by Devon Monk
I broke out of the hypnotic trance the food had me in—I was starving—and reached for the medical tray next to the bed that slid on wheels until it was over my lap.
Maeve placed the food and drink on it, adjusted the tray height without spilling a drop, and put her hands on her hips, giving me a motherly stare. “Headache?” she asked.
I already had the spoon in one hand and had gotten a mouthful of the creamy, rich, salty, buttery soup down. Still, I frowned. I didn’t have a headache. I didn’t really hurt at all, though I should. I’d used a lot of magic, and using magic always meant paying the price in pain.
“No headache,” I said. “I should, though.”
She nodded. “If there were magic flowing right now, under the ground, or inside you, you’d feel the pain. That’s why you still have the void stone on. As soon as magic kicks back on again, there’s a chance we’ll all suddenly feel the price of using.”
Didn’t that sound like fun?
“Any idea when that might happen?” I asked. “I like to plan for when I catch on fire.”
She turned back to the dresser. But Shame had already scuttled from the shadows and taken his share of the food. He was back in the chair in the shadows by the window, bowl in one hand, slurping it down.
“Utensils, Shamus,” she said.
“Mmm.” He pulled the bowl away long enough to get the hunk of bread involved.
“Magic will revive when the storm hits,” she said, “maybe sooner. It’s difficult to know. These things don’t calendar well.”
She walked to Zayvion’s bed, brushed her fingertips across his forehead. She had done that a hundred times for me in the last few months I’d been training. Her touch brought a sense of soothing, an ease of pain. She said it wasn’t so much magic as it was a knack. A little like my father and I have a knack for Influencing people, she said, she and her kin had a knack for settling the mind, soothing the body, easing, just a slight amount, the pain magic made you pay.
If Shame had the knack, I had no idea. I’d never seen him use it.
Zayvion didn’t move, didn’t so much as stir at her touch.
“He’s in a coma, isn’t he?” I asked quietly.
Maeve nodded. She folded her hands in front of her, fingers twined. I’d never seen her look helpless. “We think he’ll come out of it. When magic stabilizes.”
I was pretty sure she was trying to convince herself of that, because I wasn’t buying it. I’d seen Zay fall. I’d seen his spirit, his soul, get sucked into the gate. And I didn’t think magic coming back was going to fix that. Fix him.
Well, unless it blew open a gate. And if Zayvion was still capable of finding his way home through that gate, maybe that would work.
“He went through the gate,” I said.
Maeve looked over at me. I’d never seen that expression on her face before, but I knew what it was: horror.
“He what?”
“Went through the gate. Chase and Greyson opened it. I watched Zayvion’s soul cross over the threshold.”
It sounded like I’d just said he died. And in a way he had. But he was still breathing. He was right here in the room with me. Still fighting to live. I refused to give up on that.
“I see,” Maeve said, no more than a whisper. “That changes things.”
“How?”
She just shook her head. “Let me talk to some people first. When I know, I’ll tell you. Right now, you should rest. I want you to stay here until you are feeling better.”
“I’m fine.”
She raised one eyebrow.
To prove how great I was feeling, I pushed the tray away from the bed and then the covers away from my legs. Pajamas, plain blue, flannel. Not mine, but nice not to be in nothing but panties.
I stood, and brushed my hair back behind my ears. My hands didn’t even shake. Much. And the good thing? I wasn’t dizzy.
“You want to leave?” she asked.
“I’m not staying in bed.” I took a few steps. My body didn’t ache, really. Other than the hollowness of magic not in me, I didn’t feel like I’d done much more than work out really hard.
“Can I do anything for him?”
Okay, I’ll admit it. I was afraid to touch Zay. Afraid that if I did, I would have to come to grips with him not being there, not being present in his body. That I’d realize he was little more than a breathing corpse.
No. I pushed that thought away.
Maeve wove her fingers together again. “I don’t know.”
Three words I didn’t want to hear.
“So there’s not a lot about this in the histories?”
