Devon Monk - Magic on the Storm

His breath caught. “That’s low,” he whispered.

“It’s the truth.” And it was. I’d begged Pike not to go find Trager, not to go take him on alone. I’d begged him to let the police take care of it. Begged. And I am not the begging type.

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll go to the warehouse. Lock up. Call me.” It all came out short. A little like someone’s hands were around his throat and he couldn’t get enough air.

Yeah, I knew how he felt. I still really missed Pike too.

“Is Bea okay?” he asked.

Right. That was what we’d come to the hospital for. “She has a concussion, but she’s going home. You were right. She got hit by magic. Can’t remember what happened, and can’t remember casting magic. Jack took her home.” Silence. From both of us.

Finally, “Davy?” What more could I say? “Thanks for listening.”

“Yeah.” He hung up.

I hung up too and realized I wasn’t paying attention to my surroundings. Oh, that was a great way to get myself killed.

I was in another hallway, this one wide and lit by fluorescents that weren’t up to the job. I could smell coffee, so there was either a cafeteria nearby or maybe a coffee station. That was a good sign, right? Where there was coffee in Oregon, there would be people.

The hallway curved to the right and deposited me into a waiting area where six people sat. A little girl, maybe five years old, spun around and around, her pink skirt puffing up, her heavy snow boots scuffing the carpet.

“Becca, do you want to come read with me?” a woman, probably her mother, asked.

Becca just kept spinning.

I didn’t take a seat. Being around people was not a sure way to stop Greyson from attacking me. And if he did show up here, I wanted to be on my feet and ready for him.

I’d been doing a lot of learning since he’d attacked me. I knew more physical self-defense, and I knew a hell of a lot more about magic. I hadn’t had a memory loss for two months. That meant that right now I was pretty much at the top of my game.

A little part of me-okay, a big part of me-hoped he would try to take me down. Just so I could show that bastard what I was made of. Pay him back for what he did to Tomi and Davy. For what he did to my dad.

I paced, and kept an eye on both ends of the hallway. I didn’t pull on magic, but I was good at paying attention to details, like whether I caught a whiff of the burnt-blackberry and blood smell of him. My cell rang again.

“Yes?”

“Ninth floor where?” Zay asked.

“I’m in surgery and admissions. By the windows. You?”

“Almost there. Anything?”

“No. Davy’s going to the warehouse, I think. I need to tell you about the job with Stotts.”

“I see you.”

I turned. Sure enough, Zayvion Jones was striding my way, wearing that ratty blue ski coat and a dark blue ski beanie. He didn’t look particularly concerned as he tucked his cell into his pocket, didn’t look like a guy who could throw around enough magic to tear a city apart, raise the dead, and pull the heavens to the earth. Didn’t look like he was on the hunt for a creature that had murdered, destroyed, broken the boundaries between life and death. Didn’t look like a killer.

But he was all those things. And he was mine.

I hung up and strolled over to him. “We headed out?”

“What happened?” he asked.

I frowned. I’d just gone through all that. “Oh. My face?” I shrugged. “A spell kicked back on me.”

He took a breath and looked like he wanted to tear something apart. The little girl stopped spinning and ran over to sit with her mother. Kids. They have great instincts.

“Just a burn?” he asked.

“It doesn’t feel too bad. A little tight, like a sunburn.” I decided not to tell him I’d also been bleeding. No need for the man to go ballistic and make the little girl cry.

“My car’s outside,” he said.

“So’s Davy’s,” I said.

“We’ll leave his car here. Should be fine overnight.” He started toward the elevators and I followed. “Think you can do the elevator?”

Crap. No, I very much did not think I could do the elevator. But that wouldn’t stop me. “Oh, I’ve been looking forward to it, thanks for asking.”

He gave me a sideways glance, and wisely said no more. The elevator door opened, and an orderly maneuvered a patient in a wheelchair out, leaving the elevator empty.

Zay stood behind me. Probably blocking me from running away. Damn.

I took a deep breath, held it, and stepped in. Zay moved behind me like my shadow. I recited my “Miss Mary Mack Mack Mack” jingle, trying to calm the screaming in my brain. There wasn’t enough room-it was too hot, too full, too small. Any minute the ceiling would slam down into me, crush me. I couldn’t breathe.

“Breathe,” Zayvion said. “Allie. Breathe.”

Oh. No wonder why it felt like I couldn’t breathe. I was holding my breath. I exhaled, but it didn’t do anything to stop the panic. I inhaled too quickly, sucking in more panic than air, and the sound of my gasp only made things worse. I was going to die. Crushed. Smothered, suffocated.

In a damn elevator.

Zay took one step closer to me and a tight whine slipped out between my teeth.

“Don’t,” I squeaked, “don’t, oh, sweethellsplease don’t.” If he got any closer, I’d run out of air. I’d freaking snap and scream my fool head off, then pound my way through those walls and into fresh air.

He didn’t step closer. He reached out and pressed his fingertips down on my shoulder. Mint, cool, soothing, and familiar, washed through me. I didn’t think Grounding was going to do anything for panic.

