Magic on the Storm (20 page)

“Will you sleep?” she asked like this had been a point of contention.
“Not yet.”
“Terric sleeps.”
Shame nodded, though he did not open his eyes. “I know. Why do you think I’m
awake?”
I gave Maeve a questioning look and she only shook her head. Okay, fine. If she
wouldn’t tell me what was going on between Shame and Terric, I’d make Shame tell
me.
“Eat again, soon,” Maeve said. “I’ll bring you something in an hour or so.”
Shame didn’t move. Didn’t say anything.
With one last brush of her fingers over Zayvion’s hand, Maeve turned and walked
out, shutting the door behind her.
I stood there a minute, trying to make sense of everything. Zayvion had been
killed—no, sucked through to death. Magic was gone, or at least not accessible.
Shame was half dead. I didn’t know what was up with Terric.
And Chase and Greyson, as far as I knew, were still on the loose.
It didn’t look like the good guys were winning.
Well, I sure as hell wasn’t going to wait around for magic to bail my ass out.
I could take care of this without magic.
“You have some problem with light?” I asked.
Shame frowned, opened his eyes. “Why would you even ask that?”
Because you look like a vampire or a corpse
, I thought. But I said, “Yes
or no?”
“No.”
“Then open the curtain. I need to see Zayvion better.” And find my clothes, my
shoes, and my gear. It was time to go hunting.
Shame pushed up on his feet. He moved like every muscle in his body was on
fire.
“Maybe you should be in bed too,” I said.
“Maybe you should keep your opinions to yourself.”
He grunted softly as he tugged the curtains over to one side of the window.
Evening light poured into the room. I hadn’t expected it to be that late. But
it was still bright enough that the cool gray light revealed the room—white
plaster walls and dark wooden beams and floor. Even better, I could see
Zayvion.
He was breathing normally, deeply, as if he were sleeping. The IV attached to
his arm was wrapped with gauze that I thought might have a spell woven into it.
He looked like he was sleeping. Just sleeping.
I reached over, gently brushed my fingers across his lips.
The awareness of Zayvion, of his soul, his mind, his emotions, was absent.
Fairy tales said all it took was a true love, a kiss, a tear. But Zay wasn’t
enchanted. He was gone. Dead. And I didn’t think there was a fairy tale that
could make this turn out happily ever after.
The tight tension of sorrow made me swallow hard. I was not going to cry.
Because I didn’t need a fairy tale. All I needed was one beauty and a
beast—Chase and Greyson.
Zay had sat by my side for two weeks not knowing if I would recover from magic that
had nearly killed me. I wasn’t about to give up on him on the first day.
I let my fingers wander, knowing I could never give the gentle comfort that
Maeve could, but needing him to know I was there, I was with him. I traced his
forehead, eyelid, cheek, and down the rough edge of his jaw. Nothing. Nothing
stirred within him. He was empty. Silent.
I bent and kissed him, then rested my forehead against his. “I’ll make it
right,” I told him. “Don’t give up.”
Then I straightened. I pushed my hair back behind my ears again and looked over
at Shame.
He leaned against the wall, arms crossed loosely over his chest.
“Nice,” he said. “How exactly are you going to make it right?”
“By finding Chase and Greyson. And doing whatever it takes to get Zayvion
back.”
Like gasoline catching a spark, Shame suddenly seemed much more awake. An
anger, an animalistic hunger, flared in him. I wondered if he’d given up a
little of his sanity too. Wondered what happened when an untested Soul
Complement used magic with his possible Soul Complement—Shame and Terric. What
happened when that magic involved Death magic, and a good friend dying?
Just what kind of man was Shame when he was this angry and this wounded?
“Whatever it takes?” he asked a little too casually.
“Yes.”
“Doesn’t that sound like fun?” he murmured.
I looked away from him because I didn’t like his smile. I searched for my jeans
and sweater—found them folded, obviously laundered—in the dresser drawer.
“So what’s going on between you and Terric?” I asked.
“What do you mean?”
I straightened, huffed out a breath. “Are you still angry with each other? Did
using magic together make things worse? Have you killed him and buried him in a
box somewhere?”
“I don’t think that’s any of your business,” he said.
“I do. Listen, I’ve been paying attention to things. Things like Soul
Complements, which are supposed to be this rare and wonderful joining of magic.
