Authors: Devon Monk
“He’s still one of us,” I said as Davy pushed away from the wall and walked, dazed, down the alley toward the car. “Don’t hurt him.”
“I got it,” Jack said.
I grabbed his arm before he passed me. “I mean it, Jack. He’s like a little brother to me. Don’t hurt him.”
Jack just looked down at my hand on his arm, then gave me a steady gaze. I let go of his coat, and he strode down the alley to where Davy was waiting on the sidewalk.
I inhaled and blinked back sudden tears, then pulled out my phone. Things were going to hell. Ant was dead. I’d just looked into his mom’s proud, hopeful eyes and told her I’d do what I could to look after her boy. That I’d take him in and help him on his way to the dream he most wanted to achieve.
Didn’t matter that I’d also told her how dangerous it was. First day on the job—hell not even that, he wasn’t on a job—and he wound up facedown in a dirty alley.
On top of that, Davy was hurt, Jack might be a little trigger-happy, and every time I pulled on magic I felt like it turned me inside out. I crossed my arm over my chest where the burn from yesterday morning still stung, and rubbed my arm to try to stay warm. Davy was right—my left hand was very cold and my right was fevered.
Dad?
I thought, just to see if he was still there, just to see if everything between him and me was the same.
No reply. Which didn’t mean he wasn’t there, but wasn’t exactly reassuring either.
I cleared my throat and dialed Dr. Fisher.
“Dr. Fisher,” she said, a little huskily.
I didn’t think I’d ever been so grateful to hear her voice.
“Hi, this is Allie,” I said, even though I probably didn’t have to because she had caller ID. “Davy Silvers was hurt. By magic. Can you come see him?”
She paused. “Where are you?”
And that’s when I realized it was the middle of the damn night.
“I’m waiting for Detective Stotts to come by. I’m Hounding tonight. But Davy was with me and he’s hurt.”
“Davy’s one of the Hounds?” she asked.
“Yes. You met him a while ago at the den. He’s young—under twenty maybe—thin, blond, always following me around.”
“How is he injured?”
“Magically, otherwise I wouldn’t have called you. I mean I wouldn’t have disturbed you in the middle of the night.”
She paused again. “Allie, I think it might be better if you took him to the hospital. Call 911 if you need an emergency transport.”
I stopped pacing. “Is it because he’s a Hound?” It sounded like I was accusing her of betraying her Hippocratic Oath. I knew I could take him to any one of the hospitals to have him looked at by normal doctors who knew how to treat normal magical injuries.
But one, this was no normal magical injury I’d ever seen before, and two, Dr. Fisher had never once turned me away when I was in trouble.
What had changed?
“Yes,” she said. “Partly it’s because he’s a Hound. Allie, you know I have been very busy. Bartholomew has me . . .” She paused for an extra-long moment, then sighed. “I have a very specialized list of clients and patients I’ve been tending. I simply cannot bring anything else into my practice right now.”
I heard a car brake and an engine turn off. Stotts. Or so I hoped.
“Bartholomew told you not to help me, didn’t he?” I asked.
“This is nothing I want to discuss on the phone,” she said.
Which meant two things—yes, it was Bartholomew, and her phone was tapped—or at the very least her house calls were being monitored. Possibly by Bartholomew.
He was either paranoid or an ass.
“I’m disappointed,” I said. “Good-bye.”
I hung up. I wasn’t going to throw a snit about it. I just needed a way to help Davy before Stotts showed up and got his nose mixed up in my business. Yes, I wanted him to figure out what to do with Ant, but I wasn’t sure I wanted him to help me with Davy.
Hell, I didn’t even know if Davy needed anything more than a good night’s sleep.
Who could I call?
Collins
.
I jumped. I had not expected my dad’s voice so loud in my head.
Who?
I asked.
Eli Collins. A colleague of mine. Very good with magic, and with medicine. Not a part of the Authority. Not anymore.
He’s a doctor?
I asked.
He’s an expert in magical injury.
That was not quite a yes.
He’s trustworthy?
I trusted him when I was alive.
And that wasn’t quite a yes either. But really, what choice did I have?
Do you remember his number?
He did, and I dialed. A cheerful voice with a slight English accent answered. “Good morning, this is Collins.”
