Magic on the Storm (5 page)

Greyson growled, animal gaze fixed on my face.
He saw me. Or my dad in me. I was sure of it. And I was sure Greyson was not
blind to what was going on in the room.
“You are mine.” His voice was little more than shadow scraping skin, but I felt
it to my bones.
“Like hell,” I whispered. I pulled my hand away and I released the magic,
letting my senses snap back into more normal ranges. I walked away from the
cage, away from the murderer in the cage, even though doing so made me want to
run. Got three steps before I found Zayvion stood so near me, I almost ran into
him.
“Not good,” I said quietly.
He frowned, then brushed his fingertips down my cheek, tracing the whorls of
magic and wiping away the sweat.
Sweet hells. Hounding the room hadn’t been as easy as I thought. I was
exhausted. I blinked, my eyes staying closed a little too long, and realized if
I blinked again, I’d be asleep.
Zay’s hand ran over my right arm, a warmth, a comfort. He drew me farther from
the cage, and a little bit of his strength flowed through our connection and
into me. I felt more awake.
Still, I wanted to take his hand and tell him we had to leave now. Before the
cold, sticky flow of magic inside me got worse. Before Greyson got better at
seeing me. Before that cage fell apart. Before the storm hit.
But I did not do that.
He stepped away from me, and I did from him too. We had business to take care
of. Maybe even a city to save.
Like superheroes.
Right.
“I don’t see anything out of place,” I told Maeve. “But I’ve never Hounded the
room under normal circumstances. If you were bringing me in to see if someone
had cast a spell to purposely change the flow of magic in the well, I didn’t
see anything that could accomplish that.”
She visibly exhaled. Oh, she had been very, very worried about what I would
find. And that worried me. If she thought it was that likely someone would come
in here and mess up the well, I was more than a little terrified at their
security measures.
“It’s a start. Thank you.” She strode across the room to the staircase, and Zay
and I followed.
“Did you think someone broke in?” I asked.
“No, but not all members of the Authority have the same agendas. There is
always the chance someone has played their hand.”
Why can’t the secret, powerful magic users all just get along?
“The meeting is at ten o’clock,” she said. “Upstairs. I want all three of you
there.”
Shame scoffed.
“Yes, even you, Shamus Flynn. You’ll not shirk your duty this time.”
This time? That sounded interesting.
Still crouched in the center of the room, Shame straightened, then strolled
toward the stairs. He wasn’t looking at his mom, or at us. His eyes were on
Greyson. And Greyson’s eyes were still on me.
Shame frowned, tipped his head to get a better angle on Greyson’s gaze.
Followed it. Right to my eyes. Raised his eyebrows when he found Greyson’s gaze
ended at me.
Yeah, I didn’t like it either. And the less time I was in Greyson’s eyesight,
the better. I turned and walked up the stairs.
Weird, weird, weird.
Only my tennis shoes and Maeve’s boots made noise. Zay was Zay. Silent.
Brooding. When he carried himself like that, he was a force, a darkness, a
power.
I was glad he was on our side.
Once at the top, Maeve called down to Shame. “Come up, now. Jingo Jingo will be
by soon to look in on Greyson. I don’t want him to find you poking at that
cage.”
More stairs, and some doors; then we started down the hall.
I rubbed at my arms, trying to banish the image of Jingo Jingo with Greyson.
“Why is Jingo coming by?” It was none of my business, and I really should learn
to shut my big mouth and let the senior members of the Authority deal with the
big problems. Like the storm. Like the well. Like Greyson.
“He has been working with Greyson. Trying to diagnose exactly how Frank Gordon
implanted the disk.
Trying to see if there is any mercy in breaking the spells worked into him.”
“You mean trying to turn him back into a man?” I asked.
Maeve gave me a look that said more than words ever could. “He is trying to
find a merciful answer to the question of him,” she said.
Shame clunked up behind us. For a man who had just been moving silently across
the marble floor like it was made of thin glass, he sure could make a lot of
noise.
“Chase been by?” he asked.
