Magic in the Blood

by Devon Monk

  I’d asked for honesty and I’d gotten it. I liked that.

  “Oh,” I said. I handed him the pillow. He took it, his fingers brushing mine and pausing there.

  Instead of letting him pull the pillow away from me, I held on to it and stepped toward him. Close. We didn’t have to say this was forever; we didn’t have to say this would last. We didn’t have to say anything to understand the moment. We leaned toward each other, drawn like metal to magnet.

  And kissed.

  His lips were soft and thick and tasted of salty pizza and sweet apples. I opened my mouth to him, wanting to taste more of him, wanting to say with my body what I could not say with my words. That he was right. I was afraid and alone. And I really wanted to be touched by him.

  His tongue drew gently along the inside of my lip and electricity thrilled through me, settling like a solid heat deep in my stomach. The kiss was hot, sweet, needful.

  And I wanted more.

  I pulled back enough to catch my breath. “Please. Come to bed with me.”

  Zayvion was breathing hard. His nostrils flared. I could feel the thrumming of his pulse through the pillow we both still gripped.

  He closed his eyes. Licked his lips. “I can’t.”

  “Can’t?” I asked. “Or won’t?” I suddenly wondered if he had another girlfriend or a vow of celibacy.

  He opened his eyes and met my gaze. “The last time . . . out at Nola’s. You . . . we . . .” He exhaled and rubbed the back of his neck. When he looked back at me, he seemed a little calmer. “I promised myself if I ever had a chance to be with you again, I would wait. Wait until you said yes because you wanted me. Wanted this. Wanted us. For more than one night. For more than one reason. And right now it isn’t about us. It’s about uncertainty. It’s about death. That’s not enough for me. It shouldn’t be enough for you.”

  I didn’t know if I should be frustrated, flattered, or furious.

  So I was all three.

  “A simple no would have been fine.”

  “Nothing is ever simple with you, Allie. That’s what makes you so interesting.”

  What was I supposed to say to that? I let go of the pillow. “So this is good night?”

  “Yes,” he said, “it is. Sleep well.”

  I doubted that was possible. I walked to my bedroom, turning out lights as I went. I listened as Zayvion stretched out on my couch. I crawled under my covers and waited to see if he snored. But I never had a chance. As soon as my cheek touched the pillow, I fell into a dark, and thankfully dreamless, sleep.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Morning came too early and brought with it the fever I’d been hanging my magic use on. And the fever brought along its friends Body Aches and Bastard of a Headache.

  Since I was already dealing with sticky, stinging skin and an ache somewhere deeper in my chest that I was pretty sure was my heart, I was just all sorts of joyful about waking up.

  I rolled over and looked at my clock.

  Six thirty. Hells. I was supposed to meet Violet in an hour and a half.

  Double hells.

  I sat up slowly, shielding my eyes from the light, and walked very, very carefully into my bathroom. I opened my medicine cabinet and pulled out the bottle of aspirin with hands that would not stop shaking. My hands shook so hard, I spilled pills into the sink. I caught three in my palm and then held my breath and focused on them so I could count and make sure it was only three pills. Overdosing would be too damn easy right now.

  Three. I put them in my mouth, swallowed them down with water from the sink. All I needed was a little time. A little time and I’d be okay. I turned toward the shower and took a couple steps, holding on to the sink, the wall, the toilet. My teeth chattered. I felt burned, and burning, inside and out.

  Fabulous. Today was going to be a big ol’ bucket of happy.

  A warm hand touched my left shoulder, and a wash of mint made the jackhammers in my head take it down a notch. So help me, if it was my father standing there behind me, I was going to kill him, dead or not.

  “You’re burning up,” Zayvion’s soft voice said.

  “Disbursement,” I mumbled. “Should only last an hour or two.” Or all day. But right now I couldn’t stomach that possibility, so I decided to ignore it instead.

  “Mmm,” Zayvion said. With his hand still on my shoulder, he somehow turned on the shower and simultaneously helped me over to it.

  I plucked at my pajamas and wanted to growl in frustration. Why had I worn a shirt with buttons on it? Buttons were too complicated. Buttons took coordination. Why didn’t I have a pajama shirt with snaps or Velco or something?

  Then Zayvion’s hands were there, unbuttoning my shirt. I squinted up at him, even though the only light in the bathroom was the ghostly gray coming through the frosted window and the wedge of yellow that the hall light cast across the floor and wall.

  Zayvion’s gaze did not stray. He looked me straight in the eyes while he unhooked the last button and pulled my shirt away from my shoulders.

  I was naked beneath my shirt.

  I should be feeling all sorts of things in this awkward, embarrassing, needy moment. And even though a bunch of emotions lined up for attention, I ignored them all. I had been doing this alone for a long time now, nursing myself through the pain of using magic. And right now, I was grateful he was there, grateful to have someone helping me when I was sick.

