by Devon Monk
“You staying?” I asked Davy.
He looked around the room, his gaze resting on Sunny. “Don’t feel like driving.”
I gave him a look.
“I mean,” he amended, “I wouldn’t dream of driving since I drank one whole beer four whole frickin’ hours ago. You?”
“Think I’ll drag Zayvion home.” I glanced at Terric, who was standing in front of the windows that overlooked Get Mugged. He had a beer in his hand and was drinking it while humming to himself. There was no way he was sober.
“Let me see what I can do with Terric,” I said.
“Go get him, Mom.”
“Shove it, Silvers.”
I walked over to Terric. He must have seen my reflection against the dark window.
“Hello, Allie,” he said quietly. “Whatever are you up to?”
“I’m offering to take you back to my place, where you can sleep on a couch. Or I’m offering to leave you here, where you can sleep on a couch.”
“Lot of couches in those offers.” He took a drink of beer.
“I can call you a cab.”
“Mmm.” His eyes, in the dark reflection of the glass, shifted. And I knew why. Shamus was walking this way.
I turned. Was going to say something, but Shame spoke first.
“I got him,” Shame said. He was sober. I didn’t think I’d seen Shame take so much as a sip of beer. “So, Ter, you gonna stare out at the empty all night?” He put his hand on Terric’s shoulder. “Or you going to put your shirt on, for all that’s decent, man?”
“I’m not wearing a shirt?” Terric sounded surprised.
“Nope.” Shame handed him his shirt. “It’s right here.”
“How do you do that? Find my shirt like that? You always know. When I need stuff.”
“Yes. I always know you need a shirt.” Shame gave me a tolerant look. He apparently had done this with Terric more than once. “If you’d stop shedding your clothes every time you drink, I wouldn’t have to try to keep you from getting arrested for indecent exposure.”
“Mmm,” Terric said. “True. Don’t want to do that again.” He worked on getting his arms into his shirt’s sleeves.
“No, three times is enough,” Shame drawled. “I’m done bailing your naked ass out of jail.”
Terric got into the shirt and buttoned most of the buttons. “False arrest. I wasn’t naked.”
“Socks don’t count, Ter.”
“You want me to call you guys a cab?” I asked. “Unless . . . is Tiffany still here?”
“No,” Shame said, “she is not. We don’t need a cab. Ter’s gonna sleep it off on the floor.”
I hesitated. Terric had finished buttoning his shirt, and put his beer down, carefully, on the windowsill.
“What happened to all the couches?” he asked.
“Fine,” Shame said. “You can sleep on the couch.”
“I’m not tired.”
“Maybe not,” Shame said, taking Terric’s elbow and guiding him over to the couch. “But we are tired of you.”
Terric nodded. “Sensible.”
Shame steered Terric until he was sitting on the couch. “There you go. I’ll find you a blanket and a barf bucket.”
“No.” Terric reached out for Shame and somehow caught the sleeve of Shame’s hoodie. “Tiffany’s okay,” he said. “You don’t need my opinion, but I don’t care. Happy for you and all whatever. But just . . . Could you stop with the anger? It’s not my fault we can use magic. It’s not my fault we work so good together. And I really . . .” He looked up at Shame, searching for something in his face. “I really want us to be . . . something.”
Shame rubbed his fingers over his head, as if trying to wipe away Terric’s words. “We are something, Terric,” Shame said quietly. “You are drunk and I am tired. Go to sleep.”
Terric laid back on the couch and propped his arm over his eyes. “You know what I mean, Shamus,” he said in a soft voice. “You want it too. Friends. Us. You know I’m right.”
“So full of shit.” Shame walked away to the bunks against the far wall, apparently having forgotten he had promised Terric a blanket.
I walked in the opposite direction and pulled out a spare blanket from the shelf. I draped it over Terric, who had already passed out, and took a look at the rest of the room. Davy had claimed the top bunk with Sunny and they were whispering to each other. Shame settled into one of the reclining chairs that faced the windows and stretched his legs out.
