Devon Monk - Magic to the Bone

“And doesn’t that make you suspicious? He must have something to hide.”

Nola smiled. “My best friend is pretty insular, and I still think she’s a wonderful human being. Even if she does move too fast into relationships, and then panics when things get too serious.”

“Oh, that is so not what I’m doing right now.”

Nola chuckled. “Why do you think I wanted Jupe to stay in the room with you? I knew you’d do this. You are so predictable.”

And there it was, the down side to having a really good friend.

“Thanks,” I said.

“Anytime.” She patted my arm gently, and then stopped as if my arm were injured. “Are you sure you don’t need something for that?”

“No, it doesn’t hurt.” Which in itself was odd, but I didn’t want to think about it. “Nola, if it were you, would you trust Zayvion enough to tell him about what Cody said and go back into the city with him?”

“No,” she said. “But if I were you I would.”

“Because I’m crazy?”

“Because you always push away men at the first sign they might see that you’re vulnerable and use it against you. And you have rarely been right about that.”

“So you like him.”

She shrugged. “I don’t know him yet. But he drove you all the way out here. He knows how to do dishes. He’s certainly not hard on the eyes. What I think is, you like him. And you are too afraid to face that.”

I rubbed at my eyes with one hand. “No, I just don’t want to die because I fall for a pretty smile and a pair of strong shoulders.”

Nola gave me a doubtful look. “Is that all he is to you?”

“No,” I said quietly. “Listen, Nola. It’s different out here on the farm, far away from magic and what it does to people. Magic drives people to do things you can’t even imagine. The Proxy laws only came into effect a few years ago—before that anyone could inflict the pain and price of using magic on any random person they chose. People were dying so that a select few could have green yards, or get rid of wrinkles, or eat as much as they wanted and never gain weight. Regulations help, but even the best people can do horrible things when magic is involved.”

“Which means good people can do great things, too,” she said. “Good people like you, like me, and maybe even Zayvion.”

I shook my head. “You are such an optimist.”

“Yes, I am. And it isn’t a dirty word in my book. Go take a shower. Think about it. I’m going to talk to Zayvion about Cody.”

“What about Cody?”

“I think he should stay with me. I’ll pull a few strings and see if I can find out where he came from and who he really is. Don’t look at me like that—just because I don’t use magic doesn’t mean I don’t have connections. And besides, if he’s here, and if he really does know something about your father’s death, I don’t think it would be safe for him to stay with you until you make contact with the police and get that straightened out.”

“I could call your local police station and turn myself in here.”

She shook her head. “I’d rather not be on record as being involved in this yet. Cody was stabbed and left for dead. I don’t know who would have done that, but I don’t want them on my doorstep until I find out what his story is. Besides, the sheriff out here kisses up for any publicity he can get. I think he’s angling for a higher office—maybe mayor—and I don’t want you, or Cody to become his political platform.”

“I had no idea you had such a calculated, conniving side,” I said.

“I prefer to call it ‘practical.”’ She sashayed out of the room.

I took her advice and headed off to the shower.

Nola had a good head on her shoulders and could usually see between the lines of my personal drama and history, and give good advice. But she was wrong about one thing: Zayvion. Maybe he was a good enough guy, and maybe he found me attractive. But every instinct in my body told me that there was more to him than met the eye. And I refused to completely trust someone who appeared out of nowhere so conveniently every time something horrible happened.

He must want something out of this, something out of me.

As the shower sluiced away the musk and pine scent of him from my skin, I found my thoughts returning to his touch, to his lips, to the silent strength of him. And I realized I wanted something from him too. Not just sex. Not just companionship. Something deeper that I could not yet name.

Ichanged back into my clothes, brushed my hair, and used Nola’s toothbrush. The black bands on my left knuckles and wrist were still there. So were the whorls of red on my right. They didn’t hurt, not even when I rubbed at them. I wasn’t sure how I felt about bearing a lasting, visible mark from magic. It would be a conversation starter, I supposed, but probably not a conversation I’d much want to get into. Which meant if I ever had a social life again—barring I got shot, locked away in jail, or otherwise derailed from trying to live a quiet life—I’d have to make up some pretty good excuses for why I tattooed my left hand and had permanent henna painted from my right eye down to my fingertips.

If things weren’t so serious right now, I might have some fun making up stories about it, but as it was, all I could think was that it would really make me stand out in a crowd.

Or a police lineup.

This was not the most convenient time for a drastic makeover.

I strolled out into the kitchen and found Nola and Cody there. Cody stood by the window, kitten in his hands, sunshine on his face. Nola was sipping coffee again.

“Don’t you have some farm-type things to do?” I asked.

“Got them done before sunrise. Zayvion’s packing up.”

I nodded and walked over to Cody. I stood next to him, looking out the window. Nola had a wide porch railed in white wood. Farther out was a length of green grass and flower beds that were done blooming for the year. Her driveway was to the left and just out of view from here.

“Cody, do you remember me?” I asked.

Cody stroked the cat over and over, and I was amazed the little thing had any fur left on its head.

I turned so I was to the side, but in front of him. I was careful not to block the sunshine that seemed to hold him so rapt.

“Do you remember me from the river when you were hurt?”

Cody petted the cat faster, and began rocking from foot to foot.

I tried a different tactic.

“I’m sorry you were hurt, Cody.”

After a full minute or so, his rocking slowed.

“You did a good job helping me make you feel better. With the colors and the—”

“Magic,” he whispered.

I nodded. “Magic.” I waited, letting this agreement settle between us.

“It was pretty,” I said, and I meant it. “Beautiful magic. And it made your chest stop hurting. Do you remember that?”

He nodded. “I remember.”

I glanced over at Nola. She was wiping down the kitchen counters and listening. Since the slow but sure approach seemed to be working, I waited a while before speaking again.

“You told me you knew a powerful man. Was he my father?” Pause while he rocked and Nola put her dishrag away.

“Mr. Beckstrom, right? Did you see me too?”

Cody nodded, a brief jerky motion.

My stomach churned. I glanced over at Nola, but she didn’t look panicked.

“That was good, Cody.” I worked hard to stay calm and convincing. “You were good to see us.”

Cody rocked.

“You saw us because you were using the pretty magic, right?”

Cody rocked faster.

“Okay.” I let the silence stretch out until he was rocking slower again.

“Did you see my dad die?”