by Devon Monk
It’s called panic. I’m good at it.
“You’re hurt, and you stink of so much used magic, it’s like you rolled in a pile of shit and spells. Some of them are . . . stuck to you. I don’t know how to fix that.” He shrugged. “Zayvion did things for you back in the warehouse. He did things I’ve never seen a doctor do. With magic. So if you’re not going to let me take you to the hospital, I’m going to get someone here who can help. Help get the magic off you, or help me pick you up and shove you in the trunk of my car so I can take you to the emergency room. Either way.” He shrugged again.
I tipped my face up to the sky and exhaled. “You can’t tell me—”
A movement at the roof level of the building—a head poking over the edge and looking down—caught my eye. Stone gripped the edge of the building and tipped his wide head sideways, considering me for a minute before pulling his head out of my line of vision.
I didn’t know whether he was still chasing the murderer or whether he was crawling down the side of the building to open my bedroom window and give Nola the scare of her life.
If Stone was still on the hunt, I wanted to stay the hell out of his way. And there was no way I was leaving Davy out on the street where the Necromorph might be looking to get a few new licks in.
“Zayvion gave me his number when you were in the hospital. Well, before that. Before you went to the hospital, but after the . . . after the warehouse.”
He was still talking? Hells.
“Fascinating. Tell me about it inside where it’s warm.” I opened the door as quickly as I could—speedy as a snail in glue. My fine-motor coordination was set on suck mode. Still, I got the door open, stepped into the lobby, and closed the door behind Davy before anything jumped out of the shadows and tried to eat us.
Now all I had to do was get up the stairs and save Nola.
Well, get up the stairs and get into my apartment before Stone let himself in the bedroom window, if that’s what he was doing. Or maybe he had crawled down the building and was back on the street. Or maybe he had found a nice garden to be a statue in until the dawn.
If he actually went inert in sunlight.
What was I doing? Oh yeah. Climbing the stairs to the rescue.
I started up the stairs, and maybe six whole steps into it, my head really started pounding in earnest. Holy hells, I hurt.
Davy, behind me, was chatting away. Kid was awfully talkative for a Hound. I didn’t catch half of what he said; the thrum of my own heartbeat, rough breathing, and internal bitching was too loud. It wasn’t until we got to the second floor that I realized he had called my name. Repeatedly. And I only heard him because he somehow got around me on the landing between flights and stood in front of me.
“What?” I panted. Hells, I was so worn out, I felt sick. Too hot, too cold, I was covered in a slick sweat that made me really want a shower. And a toilet to barf in.
“Zayvion wants to talk to you.” He held his phone out for me.
I took it. Look at that—there was blood on my hands. I wondered whose it was.
“Hello?”
“Allie,” Zayvion said. “I’m almost there. Davy said you were mugged.”
“Yeah,” I said.
“Was magic involved?”
“Yeah.”
“Was your father involved?”
“Yes.”
“Anything else?”
“Y-yes.”
There was a short pause. I could imagine him frowning, going through options. “Don’t use magic until I get there, okay?”
And I don’t know if it was just that the events of the night had finally all stacked up or what. But I was so done with being bossed around.
I hung up on him.
Yep. On Zayvion. Probably the only person in the city who knew, one, about the Necromorph; two, that I had a renter in my brain; and, three, how the two were related, which they obviously were. And he was probably the only person in the city who was actually on his way to help me.
I handed Davy the phone.
Because now I was worried. If Zayvion had some sort of idea that I shouldn’t cast magic, then he must know something else I didn’t know. Like maybe what kind of danger I was in, or, what worried me more, what kind of danger the people around me were in. Violet’s words came back to me. If she had known I was in this kind of danger, was she a part of it? A part of that thing having the disk?
I did my best to pick up the pace.
Ow.
“Someone,” I panted to Davy who walked next to me, “might be breaking into my apartment. With magic. Nola might be in there. My friend. She doesn’t cast. Do you know how to set Proxy on someone?” I asked.
“In theory. I’ve never done it before,” he said.