Everyone else was asleep, including Zayvion, who was sprawled across the largest couch, which he had folded back to double the sleeping space.
Looked like my choices were to wake Zay up, drag him out into the cold and drive him home, then up the three flights of stairs to my house, or just walk a few feet and curl up beside him.
I chose easy, and settled down on the couch next to him. Zay shifted so I could put my head on his chest and my leg over his.
“Everyone done?” he mumbled, only half awake.
“Yes,” I said. “Everyone is very done.”
Even though there were plenty of people snoring, and thoughts about Shame and Terric, and Zay, and even the Veiled kept circling in my head, I slept a lot better than I expected. When I dreamed, all I saw were flashes of green light and the Veiled walking through bodies.
Sometime in the middle of the night, when it felt as if I’d only been asleep long enough to begin dreaming, I heard a soft knock at the door. Feet hit the carpeted hardwood, and from the pace, I knew it was Davy shuffling to the door. He probably hadn’t even gone to sleep yet.
I wondered who was at the door. Someone must have left something behind, or maybe Grant was back to try to convince Terric to go home with him.
Davy held his breath briefly while he looked out through the peephole. Then I heard him slide the chains and bolts.
“Thought you fucking went home,” Davy said. “Everyone’s asleep. Party’s over. Go away.”
There was a pause. A whisper I couldn’t quite catch. I rolled onto my side so I could see what was going on. The light from the hall threw the person in the doorway in shadows. I wasn’t sure who Davy was talking to, couldn’t catch his voice, couldn’t see his face.
Then Davy stepped back, walking away from the door, and the person followed him into the room. It took a second for my eyes to adjust, but I could finally make out who it was–Anthony.
Well, no wonder Davy was upset.
I shifted to go back to sleep when I realized something wasn’t right. Anthony was following Davy, and I mean close on his heels. I guess Davy was tired enough not to notice. But Anthony didn’t look right.
Then I saw it—a spark of green light.
“Davy?” I sat.
Davy stopped and Anthony ran into him.
Davy yelled.
Anthony hadn’t just run into him, he had bit him on the shoulder.
Davy spun away and slammed a fist into Anthony’s face. Anthony reeled back. He turned and ran, holding his hand over his bloody nose.
Davy was shaking. The room filled with people startled awake and ready to kick ass. But none of us were fast enough to stop Ant before he ran out the door.
I ran, rushing past Davy, who was swearing, out into the hall, barefoot, breathing hard. Footsteps pounded from the room behind me, the faintest hush of shoes on the stairs ahead of me leading down.
Down.
I hit the stairs at a dead run. Heard the front door bang closed before I’d even made it down a flight. Didn’t care. Just kept going.
Made it to the bottom floor, bare feet slapping hard on the cold marble. I pushed out the front door, looked up and down the dark street. Didn’t see anyone on the street at all.
I took a deep breath, shivered at the icy cold, set a Disbursement—headache this time—and drew a Sight spell. I pulled magic into it. The world broke into shades of old magic among vibrant new spells, bright neon dripping down buildings, pastels drifting along the empty street.
; Didn’t see Anthony, and couldn’t hold the spell any longer.
Magic burned, sticky and painful, down my arm to my fingertips. I clenched my teeth to keep from throwing up. What was wrong with me?
I canceled the spell and stood there, shaking, barefoot in the night, trying not to lose the peppermint tea I’d drunk a few hours ago. I swallowed hard against the bile rising in my throat and blinked back pain tears.
My arm felt swollen and hot and heavy. Something was really wrong.
It took me a minute—not a good sign—to notice there were people around me. Zay, Shame, Davy, Bea, Sunny, Jack. It took me more than that minute to realize they were talking, making some kind of plan to hunt Anthony down.
“ . . . take the east blocks,” Zayvion said. “Got that?”
