by Devon Monk
“Soul Complements are in a unique position. When they work magic together, they are able to briefly break magic into its dark and light states, and cast it once again with the full force and effect it once offered.”
Not news. Not even worth rehashing. There’d been a hustle back in the early-postapocalypse days to try to find more Soul Complements. To seek the poor suckers out and shove this happy screwed-if-you-do, screwed-if-you-don’t life down their craws.
Hadn’t worked. One, the system for judging if when two people use magic together they are so in sync they can break it used to involve several dozen experienced magic users and a fine manipulation of magic for both the testees and the testers. With the dulling of magic, that system was simply not viable anymore.
Two, there are a lot of people in this old world. And since everyone can use magic if they want to, tracking down perfect matches was damn near impossible and turned out to be a waste of time, what with all the magic haters out there.
We’d given up, and done our best to keep the whole Soul Complement situation on the down-low.
“We have recent proof that high-ranking government officials in major countries are now aware of Soul Complements and what they can do with magic. They know there aren’t many Soul Complements in the world, but we believe they have their names and information. They know that Soul Complements can break magic.”
Huh. Maybe the redheaded assassin was government issue. Still didn’t explain why she hadn’t shot us.
“We believe governments are screening magic users and setting up protocol to search for Soul Complements.”
“For real?” I asked. “Why do they give a damn?”
Shut-up glares zinged my way from all corners.
I didn’t care. Life was a lot more fun now that magic couldn’t do the bigger “shut up, Shame” spells I’d been dealt in the past.
The Overseer didn’t seem overly bothered by the question. “We believe, Mr. Flynn, that they intend to use Soul Complements to break magic and use magic either as a resource, or a weapon. They are certainly more interested in finding Soul Complements than makes me comfortable.”
“Right, sure,” I said. “Who wouldn’t want to get their hands on the only people who can use magic to kill, destroy, and yada-yada ultimate destruction. What do you think we can do about it? Go on strike? Sign a petition?”
I wasn’t going to lie. I had a bad feeling of exactly what he wanted us to do about it. Probably something heroic like band together and take down the government forces that wanted to use magic for less than savory reasons.
And while some people, like Zay and Allie and Terric, would probably line up like good little soldiers and do just what was expected of them, I wasn’t good at doing what I was told.
Ever.
“That is why I am here,” he intoned. Yes, intoned.
“We believe you are each in grave danger and may, even now, be targeted. Our intelligence suggests government forces want you alive. But we cannot be one hundred percent sure of that.
“This meeting is both a warning and an offer of assistance. If you want to go into hiding, we in the Authority can make that happen. If you want security guards, we can provide that too. But it is of the highest importance you understand you are in terrible danger before you make the decision of how you want to go forward.”
I wondered how the other Soul Comps were taking the news of their sudden popularity.
They looked startled. Even old Doug and Nancy had gone a whiter shade of white. I’d say they were going to run. All of them. They were going to hide.
Good on them.
Then I glanced at Allie and Zay. They were staring straight ahead at Moretti with that odd blank look Zay had once told me meant they were speaking to each other silently.
Creeped me the hell out that they could do it, but I had to admit it would be useful.
They were also holding hands, fingers slipped one between the next, pale, dark, pale. I didn’t expect them to run. Hide? Maybe.
No way the old Zavyion would have run, but now that Allie was in his life, he was all about safer decisions. Being responsible.
And boring.
Allie, though . . . there was something about her. She had that tough-as-nails but fragile-as-glass thing going on. I’d seen her handle some really crappy situations, most of them while her life was on the line.
So death threats weren’t anything she hadn’t heard before. She knew how to deal with death. Dying did not scare that chick. She’d done it too damn many times.
But this threat shook her. Her hand in Zay’s was so tight I could see the bone of her knuckles. And her other hand was flat across her stomach as if just thinking about someone out to kill her and Zay made her sick.
It was . . . weird.
I frowned, caught Zay’s eyes. He gave me a blank stare.
No, that wouldn’t do at all.
I slid my gaze to Allie’s hand over her stomach, then right back at him.
Well, mate? What’s that all about?
Gold flashed in his eyes like paint hitting ink. Not a speck of brown left, only violent anger.
Holy shit. Z didn’t like me pointing this out to him. I wondered what the hell I was pointing out to him.
I gave him a sly I-know-what’s-going-on-here smile, even though I had no clue what had made him so angry.
He tipped his head down just enough to tell me, he knew I knew, and he’d talk to me about it later.
Good. It was going to be all kinds of fun to find out what he didn’t want me to know.
He lifted a finger and pointed at the stage.
Right, there were important people talking about important things.
I’d heard the only thing that really mattered—someone wanted me dead.
Big deal. The line started on the left.
Up onstage, Terric was wide-eyed and still, like a deer caught in rifle sights who’d just heard a stick snap. He was frozen, staring at me. I wasn’t sure if he was breathing.
Fuck. Of all the time for him to lose his composure.
I started toward the stage. No need for everyone to be staring at him like that.