“Just like setting a Disbursement on yourself. Project it onto the other person. Onto me.”
He laughed. “Right. You’re barely standing.”
“Fuck you. I’m so very more than standing. I’m climbing. And talking. And thinking.”
We’d made it to the third floor now. I didn’t hear any screaming, growling, or anything else, really. Everything seemed normal.
Well, except for the hallway being all blurry at the edges and the sparks of silver fog that lit up at the corner of my vision whenever I turned my head too quickly.
I turned to look at Davy and had to spread my feet so I wouldn’t fall over. Wow. The price of casting all that magic, probably the magic I cast and the magic my father cast, was really kicking in.
“Listen,” I said in the most reasonable voice I could muster. “I can’t cast right now. You can. Proxy me so you can stay clearheaded and help Nola.”
“Like I can’t pay to play?” He actually sounded offended.
As well he should be, I guess. I’d basically just told him he wasn’t strong enough to cast magic. Wasn’t strong enough to endure the pain. But that wasn’t even close to what I was worried about.
“Course you can,” I said. “I know that. But you might need a lot of magic in a hurry. I’m wiped. One of us needs to stay clearheaded. ’S gonna be you, Silvers.”
I put out my right hand and got back to that walking thing, dragging my fingertips along the wall. I wasn’t getting anywhere fast, but I was getting somewhere slow.
“Wait,” Davy said beside me. “What kind of magic?”
We had reached my apartment door. “Any good at Hold?”
“I can do it.”
“Great. Get ready to hold back a tank.”
I tried the door. Locked. I was pretty sure I was happy about that.
Davy muttered something, a rhyme, a poem, that I couldn’t quite catch the words of, his mantra to clear his mind for casting.
While he did that, I pulled my keys out of my pocket and turned the lock. I opened the door as quietly as I could.
The apartment was dark except for the wan light of streetlights seeping down through the windows in the living room. Everything seemed to be exactly as I had left it. I walked in, glanced over the half wall to the kitchen. Nothing in there moved, but that didn’t mean something wasn’t crouched down in the dark.
Davy glided behind me, damn quiet for someone who showed no sign of shutting up just a minute ago. He had that kind of wolflike grace, his young face set in a calm but fierce determination, his body language aware but not tense.
I pointed at the kitchen and Davy walked into it, leaving the lights out.
I snuck into the living room as well as I could. I was beginning to feel more than a little dizzy. I checked the couch, the corners, and down the hall. Nothing. No one out of the ordinary. No Nola on the couch. I wondered if she’d gone into the bedroom.
I switched the light on in the bathroom. Nothing but bathroom. Then I knocked gently on the bedroom door, which would tell whoever was in there that I was out here, but barging in on Nola, spells a-blazin’, didn’t make any sense either. And if something was in there, I didn’t think I had the element of surprise on my side anyway.
&nb
sp; Davy came up behind me, a yellow-haired shadow, and put one hand on my shoulder.
Pain rushed through me, hot enough I could hear my blood pounding in my ears.
Holy shit, that hurt. I pressed my lips together and tried not to make a sound. That, apparently, was the shoulder the creature had bitten. Good of Davy to bring that particular pain back to my attention.
But he wasn’t just poking at my wounds. He moved closer so I would have to step out of the way and let him go first.
I glared at him, and he glared right back and held up his right hand. The tips of his thumb and ring finger were touching, the end point of the Hold glyph he’d probably traced. Since I wasn’t pulling magic into my sense of sight, I didn’t actually see the glyph he held.
Right. I’d told him he’d have to take point on this. Best to get out of the kid’s way and try not to faint when the Proxy hit me.
Davy opened the door.
“Nola?” I said quietly.
Someone behind the door put something heavy down. It sounded like the bat I kept under my bed.
“Allie?” Nola pulled the door the rest of the way open and turned on the light while standing in the doorway.
Wearing a rumpled cow T-shirt and a pair of sweats, it was obvious she had just crawled out of bed. Her hair was unbraided, and falling in messy waves around her face.