Everyone agreed and split up, Zay and Shame jogging off to his car, Sunny and Bea headed down the street, and Davy and Jack standing there staring at me.
“You want to go get your shoes or what?” Jack finally said.
“Right.” I walked back into the building and took the stairs as quickly as I could. The sticky pain in my arm was easing and I didn’t feel quite as sick.
So, that was good news.
I found my shoes and made it back downstairs in no time. I was feeling better, though still moving a little like I was walking against a hard wind.
Jack threw his cigarette down, crushed it, and tipped his head. “You okay?”
“Sure. Why?”
“You haven’t said anything about the plan, and you generally make a point to tell us it’s wrong and boss us around.”
We started walking toward Davy’s car.
“I missed the plan.”
They both paused. “You sick again?” Davy asked.
“I’m fine.”
“When you cast magic—did it make you sick?” he persisted.
“It’s been a long damn day,” I said.
“So, yes.”
“Yes.”
He glanced at Jack. “Ever heard of that?”
“What?” Jack said. “That magic hurts? Gee, no, Silvers. That’s headline news.”
“Ass,” Davy said. “You setting Disbursements?”
“Davy,” I said, “drop it, okay? I’m fine. What’s the plan?”
Davy keyed the locks on his car. Jack took the backseat, which I hadn’t really expected. I took the front and shut the door.
The door hadn’t even latched before Davy did a very illegal U-turn, rolled the wrong way down a one-way street for half a block, then turned west.
“Is it only when you use Sight?” Davy asked.
“The plan,” Jack said over my response, “is to hunt that little pecker.”
“You throwing first?” I asked.
Jack shrugged. “That’s fine.” He took in a breath, held it, clearing his mind and focusing on the glyph he drew, then pulled magic into it.
It was a form of Sight, not the same one I used, but both our spells were subclasses of Sight. It didn’t seem to make him sick. Figured.
“You okay?” I asked Davy. “Did he bite you?”
Davy’s jaw clenched and so did his knuckles on the steering wheel.
“I think so. Haven’t had a chance to see how deep it is, but so help me God, if he drew blood, I’m going to break his jaw. I’m serious, Allie. I don’t care how much you think he can redeem himself. He’s an ass. Even Pike would have given up on him by now.”
I rubbed my eyes with my left hand, my fingers icy cold, even though my right arm still burned hot. “I can’t think of anything to excuse this,” I said.
Well, unless maybe that green spark I’d seen was caused by a Veiled. I didn’t think Davy would take that reason as an excuse for getting bit. I’d just have to find another way to help Anthony once we got this straightened out. Maybe Sid would take him on as a private student and make sure he stayed far, far away from Davy.
“Hounds don’t harm Hounds,” I said. “Not at the den. He knows that. I’ll tell him it’s off-limits and try to hook him up with someone else.”
“Finally, there’s sense coming out of your mouth.” He glanced in the rearview. “Anything?”
“Nope,” Jack said. “Keep driving.”
Jack canceled the spell, and drew another. I didn’t know how far out he was casting, and I didn’t feel like drawing on magic to find out. If I had to guess, I’d say he was looking in maybe a three-block radius, which would be a more detailed view than throwing Sight any wider.
“Your right shoulder?” I asked Davy.
He nodded.
“Want me to look?”
“Sure.”
I unlatched my seat belt and turned on the overhead light. I glanced back at Jack, but he was looking out the window and didn’t seem to care about the light. Looking through Sight, electric light wouldn’t make that much of a dent in what he could see. Spells, especially new ones, outshone regular light. Any Hound worth a paycheck knew how to see the older, ashy spells through the glare. Since we were looking for Anthony, we were looking for new spells—things he would use to hide or conceal himself.
Davy wore a T-shirt, and I was pretty sure he had been wearing that when Anthony came in the room.
I pulled his sleeve up.
“Ow!” he said. “Too hot and too cold. What are you using? A lighter and an ice cube?”
“My fingers.”
“Your fingers hurt.”
