Devon Monk - Magic on the Storm

“Allie,” Stotts said, “I want you to get checked by a doctor. Do I need to make those arrangements?”

Yes, Stotts was my boss, but it was more of a contract-by-contract basis. He didn’t have any real right to tell me what to do. Normally I would have reminded him of the boundaries of him sticking his nose up my business. But he was also my best friend’s boyfriend. And I think it was more that relationship than our working relationship that was prompting his concern.

“Afraid Nola will read you the riot act?” I asked, faking calm and collected and getting damn close.

A soft smile curved his lips. “It came to mind. Plus, you are singed and a little bloody. A trip to the emergency room makes sense.”

“I’m going to go by the hospital to check in on Bea anyway. Which hospital did they take her to?”

“OHSU. Need someone to drive you there?”

“I got it.”

“Good.” Stotts started toward the taped-off area again.

“What else aren’t you telling me, Davy?” I asked once Stotts was out of hearing range.

I could smell the fear on him. “Nothing,” he lied.

“Want another go at that?”

He licked his lips, looked at Stotts, who was talking to a police officer-no one I recognized-who stood nearby.

“I don’t know how to explain it.”

“Try words. If that doesn’t work, we’ll move on to interpretive dance.”

Not even a faint smile out of him. “That spell was really strange. Like it was an Unlock or opening or something. Bothers me.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, because there was nothing I could say to that. Nothing he could know without having to be Closed. And I refused to let that happen to him.

Davy had gotten a lot paler and was shivering harder. It was time to get him back to the car, and probably to the hospital to have him checked out too.

I glanced back at Stotts, who was going through the procedures to reestablish the park for the public. Since there was no sign of magical crime, other than Bea being hurt, this would be treated a lot like a fender bender. Just an accident where the driver used poor judgment and got in the way of someone else’s oncoming spell.

The wind shifted, bringing me the faintest scent of the spell. Blood, copper, and bitter burnt stink of blackberries. It was just a moment, the slightest hint. But I knew that scent.

Greyson.

Holy shit.

No. He couldn’t have gotten out. They had a cage on him. And with the whole inn filled with powerful magic users, there would be no way he could access magic from there. This had to be something else. Someone else. I had to be wrong.

I inhaled again, sorting smells, searching for Greyson’s. But the scent was gone, lost to the heavier scents of the city.

Davy looked worse than just a minute before. I think he’d been putting up a brave front so Stotts would let him Hound the spell.

He looked like he was going to puke.

“I think I’m going to puke.” He stumbled over to some rhododendron bushes, and heaved.

The cops didn’t even look our way. A puking Hound wasn’t that unusual.

Stotts, however, noticed we were still there and came over. “I thought you were going to the hospital.”

I waited for Davy to pull himself together. He stood back and wiped his mouth with the heel of his hand.

“We are.” I hoped Davy had remembered to take the keys when he got out of the car. “If you need me,” I said, “if you need someone else to Hound that, or if anything comes up, call, okay?”

“The spell’s gone now,” he said. “I think this is done.”

When I didn’t answer, he exhaled. “You want to tell me something?”

“Have you noticed anything strange about magic?”

“Other than you trying to burn the park down and Mr. Silvers telling me that was a spell he’d never seen before?”

Okay, maybe I shouldn’t tell him. But I liked Stotts. Enough to give him at least a small heads-up. I know I had sworn to keep the Authority secrets secret. I wasn’t going to tell him anything that would get my memory erased.

I hoped.

“I don’t lose control of magic like that,” I said. “Not with something as simple as Sight. But magic lagged when I tried to use it. Then it came pouring out too fast.”

Stotts was not a stupid man. He had one Hound in the hospital, one barfing in the bushes, and one burned and bleeding in front of him. He knew how to put three and three together. They taught that sort of thing in detective school.

“We’re checking into the networks and conduits here,” he said. “Making sure no one hacked into them.”

I hadn’t really thought about people hacking the networks, but it made sense. “Maybe it’s more than just the networks.”

“You have something to back that up?”

I shouldn’t. I really shouldn’t. I should just close my mouth and not say a word. “I think there’s a storm brewing. Wild magic. And it might already be messing with magic.”

That, detective school must not have covered. No one had advance warning for when wild-magic storms hit.

“The coma,” I lied. “After I tapped into that wild-magic storm, I think I’m sensitive to the storm coming in. Like a trick knee.”

He paused, searching my face for a lie. The wind shifted again, cold. Too damn cold. And on it, I smelled the strange electric scent of lightning and something more. Magic.

“A storm is an entirely different situation,” he said. He inhaled, glanced at the sky, then exhaled. I could tell he was sorting his options. Not that I had any idea of what he or his crew would do to prepare for a wild storm. “You sure you don’t need a ride?”

Davy stood-well, swayed-next to me. “I’m good.” I hooked my arm through Davy’s. The poor kid was ice-cold and shaking. “I got it.”

“Thanks,” Stotts said. “And let me know if that weather knee tells you anything else, okay?”

“Will do.”

Then Davy and I walked away, leaving the park, the police, and the glyph I hoped had nothing to do with Greyson behind.

Icranked up the heat in the car and made sure Davy was actually buckled in this time. I pulled out my phone and dialed Zayvion, trying to look nonchalant about it. The phone rang, but Zay didn’t pick up.

That wasn’t good.

“Are we going or not?” Davy asked.

“We’re going.” I pulled out into traffic and headed toward the hospital. Davy scowled out the window.

“Why aren’t I driving my own car?” he asked.

“You’re sick.”

“And you’re bleeding.”

I wiped at my forehead. The blood had slowed. “Okay, try this. Because I said so.”

He rolled his tongue around in his mouth and made a sour face. “Got any gum? Mints?”

“No. You going to hark again?”

He shook his head. “Mouth tastes like the bottom of my shoe.”

I didn’t ask him how he knew that particular flavor.

“Storm, huh?”

“What?” I merged across traffic, putting a little gas into it. Davy’s car had good response, and I remembered how much I liked driving. Maybe it was time to get my own car.

“You told Detective Stotts you think a wild storm is coming.”

“I thought you were puking.”

“Not with my ears,” he said. “So?”

“So what? I do. I think a wild storm might hit us. Just because they’re rare doesn’t mean they’re unheard of.”

“True,” he said. “But there’s a reason they’re called wild.”

“Right. Because the magic in them is wild, unpredictable.”

“No, because they hit without warning. Without any sort of hint, sometimes out of a clear blue sky.”

I glanced over at him. “Where did you hear that?”