She shook her head. “Did you see him go through the gate with your bare eyes, or were you using Sight?”
“I don’t remember. I don’t think I was holding magic. It all happened so fast.”
She sighed. “I’ll talk to Sedra. To Liddy. To Victor. To Jingo Jingo. We’ll contact other members of the Authority outside the city. See if anyone has experienced this before.” She was suddenly all business again. Busy was her default mode when she was faced with an emergency.
“In the meantime, you’ll stay here. Not because I don’t think you are well enough to leave. We may need you once magic flares again, once the wild-magic storm hits. It would be easiest for us if you were nearby.”
“I’ll stay awhile,” I said.
“Good.” Maeve looked over at Shame, who had been sitting quietly, head back, eyes closed, for most of the conversation. It didn’t take magic to see how her body language changed once she looked at him. She was worried for him. She was afraid for him. I’d never seen her doubt Shame’s strength. Not even when magic had taken him to his knees.
“Will you sleep?” she asked like this had been a point of contention.
“Not yet.”
“Terric sleeps.”
Shame nodded, though he did not open his eyes. “I know. Why do you think I’m awake?”
I gave Maeve a questioning look and she only shook her head. Okay, fine. If she wouldn’t tell me what was going on between Shame and Terric, I’d make Shame tell me.
“Eat again, soon,” Maeve said. “I’ll bring you something in an hour or so.”
Shame didn’t move. Didn’t say anything.
With one last brush of her fingers over Zayvion’s hand, Maeve turned and walked out, shutting the door behind her.
I stood there a minute, trying to make sense of everything. Zayvion had been killed—no, sucked through to death. Magic was gone, or at least not accessible. Shame was half dead. I didn’t know what was up with Terric.
And Chase and Greyson, as far as I knew, were still on the loose.
It didn’t look like the good guys were winning.
Well, I sure as hell wasn’t going to wait around for magic to bail my ass out. I could take care of this without magic.
“You have some problem with light?” I asked.
Shame frowned, opened his eyes. “Why would you even ask that?”
Because you look like a vampire or a corpse, I thought. But I said, “Yes or no?”
“No.”
“Then open the curtain. I need to see Zayvion better.” And find my clothes, my shoes, and my gear. It was time to go hunting.
Shame pushed up on his feet. He moved like every muscle in his body was on fire.
“Maybe you should be in bed too,” I said.
“Maybe you should keep your opinions to yourself.”
He grunted softly as he tugged the curtains over to one side of the window.
Evening light poured into the room. I hadn’t expected it to be that late. But it was still bright enough that the cool gray light revealed the room—white plaster walls and dark wooden beams and floor. Even better, I could see Zayvion.
He was breathing normally, deeply, as if he were sleeping. The IV attached to his arm was wrapped with gauze that I thought might have a spell woven into it. He looked like he was sleeping. Just sleeping.
I reached over,
gently brushed my fingers across his lips.
The awareness of Zayvion, of his soul, his mind, his emotions, was absent.
Fairy tales said all it took was a true love, a kiss, a tear. But Zay wasn’t enchanted. He was gone. Dead. And I didn’t think there was a fairy tale that could make this turn out happily ever after.
The tight tension of sorrow made me swallow hard. I was not going to cry. Because I didn’t need a fairy tale. All I needed was one beauty and a beast—Chase and Greyson.
Zay had sat by my side for two weeks not knowing if I would recover from magic that had nearly killed me. I wasn’t about to give up on him on the first day.
I let my fingers wander, knowing I could never give the gentle comfort that Maeve could, but needing him to know I was there, I was with him. I traced his forehead, eyelid, cheek, and down the rough edge of his jaw. Nothing. Nothing stirred within him. He was empty. Silent.
I bent and kissed him, then rested my forehead against his. “I’ll make it right,” I told him. “Don’t give up.”
Then I straightened. I pushed my hair back behind my ears again and looked over at Shame.
He leaned against the wall, arms crossed loosely over his chest.