It was what? Three a.m.? No one in his right mind should be that happy at three a.m.
“Hello, my name is Allie Beckstrom,” I began.
“Allison. I’ve wondered if I’d ever hear from you. My deepest condolences on your father’s death.”
“Thank you. I understand you’re a doctor?”
“Is that what he told you?”
I heard a car door slam and the hard-soled footsteps of someone headed my way. I paused long enough to listen to the pace. It sounded like Stotts. I thought it was Stotts. But whether it was or wasn’t, I needed to wrap up this call quick so I could deal with whoever was approaching.
“He told me you could help a friend of mine who’s been hurt by magic.”
“I certainly can try. Where would I meet this friend of yours?”
“He’s at the old warehouse next to Get Mugged. Do you know where that is?”
“Get Mugged, the coffee place?” he asked.
“That’s it.”
“Do I need to know anything else before I arrive? Or will this be clean?”
“Clean?”
“Will I need to arm myself?” He sounded amused.
“I wouldn’t. The place is occupied by Hounds and most of them have some sort of weapon on them and are twitchy about strangers. He’s a Hound and he’s hurt. I’m trying to get him medical care.”
“Of course. I shall proceed with the utmost discretion. And you will guarantee payment?”
“Yes.”
“Very well. Pleasure doing business with the Beck-stroms again.”
“Right,” I said, not paying all that much attention. “Good-bye.” A figure was walking toward me—and from his build, his walk, and the trench coat and long scarf he was wearing, I knew it was Paul Stotts.
“Hi, Paul,” I said. “I need to make a quick call. Anthony’s right here.” I pointed at where Ant lay, but didn’t have the heart to look at his still, still body again.
I dialed Jack’s phone.
“Quinn,” he said.
“I’m sending a doctor over. His name’s Eli Collins. I’ll pick up the tab.”
“Got it. Stotts there?”
“Just showed up. How is he?”
“Same.”
“Be there soon.” We both hung up. I turned to Stotts. He handed me a cup of coffee, and I almost wept out of gratitude. I was freezing, sick. Worried about Davy, angry and sad about Anthony. Coatless and tired.
The smell of regular, plain old normal coffee filled my senses and did what it alone could do to ground me in reality. Told me the world was still moving forward, regular people were working regular jobs, coffee was being brewed, all was well somewhere out there.
I took a grateful sip.
“Thank you,” I said.
“So tell me what happened.” Didn’t ask me why I was out, coatless on a cold night, in the middle of an alley with a dead guy at my feet. Of course in my line of work—Hounding—this was just a normal day on the job.
“Anthony came by the den tonight. We were having a sort of . . . memorial for a friend of ours who died.”
“Who?”
“Her name was Chase. She was Zayvion’s ex-girlfriend.”
“How’d she die?” he asked.
“Overdose,” I said without hesitation. It was the lie the Authority had circulated, and the one they expected us to stick to. I think I managed that one word pretty well. And besides, if he checked the records of her death—not that I thought Stotts would suddenly become curious about a stranger’s death when he had a fresh dead person on his hands—he’d see all her stints in and out of rehab. He could probably even shake down a couple dealers and they’d tell him she’d bought from them.
Even though she hadn’t. Even though she didn’t use drugs. Even though it most certainly was an insane magic user from the other side of death who had killed her—quite horribly—with Death magic.
He’d find the cause of death overdose. Because that’s what the Authority said it was. And that’s what they wanted him, and everyone else, to find. The Authority, all those record and paper-pushing people like Tiffany Lowe back at the party, were very thorough about covering the Authority’s tracks.
“So then what happened?” Stotts asked. He knelt next to Anthony’s body, but didn’t touch him.
“He attacked Davy Silvers. They have history.”
“Pike?” Stotts asked.
“Yes. I think Anthony bit Davy—not in a fight. He just walked up behind him and bit him on the shoulder. I don’t know why. Davy hit him. Then Anthony ran out the door. There were a lot of us there. Some who had been drinking. But enough of us heard it and ran out after Anthony to try to stop him.”
“And you happened to find him?”
“Jack Quinn was with me. So was Davy. Jack was using Sight. Thought he spotted Anthony down this alley, using magic. So we got out to follow him. And this is what we found.”
