by Devon Monk
We were severely outnumbered, outpowered. There was no option of retreat unless we wanted to leave Stone, Nola, and Cody to their mercy. Jingo Jingo’s mercy.
And one twitch, one flick of a wrist, one glint of a spell, would set this whole thing off like a powder keg.
“You want to know the saddest thing, Allison Angel?” Jingo Jingo took a step forward and so did the other sixty people surrounding him.
“Sure,” I said, reaching out for Zayvion’s hand as he was reaching for mine. “What’s the saddest thing?”
“Your daddy’s pushed himself inside you tight as a man can be. He’s made you think he’s doing it for your own good. That he’s helping you. That he doesn’t want to be there, but now that he is, you need him and you need to listen to him. The saddest thing,” Jingo said, taking another step, “is you know in your heart he’s been using you, treating you like nothing more than a napkin he’s going to throw away when he’s done wiping his mouth. You won’t get rid of him because you think the pain is worth the good he’s promising. The good he says he can help you do for the world.”
“You’re wrong,” I said. But my heart was pounding, my mouth dry. There was truth in his words, but I didn’t know how much.
“You think that Boy of Mama’s would have almost died if it weren’t for enemies your father made? You think those disks Violet invented would have been stolen and used to turn Greyson into a beast if your daddy hadn’t wanted them to? You think your daddy didn’t know Zayvion, the one man you ever loved, would stand up and be killed fighting Greyson? You think it was your idea to go clear on over into death to save Mr. Jones? No. It was your father’s idea, Daniel’s idea. Because he needed a way to fulfill his dealings with Mikhail. He needed to give to him that little bit of magic you used to hold inside you—magic he stole from you, his baby girl. And when you came back into life, he made sure you opened the way for Leander and Isabelle to come on over into this living world so they could possess Greyson, and kill Chase.”
Collins nodded, and Victor was frowning. Even Maeve seemed to know some of this was true. She glanced down the line at me, though I don’t think she was looking for my reaction. I think she was looking for Dad’s reaction.
He remained silent in my mind. Didn’t say a single word to refute what Jingo Jingo was saying. It was terrifying.
“Your daddy wanted all this,” Jingo Jingo said, holding his arms out wide. “Your daddy planned all this. He bargained away Shamus Flynn—the son of the man he killed—to let Mikhail get up inside him and use him, like he’s using you. Even your friend Davy is half alive and dying fast because of your daddy and his driving need to take over the world, take over magic, light and dark, and rule it all for himself.
“And you, Allison. His own daughter. You think you’ve been making your own choices all your life? Making up your own mind? He owns your mind. He took your memories, so many memories, it’s a wonder you have a mind left at all. He stole away anything he didn’t want you to know and fed you full of the things he wanted you to believe. Made up memories for you that suited his needs. And when you had nothing of your own left, he moved into you, into those places he’d made for himself.
“So he could use you. So he could get what he wanted—no matter what price you would have to pay. And you know what price you’re paying? Your life. You’ve paid your life for his ambition.
“He’s left you poor. Put that vile man Collins into your life to give you the gun he told you to take so you could kill his enemy Bartholomew Wray. You are a killer now, Allison Beckstrom. He made you that. And it don’t matter whose law you’re trying to follow—you know it’s wrong. You know it’s a sin to walk up to a man and shoot him in the head. But your daddy don’t care. Your daddy wanted you to take Bartholomew down. To turn against the Authority and take anyone in your path—in your daddy’s path—out of the way. So he could rule magic. So he could wrest it from the Authority’s hands and use it for what he wants. Eternal life.”
Hayden swore softly. I knew what he was thinking. This made sense. This all made sense.
And still, my father was silent.
“And you’ve been a good little girl and did just what he wanted you to do. All this time. All your life. You know your daddy don’t ever do a single thing without thinking out the ways it will work to his advantage. He didn’t want you born, but he’s turned you to his advantage. You’ve been a fine tool for him. Fine. But he’s near worn you out.