Her confusion turned into anger at seeing Davy in front of her.
“Sorry,” I said from behind Davy. I was pretty sure I was still behind him anyway. Everything was getting jumpy, the whole room skittering side to side with each pound of my pulse. Just to make sure my head wasn’t going to fall off my shoulders, I leaned it against the wall. The Sheetrock felt cool beneath my cheek. I closed my eyes, and had to fight to open them again.
Did it too. Go, me.
“Thought there might be something . . . one . . . breaking in.” It came out almost all slur, and I hoped they’d gotten the gist of it because I sure as hell wasn’t going to say it again.
“Nola Robbins,” I heard her say in the brisk matter-of-fact way that made her sound like my mom instead of like my friend who was the same age as me.
“Davy Silvers,” he said. “She got jumped on the street.”
There was some moving around going on, the room switching from the slide step to a bouncy little cha-cha.
“I got you,” Nola said. “Take another step for me, honey. Good.”
That was when I realized that she was talking to me. And it wasn’t the house jumping around, it was me walking, or more likely, being dragged somewhere.
I opened my eyes. When had I closed them?
“Can you get her boots?” Nola asked.
“Yup.” That was Davy.
“Wait,” I said, except it came out all air and nothing else.
“We got you, honey. Now you’re going to lie down.”
I swear the woman shoved me. Nice job, Nola. That push made the whole damn room circle the drain, and I was caught in the vortex.
“The thing,” I tried to say. The beast. The murderer. The gargoyle. The bite on my shoulder. The blood on my chest. The dad in my brain. The disk in the throat. The Veiled. The leeches. The magic not being magic. But none of it came out.
In the distance, Nola and Davy discussed hot water, stitches, and butterflies, all of which seemed strange.
I tried to listen, but their voices faded into the ocean thrum of my heartbeat, and soon that was all I could hear, all I could feel, until silence finally found me.
Chapter Eleven
I didn’t dream of my father. I didn’t dream at all. One second I was falling into a static darkness; the next my eyes were open.
It happened so fast, my heart tripped in my chest and stuttered hard before it caught up again.
“Morning, Sunshine.” Zayvion Jones, that dark Adonis, leaned down above me, his usually calm expression warmed by a smile.
“Mmm,” I managed. My tongue was stuck to the roof of my mouth. There wasn’t any spit left in me. I tried to swallow, felt like I hadn’t drunk in years. And tasted mint. Lots and lots of mint.
I knew the taste of that mint. Zayvion was Grounding the hell outta me. Which must mean I was using magic. While sleeping?
He drew his hand up my bare leg, cupping the back of my calf, up the smooth, warm inner arc of my knee, then over the lean muscle of my thigh, his thumb trailing the inside of my thigh, until he reached, much too soon, the fold of blanket draped over my hips, stomach, and chest.
He pulled the blanket down over my exposed leg, and looked me straight in the eye as he tucked me in, proper as a priest.
“Water?” he asked.
I nodded, which shook my headache loose. I groaned a little.
“Aspirin?” I asked. It came out sounding a lot like ass spoon, but Zayvion seemed fluent in mumbleze.
He handed me water and a pill from my bedside table.
I elbowed up (elbows working, check; stomach muscles working, check; heart and lungs still on duty, check; head hurting like a three-day bender, check) and sat against the headboard. My shoulder still hurt like hell. I closed my eyes and took a second to breathe. Zayvion rested his free hand on my thigh and warm, soothing mint washed over me like a blanket of morphine.
Yums. Even though I wasn’t using magic, I felt burned inside, raw. And the Grounding helped.
“Okay.” I opened my eyes, got lost for a soul’s breath in the deep brown and gold of Zayvion’s gaze before he gently let me free by breaking eye contact.
“Water,” he reminded.
I took the water this time and looked at the pill in my palm. Not the white aspirin that I kept in my medicine cabinet. This pill was blue and had a tiny little glyph carved into it. Magic medicine? How did that work? Did they put glass and lead in the pill to contain the magic?
