Devon Monk - Magic on the Storm

He’d done it on purpose. Shoved me when I didn’t even want to be touched, irritated me. My heartbeat was up, but other than that, I was thinking clearly. And not at all freaked-out from the elevator ride, though I should be. Usually it took me a couple minutes to shake off the panic from the phobia.

“You’re a real jerk, you know?”

He smiled and it looked like it hurt. “I am whatever it takes to get the job done.”

We stepped into the hospital and checked with reception to see where Violet and Kevin had been taken. Both had been admitted. Violet was in the prenatal ward three floors up. Kevin was in the intensive care unit, and visitors were not allowed. They were doing what they could to tend his magic-induced injuries with what little magic they had left.

Shit. We wouldn’t be able to get in to see him unless we wanted to storm the place. I weighed my options. Sneak in and somehow be lucky enough to see if Kevin was okay, or check on Violet.

Dad pushed at the backs of my eyes. Yeah, well, I knew what his vote would be.

“Think Kevin will be okay?” I asked Shame. We were standing shoulder to shoulder so the receptionist couldn’t hear us.

He tipped his head, thinking it over. “If he made it this far, there’s a good chance he’ll recover. Several of the Authority doctors work here. They’d know him, and know what to do with severe magical injuries.”

I nodded. That would have to be good enough for now. I didn’t know a lot about Kevin’s personal life, like if he had family in the area. I pulled my book out of my pocket and made a note to check on him tomorrow, if I could. I walked back over to the receptionist’s desk.

“Where are the stairs?” I asked. She pointed down the hall and I started off in that direction.

“You’re kidding, right?” Shame asked. “There’s a perfectly good elevator right over there.”

“Take the elevator. I don’t care.”

Shame scowled. “How about I just make you angry again? That coat makes you look fat.”

“Even more reason to take the stairs.”

“Fucking hell.” He sighed dramatically. “I hate you, Beckstrom.”

“Hold on to that,” I said. “You know, because anger will get you there.”

Shame rolled his shoulders and I heard more bone grind than I should. Like a fricking walking corpse, he still had his hood of his coat up, the shadows catching moss green against his sallow skin.

Maybe I should make him check into the hospital. Maybe he was sicker than I thought. Maybe the magic Chase had used on him, and the magic he had used to help me save Zayvion, had done something more permanent than he wanted to admit.

I found the door to the stairs and pushed it open. It was only three flights up, and I did that every day at home. But I was a little worried about Shame.

An elevator probably would be his best choice. “You know I won’t get killed between here and the third floor,” I said.

“Yep. Because I’m gonna be there to protect you. Walk.”

I shook my head and started up the stairs. I did not need his protection. There was no magic, so it wasn’t like someone would magically attack me. Which meant I could get killed only the old-fashioned way-with guns, knives, strangling, beating. Okay, maybe it was nice to have Shame with me. I could handle myself just fine physically-even better now that I’d been training-but it never hurt to have an ally in a fight.

We didn’t say anything as we climbed. Shame walked behind me, and I listened for his breathing, which remained good, strong, and his footsteps, equal to my pace.

He didn’t sound like someone who hovered one breath away from the shambling dead. Shame knew how to handle pain.

“So which doctors are a part of the Authority?” I asked on the second floor.

“Not saying.”

“Why? Is it that big of a secret?”

“Enough that I don’t want to talk about it in a stairwell with this much echo. Would have told you in a nice quiet elevator, though.”

I grinned. “Bitch, bitch, bitch.”

We made it to the top of the stairwell and I opened the door, then followed the signs to the reception area.

Shame wasn’t breathing hard, didn’t even seem like he’d broken a sweat. He did, however, shove his hands in the pockets of his coat and hunch up his shoulders like he was enduring a hailstorm.

I gave him a questioning look.

“It’s just. . babies.” He said it like most people say snakes or spiders or tax collectors .

I had no idea what his problem was. “You’re afraid of babies?”

“Shut up.” He strode past me to the reception desk and, I noted, stayed far enough away that the light wouldn’t quite clear the shadows beneath his hood. “Violet Beckstrom,” he said. “Could we see her?”

The woman at the counter looked sixteen, the tight curls of her black hair pulled back in a flowered headband that make her deep brown skin burnish gold.

“She’s resting. There isn’t a restriction on visitors, though. Are you family?”

“I am.” I stepped ahead of Shame. “And he’s a friend.”

“She’s been given some painkillers, so she might be sleeping. We’d like her to get as much rest as possible, so if she is asleep, you could come back later.” She pointed down one of the halls that branched off from the main hall. “Down there. Room 3243.”

“Thank you,” I said.

We headed down the hall and I noted Shame walked closer to me, almost brushing my shoulder with his.

“Don’t worry,” I whispered. “I won’t let the scary babies hurt you.”

He didn’t say anything. Which was weird. I had no idea what had gotten into him.

And then we passed the huge glass window beyond which was the nursery. Shame’s body language changed. He went from stiff-shouldered and tense, to relaxed, loose, like a runner who was warmed up and ready for the road.

The emotion that rolled off him was hunger.

Holy shit.

“You aren’t afraid of the babies. You want to. . eat them? What the hell?” I was still whispering, but that did not lessen the horror in my voice.

“It’s not that I want to eat them-well, okay, maybe a little.” He grinned at me. “Oh, put the Bible down, Beckstrom. I’m not going to hurt babies. It’s. . it’s just so much life around here. Life, get it?” He tipped his head down so the shadows cleared his eyes, and I was relieved to see Shamus behind those eyes. Sane, clear. “I’m on some short supply of that right now. And babies are full of fresh, beautiful life energy.”

“Tell me you wouldn’t.”

“I wouldn’t. Not in a million years. Not if my life depended on it. Not for anyone. Not for anything. Not ever.”

And I knew he meant it. Which was good. I did not want to have to fight him. Again. But I would for babies.

We were still walking. I put my hand on his arm, and could feel the bunch of muscle against bone. He might promise to never take the life energy from the babies, but it wasn’t an easy thing to resist.

“Is this because of the fight?” I asked. “What you and Terric did to help me keep Zay alive? Is it a part of dark magic?”

“No, it’s just a part of Death magic. Energy transference, life transference, carried on the magic. And the side effect that comes with giving too much energy before you draw on magic again, or reclaim that energy.”

“Eating babies is a side effect of Death magic?”

“Like dry mouth.”

“Is a disgusting sense of humor a side effect too?”

“No, that’s all me.”

“Shame.” I stopped. Pulled on his arm.

He pivoted toward me, his head down again, slanting me a gaze though the shadows. “Yes, Beckstrom?”

“Do you need energy? Life energy?”