“Now’s the time for you to walk away from that devil of a father. Step away, Allison. We’ll help you. We’ll get him out of you for good. Then you can let the Authority take care of magic the right way, the proper way. Then you can let the Authority take care of the world. That hasn’t ever been your place, to try to save the world. A sweet little Hound like you? No, you weren’t meant for that. Not at all. No matter what your daddy tells you.”
I was trembling, sweating. Angry, confused, and, yes, frightened. Why didn’t Dad defend himself? Why didn’t he tell me these were all lies?
Zayvion squeezed my hand, and I held on to him, focusing on that contact to pull me away from the fear, the doubt, the horror of a lifetime of being used by my father. Even if Jingo Jingo wasn’t right about everything, it was easy to believe he could be. Could be right about it all.
“Interesting theory,” I said. “But I think you haven’t considered one thing. Maybe I’ve been using him.”
Jingo’s head snapped up and he stared at me for a long moment. Apparently he hadn’t wondered if I was the upper hand in this creep-a-thon my dad and I had going.
And from the sudden still focus from my father, he hadn’t ever considered it either.
Then Jingo Jingo smiled, a big wide grin that glowed like a flash of moonlight against his dark skin, against the dark of the night.
“Oh, I don’t think so, girl,” Jingo said. “You don’t have it in you to be that kind of cruel. Not like your daddy.”
I smiled back. “Maybe I don’t have to. My father and I see eye to eye on a lot of things right now. Maybe he and I have made deals. Contracts that cancel any kind of deal you negotiated with him. Deals that cut you out, and expose you for what you are, Jingo. A rapist. An abuser. A murderer. A monster who’s not fit to breathe.”
“You gonna throw your lot in with your daddy?” Jingo Jingo asked. “You going to do that now? Can’t you see who’s holding the power on this field?”
He spread his hands, the left still holding his cane, to include the masses around him, behind him. Masses willing to follow his orders. Willing to kill us.
“You know your life, the life of your pretty friend Nola, your boy Davy there, and even your man Zayvion, are all in your hands right now. You make the wrong choice and they’re gonna die, Allison. Gonna die real hard.”
“You could leave,” I said. “We don’t have to do this. If you take your people and leave St. Johns, we can all walk out of this alive.”
Jingo Jingo chuckled. “You think you got any chips left to bargain with? You’ve lived this long only because of the goodness of my heart, Allison. Because I believe you got steered wrong by your father. But at just a flick of my fingers”—he flicked his fingers, and I flinched—“this whole town, you and all your friends, are gonna fall beneath me.”
“We won’t follow you,” I said. “We won’t let innocent people die because of the decisions Bartholomew made. And we won’t let innocent people die because of the decisions you make.”
“I never said I wanted innocent people to die,” Jingo Jingo said. “Not ever once did I say so. There will be casualties. Always is in a war. But you tell me where the simulacrum is, and I let you walk out of this park still breathing.”
Don’t trust him, Dad said.
So now he wanted to talk?
“What simulacrum?” I asked. I had no idea what he was talking about.
“That’s the question, now, isn’t it?” Jingo Jingo said. “That’s the thing I want to know. You ask your daddy for me.
Tell him if he gives me the simulacrum, I’ll let you live.”
He wants Stone, Dad said.
Stone’s a simulacrum?
Stone is an Animate. Jingo thinks I have a simulacrum hidden away. Some legendary thing that will promise the user power over all magic. I don’t have anything like that, but if he sees Stone holding dark and light magic and filtering it, he’ll think that’s what he is. He’ll take him. He’ll destroy him. And he’ll destroy our only chance to stop the spread of poison.
“He doesn’t have a simulacrum,” I said to Jingo Jingo. “He lied to you.”
Jingo Jingo chuckled. “That what he told you, child?”
“That’s the truth.”
“Well, then. We just might need to see what you’ve got hid behind that wall at your back.”
I drew my sword. As if we were one, we all drew our weapons.
“That’s not going to happen,” I said. “Turn and leave. Or die.”
Jingo Jingo laughed. “There’s ten of you. There’s sixty of us. I’m not going to be the one dying this day.”
