Devon Monk - Magic In the Blood

“I said shut up,” Pike said.

So, that quiet killing vibe Pike gave off? Right there, hot and dangerous between him and Anthony. Anthony was either too stupid or too wasted to notice it.

I resisted the desire to back up a step while they squared off. If I had to bet, I’d say Pike was going to come out on top and beat the living crap out of the kid, but Anthony had that drugged edge of crazy going for him that said he wasn’t going to feel the pain of a fight until days later.

“Side with the rich girl, white girl, gonna jump her bones, old man?” Anthony said. “Fuck her. Get a piece of rich bitch, daddy’s money, and never have to work again?”

Pike, who I thought was going to punch the kid, instead pulled back. He turned his shoulder toward him, dismissing him with body language as clearly as a fist in the face. He shook his head slowly. “That’s the blow talking, boy. If you’re gonna be a dumb ass, get out of my face and go home.”

Anthony bared his teeth. “You afraid? Think you can take me? You don’t know what I can do to you, old man. You don’t know me at all.”

“You’re making me wish that was true,” Pike said. “Go home to your mama. Tell her I won’t teach a boy who doesn’t have the brains to keep his nose clean.”

Anthony’s face burned a dark red, and he clenched his hands into fists. “Fuck you.” He growled. “I didn’t fucking ask for your fucking help.” He spun and stormed off.

“When you get your head on straight,” Pike called out over the wind and rain, “you know where to find me.”

Anthony punched both fists in the air and flipped him off. But like a dog on a chain, he did not go far. He stopped just a couple yards away, jerked as if he knew better than to walk any farther, and began pacing. If his ears were good enough for Hounding, he was still well within hearing range no matter how quietly I spoke.

I didn’t want to talk about Trager in front of the kid. He might be a prick, but there was no need to get him mixed up in this.

Pike started walking again, slowly enough that I caught on he was waiting for me to follow. I strolled along beside him, both of us passing Anthony, who trailed behind us a couple yards back. We walked beneath the awnings of buildings as much as we could. Shield spells-the kind of thing that would keep you dry even without stretching an awning over the sidewalk-were not used here. I guess they figured it wasn’t worth the Proxy price. Oregonians were used to the wet, and since these buildings were mostly offices, not shops, old-fashioned umbrellas or hats just had to do.

“Get Mugged?” Pike asked, as though nothing had happened.

I nodded. We were headed that way, toward the bus stop a few streets down. “So,” I said after we’d been walking awhile, “I see you’ve been making new friends.”

He chuckled, a short, low sound. “Took him on for a friend on the east side. His mama thought I could keep him off the streets and out of the gangs long enough so he could finish school. She wanted me to teach him to Hound.” He glanced over at me, shook his head, and then looked back at the rain coming down so hard, I was pretty sure I’d have to wring out my underwear by the time we made it to the coffee shop.

“I told her I’d do what I could,” he said.

“I don’t think he likes you very much.”

“I don’t give a crap if he likes me or not. He’d make a decent Hound if he’d stay clean. He’s got a hell of a knack. But I don’t see that happening anytime soon. Ought to just haul his ass into juvenile detention. Let them take a whack at that thick skull of his.”

“How old is he?”

“Fifteen.”

“Damn.” I tucked my hands in my pockets. “Maybe juvie isn’t a bad idea.”

Pike sniffed. “We’ll see if he can pull it together. Then. Maybe.”

“So, other than telling me that Lon Trager is out of jail, why are you following me?”

He was a step or so ahead of me, so he gave me a curious, sideways look.

“For the police?” I asked. “Did they hire you to follow me?”

“Not doing much Hounding lately,” he said. “Thinking about retirement. Twenty-five years is about enough pain for me.”

I never thought I’d hear Pike say that. He was the toughest Hound I knew-not that I knew a lot of Hounds. He’d not only been chasing down magical signatures for at least twenty years; he was one of the original Hounds to hire out almost exclusively with the police. I guess I’d always looked up to him for that and figured he was going to Hound until he was old and gray.

Well, older and grayer.

I wondered if he’d ever hounded for Stotts. Since he was still alive, I guessed the answer to that was no.

“Hate to see you call it quits.”

He looked a question at me.

I shrugged. “It’s like seeing a legend end.”

He chuckled again. “Well this legend ’s thinking about warm beaches where pretty women wear more flowers than clothes.”

“You? Warm beaches?”

“Don’t think I’d do it?”

“Oh, I think you would,” I said. “But you’d get bored, and you’d be back.”

He stopped beneath the end of an awning. There weren’t very many people on the sidewalks-too early, too cold, too windy, too wet. The light was red anyway, so we stayed there.

Pike watched the traffic crawl past. “Every legend has an end, Allie. And a beginning.”

“How very poetic of you,” I noted.

He scowled and fished a card out of his pocket. “Here.” He handed it to me. “I want you to join.”

I pulled the card close to try to keep it dry and read the plain white letters set against the black background. “The Pack?”

“Call the number and they’ll let you know where we’re meeting next. We move around.”

“Who’s we , Pike? You and Anthony? What’s the Pack?”

“Hounds. Those who work with the police, and those who work against them, and any others who will join. Not all of them are as stupid as Ant.”

I heard Anthony mutter, “Fuck you.”

My ears were good too.

“You put together a support group for Hounds?” I asked. “That’s just… that’s just so…”

“Allie…” he warned.

“… sweet.” I grinned.

He gave me a level stare and I was glad he didn’t have a gun in his hand, and that he and I were, if not on the same side, not on opposing sides.

“Things are changing in this city, with magic. With everything,” he said. “We either watch each other’s backs, or we’ll be used up-used against each other. Dead. If you’re on our side, call and come to a meeting.”

“And what if I don’t want to be on any side? I like being on my side-alone.”

“Then don’t come.” The way he said it, he made it sound like a threat.

“Nice. So I don’t come,” I said, dead serious myself now, “what will you do? Hunt me down?”

“I won’t have to.” He held my gaze long enough that I knew what he meant. Someone else would find me, like Lon Trager’s men, or maybe I’d just bite it working for the cursed Detective Stotts. Hounding alone meant I’d end up dead eventually, maybe even anonymously, like the sixteen I hadn’t even known had died in the last six years. And even though I liked the idea of living on my own, having my own independence, and not being held responsible to anyone, the idea of dying alone, with no one to even know I was gone or how I’d died, made my chest hurt.

He was right. Things were changing in the city. The strange tension of something-a fight, a fire, a storm, something-hung heavy on the air. I had felt it after I saw my dad’s ghost, I had felt it at the police station, and I felt it now.

I leaned in and whispered, “I need to talk to you alone, Pike. It’s about Trager.”