by Devon Monk
“If that doesn’t work” I said, “we’ll try something else. Pull over here. This is good. You don’t want to be spotted by the cameras.”
Zay slowed the car and turned down a side street. He stopped the car. I unfastened my seat belt.
“See you soon.”
I put my fingers around the door handle.
Zay reached over and caught my arms. His hands were warm and strong as he dragged me to him.
He didn’t have to drag. I went willingly.
I glanced at his eyes, burning with anger and the gold of magic, then at his mouth, turned down in a frown. He kissed me, hard. And I kissed him back.
Short, hot, needful. His anger and love pulsed through me like a burning, cleansing wave and I wanted to wrap myself in it forever.
But all too soon, he pulled back. He gently let go of my arms as if surprised he’d been holding me so tightly.
“Be safe,” he said.
“You too.”
I got out of the car and headed down the street to the police station. Yes, there were cameras, which meant Bartholomew’s men might have the police station under surveillance. I didn’t think they’d expect to find me here. I didn’t think they’d expect me to walk in through the front doors either.
But that’s what I did. In the front, where the length of the room ended with glass doors, behind which I could see a few police officers working. Detective MacKanie Love was there, working three phones at once, while typing on a computer. I didn’t see his partner, the slim, quiet Mia Payne. I hoped she was okay. She and Love were two police officers who dealt with magical crime. I didn’t take the time to go talk to him. Headed instead down one set of stairs and down another to Detective Stott’s office. I was pretty sure that was where he’d be. I had heard his chair creak when I was on Bea’s phone.
I knocked on the door.
The chair let out a screech, then there were footsteps. The door opened.
“Allie,” Stotts said. “Are you alone?”
“Yes. We need to talk and I don’t have much time.”
He motioned me in, looked up and down the hall, then shut the door and cast a very nice Trip spell—something that would literally trip up the first person who tried to walk over that threshold.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“There’s a lot, but I’m going to give you the basics. We think magic has been poisoned. Zayvion and I went out to one of the cisterns. I could see the black taint in the magic. I think the taint in the magic is what’s been making people sick. But there’s something more. When the Veiled come in contact with magic, the magic changes them. It’s like it poisons them too and they want to bite and feed on magic. I think the Veiled are spreading tainted magic through the city.”
Stott’s office was pretty small, most of it taken up by shelves of files. It had enough room for his desk, a small refrigerator, and a couch with a coffee table in front of it.
I was pacing between the coffee table and the couch, about three steps by three steps, gesturing with my hands, thinking fast. “I think a Veiled stepped into and possessed Anthony, and that’s why he’s dead. I know that sounds kind of crazy, but I saw a Veiled step out of someone, or out of the same space they were both occupying, and it looked like the person was hurt by it. Possessed. Anthony bit Davy, so that might be why Davy isn’t dead yet—a bite is less potent than a full possession. I don’t know how to stop the Veiled, so we need to neutralize the poison in the networks so we can stop the spread of the contagion.”
Stotts inhaled, exhaled. “That’s a lot to take in, Allie. Have you brought this to the attention of the agencies responsible for the maintenance of magic, the cisterns and networks?”
“I brought it to the attention of people in a position to do something about it. They didn’t believe me.”
“There are proper channels you should follow for this,” he said. “Proof that will need to be gathered, tests that need to be run. I can get you in touch with the proper authorities.”
“They won’t listen.”
“Oh? Why do you think that?” he asked.
I stopped pacing. Stotts was a nice man, a good cop, and as far as I could tell, good for Nola. Revealing the secret of the Authority could get him killed.
Not telling him might just do the same.
“There is a group of magic users who have infiltrated every layer of society,” I said. “They know spells and disciplines of magic that no one else knows. Powerful things. Things that magic should not be able to do. They monitor how people use magic, and allow only certain advances and knowledge to be released to the general public. They have established themselves in every decision-making position in our government, our business, and our social communities. That’s who I went to. That’s who told me they didn’t care that magic might be poisoned, didn’t care if people were dying from magic.”
He gave me a long look, gauging if I was telling the truth or had just gone conspiracy theory in the head.
“The things in this city that don’t make sense?” I said. “The things that you’ve seen magic do that you can’t explain? They’re behind that. All of that.”
Stotts finally paced over to his desk, and leaned back on the edge of it. “Let’s say you’re telling the truth and there is a vigilante group of magic users. Why wouldn’t they want magic clean? If it’s tainted, it will be tainted for them too.”
“I don’t know,” I answered. “There’s been a . . . change in leadership. And I don’t know what agenda this new person has.”
“How do you know about all this, Allie?”
“My dad was a part of the group. It was why he was murdered. It was why a lot of weird things have happened here. I only found out about the group after Dad died.”
“Are you working for them?” he asked.
“Not anymore. At first, yes. I did a few jobs.” Let him assume they were Hounding jobs. He understood that Hounds contract out for anyone who signs a paycheck. “But not anymore. I can’t work for someone who turns a blind eye and lets this epidemic spread.”
“I’m going to want names,” he said.