And just then there was a movement behind us. I wondered, briefly, if Cody had finished unlocking Stone, wondered if the wall had fallen, wondered if Nola was stepping through, unprotected, unguarded.
Everyone in front of us noticed the movement too.
As well they should.
Because it wasn’t the wall falling. Stone wasn’t unlocked and free.
I glanced over my shoulder and saw the Hounds, my Hounds, forty at least, men and women, people I knew well, like Jack and Bea and Sid, and people I’d worked with only briefly over the years, fading out of the shadows, and storming this way. They carried baseball bats, guns, rifles, knives, axes. They were ragged, hard-edged, grim. And they came to stand behind me, at my back, ready to take my fight on as their fight.
Because Hounds never abandoned their own.
My people. I had never felt so fiercely proud of who I was, who I had chosen to be. Had never been so proud of whom I counted as my friends.
“Go to hell,” I said to Jingo Jingo.
Jingo Jingo shook his big head. “Such a shame.” He turned and walked away, toward the back of the crowd.
A low murmur of chanting from the Authority built to a chorus of voices. Voices raised against us, voices raising magic to kill us.
“They don’t touch the wall,” I said to the Hounds as we spread out and took our stand. “They don’t touch anything or anyone inside that wall. We kill anyone who gets too close. Understand?”
“We understand,” Jack said, his voice low, but carrying on the still night air. “Kill anyone who gets too close.”
I heard the snick of a lighter catching flame. “This ought to be fun,” Shame said, lighting a cigarette. “I call dibs on that piece of shit Jingo Jingo.” He unzipped his coat and pulled out a long knife and a gun.
“Do you care how we kill them?” Davy asked. His voice was even, strong.
But I knew he had to see Sunny out there in the crowd. Yes, she was a member of the Authority who was standing against us. She was also the woman he loved.
Just like the others gathered were my friends, and friends of all of us.
Or at least they used to be.
“Unless they are breaking down that wall, wound; don’t kill,” I said. “Knock them out, stop them, hamstring them. Some of those people are my friends. Our friends. Good people. They just don’t understand that they’re following a madman.”
“But if they touch the wall?” Bea asked from where she stood next to Jack.
“We’re going to make sure they don’t get that far.”
Chapter Twenty-four
We stood, fifty strong against the Authority, city to our left, the river to our right, the empty parking lot behind us. The Authority was holding about eighty yards in front of us, each of them with one hand free to use magic, the other around his or her weapon of choice. There was a lot of manicured grass between us, a few trees at the edges, and the St. Johns Bridge spiraling up to the night sky behind them. No one was moving. No one was throwing magic, other than the Georgia sisters, who stood at the rear of their group, holding the bubble of Illusion around us all.
It was like teetering on the edge of a fall, breathless, calm, knowing the storm was about to hit and swallow us whole. I didn’t want this to happen. But there was nothing I could do to stop it.
The ground beneath my feet shook. Hayden swung his broadsword, the shotgun in his other hand, and yelled, casting a spell I’d never seen before. It rose up like a huge wave, a barrier that grew and grew, then crested, falling, rushing toward the mob in front of us.
And when it fell, it sucked down all the sound. All the chanting, all the air. At least twenty people fell. But the rest, all of them, came rushing across the field toward us, throwing magic, so much, so fast, my throat burned from the heat of it; my eyes watered from the sparks; my skin seared with the acid of spells.
No magic for me. If I cast, I’d pass out. And then I’d be killed.
“Stay back,” Zayvion said to me. “Behind us.”
“This is my fight,” I said. “I can handle it.”
He turned to me, grabbed my arm. “It’s all of our fight. We need you to keep us together, Allie. The Hounds won’t listen to my commands or follow anyone else. Hell, you’re the only one all of us will listen to. We need you behind us, directing, keeping us alive.”
Sweet hells. He was right. I hated it, but he was right.
“Don’t you go hero and die on me,” I said.
He smiled. “Never that.”
