by Devon Monk
‘‘Allie, I am trying to keep you alive. It would be nice to know these kinds of things.’’
I tried to remember what we were talking about. Oh, yes. Healing.
‘‘Is there anything else you haven’t told me?’’ he asked with a smile. ‘‘Any other abilities you’ve developed? Invisibility? Super strength? Can you crawl up walls?’’
‘‘Oh, please. Get off me, Jones.’’ I giggled and accidentally snorted. Sweet loves, I was getting giddy.
‘‘Are you sure? Okay, fine. Fine.’’ He sat up and levered the back of his seat to a more upright position, then levered mine up too.
‘‘You warm enough?’’ he asked.
‘‘I’m fine.’’ I pulled Zay’s jacket off my lap, where he must have put it when I was knocked out. I wrapped it over my chest and shoulders.
‘‘You didn’t answer my question.’’
I shrugged. ‘‘There’s nothing else I haven’t told you. Just the healing thing.’’
‘‘No big deal. Just the healing thing,’’ he mimicked.
‘‘What is your problem? You don’t think I should have healed the kid? Do you want me to apologize for saving his life? Forget you, Jones. I healed him. Deal with it.’’
‘‘I didn’t say you should apologize, but you could have mentioned it.’’
‘‘When?’’
‘‘Before.’’
‘‘Oh, that’s clear. Before what?’’
The muscle where his jaw and ear met clenched. ‘‘Before we . . . before we went to Nola’s.’’
That was not what he had meant to say. I figured he really meant to say before we slept together. Before we made love.
‘‘I tell you what, man of a million secrets. When you tell me all the things about you and your life that I want to know, I’ll return the favor.’’
Silence. Maybe we were both a little angry. Silence suited me just fine.
It started raining, and Zay flicked on the wipers, both of which squeaked. Miles went by.
Fine. I did not need to coddle man-moods. Instead, I leaned my head into the window, pillowing it with my hand, and tried to think what I should do once we got to Violet’s place.
‘‘Where does she live?’’ I finally asked.
‘‘Who?’’
‘‘Violet.’’
He glanced at me, looked back at the road. ‘‘Don’t you ever read magazines? Watch TV? Read a paper? How can you not know these things?’’
‘‘The last newspaper I read told me my father was dead. And you know what? Maybe I do know this stuff, and maybe I’ve even known it for years, but maybe one of the last dozen times I’ve almost blown my brains out casting magic I lost those memories.’’ My voice was rising. I was angry and, sure, frightened. I’d like to see anyone else go through what I’d been through in the last few days and act like a cheerleader.
‘‘Do you know how many birthdays I remember having as a kid? Three. I’ve seen pictures of all the other ones, but I can’t remember them. None of them. Not even the ones when my mother was still around. Don’t give me shit for the price I’ve had to pay to live my life. I didn’t get a choice about losing my mind. Magic is a heartless bitch, and she’s had me by the throat for years.’’
So much for moody men. Chalk one up for the moody female.
Zayvion let the windshield wipers have their say for a while. Then, ‘‘Sorry. Violet’s been living in the condo with your father since they were married sixteen months ago. Before that, she lived at one of the other properties he owns in the city. The condo is downtown.’’
‘‘I know where the condo is,’’ I grumbled. Realizing just how petty I sounded, ‘‘Thanks, though. I didn’t know when they got married. I never received an invitation.’’
‘‘She didn’t wear white,’’ he offered. ‘‘And I think her flowers were lilacs and daffodils.’’
‘‘You pay attention to the strangest details. Most men would be scoping the crowd for single desperate drunk chicks.’’
‘‘That would be Joan, and she was a friend of the bride’s cousin. Recently dumped.’’
I held up one hand. ‘‘That’s all I need to know about that.’’
‘‘I thought you wanted to know my secrets.’’
‘‘I don’t need to know who you slept with at my stepmother’s wedding.’’
He grinned. ‘‘Okay. Your father looked happy, and maybe a little bewildered. He kept looking over at Violet like she was a puzzle he couldn’t quite figure out.’’
That didn’t sound good.
‘‘There’s not a person in this world my father couldn’t figure out,’’ I said.
‘‘There’s you.’’
I thought about that. He was probably right. My father never understood my motivations, my desires, my needs. He had an idea of who a daughter of his should be and expected me to fill that preassumed role in his life. I’d let him down pretty badly on that account.