Stotts straightened and looked down the alley and back out at the street.
There was just enough light that the sky had gone from black to a bruised blue. Nowhere near morning, but time was passing. I wondered how long I’d stood here.
“And so you called me. Why me, Allie?”
I took another drink of the coffee. “Could be because you bring me coffee,” I said.
“Or?”
“I think magic was involved. Something ...” I stared at his profile, strong, handsome. A good man who did his part to keep magical crime off the street. I could lie, tell him Anthony had been mixed up in illegal magic—and that had been true at one point, but I was pretty sure he really had done his best to clean up his life and move away from that sort of thing.
“Allie?” Stotts looked over at me.
I decided to tell him the truth. “There was something really strange about him, Paul. He bit Davy—and he’d told me over and over that he was planning to stay out of his way, just as long as I accepted him back into the Hounds.”
“Did you?”
I nodded. “I saw him and his mother this morning—well, yesterday morning. He finished high school. His mother was so proud of him—” I swallowed hard against tears again. This was killing me. I inhaled and pushed all my emotion away. People died every day. I’d seen it. And right now, my job was to hand this over to Stotts to see if he had any idea about the marks on Anthony. Then I’d go back home, or maybe to the den, check on Davy and get another four hours of sleep.
“She asked me if I’d let him back in to the Hounding group. I told them yes. So he came by earlier in the evening, left, and then he came back. What time is it?” I asked.
“Four o’clock.”
“So almost two hours ago, he showed up, bit Davy, and ran off.”
“And how was magic involved?” he asked.
“Jack said he was using magic like he was leaking it.”
“Jack said. What did you see?”
“I didn’t cast.”
He raised his eyebrows and took a drink of coffee. “Want to tell me why not?”
No. But I would anyway.
“It’s making me sick—immediately ill. I don’t know if I’m completely screwing my Disbursements or what, but every time I use it, I feel like I’m going to hurl. So I let Jack hunt him.”
Stotts nodded. “Hold my coffee and step back a bit.”
I did so. He inhaled, exhaled, twisted the ring on his left hand—his wedding ring he still wore even though his wife had died. I noted it was now on his pinky. Maybe it had been there for a while. Maybe it had been there since my friend Nola had been in town.
Interesting.
He cast a nice, clean Sight and held his hand spread wide as he directed the Sight down the alley, back up the alley past me. He frowned.
“You sure you’re feeling okay?” he asked me.
“I’m fine. Cold. Can you hurry?”
He turned back to face Anthony and cast another spell—this one much more complicated. I was once again impressed with his training. For some reason I had this idea that only members of the Authority or Hounds were any good at casting magic. But Stotts could stand shoulder to shoulder with either and more than hold his own.
I couldn’t quite catch the motions since I was standing behind and to the side of him, but it seemed to be a variation on Sight. He didn’t move, didn’t really even seem to breathe. He simply stood there and looked at Anthony. I knew he was looking through magic, seeing things I wished I could see.
“Well?” I asked.
He didn’t answer me, but dropped the spell and pulled out his phone. He thumbed a key. “This is Stotts. I want the van down here. Full containment. And a stretcher. Third grid seven. That’s it.” He put his phone in his pocket and stepped back to me.
“Did you Hound him at all?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“What did you see, Allie?”
“He looked burned out, burned up. Or like tar or something covered him. Smothered him.”
He nodded. “Can you tell the signature of whoever would have thrown a spell like that?”
“No.” A chill washed over my skin. That’s what seemed so weird about it—I mean, yes, it was weird anyway, but there was no signature. It wasn’t like someone had thrown that smothering magic at Anthony. It was more like magic had consumed him without any hand to guide it.
“Allie?” Stotts asked. “Are you going to be sick?”
“No.” I was already sick. But I refused to give in to it. “I need to walk. Is it okay if I go, or do you need me?”
He glanced up at the sky, then at the street. Even though it was only four in the morning, the city was stirring, the sounds of cars and traffic scratching to life, distant, but rising.
“I don’t want you out alone. I’ll call you a cab.”
I considered fighting him on that, but really I didn’t expect him to give in. “I got it.” I dialed, got a cab company. By the time I hung up, a familiar white van pulled up and blocked the alleyway. Stotts’ crew.