Devon Monk - Magic on the Storm

“And Shame?”

“Anyone tell you how nosy you are?” And how damn observant? I thought.

“No. I usually keep my nosy questions to myself.”

“Shame’s mother owns the inn. She used to know my father. They weren’t friends, but she is a smart business-woman. If you were paying that close of attention, you also noticed he’d had a couple beers. I don’t think he was there to enhance his portfolio. I think he was there for the free booze.”

Davy smiled again. “My kind of guy.”

“Do not make friends with him,” I said. “He’s trouble.”

“And I’m not?”

“No, Davy,” I said, angling the car toward Chapman Square. “You’re a good kid. If you’d work on your pain-in-the-ass tendencies, you’d be real nice.”

“Too bad that isn’t going to happen anytime soon,” he muttered. “Real nice doesn’t get you very far.”

“Real nice can keep you from getting beat up,” I said.

He smiled. “Right. Maybe we should both work on it, then.”

Like I said. Pain in the ass.

The blue and red lights of the ambulance glided over the dark, magic-caged buildings that surrounded the area. I spotted the MERC’s cleanup van, and a few people who might have been Stotts’s crew moving around in the shadows. The ambulance was just easing away from the curb, lights on, but no siren. I wanted to follow it, go to the hospital, make sure Bea was all right.

I briefly considered sending Davy along to do just that, but his eyes were closed. Kid was in no shape to drive. From the pace of his breathing he’d be asleep soon.

Police tape and traffic cones sectioned off part of the park, which as far as I could see was empty. I didn’t know what job Bea would have been Hounding. Sometimes a Hound was hired by the city to make sure there wasn’t any magical mischief going down on city property, but usually Jack took those calls. I searched my memory, wondering if he or Bea had mentioned going to Hound Chapman Square.

“Davy?”

He sucked in a quick breath. I’d just woken him. He blinked, sat a little straighter, got his bearings pretty fast, and glanced over at me. “Yeah?”

“Did Bea or Jack say they were doing the park?”

He looked out the window at the police tape. “No. Not at last week’s meeting. Maybe a last-minute jobber?”

“Maybe.” I parked the car a block away. “Stay here. Get some sleep. I’m going to be right over there with the cops-”

“The cursed cop,” he corrected.

“Allegedly cursed cop,” I said. “Stay here. Do not walk out on that street. Do not drive this car. You are too tired, and would probably get yourself killed if you tried to do either.”

He shook his head. “You just can’t give a guy a compliment, can you?”

It wasn’t a promise. But it was all I had time to get out of him.

I left the keys in the ignition and got out of the car. I still wore the void stone necklace. I couldn’t take it off and leave it with Davy. If he touched it, he would know it was a kind of magic unavailable to the common user, and then he’d start digging for answers. Luckily, I could cast magic while wearing the stone-it just made it a little more difficult.

The wind was stronger here, funneled by the buildings, and cold enough I was glad I’d worn my heavier coat. I pulled up my hood and made quick work of the sidewalk. Stotts stood at the end of the block, looking my way.

“Hey,” I said when I got close enough. “Show me where you need me.”

Stotts was a good-looking man. Latino heritage gave him soft eyes, heavy lashes and eyebrows, and an easy smile that had caught my friend Nola’s heart and not let go.

So far, their long-distance relationship was working. But she lived three hundred miles away on a farm, and he was a detective. Stotts had gone out and visited her for a week, but other than that, it was all about the phone.

Well, that and the computer. Nola had finally given in and had a computer with Internet access installed in her old farmhouse. Love. It finds a way to make a person want to change.

Tonight Stotts was wearing what I usually saw him in-a trench and scarf, slacks, nice shoes. No hat.

Even before he said anything, I knew something bad had happened here. Something wrong. Really wrong. I’d felt this before. But I couldn’t remember where.

“Over here.” He started down one of the paths beneath the old elm and gingko trees. “That Davy Silvers with you?”

“Yes. He followed me to a business meeting. When I got your call, I made him let me use his car.”

“Hmm. Any other Hounds out here?”

I shook my head. “I didn’t even know Davy was following me. And Bea didn’t say she was going to be here tonight. Are you sure she was Hounding?”

“Someone was throwing magic around.”

He didn’t have to point to where Bea had been hurt. I could feel it, taste it on the air.

Stotts didn’t give me any more information. And he wouldn’t. Police never wanted to influence a Hound’s initial response and reaction to a magical-crime site. So I didn’t waste my time asking him any more questions.

I cleared my mind, mentally singing my little “Miss Mary Mack, Mack, Mack” song to settle my racing thoughts. Magic pressed in on my head, a heaviness, like the air was thickening for the storm. It wasn’t my dad, and didn’t seem to be coming from the void stone.

Weird.

I set a Disbursement, my latest favorite-muscle aches-and then traced the glyphs for Sight, Smell, Taste.

Magic within me stuttered, like a smooth stone rubbing across my skin. It didn’t hurt, but it wasn’t comfortable either. I inhaled, exhaled, and urged magic up through my bones, my muscles, my blood. Magic stretched out slowly, thick, heavy. I traced the glyphs again, more to keep my concentration while I waited for magic to respond than out of need to redraw the spell. The heaviness in my head, in the magic, suddenly lifted and magic flooded through me. Too fast. Too much. Too hot.

The glyphs caught fire, wild jeweled colors of raw, deadly magic, licking down my arms, into my fingertips searing the glyphs into the night air.

Magic is fast. Too fast to see. But I wasn’t the only one who saw it.

Stotts lifted his hand and traced a dampening spell-I think Smother or maybe Cancel.

“Wait,” I said. But it was too late. He threw his spell at my spell.

There is a reason why people don’t walk around throwing spells at each other, or getting into wizards’ duels like you see in the movies. Every user casts magic differently from other users. Like handwriting, magic follows the form each user casts for it. When two forms clash, you never know if they will blend, extinguish, or go up like a barrel of gunpowder in a bonfire.

Right now, I was betting on the gunpowder thing. I didn’t have control of the magic pouring out of me. I was a leaky powder keg, and Stotts’s spell was a tossed match.

I clapped my hands, breaking the flow of magic. Yes, it stung. No, it didn’t knock me unconscious. Thank you, training sessions.

Stotts’s spell slammed into mine.

There was a terrific flash-a blast of green lightning-but no sound. Magic clashed and sucked all sound out of the air, leaving behind painful silence.

I inhaled, exhaled.

And then the night was just the night again. No thickness in the air from the encroaching storm, no strangely heavy magic. The night filled with sounds of traffic and, somewhere farther off, a train. I could smell the damp pavement and trees again.

“Allie?” Stotts said. “You’re burned.”

Wrong. I was angry.

“What the hell?” I wiped at the sweat running down the edge of my temple. I was suddenly very, very hot, and very, very cold. “Never get in the way when I cast magic. If you want me to Hound for you, you stay the hell out of my way and let me get the job done. You could have contaminated the entire scene.” Or blown up the block. Or killed us.