But so far all I’ve seen is tragedy. Chase and Greyson, you and Terric, and now
Zayvion and me.”
“And Leander and Isabelle,” he added.
“Who?”
“Old story. Old, sad story.”
“Fine. Leander and Isabelle too. I’m beginning to think once you find your Soul
Complement, someone or something does everything in its power to destroy that
bond. I want to know what happened between you and Terric. What really
happened.”
He just scowled at me. Sullen.
“It would help me believe Zay and I have a shot at this. Please,” I added.
It took him a while, but he finally spoke.
“It was a long time ago,” he said quietly. “About five years. We’d been sent
out on a job, Zay, Terric, and I. Something had slipped the gates, and we were
after it.
“We were good friends. Mates, you know? Did a lot of our schooling together. Z.
and Terric were both after the job of guardian of the gate. Not that you can
just fill out a form and get picked for the position. But for a while there, it
was anyone’s guess which of them would be best at handling all disciplines of
magic. Which of them wouldn’t crack under the pressure of using all magic.
“Terric’s no slouch. He could have had it. But . . .”
He shook his head. “So we were hunting. It was night, and I’d had a drink or
two. Stupid, I know. Zay caught a scent of something down an alley. Terric and
I went up a block to try to block its escape.”
He paused, licked his lips. He wasn’t looking at me anymore, his eyes focused
on the past. “It was a hot night. Summer. We were fast. Quiet. The plan was for
us to pin it in the alley, then take it down. Easy pickings . . .
“Terric got there first. The Hunger—it was huge, bigger than a car—I’d never
seen one so big, still haven’t. It had fed well, was solid as a tank. It
leaped. Over Terric. Spotted me. Don’t know why. Maybe thought I’d be easier to
take down.
“It did something. With dark magic. Got in my head. I couldn’t stop it, didn’t
know the spells, couldn’t use magic fast enough to fight it. Once it was in my
head, it did something.”
He paused for so long I thought he was done talking. Still, I waited him out.
“Did something to me. It wasn’t horrible—no, that would have just made me
angry. I would have fought. It did something so . . . wonderful. Dark.
Beautiful. To me. It was like I was breathing for the first time in my life,
like I was finally, fully alive.
“And filled with hunger and power. I wanted Terric. His mind. His soul. His
body. I wanted to kill him. Devour him.
“I used the dark magic that filled the Hunger. There was so much. It was so
easy. I threw it at Terric, at his soul. I tore him apart.”
Pause, then, a whisper, “I laughed while he screamed.”
He went silent again, so still, he didn’t even blink.
Finally, “Zayvion pulled me off him. Blocked the dark magic I was using, killed
the Hunger. Knocked me out. Terric’s hair used to be black like mine. Did you
know that?”
I shook my head.
“He came so close to dying. The doctors said the only thing that saved him was
that our magic matched, blended. Freakish luck. Freakish. It’s why they think
we’re Soul Complements. Because what I did should have killed him. Because he
survived me tearing his soul apart.
“When he woke up, the first thing he said was he forgave me. He told me to stop
apologizing. That it wasn’t my fault. Everyone thought it wasn’t my fault. Even
Zay. He testified in front of court and counsel in my defense.
“But they were wrong. I might have been pushed into it, but I was the one
throwing the punches. It was my fault.
“When they told me we had to test to see if we were Soul Complements, I said
no. Because I owed him that. Owed him his life. Owed him more, really. A lot
more.
“He lost his chance to be guardian of the gates because of me. Can’t tolerate
dark magic anymore. Not after nearly dying from it. It’s why he moved to
Seattle. He couldn’t watch Zay take the job he wanted.”
He nodded, and rubbed his fingertips along his jeans, as if wiping off a stain.
“It’s good we have a state between us now. Good we don’t have to work
together.”
He paused again, then, softly, “I’ve never been able to get the taste of his
soul out of my mouth.” Shame blinked and seemed to come back to himself. Seemed
to notice I was in the room.
“So you want to know if you and Zayvion have a shot at being Soul Complements?
More than Terric and I, more than Chase and Greyson. For one thing, neither of
you is a screwed-up killer. That’s a step in the right direction.”
“Have you ever told anyone about . . . about this?” I asked.
He shrugged, just one shoulder tucking up toward his ear. “They heard what they
wanted to hear. They think what they want to think. I know what I was thinking
and feeling. I know what I did. Do I regret it? Every damn day. But that
doesn’t change what I did.” He fingered a cigarette out of his pocket, lit it,
and exhaled smoke toward the window, which I only now noticed was cracked open.