Maeve frowned. “I haven’t seen her in a few days.”
“Huh,” he said, then, “Anyone else thirsty? All that hard work watching Allie
Hound deserves a beer, don’t you think?” He moved past his mom, and exchanged a
short glance with Zayvion.
I didn’t think the two of them could actually hear what the other was thinking,
but I was positive they had a secret code. Zay had even hinted as much, saying
he always knew when Shame was up to trouble.
And that look had been more than just a look.
“Ten o’clock, Shamus,” Maeve called after him.
“I heard you the first time, didn’t I?”
Maeve tapped one fingertip against her lips, and watched him go. “He knows
something,” she decided. “Is up to something. Zayvion, you’ll watch that he
doesn’t stir too much trouble, won’t you? I do not need any more problems right
now.”
“I’ll do what I can,” he said mildly.
“When that son of mine gets a wild idea in his head, it never ends well.”
She sounded angry, but her body language said more. It said she was worried.
Worried she was about to lose something precious to her. Maybe her son.
“He’ll be here tonight,” Zay said. “Sober. He knows this isn’t a game.” I
wondered how many times he’d told her that over the years.
“Terric will be here,” she added more quietly.
“He knows.”
Maeve brushed her hair back again. “I thought as much.” She shook her head.
“Well. What will be will be. I’ll see you both this evening.” She strolled off,
her bootheels clacking across the old wooden floors.
The moth-wing flutter scraped at the backs of my eyes, pressing harder,
insistent. It made me think of Greyson, of him watching me, wanting me and my
dad in me. I swallowed and tasted wintergreen and leather—my dad’s scents.
Great.
I suddenly really wanted fresh air, a shower, hells, to be anywhere but here
right now.
My creep-out quota for the day was officially maxed.
“I need air.” I strode past Zay, not waiting to see if he followed. It wasn’t
exactly tactful, but he’d watched me fight my claustrophobia before. Stayed out
of my way. Boy had smarts.
Maeve had turned the opposite way down the hall, so she wasn’t in my flight
path either. I took the first opening I could and walked right out into the main
dining area again.
The noise was up, every table filled. The smell of food and drinks and
people—perfume and soap and cigarettes—closed in on me.
Out more. I needed much more out more.
I did not run, because I am composed even in full-throttle panic mode. But I
made quick work of that room—long legs had their use—and straight-armed that
door open.
The evening wind hit like a sharp slap to the face, and I inhaled a huge
lungful of cold, misty air.
I didn’t stop at the porch. There was too much roof on the porch, too many
railings around the porch, too much building behind the porch. I clattered down
the stairs, and jogged across the gravel, looking for out, for space, for air.
“Afraid of the dark?” a voice asked from one side of me.
Okay, yes, I was freaking out from claustrophobia. And yes, I was already a
little freaked-out over the whole cold-magic weirdness and empty well. Add to
that Greyson staring at me out of his magic-blocked and warded cage, and my
dad, or maybe only half of him, shuffling around in my head—or even better, him
spending time-shared brain space with Greyson—and what I really needed was just
a few seconds of normal.
Instead, I got Chase.
“Chase,” I said, relatively calmly too, considering. “Did you hear about the
meeting tonight?”
Zayvion’s ex-girlfriend was nearly my height. If I had seen her walking down
the street, I’d think she was a model, not a Closer. Her pale skin was almost
luminescent in the low light, and her eyes belonged to a cat, framed by the
blunt wedge of dark brown bangs. I’d never seen her use makeup, not that she
needed it. I’d never seen her dress in anything other than jeans, T-shirt, and
flannel.
Tonight was no different.
“I heard about it.” She took a step toward me, her hands very obviously held
with fingers spread, as if she was looking for a spell to grab hold of.
A sound behind me made her look up. She bared her teeth in a semblance of a
smile. And not a very pretty one.
“Hello, Zayvion. Still babysitting all the troubled children for Mommy Maeve?”
“I do what I can,” he said. Unconcerned. Zen. “Are you done running away?”
“Running away from what?”
“Greyson.”