“I’ll give them to you. But I need something from you first.”
He folded his arms over his chest and nodded for me to continue.
“I need you to cover my tracks.”
When he didn’t immediately say no, I continued. “My dad had filters for magic set up when he built the cisterns. People don’t know about these filters because they can only be activated with the right spells, and most of those spells haven’t been released to the public. I can trigger the filters with the right spells. And that’s going to spike on the monitors—your monitors and monitors for the people who don’t want me to be doing this. I want you to mitigate the spike through the lines so it isn’t as severe. You can do that, right?”
He didn’t say anything. Didn’t move. What I had told him could just as easily be a cover-up for something else I wanted to do with the cistern. Like maybe I had bombs set up in the cisterns and wanted him to cover up the spike while I blew the town off its foundations.
“Allie,” he started, resigned, “I can’t just trust your word on this. I can’t trust that your father had some kind of filtration system set up that no one would have discovered and used by now. I can’t trust that what you are doing won’t make matters worse, make magic worse. Possibly kill people. Even if magic is infected, and I’m not the one to say it isn’t, you are not an expert. You’re just a Hound. I’m sorry.”
I’ll admit it, I was surprised. I always thought Stotts would be on my side, would believe me if I told him everything. If I just told him what was really going on. But he was right. There was no evidence in my favor. And I supposed if I did my job right, there never would be.
“If you can bring me proof,” he said, “hard evidence, Allie, then I will do everything in my power to bring this organization down. But I have to have more than just your word to go on. Get me more. Get me something solid. Does your
dad have records?”
“I can look,” I said. “I’ll do what I can to get proof. Thanks for listening.”
“Wait, where are you going?”
“I’m not going to tell you that.”
He held my gaze for a long minute. “All right. Can you give me names? I can start looking into things on this side.”
I knew he wouldn’t find anything out of the ordinary with anyone in the Authority. Sid always did background checks and he’d told me everyone involved in the Authority came up smelling like roses.
But there was one person Sid had not checked into. A man I very much hoped had a shady enough past to bring him down. “I’d start with a man named Jingo Jingo.”
He nodded. “And?”
“And I’ll get you a list of other people tomorrow,” I said. “Right now I have an appointment I’m late for.”
“Don’t do this, Allie,” he said.
“I’m not going to do anything,” I said in probably the most convincing lie I’d ever told. “I’m going to follow up on the filter idea by talking to a few more people who might be in a position to look into it and I’m going to go through some of my dad’s old files. I won’t touch the cisterns. I just, you know, thought if I talked to you, we could help stop this epidemic. But you’re right. It’s bigger than the two of us.”
“I’m not saying I won’t look into your claims,” he said.
I nodded. “Thanks. Oh, and I heard that Nola’s heading home in a couple days. Thought I’d meet up with her sometime tomorrow for a little girl time.”
“She’d like that,” he said.
“Great, it’s all settled then. I’ll call her later. Bye, Stotts.” I paused at the door. “Did you put something here?” I asked. I didn’t have to ask. I could see the spell: a swirling ball of strings and smaller balls that I knew would break apart and trip whoever touched it.
He nodded. Walked to the door, broke the spell there. Smelled like someone with a mouth full of rotten teeth had just exhaled. I didn’t let on how much it stank.
“Be careful, Allie,” he said.
I walked through the door and up the stairs, leaving Stotts, and our chance of any kind of backup, behind me.
Okay, fine. He wasn’t on my side yet, and I didn’t have time to give him hard evidence. Hells, I didn’t even know what kind of hard evidence would convince him to believe me.
But that wouldn’t stop me from trying to filter magic. Surprisingly, I didn’t feel guilty about lying to him. I’d done my best to let him know what was really going on, and I’d promised to rat out some of the Authority members, which I planned to follow through with because I was just that pissed off about the whole thing.
He was sure to see the spike in magic, though. Once we activated those spells, he’d know I had lied about not touching the cisterns. I had, essentially, just made myself culpable to the crime. If activating filters on the city’s cisterns was a crime.
Hopefully it was only a misdemeanor—something along the lines of drawing mustaches on political posters.
I got up the first flight of stairs and the second with nothing but my breathing and shoes sending echoes against the bare walls. Then I pushed out into the main lobby.
Two goons in dark suits were right across the room. Not the charmers I’d seen with Bartholomew but obviously part of the same boxed set.
Unless I was incredibly lucky, they had to be here looking for me.
I was never incredibly lucky.
I didn’t panic, didn’t make eye contact, didn’t walk fast. Just took a nice, easy stroll toward the doors, glad that I was wearing tennis shoes that didn’t clack against the marble floor and draw attention my way.
I could feel them following me. They were at a distance, but they had definitely spotted me. Suddenly the gun in my pocket felt too heavy, too big, like everyone could see it and at any moment I’d be tackled from behind and put up on charges for going into the police department intending to shoot someone.
I couldn’t use magic. Until this moment, I hadn’t realized just how much I relied on it to keep me safe. How was I going to get out of this?
Think, Beckstrom, think.