“You were young. Maybe, what? Nineteen, twenty when it happened?” I asked.
Shame sniffed. “You going to stand here talking about the past all night, or
were you actually going to do something to save Zay? ’Cause yakking isn’t doing
him much good.”
Okay, I got the hint. Subject closed. For now.
“I’m going to take a shower,” I said.
“Why bother? This is bound to get messy.”
“I don’t care. First I shower.”
“And then?”
“Then I’m going to hunt. My way.”
“I’m coming with you,” he called as I shut the door.
I didn’t want him to, not because of his story, but because he looked
exhausted. But I knew there was nothing I could do to stop him, short of
getting in a fistfight. Which I’d probably lose. I might not be hurting, but I
wasn’t at my best either.
I shucked off the pajamas, and got into the hot water. The marks down my arm
and hand were dulled to a flat gray. It was strange to see the marks without
the metallic shine, without any color or magic in them at all.
But in a way, it made me feel strong. I hadn’t always had incredible amounts of
magic surging through me. Sure, I was born with a small magic. I paused,
concentrating on if I still felt that small weight within me. It was there,
candle-flame bright, but not as powerful as the magic I usually held.
Still, that wasn’t nothing. And I had a feeling it was a lot more than most
people had right now.
I finished washing, got out, got dry, and put on my clothes.
My father had been strangely quiet since we’d hunted Greyson. I wondered if he
was still in my mind.
Dad?
I thought.
The moth-wing flutter brushed against the backs of my eyes. He was there. A
little stronger than he had been before. I swallowed, and tasted the familiar
wintergreen and leather of his scents, smelled it in my nostrils, tasted it at
the back of my throat.
Still possessed by my dead father? Check.
Small magic still inside me? Check.
Pissed off that some skank and her boyfriend tried to kill my lover? Hells,
yes.
I found a brush and pulled my hair back. It wasn’t quite long enough to put in
a band, but I’d need a haircut soon to keep it out of my eyes. No time for that
now. I had a world to save.
I strode out of the bathroom. Shame must have left and returned. He wore a
black trench coat. Belted. I had a feeling he was packing a lot of weapons
underneath it.
“How you want this to go down?” he asked.
His eyes were a little glossy, like the grips of a fever raged through him. But
he was still himself. Still willing to stand beside me and save Zayvion. I
probably shouldn’t, but I trusted the man, dark past and all.
Was it a bad idea to take a crazy, bloodthirsty Death-magic user on my little
stroll around the city? My dad in my head rubbed at the backs of my eyes. Well,
I didn’t care what he thought.
A phone rang. Mine. In the pocket of my coat that hung over the back of the
other chair in the room. I picked it up before it could ring a third time.
“Yes?”
“Allie, this is Detective Stotts. I need you to meet me in Eastmoreland, at
Southeast Tolman and Twenty-eighth. Now.”
“Hounding?”
“Yes.” He hung up.
I hadn’t even had a chance to tell him that I was busy getting my vengeance on.
Or that without magic, I wasn’t going to be any good for tracking spells.
“Problem?” Shame asked. His hands were in his pockets. Fisted, like it was
taking a lot of effort just to stand there and not hit something.
“Hounding job. Stotts.” My mind raced through possibilities. Stotts knew some
things about magic and the crimes involved with it that other people didn’t. He
knew, for example, that Violet was working on the further development of the
disks to hold and store magic, and to make magic less costly. He also knew a
few of the disks had been stolen before my dad died.
But he didn’t know anything about the Authority. Didn’t know that in my spare
time I hung around with people who, according to the law, should be locked
away.
I’m sure he and everyone else knew magic was down in the city and working off
backup spells. Yet, he still called me.
Shame waited. Waited for me to make a decision.
“I need your car.”
“I come with it.”
“I drive.”
Shame snorted. “Like hell.” He walked across the room to the door. We made good
time down the long hall and the two flights of stairs.
“Why did she have to put us on the top floor?” I asked. It wasn’t so much that
I was too tired to walk—I was impatient, and the damn stairs just seemed to
keep showing up before me.
“It’s well guarded. Not just with magic,” he said over his shoulder. “And it’s
as far away from the well as you can get in the building.”
“And that’s good because?”