Chase held very still. Something moved across her eyes, a shadow, sorrow, pain.
Maybe fear. Maybe hope.
“I’ve never run from him,” she said. Flat. Emotionless. What she didn’t say,
what none of us was saying, was she still loved him. And she blamed me and my
father for changing him into a monster. I was pretty sure she’d do anything to
get him back, to see him be a man again.
I know I would feel that way if it were Zay in that cage.
“They wouldn’t let me see him,” she said. “Not without Jingo Jingo being
there.”
Zayvion crossed his arms over his chest and strolled closer, his footsteps
silent across the wet, noisy gravel. “You’re going to listen to them, aren’t
you?”
“Be a good girl and do as I’m told?” She raised one eyebrow. “Have I ever done
anything else?” It was a challenge.
Zayvion didn’t reach out for her, but his voice was softer. “It will work out,
Chase. We’ll find a way to help him. Trust that.”
That tone got through. She swallowed and looked off over his shoulder. “Trust.
Just like that.”
“You’ve been doing it for years. Don’t stop now.”
I could see how much it cost her to look back at him. Could see the emotions
she was fighting back. Looked a lot like rage and grief. “No, that’s what
you’ve been doing. Trusting. Trusting it will all work out. No matter how blind
or stupid that makes you.”
“Trust isn’t a weakness,” Zay said.
“So says the man who begged for the chance to be the hero, the keeper of the
gates, user of all magic, light and dark, no matter how much it destroys him.
Do you get off on taking the fall, Jones, or are you just too stupid to know
that’s what they’re using you for?”
“Are you done?” he asked, a hint of fire rising behind that ice.
She glared at him.
He ignored her. “You joined this fight for a reason. You joined this fight to
make the world better for the people you cared about. Not for me, not for them,
but for who you love. Who do you love, Chase? Other than yourself?”
“Fuck you.”
She took a step, but he moved, silent and swift, to stand in front of her. They
weren’t touching, weren’t drawing on magic. Yet.
“That’s over. Remember?” he said. “You ended it.
Ended us. For him. For Greyson. And now you’re going to have to risk a little
trust to save him. I think that’s a small price to pay, not even a price at
all. Or maybe you’re just looking for an easy way out again.”
“You have no right—,” she said through clenched teeth.
“Yes, I do. Don’t turn your back on him. Don’t turn your back on the Authority.
Don’t choose that ending.”
And that threat, that anyone in the Authority, even a Closer, could be Closed,
got through too.
She unclenched her fists and shook her bangs out of her eyes. “I’d do anything
to have him back,” she yelled. She looked down, swallowed a couple times, as if
trying to get the rage down. Then she looked back up at him. “I don’t turn my
back on anything I love.” She looked at me, then back at him. “But you wouldn’t
understand that, would you, Jones?”
She strode off toward the inn, leaving Zayvion and me alone in the rain.

Chapter Four
I
touched Zay’s arm and jerked back as if I’d been burned. The anger
seething under the surface of his calm was rivaled only by the pain he felt for
Chase. I’d always assumed their breakup had been bad, but now I knew it.
There are moments, emotions, that we really don’t want to share with other
people. Things we shouldn’t have to share unless we want to. Unless we choose
to. This was one of those moments. I shoved my hand in my pocket and tried to
pretend I didn’t know how he really felt.
“Are you okay?” I asked. “Do you need to go talk to someone?”
Punch someone
,
I added silently.
Zay licked the rain off his lips and tipped his head down so that he stared at
the gravel. He inhaled, slowly, then exhaled, pushing his shoulders down from
the rod-straight fighting angle, his hands relaxing out of the stiff,
magic-ready spread.
Caught in the overhead lighting, he was a study of neon blue and black shadows.
The rain on his ski cap glittered like tiny blue stars, and rain trickled a
slick line from his temple, across the arc of his cheek, then down to the
stubble along his jaw. I waited.
Finally, he seemed to notice the rain, the night, and me. “I’d be better out of
the wet,” he said.