But my shoulders lowered away from my ears, I unclenched my jaw, and I managed to swallow that kicked-puppy whimper coming out of my mouth.

The bell pinged, and I waited an eternity, two, three. Then finally, finally, the doors opened.

I was out of there faster than a sprinter on fire. I didn’t look where I was going. I didn’t care. Away was all I wanted. Far away. And my feet were plenty happy to oblige.

I jogged only about ten steps before logic kicked back in, and I stopped.

Zay was still near the elevator, his hands loose at his sides. The casual observer wouldn’t notice it, but I trained with him. I knew when he held his wrist at that angle, he was half a thought away from casting a whole lot of magic.

I stuck my hands in my pockets and started back toward him, blowing my breath out in a thin stream to try to stop the ringing in my ears.

“The car?” I asked, all dignified like I hadn’t just been running away like a scared little girl.

“That way.” He tipped his head to indicate the parking structure behind him.

“Sorry,” I mumbled as soon as I was beside him.

“Don’t be. It’s kind of cute.”

Lovely. Just what I want to be. Cute.

“Bite me, Jones.”

“Anytime.” He grinned.

We headed along the narrow concrete walkway that took us down into the parkade.

“Where’s Davy’s car?” he asked.

“Down a level. How did it happen?” I asked.

“What?”

“Greyson’s escape. Maeve said he was safe there. Said that cage couldn’t be broken or breached. How did it happen?”

“We don’t know yet. The spells in place to record the area were tapped, tripped, and disabled.”

“Hold on. The ancient order of powerful magic users who can make magic do anything they want got screwed by someone hacking their wards? Why wasn’t there a camera in there? Why wasn’t someone guarding him?”

“No cameras because we don’t want any kind of recorded information about the well, Maeve’s place, or Greyson. No cameras because magic has always been enough.”

“Common sense. Would it hurt you to use it like the rest of us mortals?”

“You sound like your dad.”

“Nice.”

“His ideas for how magic should be regulated weren’t all bad.”

“So you have a man crush on the man I spent most of my life hating?”

“I didn’t say I liked him. I said he had common sense when it came to magic. Backup systems, technological support, hands-on-he believed it could all go together, work together, instead of being sectioned and divided. Magic used by the few, technology used by the masses.”

“Common sense didn’t keep him from being murdered.”

Zay fell silent. That brought us full circle. Greyson was one of the people who had killed my father back when Greyson had been a man working for the Authority. As far as anyone in the Authority could figure it, the murder was a multiple-person, complicated job. James Hoskil, my dad’s ex-business partner’s son, had been involved. And so had Cody, the gifted but mentally limited Hand my friend Nola had taken in to live on her farm in Burns, off the grid, and out of reach of magic.

There were probably more people involved. We still didn’t know who.

A man leaned against Zay’s car. I’d expected Shame, but this man was taller, his white hair a beacon beneath the fluorescent light.

“Hey, Terric,” I said. “What brings you out?”

“An escaped Necromorph. You?”

“Injured Hound.”

“Shame with you?” I asked. As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I wished I could take them back.

Terric frowned, and brushed the side of his nose.

“He’s with Chase. Hunting.”

I glanced at Zayvion, who opened the driver’s-side door. “Get in. We need to get you somewhere safe.”

I got in. Not because I was going to let them drop me off somewhere out of their way, but because it was cold and dark, and I preferred to win my arguments where there was a heater and comfortable leg room.

Terric slid into the backseat. It was a little strange to have someone other than Shame back there. Since I didn’t know him very well, I distrusted him on principle. But Zay was perfectly comfortable with the man. Like he’d just had a work buddy return after a long absence.

“So who decided it’s a good idea to let Chase hunt her boyfriend?” I asked.

The muscle in Zay’s jaw clenched. Sore subject.

Terric answered. “She’s one of the best people to look for him, don’t you think?”

From how she was acting back at Maeve’s I didn’t think that was at all true. “I doubt she likes the idea of seeing him put back in a cage.”

“Maybe not,” he said. “But she knows that the Authority are the only people who might be able to help him.”

“Or kill him,” I said.

“That too. What is life without risk?”

“Long?”

Terric laughed, a sort of high whooping that made me-and Zayvion, much to my surprise-smile. Contagious. For all he had a serious exterior, Terric was the guy you’d want to sit next to at a funny movie, just to hear him laugh.

“So are either of you going to tell me why I can’t come on the hunt?”

“You need to be safe,” Zay repeated. Man did one-track mind like no one’s business.

“And where do you suggest my safety will be found?”

“Maeve’s.”

“You mean the place Greyson broke out of?”

“With people guarding you,” he went on over my remark. “There will be a new cage constructed for him. And if he comes to you-”

“Hold up. I’m bait?”

“Allie-”

“You have got to be kidding me. I’d be safer at home.” I didn’t say with my gargoyle because only Zay, Shame, and I knew the big lug had decided my apartment was his den, nest, quarry, whatever it was that gargoyles called home.

“No, you’ll be safer at Maeve’s,” he said.

“You can’t tell me what to do.” Wow. I sounded just like Davy. Just like Jack. Spoonful of my own medicine. Yuck.