But it did make me more curious about his newest wife.
‘‘So tell me about Violet.’’
‘‘What about her?’’
‘‘Do you like her?’’
‘‘She has been good to work for. Fair. Intelligent, but demanding, as you’d expect of someone pushing the edge of the technological magic field. She has a dry sense of humor and is blunt about her opinion. Like some other women I know, she’s a little too stubborn for her own good.’’
I let that comment pass. ‘‘Do you know if my dad gave her a controlling share of the company?’’
Zay glanced over at me. ‘‘I thought you weren’t worried about the money.’’
‘‘I’m not. I’m just trying to figure out why she would have married my dad. I mean, money is the obvious reason, but it could also be for some of the patents for magic and tech integration he owns. I could see a woman who was involved in scientific innovations liking the package he could offer her: security, visibility, ability to take product to market, funding, and access to patented technology. Not to mention friends in low and high places.’’
Zay shook his head.
‘‘What?’’
‘‘Did it ever cross your mind that she might have married him because she loved him?’’
I laughed. No snorting this time. ‘‘Right. Just like his other four money-digging wives.’’
‘‘Five. Or don’t you include your mother on that list?’’
‘‘Low, Jones.’’
‘‘I’ll take that as a no, then.’’
It was the sort of comment that should have made me really angry, and when I was younger I might have even hit him in the nose for it. But I’d had time to think about why my mother married my dad. Maybe it was love in the beginning. I hope there was still love when I was conceived, but for all I know she was in it for the quickly multiplying fortune he was acquiring. I had been told she wasn’t living in the poorhouse overseas. Dad paid alimony to all his wives, and I knew my mom was, for the most part, taken care of because of the years she’d spent with him.
Not that I had heard from her since she left.
‘‘Do you really think any woman would marry Daniel Beckstrom without thinking about how good his wealth was gonna look on her?’’
Zay shrugged. ‘‘Probably not.’’
‘‘You didn’t answer me about the controlling share of Dad’s company.’’
‘‘What about it?’’
‘‘Who holds it?’’
‘‘Now that your father is gone, you.’’
Oh, good loves. Just what I needed. ‘‘So I am the sole heir to the Beckstrom fortune, minus taxes and whatever the other wives get, and I have the controlling share of the company?’’
‘‘Yes.’’
I didn’t know I even had shares in the company, much less enough to swing a vote. Maybe Zayvion was right—I should have read the newspaper more often. ‘‘So much for keeping a low profile.’’
‘‘Well, that, and don’t forget the fact that you’re indicated in
your father’s murder.’’
‘‘I have not forgotten that.’’
He looked over and gave me a small smile. ‘‘Good.’’
Oh. He was trying to make sure my memories were still there. Decent of him, I supposed. It might get a little tedious to be reminded about what I had not forgotten, but it might be nice to be filled in on the things I had lost.
‘‘It’s what, another four-hour drive to the city?’’ I asked.
He nodded.
‘‘Good. I expect to spend most of that time listening to you tell me everything you know about my father, his company, my stepmom, and her inventions.’’
‘‘Really? And if I don’t feel like talking?’’
‘‘We Beckstroms are known for our knack at Influencing people.’’
‘‘Influence doesn’t work on a Grounder, Allie.’’
Hells. He was right. That meant I probably couldn’t force Zay to do anything against his free will. There was something so satisfying about that, I actually chuckled.
‘‘What?’’
‘‘I hadn’t thought about it,’’ I said. ‘‘I suppose it bothered my father.’’
‘‘No, it was one of the reasons he hired me—I couldn’t be Influenced by anyone and he knew I wouldn’t just do what he wanted me to, but would make solid, lawful decision on my own . . . in his best interest, of course.’’
And it also made sense as to why my dad had hired him to follow me. He knew I wouldn’t be able to Influence him either. Like I said, my dad was a thorough, careful man.
‘‘So, what? You’re not going to answer my questions?’’
‘‘I said I couldn’t be Influenced. I didn’t say I couldn’t be bribed. What will you give me if I talk?’’
‘‘How about Nola’s cooking?’’
‘‘It’s a good start.’’