He headed for the car and so did I. I wanted out of the wet too. Exhaustion was
sucking my reserves. I’d spent a couple hours sparring, then come over here to
Hound the well. Even though I’d had a late lunch, and a good latte, I was
hankering for a hot, strong cup of coffee.
“Home?” Zay asked.
“Home.” Because home is where the coffeepot is.
He started the car and I thought about sleeping on the way to my apartment, but
every time I closed my eyes, I saw Greyson’s gaze and remembered my father
pushing around in my mind.
“Greyson saw me in there,” I said. “I think he might have seen Dad in me.”
“I know.”
“You want to tell me why no one else believes me? Why don’t they believe Dad is
in me and maybe in Greyson too?”
“Jingo Jingo is the expert. The Authority trusts him on these kinds of things.”
“You don’t believe him.”
“I should. I can’t think of why he would lie about it.”
“So you don’t believe me?”
“I do believe you. I just don’t know why Jingo Jingo would lie.”
Because he’s a freak?
I thought. Then, out loud, “Maybe he thinks he has
a good reason. Some kind of behind-the-scenes mumbo-jumbo politicking or
something.”
Zayvion exhaled. “That could be.” We stopped at a light. “Ever since just
before your father’s death, tensions in the Authority have been building. Each
discipline seems to think they have a corner on how magic should be used. Each
person believes their view correct.”
He glanced over his shoulder and merged into the next lane. “The heads of the
Authority—all the leaders, not just Portland’s—are having a hard time
responding to the problems fast enough. We had to deal with Dr. Frank Gordon,
Greyson, your father’s murder.” He was quiet a moment. “We’re good at
emergencies. Still, we didn’t do enough, fast enough. I don’t think anyone,
especially not Sedra nor the voices within the Authority, expected things to
come to this—to the war that’s brewing—nor knows what to do next.”
“I’d start with the Necromorph doing the Hannibal Lecter thing in the basement,”
I said. “Fix Greyson. Make him into a man again and then put him on trial for
my dad’s murder.”
“It isn’t that easy. The disk in his throat, and the spells trapping him as
both man and beast, have affected his mind. Mercy,” he said quietly, “would be
to end his life.”
Silence again. I thought about Chase, how she would deal with Greyson’s death.
Not well.
“And even a merciful death wouldn’t be easy,” he said. “Death magic mixed with
Blood magic, dark and light magic.” He frowned. “Impossible to Close, and hard
to kill.”
“What about Chase?” I asked.
“She wouldn’t Close him. I don’t think she could kill him.”
“Creepy, but not what I’m asking. What happens to her if they Close Greyson,
or, uh, kill him?”
“Her memories of him would be Closed.”
I rubbed at my eyes. “Is that your answer to everything? If it might cause pain
or inconvenience, just take the memory away?”
“Sometimes it is the only thing that can be done,” he said. “Sometimes people
don’t want to remember the pain, Allie.” He glanced at me, his eyes flecked
with gold. He was still angry. Angry at Chase, or Greyson, I didn’t know.
I opened my mouth, but my phone rang. I dug it out of my hoodie pocket.
“Hello?”
“Allie, this is Grant.”
“Trouble?”
“Is that really the first thing you ask when someone calls you?” he asked.
I took a breath. Remembered Grant was from the part of my life that had little
to do with angry magic users or stolen memories or secret organizations. Grant
was from the part of my life that had to do with afternoons in a coffee shop,
reading the paper, and really good scones.
“Sorry. It’s been a long day and I haven’t had nearly enough coffee.”
“Take care of half of that for you.”
“The long day?”
“Don’t I wish. Listen, I know we haven’t really discussed this part of you
leasing the warehouse, but you have a couple visitors waiting for you in my
shop. I don’t mind the business, but I thought you’d want to know people are
looking for you.”
“Do you know who they are?”
“I think one of them is a Hound. Looks sick. The other two, a man and a woman.
I haven’t seen them here before.”
“Okay, I’ll be there soon.”
“If I’m going to be your secretary, or spy boy, I’d like two weeks’ vacation
and an office with a view. Oh, and a watch that dispenses dry martinis.”