  Besides, if he made one funny move, I’d knock him upside the head with the plunger.

  He placed his fingertips on either side of my hips. Even through the pain, I noticed his hands trembled slightly, noticed his breathing was mechanical and even, as if he was having to think about it. Still holding my gaze with that calm, Zen expression, he drew the elastic of my pants down over my hips, off my butt. He paused at my thighs and frowned, probably realizing that he was going to have to kneel and that oh-so-polite eye contact was about to be blown.

  I eyed the plunger.

  “Can you lift your legs?” he asked.

  I had no idea. I put one hand on the wall to steady myself. “Sure.”

  Zayvion knelt and I lifted one leg. The heat from his body, so near my skin, was a mix of pain and pleasure as he tugged off my pants and panties.

  Not a stitch of clothes on me. I did not remember getting naked with this man before, though I know I had. Still, getting naked when I was shaking with cold and fever and felt like a steaming pile of something the dog had left on the yard was not exactly how I had pictured our sexy encounter. Even if I could feel the warm exhale of my maybe-ex-boyfriend’s breath high on my thigh.

  He inhaled sharply, surprised. “Allie, where did you get that?”

  I pulled my hand off of my eyes. What did I have down there that would get that kind of reaction out of him? “What?”

  His fingers pressed gently at the edge of the mark on my thigh, the glyph Lon Trager had stabbed into me.

  Oh. Right. That. So much for sexy.

  And I swear, if I didn’t get into hot water right this damn minute, I was going to shake apart. “Got jumped on bus,” I chattered. “C-cold, Zay. Move.”

  He stood, and his wide hands steadied me through the last few steps and then into the warmth of the shower.

  I wrapped my arms around my ribs and stuck my head under the water.

  “How many aspirin did you take?” he asked.

  “Three.”

  “Think you can take one more?”

  One? I’d chew through a case of them. “Yes.”

  Zayvion left. I thought about soap but didn’t want to move from beneath the water’s warmth. Then Zayvion was back. “Here,” he said.

  I looked over, realized the shower curtain was open—had been open the whole time. Water was splashing out over towels I had not put on the floor. Zayvion held a cup in one hand and a pill—blue, and not aspirin—in the other.

  “What?”

  “It’s for migraines. It should be fine with the aspirin. And this is orange juice.” />
  I stood there staring at the cup like it was made of snakes. I didn’t have orange juice in my house.

  He interpreted my expression correctly. “I went out. Thought you’d be up for breakfast.”

  “You cooked?”

  “If you count bagels and orange juice cooking, yes.”

  I took the pill out of his hand, read the tiny ink stamp on it. Brand-name painkiller. Stronger than aspirin. “Buy this?”

  “Those, I keep on me. You aren’t the only one who uses magic.”

  I popped the pill and drank down the rest of the orange juice. I needed all the energy I could get. I had a breakfast date in an hour, and then a meeting with Pike and the police, and quite possibly a drug and blood magic ex-con to find. I pushed the cup back at him, looked him straight in the eye. “Thanks.” And pointedly closed the shower curtain.

  “Do you know who it was? On the bus?” he asked.

  Apparently closing the curtain wasn’t enough of a hint that I wanted a little “me” time.

  “Trager,” I said. “Lon Trager.” I dunked my head back under the water, shampooed and rinsed my hair, and rubbed soap over my skin. It didn’t sting as badly as the last time I’d washed. I didn’t know if I owed that to Zayvion’s soothing fingers, or if the aspirin was kicking in.

  When I came up for air and turned off the water, I still didn’t feel fabulous, but the aspirin and migraine meds had hit really fast. I pulled back the curtain just enough to look out. Zayvion’s wide back was to me. He stared in my medicine cabinet.

  “A little space, please?” I asked.

  He closed the medicine cabinet. “Do you have a needle?” he asked without turning around. The mirror in front of him was fogged, so I couldn’t see his reflection.

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “Do I look like someone who sews?”

  He made a frustrated sound. “Allie,” he said, still not turning around. “I need to unbind that glyph from your leg. Since you aren’t the sewing type, I’ll need to use a knife.”

  Well, hello, Mr. Psycho-Killer. What’d you do with my maybe-ex-boyfriend?

  “Like hell you will,” I said.

  He turned. Yep, that was a knife in his hand.

  “If you use that on me, Jones, I will kick your ass with that plunger, fever or no fever.” Sure, I talked a big fight, but right now, all I had at my disposal was a bar of soap and a loofah. Well, and magic.

  “What do you know about blood magic?” Zayvion asked. He leaned his hip against my sink and kept the knife low. “Have you studied it?”

  “It’s illegal.”

  “Have you studied it?”

  “No.”

