Devon Monk - Magic on the Storm

I’d been doing a lot of learning since he’d attacked me. I knew more physical self-defense, and I knew a hell of a lot more about magic. I hadn’t had a memory loss for two months. That meant that right now I was pretty much at the top of my game.

A little part of me-okay, a big part of me-hoped he would try to take me down. Just so I could show that bastard what I was made of. Pay him back for what he did to Tomi and Davy. For what he did to my dad.

I paced, and kept an eye on both ends of the hallway. I didn’t pull on magic, but I was good at paying attention to details, like whether I caught a whiff of the burnt-blackberry and blood smell of him. My cell rang again.

“Yes?”

“Ninth floor where?” Zay asked.

“I’m in surgery and admissions. By the windows. You?”

“Almost there. Anything?”

“No. Davy’s going to the warehouse, I think. I need to tell you about the job with Stotts.”

“I see you.”

I turned. Sure enough, Zayvion Jones was striding my way, wearing that ratty blue ski coat and a dark blue ski beanie. He didn’t look particularly concerned as he tucked his cell into his pocket, didn’t look like a guy who could throw around enough magic to tear a city apart, raise the dead, and pull the heavens to the earth. Didn’t look like he was on the hunt for a creature that had murdered, destroyed, broken the boundaries between life and death. Didn’t look like a killer.

But he was all those things. And he was mine.

I hung up and strolled over to him. “We headed out?”

“What happened?” he asked.

I frowned. I’d just gone through all that. “Oh. My face?” I shrugged. “A spell kicked back on me.”

He took a breath and looked like he wanted to tear something apart. The little girl stopped spinning and ran over to sit with her mother. Kids. They have great instincts.

“Just a burn?” he asked.

“It doesn’t feel too bad. A little tight, like a sunburn.” I decided not to tell him I’d also been bleeding. No need for the man to go ballistic and make the little girl cry.

“My car’s outside,” he said.

“So’s Davy’s,” I said.

“We’ll leave his car here. Should be fine overnight.” He started toward the elevators and I followed. “Think you can do the elevator?”

Crap. No, I very much did not think I could do the elevator. But that wouldn’t stop me. “Oh, I’ve been looking forward to it, thanks for asking.”

He gave me a sideways glance, and wisely said no more. The elevator door opened, and an orderly maneuvered a patient in a wheelchair out, leaving the elevator empty.

Zay stood behind me. Probably blocking me from running away. Damn.

I took a deep breath, held it, and stepped in. Zay moved behind me like my shadow. I recited my “Miss Mary Mack Mack Mack” jingle, trying to calm the screaming in my brain. There wasn’t enough room-it was too hot, too full, too small. Any minute the ceiling would slam down into me, crush me. I couldn’t breathe.

“Breathe,” Zayvion said. “Allie. Breathe.”

Oh. No wonder why it felt like I couldn’t breathe. I was holding my breath. I exhaled, but it didn’t do anything to stop the panic. I inhaled too quickly, sucking in more panic than air, and the sound of my gasp only made things worse. I was going to die. Crushed. Smothered, suffocated.

In a damn elevator.

Zay took one step closer to me and a tight whine slipped out between my teeth.

“Don’t,” I squeaked, “don’t, oh, sweethellsplease don’t.” If he got any closer, I’d run out of air. I’d freaking snap and scream my fool head off, then pound my way through those walls and into fresh air.

He didn’t step closer. He reached out and pressed his fingertips down on my shoulder. Mint, cool, soothing, and familiar, washed through me. I didn’t think Grounding was going to do anything for panic.

But my shoulders lowered away from my ears, I unclenched my jaw, and I managed to swallow that kicked-puppy whimper coming out of my mouth.

The bell pinged, and I waited an eternity, two, three. Then finally, finally, the doors opened.

I was out of there faster than a sprinter on fire. I didn’t look where I was going. I didn’t care. Away was all I wanted. Far away. And my feet were plenty happy to oblige.

I jogged only about ten steps before logic kicked back in, and I stopped.

Zay was still near the elevator, his hands loose at his sides. The casual observer wouldn’t notice it, but I trained with him. I knew when he held his wrist at that angle, he was half a thought away from casting a whole lot of magic.

I stuck my hands in my pockets and started back toward him, blowing my breath out in a thin stream to try to stop the ringing in my ears.

“The car?” I asked, all dignified like I hadn’t just been running away like a scared little girl.

“That way.” He tipped his head to indicate the parking structure behind him.

“Sorry,” I mumbled as soon as I was beside him.

“Don’t be. It’s kind of cute.”

Lovely. Just what I want to be. Cute.

“Bite me, Jones.”

“Anytime.” He grinned.

We headed along the narrow concrete walkway that took us down into the parkade.

“Where’s Davy’s car?” he asked.

“Down a level. How did it happen?” I asked.

“What?”

“Greyson’s escape. Maeve said he was safe there. Said that cage couldn’t be broken or breached. How did it happen?”

“We don’t know yet. The spells in place to record the area were tapped, tripped, and disabled.”

“Hold on. The ancient order of powerful magic users who can make magic do anything they want got screwed by someone hacking their wards? Why wasn’t there a camera in there? Why wasn’t someone guarding him?”

“No cameras because we don’t want any kind of recorded information about the well, Maeve’s place, or Greyson. No cameras because magic has always been enough.”

“Common sense. Would it hurt you to use it like the rest of us mortals?”

“You sound like your dad.”

“Nice.”

“His ideas for how magic should be regulated weren’t all bad.”

“So you have a man crush on the man I spent most of my life hating?”

“I didn’t say I liked him. I said he had common sense when it came to magic. Backup systems, technological support, hands-on-he believed it could all go together, work together, instead of being sectioned and divided. Magic used by the few, technology used by the masses.”

“Common sense didn’t keep him from being murdered.”

Zay fell silent. That brought us full circle. Greyson was one of the people who had killed my father back when Greyson had been a man working for the Authority. As far as anyone in the Authority could figure it, the murder was a multiple-person, complicated job. James Hoskil, my dad’s ex-business partner’s son, had been involved. And so had Cody, the gifted but mentally limited Hand my friend Nola had taken in to live on her farm in Burns, off the grid, and out of reach of magic.

There were probably more people involved. We still didn’t know who.

A man leaned against Zay’s car. I’d expected Shame, but this man was taller, his white hair a beacon beneath the fluorescent light.

“Hey, Terric,” I said. “What brings you out?”

“An escaped Necromorph. You?”

“Injured Hound.”

“Shame with you?” I asked. As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I wished I could take them back.

Terric frowned, and brushed the side of his nose.

“He’s with Chase. Hunting.”

I glanced at Zayvion, who opened the driver’s-side door. “Get in. We need to get you somewhere safe.”

I got in. Not because I was going to let them drop me off somewhere out of their way, but because it was cold and dark, and I preferred to win my arguments where there was a heater and comfortable leg room.