“What is it?” I asked.
“Painkiller. Prescription.”
“The glyph?” I asked.
He shook his head. “It’s legal. I can get you the bottle to look at, if you want. I’m surprised you Hounds don’t eat this stuff like candy. The small bit of magic in the pill is capsulized in sodium chloride crystals. Won’t hold the magic for long, so that gives it a very short shelf life, but enhances the painkiller. And when the pain is because of magic . . .” He shrugged. “It’s a lot better than aspirin.”
I swallowed the pill and drank the rest of the water.
“How’s your shoulder?” he asked.
“Good,” I said. I shrugged my shoulder to see if it still worked. A shot of pain cramped my neck and I hissed and rubbed at my shoulder, trying to work out the knot.
Then Zayvion’s hands were there, thick, heavy fingers, still surprisingly gentle as he moved my hand away. He kneaded the muscle, working it until the cramp eased, and I sighed.
“Better,” I said. I shrugged my shoulder again. A little sore, but it seemed to move more fluidly.
I don’t know if it was the painkiller, the relief from him working the cramp out of my shoulder, or the fact that in order to reach my shoulder at the right angle, Zayvion had to sit on the bed next to me and lean full body over me, but whatever it was, my mind was no longer on pain.
No, my full attention, every last flick of every last nerve, was on the man sitting above me.
“Tell me what happened.” He dragged one finger under the edge of my jaw, fingers catching there, just like in the restaurant, and I inhaled the familiar pine scent of him.
“I—” I swallowed like it was hard to breathe enough to get the words out.
The truth? I hurt. My lips were swollen, sore. My head still hurt, though the meds were starting to kick in. I figured that pill probably had two to four hours worth of painkilling in it.
I intended to make the most of my pain-free time.
Zayvion frowned, braced with one arm on the far side of me, the other still holding the edge of my jaw in his fingertips, as he looked worriedly into my eyes.
“I—” I whispered.
&n
bsp; He leaned in a little closer to hear me.
Perfect.
I lifted my right hand, which was bandaged across several knuckles, and dragged my fingers up his side. He was wearing a sweatshirt, and I wished I had the coordination to actually get my hands under that and on his skin, but I was still clumsy.
Zayvion raised his eyebrows as I dragged my palm over the hard muscles of his chest and rested my hand there.
“Yes?” he asked.
“I want you. I want us.”
Zayvion went so still, if I hadn’t had my hand on his chest, if I hadn’t felt every steady thump of his heart beneath my palm, I would have thought he were just an incredibly handsome statue.
Or a dream.
Please don’t let him be a dream, I thought. I reached up, stretched my fingers, and traced the fullness of his lips. He closed his eyes, and I could see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed.
His lips opened for my finger and he caught the tip of it with his teeth, held it there, and slowly dragged the tip of his tongue across it. He opened his eyes and exhaled, releasing my finger like a man hesitant to give up something so sweet.
“You are hurt,” he began. “You always want . . . this . . . when you’re hurt. Or afraid. I want us to be more than that.”
Well, I might be a little bruised, but I wasn’t scared. Even though I probably should be. The Necromorph was still loose. He knew my dad was in my head.
If I wanted to get Zayvion into bed with me, this was not the time to bring this stuff up. But he wanted more than trauma sex. So fine. Let’s see how he handled honesty.
“The Necromorph,” I said.
“Yes?” Zayvion went very, very still.
“Last night. He tracked me. My dad, in here?” I pointed at my head. “Cast Camouflage. With my magic. The Necromorph knew it was my dad. I . . . lost control of my body. Dad took me. Used me to try and fight him.” Wow, admitting I’d been used sucked. Tears stung my eyes.
I hadn’t allowed myself to think of it that way, couldn’t think of it that way out on the street. But I’d been violated. By my father. From the inside out.
Zay leaned back just a small amount, giving me a little more room to breathe. Waited.
It took me a while to swallow back the tears, but I did it. Mostly because I was really angry at my dad, and I refused to let him make me cry.