Magic in the Blood (18 page)

“Think you can stand?” he asked softly.

I wondered if he had kids. He seemed like an old pro at this.

I stood, and his hand came under my elbow to help support me. “I’m fine,” I said. “I’m good.” My legs, however, didn’t believe me. Exhaustion rolled over me, and I stubbornly locked my knees to stay standing. Even so, I was trembling.

“You’re doing just fine,” Stotts said. He helped me walk maybe six or seven steps away from the mess I’d made. I was breathing hard, like I’d just climbed Mt. Hood. Darkness closed in at the edges of my vision, and the whole garage slipped away down a far tunnel.

“I’m going to help you sit. That’s good,” Stotts said from somewhere farther away than the ringing in my ears. “Now I’m going to help you lie down. That’s good. I’m going to go get the car. I will be right back. You are going to stay right here. No trying to jump off the building again, okay?”

Jump off the building? Did I look like I was in any shape to jump off the building?

As soon as I could open my mouth, I was going to ask him what he meant.

Maybe I blacked out. I don’t know. The next thing I knew, his hands—warm, human, living hands—helped me up.

“I’m going to help you into the backseat so you can lie down.”

“No,” I mumbled. What do you know, I could talk. “The front. The front’s fine.”

“Are you sure you can sit?”

“I’m feeling better,” I said. Even I could tell my voice was gaining strength. He helped me into the front seat, closed the door. The weight of the car shifted as he got into his seat. He twisted to pull something out of the back and then handed me a blanket.

“Thanks,” I said. I draped the blanket over my lap and leaned my head against the headrest. I was feeling stronger, but the magic that usually filled me so full was distant, dulled. I felt empty but not in a good way.

The watercolor people had done more than just eat the magic of my spell. They had pulled the magic out of me, and magic was having a hard time filling me back up.

The absence of it, the absence of its weight and motion, made me feel raw inside. Knowing those people could do that scared the hell out of me.

“Sorry,” I said.

“Tell me what happened.” The engine was running, and the heater was on full blast, but we were not driving anywhere yet. “Tell me what you saw. Could you trace the spell?”

I nodded. “It was still strong. Even after three days.”

“Do you know who cast it?”

“I want to Hound the other site before I say.”

“We aren’t going to Hound the other site. Not with you trying to leap tall buildings back there.”

“I wasn’t going to jump.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Listen.” I took a deep breath. Pike told me to confide in Stotts. Even though I was feeling a little shaky about Pike’s loyalties at the moment, he was right about one thing—Stotts knew about magic and magical crimes. If anyone in this city would know what those watercolor people were, it might be him.

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.

“She was last seen two weeks ago.” Stotts walked around the car to stand next to me.

“Two weeks? Have there been any leads?”

“Nothing I can disclose.”

Magic bucked in me, burning slowly up my bones. It felt like my limbs had fallen asleep on the inside, my bones numb. Magic burned, stung, tingled painfully from the soles of my feet upward, as if it were trying to reestablish blood flow.

Holy hells, that itched and hurt.

You can do pain
, I told myself.
It won’t last forever.

“How old was she?” I asked.

“Fifteen.”

The same age as Pike’s granddaughter. The granddaughter who was used by Lon Trager. The granddaughter who committed suicide.

Oh, Pike, no.

I walked to the middle of the sidewalk. The soles of my feet felt bruised, but at least they weren’t burning numb. I hoped the pain of magic refilling me would be over soon.

Stotts stayed near the cross, his coat open. His right hand was free so he could easily pull his gun. He stood with his middle finger and thumb obviously together, a clear symbol to anyone watching that he was holding a spell in check and could cast it in seconds.

I hadn’t bothered putting my gloves back on. But I needed to stall just a little until my arms and hands stopped itching and hurting so much. I couldn’t cast magic if my fingers weren’t working.

“Did you do anything with the spells?” I asked Stotts.

“No. You’re not the first one to Hound them, but no one’s contaminated the site.”

“No kind of Holding or Stasis put around them?”

“That’s contamination. These are just as we found them. Can you get to this now or is there a problem?”

I shook my head. No more stalling.

If Stotts was that uncomfortable standing out here on the street while he had magic and a gun, I needed to get this done quickly.

I calmed my mind, putting my expectation and fear of Pike being involved aside. I needed my judgment to be absolutely clear if I were to see the truth of this hit.

I muttered a mantra and set the Disbursement spell—that fever would last a little longer now. Probably ought to stock up on my chicken noodle soup supply. I pulled on the magic inside me.