“Nice,” he said. “How exactly are you going to make it right?”
“By finding Chase and Greyson. And doing whatever it takes to get Zayvion back.”
Like gasoline catching a spark, Shame suddenly seemed much more awake. An anger, an animalistic hunger, flared in him. I wondered if he’d given up a little of his sanity too. Wondered what happened when an untested Soul Complement used magic with his possible Soul Complement—Shame and Terric. What happened when that magic involved Death magic, and a good friend dying?
Just what kind of man was Shame when he was this angry and this wounded?
“Whatever it takes?” he asked a little too casually.
“Yes.”
“Doesn’t that sound like fun?” he murmured.
I looked away from him because I didn’t like his smile. I searched for my jeans and sweater—found them folded, obviously laundered—in the dresser drawer.
“So what’s going on between you and Terric?” I asked.
“What do you mean?”
I straightened, huffed out a breath. “Are you still angry with each other? Did using magic together make things worse? Have you killed him and buried him in a box somewhere?”
“I don’t think that’s any of your business,” he said.
“I do. Listen, I’ve been paying attention to things. Things like Soul Complements, which are supposed to be this rare and wonderful joining of magic. But so far all I’ve seen is tragedy. Chase and Greyson, you and Terric, and now Zayvion and me.”
“And Leander and Isabelle,” he added.
“Who?”
“Old story. Old, sad story.”
“Fine. Leander and Isabelle too. I’m beginning to think once you find your Soul Complement, someone or something does everything in its power to destroy that bond. I want to know what happened between you and Terric. What really happened.”
He just scowled at me. Sullen.
“It would help me believe Zay and I have a shot at this. Please,” I added.
It took him a while, but he finally spoke.
“It was a long time ago,” he said quietly. “About five years. We’d been sent out on a job, Zay, Terric, and I. Something had slipped the gates, and we were after it.
“We were good friends. Mates, you know? Did a lot of our schooling together. Z. and Terric were both after the job of guardian of the gate. Not that you can just fill out a form and get picked for the position. But for a while there, it was anyone’s guess which of them would be best at handling all disciplines of magic. Which of them wouldn’t crack under the pressure of using all magic.
“Terric’s no slouch. He could have had it. But . . .”
He shook his head. “So we were hunting. It was night, and I’d had a drink or two. Stupid, I know. Zay caught a scent of something down an alley. Terric and I went up a block to try to block its escape.”
He paused, licked his lips. He wasn’t looking at me anymore, his eyes focused on the past. “It was a hot night. Summer. We were fast. Quiet. The plan was for us to pin it in the alley, then take it down. Easy pickings . . .
“Terric got there first. The Hunger—it was huge, bigger than a car—I’d never seen one so big, still haven’t. It had fed well, was solid as a tank. It leaped. Over Terric. Spotted me. Don’t know why. Maybe thought I’d be easier to take down.
“It did something. With dark magic. Got in my head. I couldn’t stop it, didn’t know the spells, couldn’t use magic fast enough to fight it. Once it was in my head, it did something.”
He paused for so long I thought he was done talking. Still, I waited him out.
“Did something to me. It wasn’t horrible—no, that would have just made me angry. I would have fought. It did something so . . . wonderful. Dark. Beautiful. To me. It was like I was breathing for the first time in my life, like I was finally, fully alive.
“And filled with hunger and power. I wanted Terric. His mind. His soul. His body. I wanted to kill him. Devour him.
“I used the dark magic that filled the Hunger. There was so much. It was so easy. I threw it at Terric, at his soul. I tore him apart.”
Pause, then, a whisper, “I laughed while he screamed.”
He went silent again, so still, he didn’t even blink.
Finally, “Zayvion pulled me off him. Blocked the dark magic I was using, killed the Hunger. Knocked me out. Terric’s hair used to be black like mine. Did you know that?”
I shook my head.
“He came so close to dying. The doctors said the only thing that saved him was that our magic matched, blended. Freakish luck. Freakish. It’s why they think we’re Soul Complements. Because what I did should have killed him. Because he survived me tearing his soul apart.