Too late to go back to Stotts. No cell phone because I threw the damn thing away. No one around to come to my rescue if I yelled for help, and even if I did, that would bring all the focus on me. The police would get involved, which might be good.
Except the Authority would just take over. Then I’d be jailed. Closed. Killed.
Which would be bad.
The best I could do was run. Hide.
I hated running for my life.
I hated dying more.
So I walked out the doors, then ran. They ran after me, two sets of feet. After a few minutes, I heard another set of feet join them. Hells.
I bolted down the closest side street, looking for an alley, a pocket, a stairway, an open door—anything, anyplace I could hide—my heart beating hard and the strangling tickle of fear clogging up my throat.
Ahead was an open garage attached to a hardware store. I dashed through it and tried the door to the warehouse. Unlocked. Hello, luck. Where have you been all my life?
I ducked into the warehouse and hid behind a stack of boxes, listening for the goons behind me. I didn’t have to listen. They were throwing Track spells. I could smell the foul egg stink of their magic getting stronger as they came nearer.
No place to hide here either—or at least not enough that tracking spells would miss me.
Out, then. Out the front. Out fast.
I jogged through the warehouse, looking for the exit. Found it and hit it at a dead run.
Heard the goons’ boots slapping concrete behind me. Couldn’t hear the third man. Didn’t know where he’d gone. Probably for a car.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Faster. I put my stride into it, my legs into it, my fear into it, and ran. Down one block, a side street, an alley. Run. Run. Run.
My breath burned in my lungs—I’m in good shape but I’d traded daily workouts for recovering from death, magical battles, Leander yanking me out of my body, and now, magic making me sick.
Not that I was complaining. I just very aware I was not at my prime.
Which made me pay damn close attention to how I was running and where. I needed to find a place to hide—to really hide—soon. Because my stamina was shot.
Hedges, walls, gated stairways, not a lot of help.
Holy shit, my chest hurt. I couldn’t run forever.
I’d made my way down toward the river, down toward the train tracks and under bridges and through construction. You’d think someone would leave a frickin’ manhole open or something.
Nothing.
Okay, so they were going to catch me. That meant I needed to put my back against a wall and see if my shooting skills were good enough to stop those two assholes.
And look at that. An abandoned brick building just half a block down the tracks. That ought to do.
I jogged across the weeds and chunks of concrete and around the corner of the building where a car could not follow since there was a concrete barrier lining the side and back of the building. I put my shoulder against the building, fumbled in my pocket, pulled out the gun, thumbed off the safety.
The area between the wall and the brick building was tight. As tight as an elevator. I felt my pulse rising, my heart thudding heavy and thick, for another reason. I felt trapped, boxed in, smothered.
My hands were shaking. I knew I had to hold them steady to shoot the gun. I wanted to hold them steady. But I could not make them stop shaking.
I held my breath and listened. The goons were picking their way across the weeds. Still just two sets of footsteps, and one rotten-smelling Track spell.
Okay, Beckstrom, you can do this. Do what Zayvion told you to do: aim the shooty end, squeeze the trigger.
I heard a scuffling of rocks behind me. Looked like third goon decided to go the opposite way around the back of the building so they could
trap me in the middle. I stepped away from the corner enough that I would not be in range if they decided to rush. Then I crouched down. Most people aimed for the chest or face. If they were coming up for me, they’d be expecting someone six feet tall, not four feet tall.
Plus this put the shooty end of the gun just below belt level.
Might not kill them, but it sure would shut them down.
I pivoted on the balls of my feet, ready to shoot to either side.
Scuffles behind me came closer. Sounded like he found a buddy. I could make out two sets of footsteps.
But something wasn’t right with those sounds behind me. The footsteps were in lockstep, like the goons were walking in perfect rhythm. Or like they were four-footed.
I shifted and lifted the gun, shooty end out.
The goon was not one goon. He was not two goons. About the size of a St. Bernard, made out of rock and magic with wings, Stone stood there. He pulled back his lips and gurgled like someone had just run their fingers through marbles. It was a very quiet sound, a lot wheezier than normal. And he looked darker than when I’d last seen him, like the concrete gray of him had gone slate. But he was definitely my buddy gargoyle.
I was so glad he’d found me. That meant I only had two goons somewhere out there toward the front of the building trying to kill me.
Neat.
“Stone!” I whispered. “Good boy. That way. Get the men, Stoney. Attack.”
I stood up and somehow Stone squeezed past me and I managed not to scream from claustrophobia. I wasn’t sure if he understood what I wanted him to do. But it didn’t matter. Stone could be damn intimidating, and certainly distracting, no matter what he was doing.
“Fine,” I called out. “I surrender. I’m coming out peacefully.”
Stone’s ears laid flat against his skull, and his ruff was hunched up. He crouched, ready to spring.
“Go,” I whispered. “Attack.”
Stone jumped on the side of the warehouse, making it ring out like a wrecking ball had just hit it, and started climbing. He was on the roof so quick, he was a blur.
And then he was on the goons.
I could tell, because I heard the screaming.