I unbuckled my seat belt and crawled into the backseat. Nola had packed several sandwiches, home-baked cookies, some cheeses and bread, bottles of water, a container of what looked to be soup, a thermos of coffee, and other foil-wrapped things at the bottom of the box that I didn’t bother digging down for.
I pulled out the sandwiches and cookies, grabbed water and the coffee thermos, and crawled back to the front seat.
I unwrapped a sandwich, held it out for Zay. When he reached for it, I pulled it away. ‘‘Talk?’’
‘‘What do you want to know?’’
I handed him the sandwich, unwrapped one for myself. ‘‘How long have you known my dad?’’
‘‘I’ve worked for him for about a year.’’
I noted the slight side step of worked instead of known, but let it pass. ‘‘And my stepmom?’’
‘‘Worked for her for three years.’’
‘‘What did you do before that?’’
‘‘I agreed to tell you about your dad and stepmom, not to fill you in on my personal life.’’
‘‘True.’’ I ate my sandwich—chicken salad—and poured coffee for us both. I figured I had a little time. Maybe by the time we rolled into town he’d open up a little and show me a glimpse of who he really was.
The miles passed quickly, and Zay was adequately generous with the information he shared. But every time I steered the conversation to any time before he had worked for my stepmom, he neatly sidestepped the question.
‘‘I get the feeling you would be a lousy date, Jones,’’ I said.
‘‘Not at all. I’m a good date. Talkative, informed on current events. I even still open doors for women—out of respect, not condescension. But this isn’t a date. Is it?’’
‘‘Absolutely not. I’d expect more than a boxed lunch in a car.’’
The afternoon light was fading into evening, and the cloud cover that had not lifted all day created an early, false dusk. The drive up the I-5 freeway had shown buildings made of wood and brick with plenty of space around them slowly change to the crowded stone, glass, and iron architecture of smaller cities. Soon those buildings traded up into high-rises and skyscrapers.
Once inside the city limits, I couldn’t stop scratching my arm. The concentration of magic here was so high I felt like a string pulled tight and buzzing in the wind.
‘‘You okay?’’ Zay asked.
I stopped rubbing at my arm with my palm and nodded. ‘‘It itches.’’
‘‘Want me to try?’’
I knew what he was asking. Did I want him to Ground me, to drain the magic that filled me so full? It had never been like this before. Sure, I could contain a little bit of magic, but now I felt like a circular river, magic pouring up through my feet, filling me until it poured out of me to fall back down into the ground again. And since I wasn’t actually using the magic, I wasn’t paying a price for it cycling through me. Except for the itching, that is.
‘‘Here,’’ Zayvion said when I didn’t answer.
He put his hand on my left arm, and took a deep breath. The mint-cool poured out from his hand, washed across my shoulders, and cooled down my arm. I put my head back against the headrest and moaned.
‘‘Oh, good. Really good.’’
He kept his hand there for a little while longer, and when he finally let go, the cool mint lingered.
‘‘Thanks,’’ I said. ‘‘And thanks for the other times too.’’
‘‘You’re welcome. This would be a good time for you to duck down below the window level and try not to use magic at all. Do you think the Hounds can find you on smell alone?’’
I reclined the seat until I was lying almost fully back. I was still upright enough that I could see the streetlights go by as we made our way through the edge of the city, heading downtown.
‘‘Bonnie knows me. If any of them broke into my apartment, they probably got my scent. Except the building leaches old magic when it rains, so the stink might have covered my olfactory signature.’’
‘‘Let’s hope so. Maybe now would also be a good time for you to meditate and try to stop glowing like a neon sign.’’
‘‘I’m glowing?’’ I held up my hand. In the low light of false dusk, all I could see was my hand. The lines were darker than my skin, but no glowing.
‘‘Not physically. Magically. Think you can dampen the amount of magic you’re channeling?’’
‘‘I don’t know. This isn’t exactly something I’ve had any experience with.’’
‘‘Now would be a terrific time to try.’’ He sounded worried, and that worried me.
I closed my eyes, felt overwhelmed by the colors and textures and tastes of the magic racing through me, and snapped my eyes open again. Too easy to get lost. I stared at the car’s overhead light, which was dark, and whispered a meditative mantra.
Think calm thoughts, I thought. Think of the magic as air, no color, no taste, invisible. It comes into me like air, unseen, it exhales with my breath, unseen.