And then he waded into the fray, sword in one hand, spells in the other, running across the field to meet the mass, mowing people down as he went. I didn’t look to see if the people who fell at his feet were alive or just knocked out. I didn’t have time to count, to wonder, to worry. Mike Barham, a magic user from Seattle, and a man Shame hated, came at Zayvion with magic wrapping both his hands like gold gauntlets.
Zay Blocked his first attack, then swung his sword, cleaving through the gold fire burning in the air between them. He countered with a black glyph that spun a net to tangle Mike’s hands, and then Zay stepped in, and clubbed him with the hilt of his sword. Mike crumpled to the ground.
Hayden charged into the crowd and fought, sword and magic, and sheer brute force. Lesser magic users were tossed aside as he held our left flank. Maeve and Victor stood ground just a few yards ahead of me. They worked Shields and Blocks holding our line and pushing the Authority back, while Terric and Shame launched spells high overhead to batter the Shields the Authority held in place, and give Zay, Hayden, and the Hounds some breathing room.
The Hounds were everywhere, fighting in pairs. Bats, crowbars, rifles, and magic were doing a hell of a lot of damage as they wove in and out of the Authority’s forces. I caught a glimpse of Collins diving into the fray and disappearing in the press of people.
Davy ran straight into the crowd, and my heart stuttered. He wasn’t using magic. He wasn’t even drawing a weapon. He was running, calling a name as if there weren’t a battle being waged around him. Calling for Sunny.
“Davy,” I yelled, “no!”
He couldn’t hear me, or didn’t want to hear me. He phased from solid to ghost, as magic struck him. Each time he was struck by magic, he went ghost and sucked the magic in. He used that magic, like tentacles lashing out from his hands, grabbing and holding his attackers, throwing them aside. And then he became solid again.
People were screaming. People were writhing. And still Davy ran, calling Sunny’s name.
Sunny heard him. Found him. Stood in front of him as a pressing crowd of Hounds swarmed around them, rolled past them like surf over ragged stones.
Davy and Sunny were in their own world, silent, still. They stood close enough they could touch each other, but remained untouching.
Until Davy raised his hand, and gently brushed her dark braid away from her face. She searched his eyes, frowning, as if trying to
remember something and unable to do so.
A man—I didn’t know his name, had never seen him before—threw a spell the size of a tank at Sunny.
Davy grabbed Sunny around the waist, shielding her with his body. He lifted one hand, his arm straight and high, like a lightning rod, and the magic poured into him. He faded, became nothing but an outline of who he was. Davy fell to his knees as he whipped the spell back at the caster.
That man went down, and didn’t stand up again.
Sunny reached for Davy, but her hand went straight through him. She was trying to help him to his feet, trying to fight off the people coming toward them, trying to get him away, safe. Trying to stay alive.
I started toward them and nearly fell.
Even though I wasn’t casting magic, so much poured around me, contained in the Illusion bubble, it made me sick, dizzy. I took a few deep breaths, trying to hold it together.
Jack Quinn appeared beside me, caught my elbow, and made sure I was steady on my feet before jogging off to stick that bowie knife of his into the side of a man who had Bea pinned.
I glanced at the field. Davy was on his feet, his arm around Sunny as they worked their way out of the worst of the fight.
Maybe three-quarters of the magic users were still on their feet. We were fighting, but we were falling just as quickly as they were.
Dr. Fisher knelt beside one of the Authority, a woman. She cast a healing spell, then stood, and walked over to one of the Hounds who was trying to stanch a gut wound. For a second, I thought she might end him, but she gently moved his hands away and healed him too.
Looked like the good doctor wasn’t taking sides. That was something, at least.
Still, it wouldn’t take much more for them to break past our Shields. There were still more of them than us. And if they reached the wall where Cody and Stone and Nola were trapped, they would destroy everything we were fighting for.
“Maeve,” I yelled, “can you hold alone?”
She nodded.
“Victor, to Hayden.”
Victor dropped his Shield spell, and drew his sword as he ran toward Hayden. Hayden had sheathed his shotgun down his back and was holding off his attackers with broadsword and magic. But he seemed to have become the main target for half the remaining Authority, and I didn’t know how long he could hold.