  He closed his eyes and scrubbed at his face and then the back of his neck. “Why didn’t your father want you to know these things? He knew you had great potential with magic. He had to know you would use it in ways that were not taught in college. Why wouldn’t he want you to have the knowledge so you could keep yourself safe from shit like this?”

  I shrugged one shoulder. “I think he expected me to stay dependent on him for those kinds of things. He never thought I’d leave him, leave the life he wanted me to live. He never thought I could stand on my own two feet without him.”

  “And you had to go out there and prove him wrong, didn’t you?”

  “I’m just full of disappointments like that. Now put down the dagger and hand me a towel.”

  How had my life changed so that I had to say those words before breakfast?

  Zayvion put the knife on the countertop, found a clean towel on the linen rack, and handed it to me.

  I took the towel, keeping the shower curtain between us. “No blood magic, no lectures, no stabbing, no knives, no nothing until I’m dry and dressed. Get out of my bathroom, Jones.”

  Zayvion picked up his knife and walked out of the room.

  That was too easy.

  I dried quickly, checked that he wasn’t outside the door waiting to jump me, and then went into my bedroom and got dressed. My head hurt, but the chills were gone, leaving me feeling dizzy. I was probably still running a fever, but at least my teeth weren’t chattering.

  I found Zayvion at the window in the living room, looking through the curtains. The knife glinted silver-bright in his dark hand. On the round table next to him was the carton of orange juice, some bagels, cheese, and strawberries.

  Strawberries in late November. I could get used to this.

  “Lon Trager has your blood.” Zayvion turned away from the window.

  “I know. I was there when he took it.”

  He nodded, as though maybe he was just making sure I remembered it.

  Oh. He probably was making sure I remembered it. “And the spell he worked, the one on your leg, will let him draw you to him any time he chooses.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “It’s a form of Binding. That glyph—” He nodded toward my thigh. “—and the blood he took from you are connected by the magic in your blood and the magic in the glyph. If he wanted you, there would be nothing you could do to resist going to him.”

  My stomach clenched. I was a dog on Trager’s chain. How damn great was that?

  “And you know how to break it?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Will Trager know it’s broken?”

  “What?”

  “Will Trager know the Binding is broken?”

  “If his blood was on the knife or needle, he’ll know. Blood magic is . . . intimate.”

  I’d bet my boots Trager’s blood was all over that damn needle. Great. Not only did I have to deal with blood magic; I’d need to go get screened for diseases too.

  “Let me break it,” Zayvion said again.

  “No.”

  Mr. Zayvion Jones spent most his time looking like a pretty nice guy. He could do that street drifter, shy-boy smile that tugs the heartstrings, and he could do the unflappable Zen Master bit where his patience seemed endless. But right now, Mr. Zayvion Jones was angry—and he did angry like a caged animal.

  “No is not an option.” He took a step.

  I mentally set a Disbursement—sweet hells, I’d pay for this—and traced a glyph for Impact.

  It was not a spell I liked to use, but it was effective. I held off pouring magic into it. Which was not easy.

  Zayvion stopped. “Allie. Don’t think I won’t fight you for this. You’re being stubborn and stupid.”

  “You said you trusted my stubborness,” I said. “The Binding stays. And you can leave.”

  Zayvion became very still, very quiet, as if all his anger and frustration were being drawn into a deep dark hole somewhere inside him. That was a bad sign. You can’t cast magic in states of high emotion. Can’t cast it when you’re angry or panicked.

  Zayvion Jones was cool, calm, and therefore more than capable of casting magic. Like I said, dangerous.

  When he spoke, he was frighteningly Zen, frighteningly formal. Controlled. Just like at the graveyard.

  “My apologies,” he said, “if I have crossed a line. I am concerned for you and your safety. If Lon Trager is willing to risk Binding you with his own blood, he is willing to harm you. And he will do so. He is simply biding his time.”

  Biding his time, I guessed, because I didn’t have Pike with me. But I would. This afternoon at the police station. Then me, Pike, Detective Stotts, and the rest of the police force could go pay Lon Trager a visit. With the glyph that was still on my leg as evidence, I’d charge him with magical attack with intent to do harm. A felony. Jail time.

  “I know,” I said. “I plan to use that against him.”

  “How?”

  “I’m going to the police. The MERC.”

  Zayvion tipped his head and narrowed his eyes, as if that weren’t an option he had considered. “And what will you tell them?”

  “I’ll show them the Binding. That’s a felony. And it’s my evidence to throw Trager’s ass in jail.”

  “Do you really think prison will
be enough to hold a man like him?”

  “This time, I am the evidence. No one’s going to tamper with that. His conviction will stand.”

  Zayvion looked at me, his eyes cool gold.

  I looked him right back and said, “Unless you want to come down to the station with me, which I believe the police would like since they mentioned they’re looking for you, you need to go now. Good-bye, Zayvion,” I said. “Don’t forget your coat.”