magic. People who took away memories.

Maybe I wanted to know what they were talking about. Especially if it had to do with the removal of memories-I had Hounds on the street I needed to look after.

Got halfway across the room too before Shame fell into step with me.

“Don’t know what’s stuck in your craw,” he said, his breath heavy with beer and cigarette smoke and that clove scent that was all his own, “but you got company.”

“What?”

I’d been so focused on studying the faces and body language of the group of Closers at the front of the room, I didn’t notice everyone was looking over at the main door.

And standing in the doorway was someone who most definitely should not be here.

Davy Silvers.

Davy hadn’t stepped through the doorway. He had good instincts. The ward on the door would push him out or knock him unconscious if he stepped in. But the room wasn’t covered in Glamour or Illusion. Instinct might tell him not to step in, but his eyes showed him exactly what was going on.

People went back to talking, ignoring him, and acting like this was just a normal sort of meeting for some normal sort of business social.

I don’t think Davy was convinced. But it wasn’t the confusion on his face that I was worried about. It was the pain.

I turned and strode across the room, Shame ghosting me, and made it to the door in a few seconds flat. Davy’s bad habit of following me around since Pike’s death didn’t make living three lives, all filled with secrets, and none of which could be shared equally, any easier. Every time my lives crossed, like now when Davy the Hound was sticking his nose into the secret business of the Authority, it set my teeth on edge.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

Boy looked like death on a bender. He didn’t smell of alcohol. No, he just stank of sweat and pain.

“Where are you hurt?”

He shook his head.

“Hello,” Maeve said, coming up beside us. “Can I help you?”

Davy squinted over at her, like the light in the room was too much. Migraine? Concussion? “I need to talk to you,” he said to me, eyeing Shamus. “Allie. Could I talk to you? Now.”

“Do you need help?” Maeve asked, a little less hostess, and a little more concern. I liked that she didn’t immediately try to send him on his way. Maeve was one of my favorite teachers.

“This is probably Hound business,” I said to Maeve. “I got it, thank you.” I walked through the door and Davy backed off. The ward was good. Built to let the right people out and to not let the wrong people in.

Davy paced the porch. I reached back, intending to shut the door, but Shame was there, and stepped out with us.

“You want me to drive you to the hospital?” I asked. I’d long ago learned there was no use being subtle with Hounds. Too much substance abuse, too many overdoses, from dealing with the constant pain of using magic, for subtleties to get through to a reasonable mind.

“I didn’t do it,” he said, his voice tense, too high.

“All right. Do what?”

Davy turned, the yellow light of the porch lamp revealing his tortured expression. “I think it’s Bea.”

“What’s Bea?”

“I think she’s hurt.”

My phone rang, and Davy and I both jumped.

I fumbled with my jacket pocket and pulled out my cell.

“Hello?”

“This is Stotts. I need you to Hound a case. Meet me at Third and Southwest Main.”

“When?” I heard the sound of traffic behind him.

“As soon as you can.”

I did a quick calculation. How long would it take me to drop Davy off at the hospital, or at least get him in the hands of someone else who could keep an eye on him? Like maybe over to the warehouse and have Grant look in on him, or, hells, back to his own apartment, not that I knew where he lived.

“Can you give me an hour?”

“Allie.” Stotts paused, took a breath. “One of your Hounds is down. I’ve called 911. She’ll be on her way to the hospital soon.”

“She?” I glanced up at Davy, who had his arms crossed over his stomach and was standing there, rocking a little on his feet, miserable.

“Beatrice Lufkin,” Stotts said over the sound of a siren growing louder in the background. “Whatever happened to her, there’s a hell of a lot of magic involved. But it’s fading fast.”

My heart punched my ribs like a fist.

“I’ll be there.” I shoved the phone in my pocket. “Shame? Tell Zay-no, tell your mom that I had to handle a Hounding job. Thank her for inviting me to the get-together tonight.” What more could I say with Davy listening? “I’ll call her later tonight if I can. Tomorrow morning at the latest.”