Devon Monk - Magic In the Blood

Well, and maybe Zayvion, but Zayvion wasn’t here, was he?

“Listen,” I said again, keeping my voice calm. “I Hounded the spell and it’s very strong. Blood magic was involved. There was more than one blood used for it. Those things I would swear to in a court of law. I have a suspicion of who cast it. But I want to Hound the second site so I can be one hundred percent sure. And me freaking out back there?”

Do it, Beckstrom , I told myself. Don’t be a pansy ass.

“I saw people. I think they’re ghosts. They attacked me, and pulled apart the spells I cast, and ate them.” I didn’t tell him they sucked the magic out of me too, because as far as I knew, he didn’t know I could carry magic in me. As far as anyone knew, I pulled magic out from the stores deep beneath the city and poured it directly into the glyphs, just like every other magic user.

No one was stupid enough to try to draw magic into their bodies-magic always demanded a price, and the price of holding it in your body was organ failure and death. At the very least.

Take that, Pike. Now who you calling pansy?

Detective Paul Stotts had a good poker face. He gave me a considering gaze, and I returned it. I was beginning to get my strength back and might even be capable of walking when I got out of the car. But the sunburn from the watercolor people’s touch was worse than the last time they’d attacked me. I wondered how many more raw circles would be on my skin when I next looked in the mirror. It felt like a lot more-dozens more.

“Can you describe what you saw?” he asked.

This was the calm and controlled police and procedure thing I could really appreciate right now.

“I saw a pastel mist rise at the edges of the parking garage before I got in the elevator. I finished Hounding the spell, and when I turned, several people who were not solid were walking toward me. I could see their clothes and I could see their faces, except for a blackness where their eyes should be.”

“Could you smell them?”

I nodded. “They smelled like death. Rotten flesh, compost pile, matter breaking down.”

“Did you recognize any of them?”

“No.”

“When did you stop seeing them?”

I frowned. “What?”

“When did they disappear? I’m assuming they did disappear?” One of his thick eyebrows twitched upward.

“Yes. They did. They disappeared as soon as I stopped using magic.”

Oh, crap.

“All right. Did you first see them when you were using magic-Hounding?”

“Yes.”

“And have you seen them before?”

“Just today, but yes.”

He didn’t have to say it-I’m not stupid-but he said it anyway.

“You see them when you cast magic, and they disappear when you stop casting magic. It might be some sort of side effect you’re experiencing from magic use. A hallucination, an afterimage-I don’t know. I haven’t ever heard of this before. But you’re a Hound. You use magic a lot, and I’m not surprised something like this might happen. I think you need to see a doctor.”

No, I thought. I most certainly did not need to see a doctor. “Okay,” I said. “Well, that’s a place to start.”

I knew I wasn’t hallucinating. Zayvion had seen them too. Zayvion had fought them with me. If I was hallucinating, then so was he, at the same time, and about the same thing. Not likely.

“I’ll take you back to the station,” he said. “I’ll get your statement and the paperwork started, and then I’ll take you home.” Stotts didn’t wait for me to answer. He put the car in gear and followed the exit arrows.

“I’d rather finish the job first.” I was tempted, really tempted, to put Influence behind my words. With no more effort than breathing, I could make Stotts do what I said.

I’d seen my father use that power far too often- on others and on me-to think it was a moral action. Still. I really wanted to Hound the second site to see if Pike’s signature was on it too.

Stotts picked up his coffee, drank the cold dregs. “I don’t think that’s necessary.”

“Let me tell you why you’re wrong,” I said. That got his attention. He smiled and glanced over at me before looking back out the front window.

“All right.”

“I think I know who cast that spell. But I am not sure, not certain enough that I would testify in court. If I Hound the second site and it looks like it’s the same person, then I would be happy to stand in front of the law and point fingers. But if I don’t have a second site to compare to, I will not feel comfortable taking the stand.”

“Who do you think it is?”

“Not until I see the second site.”

“Are you trying to bribe me, Ms. Beckstrom?”

“If I were trying to bribe you, you wouldn’t have to ask that question,” I said.

“So you won’t tell me what you found, even though I’m paying you for your services and you are legally obligated to tell me?”

“Oh, I’ll tell you. But I won’t testify to it.”

“Tell me.”

I didn’t have a choice. If I wanted a stab at that other site-and I did-and if I wanted a chance to clear Pike’s name-and I did-I would have to trust Stotts would give me that chance.

“Martin Pike.”

I felt like a complete jerk, but Stotts did not look surprised at all.

“Interesting,” he said.

“I’m not the first Hound to indicate him in this, am I?”

“No. But you’re the first one who has doubts.”

“Something about the spell doesn’t smell right,” I said.

“And you’re not the first one to say that.” We were on the ground floor of the parkade now. He paused and then turned right. “I’ll take you to it,” he said. “But if you see anything strange while you’re using magic, anything like back there-ghosts, or whatever-you will stop and we’ll call it a night.”

“Thanks,” I said, and I meant it.

It was dark now and still raining. The drops were smaller, icier, driven by the wind like a sandblaster.

We drove through the neighborhood and I worked on calming my mind. Magic stirred in me, sluggish, distant, but it did respond. I might have been drained by the watercolor people, but it was not permanent.

Good. I didn’t care what Stotts said. I was going to pull on magic for as long as I wanted and Hound this spell no matter what the watercolor people did to me.

Now that I was expecting it, I could handle the pain. The watercolor people had hurt me, but they hadn’t killed me. Yet.

Stotts parked at the curb. “This is the second site.”

More people moved around in this part of the neighborhood despite the rain and cold. Shadows hunched in doorways and overhangs, light catching the cherry embers of cigarettes, the flash of teeth, the glitter of eyes.

This, I decided, was not the kind of place to be alone in the dark. Stotts pulled his gun, did something with it, and then reholstered it. Good thing I’d brought a buddy.

Hells, what about Davy? Was he out there, skulking in the shadows? If he was, he should be easy for me to spot. I glanced at the street, at the houses and abandoned shops and boarded-up buildings. I didn’t see Davy. I hoped he had stayed home.

Stotts took a deep breath and traced a glyph too quickly for me to see which spell he was casting. Then he closed the thumb and forefinger of his left hand, creating a circle and holding magic there like a trigger, ready to pour it into the glyph when he needed it.

Well, well. He wasn’t just a by-the-books gunslinger after all.

“Ready?” Stotts asked.

“Damn straight.” We both got out of the car.

Stotts didn’t need to point out the place where the kidnapping had happened. I could tell even without pulling on magic. Someone had built a small, hand painted cross and nailed it to the side of the building and written “My baby” across it. This girl may have been running with a gang, but she was also someone’s daughter. Someone who still remembered her.