I touched my fingers to my face. Hot and cold, yes, but not enough that I’d yelp about it.
“Don’t be a baby.” I pulled his sleeve up to reveal the top curve of his shoulder. He hissed.
I didn’t see any marks, but his skin was bruised. From the yellow of the light and the slide of traffic lights rolling through the windows, I couldn’t tell how bad it really was.
“Does it hurt?”
“Your fingers hurt.”
“Does your shoulder hurt?” I asked.
“Higher up is more sore. Maybe he just stabbed me.”
“Maybe.” I dropped the edge of his sleeve and plucked at the material of his shirt so I wouldn’t brush his skin.
I tugged the neck of his shirt back enough that I could see higher on his shoulder, at the base of his neck. “You’re bruised,” I said. “It’s a weird black-green. But I think that’s just the edge of it. I can’t tell if it’s bleeding or not. There’s no blood on your shirt, though.”
“Did you have to choke me just to tell me it’s hurt?”
“I didn’t choke you,” I said settling back into my seat.
“You made it worse.”
“It hurts more?”
He sat forward so as little of his back as possible touched the seat. “I told you it hurt. You had to stab at it.”
“Davy, I barely touched you,” I said gently.
“Don’t barely touch me again.”
That didn’t sound like Davy. Even when he felt like hell, he never lashed out like that. Something was wrong.
“Got him!” Jack pointed at the window, his finger thumping into the glass. “He’s down that alley and throwing magic like a son of a bitch. Stop the car, Davy.”
Davy just kept driving.
“Davy,” Jack said. “Stop the damn car.”
Davy slammed on the brake and Jack bolted out the door.
“You stay here, okay?” I said to Davy. I did not need him killing Anthony. And from the anger rolling off him, I was pretty sure that’s just what sort of mood he was in.
He didn’t answer, just stared straight ahead, breathing a little hard. I got out of the car and Davy started coughing. Maybe he wasn’t feeling well. Why hadn’t I noticed that before?
Still dark, still cold, I shoved my hands in my pockets to keep from casting a spell. Right now, I was going to be backup and let Jack handle point. If Anthony threw something at either of us, I’d reconsider my position.
The alley stank of stale water and restaurant garbage, something with a curry overtone coming up out of the sewer grate.
Jack walked straight down the alley like he was strolling through broad daylight. And since he had drawn another Sight spell, I assumed he could see everything as clearly as if the sun were out.
I just kept my eyes, ears, and nose sharp, and looked for any sign of Anthony.
That’s when my phone rang.
Jack threw a Mute at me, and I didn’t bother blocking the spell. I pulled out my phone and glanced at it. Zay.
“What?” I asked as I navigated over a pile of wet paper and something that looked like a tangle of pantyhose, or a gutted octopus.
“Bartholomew called us in. Shame and I. You find Anthony?”
“Jack has a line on him but no visual. We’re still looking.”
Zay paused, probably trying to figure out how to be next to me and how to follow his boss’s orders at the same time.
“I’ll see you back at the den after you’re done,” I said. And then I hung up.
There we go. Problem solved. He could go see what the almighty Mr. Wray wanted him and Shame to do, and I’d corner Ant and shake him until his brains poured out his ears.
The Mute Jack had thrown wore off slowly, little things coming to my attention. First the sound of traffic, then the whistle of a far-off train, and finally the sound of Jack, being very quiet as he took off running.
I was right on Jack’s heels. I didn’t see Anthony.
We booked it to the end of the alleyway. And then Jack stopped. Fast. So fast, he threw both hands out to keep me from taking another step, just like someone would do if they were standing at the edge of a sudden cliff.
Or what they would do if they were standing next to a dead body.
Chapter Six
I had fast enough reflexes to stop in time. Still, once I glanced down at the dead body, I felt like a Mack truck had just run me over.
It was Anthony.
He was dead.
Jack wasn’t casting anything. He was just standing there, very, very still. He finally fished a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it. Then he took two steps backward.