“When he woke up, the first thing he said was he forgave me. He told me to stop apologizing. That it wasn’t my fault. Everyone thought it wasn’t my fault. Even Zay. He testified in front of court and counsel in my defense.
“But they were wrong. I might have been pushed into it, but I was the one throwing the punches. It was my fault.
“When they told me we had to test to see if we were Soul Complements, I said no. Because I owed him that. Owed him his life. Owed him more, really. A lot more.
“He lost his chance to be guardian of the gates because of me. Can’t tolerate dark magic anymore. Not after nearly dying from it. It’s why he moved to Seattle. He couldn’t watch Zay take the job he wanted.”
He nodded, and rubbed his fingertips along his jeans, as if wiping off a stain. “It’s good we have a state between us now. Good we don’t have to work together.”
He paused again, then, softly, “I’ve never been able to get the taste of his soul out of my mouth.” Shame blinked and seemed to come back to himself. Seemed to notice I was in the room.
“So you want to know if you and Zayvion have a shot at being Soul Complements? More than Terric and I, more than Chase and Greyson. For one thing, neither of you is a screwed-up killer. That’s a step in the right direction.”
“Have you ever told anyone about . . . about this?” I asked.
He shrugged, just one shoulder tucking up toward his ear. “They heard what they wanted to hear. They think what they want to think. I know what I was thinking and feeling. I know what I did. Do I regret it? Every damn day. But that doesn’t change what I did.” He fingered a cigarette out of his pocket, lit it, and exhaled smoke toward the window, which I only now noticed was cracked open.
“You were young. Maybe, what? Nineteen, twenty when it happened?” I asked.
Shame sniffed. “You going to stand here talking about the past all night, or were you actually going to do something to save Zay? ’Cause yakking isn’t doing him much good.”
Okay, I got the hint. Subject closed. For now.
“I’m going to take a shower,” I said.
“Why bother? This is bound to get messy.”
“I don’t care. First I shower.”
“And then?”
“Then I’m going to hunt. My way.”
“I’m coming with you,” he called as I shut the door.
I didn’t want him to, not because of his story, but because he looked exhausted. But I knew there was nothing I could do to stop him, short of getting in a fistfight. Which I’d probably lose. I might not be hurting, but I wasn’t at my best either.
I shucked off the pajamas, and got into the hot water. The marks down my arm and hand were dulled to a flat gray. It was strange to see the marks without the metallic shine, without any color or magic in them at all.
But in a way, it made me feel strong. I hadn’t always had incredible amounts of magic surging through me. Sure, I was born with a small magic. I paused, concentrating on if I still felt that small weight within me. It was there, candle-flame bright, but not as powerful as the magic I usually held.
Still, that wasn’t nothing. And I had a feeling it was a lot more than most people had right now.
I finished washing, got out, got dry, and put on my clothes.
My father had been strangely quiet since we’d hunted Greyson. I wondered if he was still in my mind.
Dad? I thought.
The moth-wing flutter brushed against the backs of my eyes. He was there. A little stronger than he had been before. I swallowed, and tasted the familiar wintergreen and leather of his scents, smelled it in my nostrils, tasted it at the back of my throat.
Still possessed by my dead father? Check.
Small magic still inside me? Check.
Pissed off that some skank and her boyfriend tried to kill my lover? Hells, yes.
I found a brush and pulled my hair back. It wasn’t quite long enough to put in a band, but I’d need a haircut soon to keep it out of my eyes. No time for that now. I had a world to save.
I strode out of the bathroom. Shame must have left and returned. He wore a black trench coat. Belted. I had a feeling he was packing a lot of weapons underneath it.
“How you want this to go down?” he asked.
His eyes were a little glossy, like the grips of a fever raged through him. But he was still himself. Still willing to stand beside me and save Zayvion. I probably shouldn’t, but I trusted the man, dark past and all.