“Sure thing,” I said. “I’ll get right on that. Thanks for calling.”
I said good-bye, and filled Zayvion in.
“Still want to go home first?” he asked.
I thought about it. I was damp and hadn’t gotten a shower since before the gym.
But if someone was looking for me, especially if it was a Hound who was hurt, I
didn’t want Grant to have to deal with that.
Note to self: set up a schedule for other Hounds to hang out at the warehouse
and take in the strays. I refused to spend every night down at Grant’s dealing
with Hound crap.
I groaned. “Get Mugged,” I finally said. “Do you have time?”
“Until the meeting tonight, I do.”
It didn’t take long to get to Get Mugged. The old coffee shop stood on the
corner like a beacon in a grimy city. Yellow light spilled out from two stories
of windows, and the street around it was lined with cars.
Zay found a place to park in the open lot next to the warehouse.
I couldn’t help it. Looking at the warehouse that still leaned a bit but—as we
were told by inspectors and code officials—was sound, and knowing that a part
of the building was mine, made me feel good.
I’d promised Pike I’d look after the Hounds for him. It was his idea to bring
the Hounds together so we could watch one another’s backs. It was his idea to
keep track of Hounding jobs and support the police through contract Hounding.
He wanted better for Hounds, who too often died trying to escape the pain of
using magic.
Just like his granddaughter who hadn’t survived her brush with the Blood-magic
and drug dealer Lon Trager a few years ago. I’d helped Hound that case to throw
Trager in jail. But when Trager got out, Pike had taken him on, alone. He
hadn’t known Anthony, the kid he was trying to set straight, was being used by
Trager. Didn’t know Trager was being used by Dr. Frank Gordon, the grave
robber, to bind my father’s soul. Didn’t know there was a whole lot of
secret-magic-user stuff going on in the background of this city.
Gruff, fair, blunt, Pike was a good man, and my friend. I still hurt when I
thought about his death. The warehouse was a physical manifestation of my
promise to him.
Pike had gotten his den.
I scanned the street as I got out of the car and made my way over to the
sidewalk. A few people walked by, hoods up, or, that rarest thing in Oregon, an
umbrella furled. Traffic drove past slowly, tires hissing against wet pavement.
It felt like a pretty normal February night.
I inhaled, got that welcome-home scent of deeply roasted coffee, and something
salty, like hot cheese and garlic. Grant had started serving homemade soup and
sandwiches along with his baked-from-scratch pastries. If he didn’t watch out,
he was going to become a sensation.
We strolled up the sidewalk to the front door of Get Mugged and stepped in.
Get Mugged was a lot bigger on the inside than it looked on the outside. An
open loft took up the back half of the building, and the bottom floor was a
combination of bricks, wood, and well-placed lighting. Tables filled the room,
clustered by love seats and couches. The tables nearest the windows were plain
dark wood, a little scuffed up. Homey.
No music played, or if it did, it was drowned out from the thrum of
conversation. People sat at tables with coffee, tea, food, laptops, and
handhelds, content to call Get Mugged their second living room.
I grinned. Noisy, crowded—I loved it here. Even though it was smaller than the
dining room at Maeve’s place, it somehow managed to feel cozy, not
claustrophobic. Plus, having the best coffee in town went a long way toward
securing my affections.
Grant was at the end of the room, his back toward me as he bused a table. He
wore a tight gray T-shirt with a dish towel thrown over one shoulder, dark
jeans, and cowboy boots. Had good arms, a nice ass, and a strong, trim build.
When he turned, he gave me a howdy-baby smile.
Or more likely he gave it to Zayvion, who glided in behind me.
I walked toward the counter, pushing the hood of my jacket down and then
unzipping it. I wished I’d thought about taking a heavier coat to my workout.
Grant swung behind the counter, his hands filled with plates and mugs, which he
carried into the back room. He deposited the dishes with a quick comment to
another employee there I couldn’t see before he came out to stand behind the
cash register.
“Allie. Good to see you, girlfriend. Hey there, Zay. What can I get you two?”