“I am sorry, Mr. Flynn,” the Overseer was saying.
Hold on. I must have missed something.
“About what?” I asked, still moving toward Terric.
“About relieving you and Terric Conley of your position as Head of the Authority here in Portland.”
Chapter 4
“What?” I stopped, twisted on my heel so I could face the guy. I was still on the floor and he was up on the slightly raised stage. “You’re firing me?”
“I am ending your position and will be reassigning a new Head of the Authority to speak for the magic users in Portland.”
My brain was running a beat behind my mouth. “Don’t bother. It should be Terric. He should be the Head of the Authority,” I said. “Just because I fuck up doesn’t mean he has to take the fall.”
“Mr. Flynn.” He somehow made my name sound like a venereal disease. “I have made my decision. You are both relieved of your duties as of today. I expect each of you to turn over your files and offices, clean out your desks, and assist in the transfer of duties to the new Head of the Authority.”
I was almost at the stage now. My brain had finally caught up with my mouth and run into anger on the way.
“Who’s that unlucky bastard?”
“If you shut your mouth,” he snapped, “I will announce his name.”
Bet if he could use magic like the old days I would have just earned myself a three-month crotch rash.
“Shame.” Terric waved his hand and pointed for me to come stand beside him.
Oh, God no. If Terric had his wits back, then I was not needed up there. I hated smiling and making nice. Especially in front of a crowd.
The Overseer stowed his sneer beneath his mustache and addressed the room. “It is my great pleasure to announce to you the new Head of the Authority in Portland: Clyde Tu
rner. Mr. Turner, please come up to the microphone.”
Now I didn’t have to make nice. I happened to like Clyde, poor sod.
Clyde was a regular kind of guy who looked like he belonged in a beer commercial. Didn’t get in anyone’s business and made it clear that people could stay out of his. He was currently the Voice, or representative, of Blood magic here in town—a position my mum had abandoned after the world almost ended.
The crowd got it right this time and clapped while he walked from the side of the room to the stage. He was wearing the same combination that he always wore: baseball cap on backward, flannel shirt over a team jersey—Giants. He shook hands with the Overseer, then stuck his fingers in his jean pockets while he leaned forward toward the microphone.
“Thank you for your applause. But I’d like us all to take a moment to show some appreciation for Terric Conley and all the hard work he’s done for this city over the last three years.”
Terric smiled and did the hand wave thing again to get me up on the stage. I really didn’t think he’d want me up there stealing his sunshine, but hey, who am I to argue?
I walked up the stairs nearest Terric. The applause faltered as I crossed the stage, and was completely silent when I stood next to him.
But now that I was this near, I could see the tension bleed out of him just a fraction. Yeah, the tie between us worked that way for him too. Some things were easier for him when I was around. Still, the majority of things, important things like living, were harder.
He was really wound up over this firing thing. Probably worried it would look bad on his résumé.
“...and Shamus Flynn did his part too,” Clyde finished.
Faint praise, and true. But he didn’t mean it to sound derogatory, and I didn’t take it that way. When Clyde had a problem with me, he let me know. No bullshit from that guy.
“I will do everything in my power to listen to the concerns of the magical community here in Portland and make sure magic is running smoothly and working efficiently with the nonmagical businesses and communities in the Northwest.
“Now”—he glanced over his shoulder at the Overseer—“is there more that needs to be discussed on the stage, or should we open this up to a full conversation?”
Mr. Moretti strolled over to the microphone. “There is just one last thing. Please, each of you who are a Soul Complement, ask me any questions you have. I will need to know by tomorrow morning what your decisions are: to stay, to retreat. Remember we have places in all the world where you can hide.
“I will hold a second meeting with the Voices tomorrow afternoon, and tomorrow evening we will have a plan in place to accommodate the needs and safety of Soul Complements. Please make your decisions swiftly and carefully.”
Decent of him. Didn’t think it was going to help much. Unless the Authority had a hell of a lot more guns and technology than I knew about—which I didn’t imagine they did seeing as how they’d spent hundreds of years relying on magic to take care of their problems—then it was just a matter of time before the government outpowered whatever the common magic users were doing to try to help the Soul Comps.
Cue the conversation. The rise of voices stroked across my senses and rattled my hunger loose. Sure, Terric’s magic had helped push the need to feed away a bit, but this many people in one place, especially all worked up with heartbeats elevated, triggered my need to drink them down. The whole rich, alive stew of them.
But if I started feeding, I’d wipe out the room, then wipe out every living thing in the building and probably a block radius.
I stuck my right hand in my jacket and ran my thumb over the Void stone rings, rubbing them together when what I really wanted was to tear something, anything, apart. Breaking things kept my mind off the need to feed.
Terric’s hand landed on my shoulder and I shivered at the rush that shot down my spine and clenched my gut. Life magic right there inside him, easy for the picking.
Jesus.
He leaned in close enough he didn’t have to raise his voice over the sound of the crowd. “Be nice, shake hands, make it quick. We’re going to the office to take care of things.”
