Devon Monk - Magic In the Blood

Wow. It must have cost him a fortune to get that many flowers in the dead of winter.

“Well, well,” I said as I unbuckled the roses. “What would have happened if I told you I didn’t need a ride?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “I had a good feeling about it.” He got in the driver’s side.

I got in too, maneuvering under the bouquet with one hand as I buckled my seat belt.

“I thought you were going to bring these by my hospital room.”

“It was suggested. That didn’t work out how I wanted it to.” He started the car.

I stuck my nose in the roses and inhaled, long and deep.

Lovely.

“What didn’t work out?” I asked.

“Everything. I should have known something would go wrong when I saw Trager’s blood magic mark on you. I should have gone with you to the police, been there when you confronted Trager.”

“Zayvion, you are not my guard.”

He didn’t say anything.

“You aren’t. You know that, right?”

“Sure.” He didn’t sound very convincing.

“Did Violet hire you to be my guard?”

Nothing.

“Zayvion? Hello? An answer here?”

“Would you like lunch? I think I still owe you that date.”

“Zayvion. Focus. Are you working for Violet?”

“No.”

“So you’re not my bodyguard?”

“Did you want me to be?”

“No.” Yes. No.

It was confusing being me.

“We haven’t even decided if we’re going to date,” I said.

“We can take care of that. Let me take you to lunch.”

I suddenly remembered the card in my pocket. Davy’s invite for me to go to Pike’s last meeting. I glanced at the clock in the dash.

“You have plans?” Zayvion asked.

“No. Yes. Maybe. I have lunch plans. I think.”

“You aren’t sure?”

“It’s Davy Silvers. He’s a-”

“Hound. We met.”

“You did?”

Zayvion looked over at me, frowned. “Ah. Memory loss?” he asked.

“I don’t know. When did you meet him?”

“During the… in the warehouse with Frank Gordon. Do you remember that?”

“Some. Can you tell me about it?”

“Sure. How about over lunch? On our date.”

Was there nothing without a price in this city?

“Fine. Take me to O’Donnel’s.”

Zayvion turned the car in that direction.

We found parking in the lot behind what used to be the old treasury building that had been turned into the pub. We got out of the car. A few patrons were smoking beneath the awning, and we walked past them through the haze of smoke and into the back door of the pub.

The place was small but had two levels. Off in one corner was a player piano. Velvet curtains sectioned off parts of the walls, giving it plenty of private booths. Everything was black walnut, red velvet, and brass.

Classy.

I scanned the room, looking for Davy. The flame of a cigarette being lit caught my eye. Jack, the Whiskey Guy, leaned on a door to an alcove area. He tipped his chin up, turned, and walked into the alcove.

I strode across the room. Maybe more like limped. My feet were numb in my wet boots, and honestly, I’d been doing a lot more standing and walking today than I’d done in the last five. I was feeling pretty worn-out. My stamina was shot. The doctor said I’d feel a little stronger every day. He was an optimistic fellow.

Still, it was a small enough place that I held my own and walked into the alcove area, Zayvion behind me.

The room was filled. Maybe thirty or forty people. Most standing, a few seated at the table. They were grouped by vice, as I suppose made sense. Hard drinkers to the right, street drugs in the back, prescription meds to the left, and smaller pockets of those who used specialized pain-avoidance techniques-the cutters, smokers, sex addicts, exercise freaks, and gamblers-sprinkled throughout. Still, no matter what group they belonged to, everyone had a drink in their hands. Platters of food covered the table, and in the center of all that food was a plain black urn.

Oh. For some reason I didn’t realize this would be about Pike’s death. But that urn spoke volumes. I suddenly wanted to leave, wanted to be anywhere but here, face-to-face again with Pike’s death.

Sid, the Hound who looked like he should program computers for a living, appeared from somewhere in the crowd. He was grinning, his eyes half crescents behind his glasses. His cheeks were red. Probably from that glass of tequila in his hand.

“Allie, I’m so glad you came,” he said. “And you’re Zayvion Jones, right?”

“I am.”

“I’m Sid Westerling,” he said. “Davy mentioned you. Welcome.”

Well, that was not at all what I expected out of him. Hounds were notorious loners. Life did not let them make friendships. Life did not bring Hounds together. But apparently death could do both.

“Everyone,” Sid said to the crowd. “Attention for a moment.” He waited for the noise to die down. Someone pressed a glass of red wine in my hands. Zayvion had managed to snag a beer.

“We’re here to recognize and honor the life of a good man and a good Hound: Martin Pike.”

“Pike!” several voices called out.

“May he live on in our memories and hearts. To Pike!”

All glasses raised, and everyone drank.

“And that’s the end of my speech,” he said. “Someone else talk.”

“I’d like to say something.” All eyes turned to a younger voice. Davy Silvers slouched in a chair by the wall. Several people moved out of the way while Davy stood up on the chair. He bobbled his balance just a bit but did not spill the tankard of dark beer in his hand.

Was he even old enough to drink?

“Pike was…” He tipped his head back, closed his eyes. I could seen his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed back tears. “Not always a good man.”

A few people chuckled.

“But he was what he was. What we are. And he accepted us for all of our faults. ’Cause face it, we’re all a bunch of screwed-up losers.”

More chuckling. Davy looked back down. He wasn’t smiling. “And there was only one of us who was there for him when he needed it the most. Allie Beckstrom.”

Glasses raised, all faces turned to me. I gave a small smile and nodded. See, I’m good under social pressure. Having a notorious father will do that to a girl.

“To Allie,” Davy said.

“Allie!” the crowd agreed.

And then they waited. Waited for me to say something. Okay.

“Pike was my friend.” Wow, this was harder than it looked. “And the last thing he told me before… before he died was: it was worth it.”

Silence fell over the room.

“To Pike,” I said. “The strongest Hound I have had the honor to know. I wish he would have had a chance to find his island away from it all. I’ll miss him. We’ll all miss him.”

“To Pike,” the crowd said somberly.

Everyone drank, and I did too, because my throat was tight with tears.

“Pike would have wanted a new leader for the Pack,” Davy said. “A Hound as tough as he was. A friend. I elect Allie Beckstrom as the new leader of the Pack. All in favor, say aye!”

“Seconded,” Jamar’s baritone called out.

“Third-I mean aye!” That from bouncy, corpse-sniffing Beatrice.

“Wait,” I said. “No. Wait.”

Sid, standing next to me, was laughing.

“I’m not a leader. I shouldn’t be your leader,” I said. “I’ve only ever been to one meeting. I’d make a terrible leader. Vote for Sid, or Jamar or Beatrice.”

No one heard me because everyone was clapping.

Sid, his arms still crossed across his chest, leaned toward me. “Give it up.” His breath smelled of tequilla and lime. “They want you. And we need you. Pike’s death will destroy the ground he worked so hard to gain. You’re not gonna turn your back on your own kind, are you? What would Pike say?”