“Sixteen-ounce, black,” I said, “and the freshest scone in the case.”
He grinned. “My scones are always fresh. Last out of the oven was lemon poppy
seed. Is that okay? And for you, Zay?”
“Just coffee. Black.”
“For here?”
I shook my head. “To go would be better.”
He plucked a couple paper cups off the stack beside him.
“So who’s looking for me?” I asked.
“The man at the back of the room near the stairs to the loft. The woman who was
with him is in the bathroom.”
Okay, I am not a spy. I’m pretty sure I would fail spectacularly at spy school.
So instead of trying to make it look all accidental, I just turned and looked
at the guy.
Light hair, big eyes that were sort of puppy-sad, chin too narrow, he was the
kind of man who spent his life disappearing in crowds. No one would guess he
was a part of the Authority, a magic user, and a damn good one too.
He was also my stepmother’s bodyguard. Kevin Cooper.
Well, so much for being followed by bad guys. Violet probably just wanted to
talk about Beckstrom Enterprises. Business. Or maybe she had news about the
baby she was carrying—my only sibling.
I didn’t even have to ask Grant who the Hound was. I could smell his scents
among the people in the room, though the subtleties of his scent had changed.
No more sweet cherries, which was good. That meant he hadn’t been around Blood
magic lately.
Hunched against the wall to my right, close enough he wouldn’t have to push
many people out of the way to get to the door, was Anthony Bell. The same kid
Pike had been trying to help.
My heart did double speed for a minute. The last time I’d seen him, he’d been
beaten to a bloody mess on the floor of the warehouse where Dr. Frank Gordon
was trying to raise my dad from the dead. Dr. Gordon had used Anthony as a
Proxy and made the kid pay the price for the magic Frank threw around. I’d
heard Anthony survived it. Spent some time in the hospital. Then in the courts.
I hadn’t followed his case, not much caring whether he would be convicted of
the charges of working with Lon Trager and dealing in illegal Blood magic,
kidnapping, murder.
I hated following the media when it came to things that touched me personally.
I’d never been much of a spotlight lover when I was growing up in my very
influential father’s spotlight-filled life.
Still, another Hound, Davy Silvers, had told me Anthony got off pretty easy,
since he was a minor and hadn’t had an actual hand in kidnapping the girls.
He’d gotten some counts on forgery of a magical signature, he’d spent some time
in juvie, and, last I heard, he was doing community service.
Didn’t seem like a fair trade for Pike’s life.
“Coffee,” Grant announced, as he placed the cups on the counter. “Scone.”
I looked away from Anthony, put a few bucks down, and picked up my cup and the
scone Grant had put in a small bag. When I looked back at Anthony, he was
staring at the table. Had his hands in his pockets, and there was no cup or
plate in front of him. I looked over at Violet’s bodyguard again, and he gave
me an imperceptible nod.
Right. Violet could wait. I’d go take care of Anthony first.
But before that, coffee. I took a drink, savoring the heat and rich, dark
flavor. So good. No one in the city roasted beans like Grant.
“You’re a doll, Grant,” I said.
“A doll without a martini dispenser,” he said.
I grinned, then started off toward Anthony. Zayvion followed. “You sure?” I
asked. Hounds were my responsibility, my trouble. I didn’t want Zayvion to feel
like he had to get into this mess with me.
“I was there,” he reminded me, like maybe I didn’t remember he had been the one
who untied Anthony and tried to get him out of the warehouse.
I did remember, but it was nice of him to remind me anyway.
Anthony looked up, scowled when he saw both Zayvion and I were headed his way.
I stopped next to his table, between him and his easy escape to the door. Power
play? Me?
“You looking for me?” I asked. I didn’t mean for it to come out quite so flat
and angry, but hey, this kid was part of what got Pike killed. Sue me.
“I got some things I should say,” Anthony started. His tanned cheeks flushed a
deeper red. Boy was sweating this one. I could smell the discomfort on him,
could tell it was taking every fiber of his will not to squirm, or maybe get up
and get out from under my gaze.