“Why would I want to go to the office?”
His hand squeezed until my neck hurt. “Because. I. Need. You. To.”
Then he released my shoulder and walked away, calm and smiling, and in control. The bastard.
I strode across the room, making eye contact with anyone who looked at me. They all looked away. Terric played his part. Shook hands, made conversation, appeared concerned for people.
But I was doing them the highest favor of all: getting the hell away from them.
Eleanor drifted along beside me, arms crossed, and frowning.
I stopped halfway down the hall and fumbled for a cigarette. Pulled out the pack and tapped out two. Lit one, which burned to ash in my shaking hand almost too quickly for me to use it to light the other cigarette.
I inhaled, savoring chemicals and tobacco, and more so, savoring the burning, destructive death of plant matter and paper. Got about halfway through it before I noticed Eleanor was pointing at a NO SMOKING sign.
“Sorry, love,” I said. “I’m immune to rules. Followed too many when I was young.” I exhaled smoke. “Built up a tolerance.”
I leaned on the wall next to the sign, finished off the cigarette, and lit another one. Even at this distance and through the Mute spell, I could feel their heartbeats, could feel the pulse of their lives filling that room like warm, thick water I wanted to drown myself in.
Terric was in there. I could sense him like a clear beam of light in the dark shit hole of my life. Sure, I could consume all those people. Or I could consume him. He’d be better. Far better than the entire population of this city.
Then he’d be dead.
“You know what?” I said, pinching out the smoldering end of the cigarette with my fingers. Ouch. Yeah, even pain could feed my need, if necessary. “I’m done waiting. Let’s go.”
Eleanor pointed at the closed door to the meeting room, then tapped her wrist like she had a watch there. She didn’t, but I got her point.
I hadn’t waited very long for Terric.
“I’ll leave him a note, all right?” I was already walking toward the elevator and she, of course, followed along.
When I’d first killed her, I could hear her. She had been angry, furious. But as time went on, it was harder and harder to hear her. Either that was how it always was for ghosts, or maybe it just took a hell of a lot of emotion to make words carry between the living and dead.
Charades usually got her point across, and even though it meant I talked out loud to myself like some kind of crazy, it worked.
Plus, it made people avoid me. So, win-win.
Didn’t see anyone on the main floor.
Outside. Still too damn sunny and freezing. October sky was blue, but the air was bitch-cold. I flipped up my collar and strode up the block to Terric’s car.
Pulled a piece of gum out of my pocket, chewed. Smoothed out the gum wrapper, pulled out a pen. Used the top of his hood to write See U There on the gum wrapper, then spit out the chewed gum and stuck it and the note on his windshield, dead square in the middle of his field of vision.
“There,” I said to Eleanor. “Note. Let’s get moving.”
Buses were a bad idea—too many people. Same for the light rail. I had enough money for a cab, but walking was good. The motion, the burning of calories, did a lot to satisfy my need to destroy, consume. But there was no way in hell I was walking clear across town.
I’d probably catch the MAX—light rail—on the other side of the bridge.
Forty, twenty-seven, three, sixteen. I counted the people in the shops I passed, could tell by their heartbeat if they were young, old, or really old.
Hardest to ignore were the young and old, both so close to one side of the grave. Easy pickings.
I shoved my hands harder down in my coat pockets and dug my nails into the weave of my
pockets, tearing at the threads.
Could this day tick by any damn slower?
I needed to feed. And if not that, because fuck me if I was going to kill anyone today, I needed a damn drink. Several, actually. Something to take the hard light out of the day, and sand all the edges off the world.
I was about a block away from the bridge when the slick black Corvette rolled up and stopped just in front of me. I probably should have been paying attention, but survival hadn’t really been my thing lately.
“Hey, you!”
I pulled my chin up out of my coat collar, and the world snapped down around me with all its clean, hard edges.
Situation: two guys in dark coats stepping out of the car. Driver built like a lumberjack, hair skinhead chic with a shaved lightning bolt, or maybe scar showing skin about three inches into his hairline above his right eyebrow. Unibrow, eyes set too close together, old acne scars.
Other guy was skin over bone. Goat face, long nose, eyes set too wide. Hair shaved up both sides left to fall in a greasy swatch over one eye. Half a hardware store worth of hooks pierced his ears, eyebrows, and down the left side of his neck.
I didn’t know these jackasses. I kept walking.
“I’m talking to you,” Driver yelled. Driver also started toward me with a swagger that made it look like he was an inch short in one leg.
I flipped him off.
He kept coming, and even though I shouldn’t, I stopped. “What is your problem?” I said.
“You know a buddy of ours,” Driver said.
“Doubt it. I don’t hang out with assholes.”
Driver smiled, showing a lot of gold on those teeth.
“Sure you do,” he said. “Met him in an alley over on MLK this morning. Called the cops on him.”
He must be talking about the ox. I wondered if these were the two men Terric had sent running.
“We don’t like people who inconvenience our friends,” Goat-face said. He had a slight lisp. He also had a baseball bat.