Authors: Devon Monk
“Yes,” she agreed. “And I’m not at all happy that I’ve been relieved of my position in the Authority. But it’s very nice of Bartholomew to let us keep our home and business here.”
Shame swore, and pushed up to his feet. “Nice? That bastard took everything we had—everything you have worked hard years for, Mum. He took—”
“Shame,” Hayden cut in. “Enough. Your mother’s tired. Don’t make this miserable for us all.”
Okay, so I could guess she didn’t know she had been Closed. So we what? Tried not to point out the things she didn’t know?
There was no chance in hell I would be able to keep track of all that. Especially not with a hit to the head.
“Maeve?” I said.
“Yes, dear?”
“Do you know they Closed you?”
Shame threw both hands in the air and started swearing again, pacing, and digging in his pocket for a cigarette.
Hayden just sighed. “I should report you for that, Beckstrom,” he said.
“Are you going to?”
He lowered himself into the remaining chair and rubbed his palm over his forehead, eyes, then beard. He laced his fingers together and leaned his arms on the table. “Not yet.”
Maeve was still unpacking supplies. “I’d wondered.” She gave me a wan smile. “Can’t be in this business without wondering not if but when you’ll be Closed. Was there a strong reason why?”
“Bartholomew thought it was a good idea,” I said.
“Do any of you agree?” She looked from my face to Hayden’s haggard expression, to the back of Shame, because he was still pacing and smoking. Maeve didn’t even tell him to take the smoking outside.
After none of us responded, she raised her eyebrows. “I see. How long ago?”
“Today,” I said.
Hayden nodded. “I’m not keen on what Wray has been doing,” he said, “but there isn’t a lot of recourse to fight him at this point. We could take it up with the Ward.”
“No, Closing members is a local problem, and falls squarely on Wray’s shoulders to solve,” she said. “I’ve known many people who have been Closed and have continued on comfortably with that knowledge. I knew what I was in for when I accepted the job.”
“Now, enough brooding. Allie,” she said in her brisk, motherly tone. “I want to see your head. Shamus, for the love of heaven, smoke outside if you must smoke. Hayden, if you’d bring up the lights a bit?”
Hayden left the table to do so, and Shame followed his mother’s request by walking to the other end of the room and crushing his cigarette out in the bar sink there.
“Turn so I can see your head,” Maeve instructed. I did. She put on a pair of gloves and then gently probed the area, eventually employing wet wipes. “You did a number on yourself. Quite the lump. But the cut isn’t too deep. I don’t think you need stitches. Are you nauseous?”
“The room was spinning when I first came in, but I’d been walking. Also, I’m having weird visual distortions.”
“Distortions?”
“I can see magic. Even without casting Sight.”
Hayden whistled low. “That’s a new one.”
“That,” Maeve said, “sounds like symptoms severe enough to call in a doctor. Hayden, would you see if Dr. Fisher is available to come out here, or for us to bring Allie to her office?”
“Be right back.” The big man got up and walked off down the hall a bit and pulled a cell out of his pocket. He dialed a number and paced slowly as he waited for someone on the other end to pick up.
“Have you taken any pain medication?” she asked as she picked up a chemical ice pack and shook it to activate the cooling properties.
“Shame gave me a couple codeine. I think they’re starting to kick in.”
“Good.”
“Can I . . . can I help you, Maeve?” I asked. “I know—well, I understand what it’s like to lose memories, bits of yourself, your life.”
“I’m not sure if it’s memories they’ve taken or my abilities and understanding of magic. And”—she handed me the ice pack—“I’m not ready to deal with any of that just yet. Shamus?” she called. “Come back here now and join us.”
Maeve wasn’t looking at him, but I was. He was leaning against the bar, his arms crossed over his chest, staring at the floor, dark, hot, angry. I didn’t think he’d do what his mother said, but then he tipped his head up. His eyes through the heavy fall of his bangs were green, bright, and feral.
He untucked his arms and walked over to us, silent, hands in fists at his sides, looking like someone who was about to wade into the middle of a fight.
She looked up as he stood next to the table. “Are you all right then?” she asked.
Shame sniffed. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I’m asking if you’ve been Closed too.”
“No.” He looked over at me, raised an eyebrow. “Have I?”
“Not that I know of, not that Bartholomew said.”
Maeve just leaned back in her chair and chuckled. “I never thought I’d see the day where I was considered more of a risk to the Authority than you, Shamus.”
Shame opened his mouth and scoffed. “How can you say something like that to your only son?”
But he smiled, probably the first real, Shame-like smile I’d seen on him since I came in the room.
“I’ll want both of you to be as clear and honest with me as you can be,” she said. “I know I’m missing things, but I’m not senile. If I don’t understand something you’re saying, and if you don’t think it will cross Bartholomew’s boundaries of what he doesn’t want me knowing, I’d appreciate it if you’d fill in the details.”
“Bartholomew Wray can fuck off for all I care,” Shame said.
“Shamus,” she said sternly, “like it or not, he is the Watch of this region. He is your superior. You will do as he tells you to.”
“Of course I will,” he said.
“Shamus,” she warned.
“Promise and cross my heart.”
They glared at each other for a moment but Shame was not backing down. Maeve finally sighed. “Where did I go so wrong with you?”
“You didn’t,” Shame said. “You went right with me. I went wrong all by myself.”
“Well,” Hayden said, walking back to us. “Dr. Fisher will not be making house visits any longer. Neither will she be treating anyone in the Authority in emergency situations.”
“What?” Maeve frowned. “Why ever not? She’s been doing that for the past fifteen years.”
“Wray’s orders,” Hayden said.
We were all silent for a moment. Maybe it was just sinking in how total, how complete, his rule was going to be.
“Fucker,” Shame muttered.
“I want you seen by someone, Allie,” Maeve said, undeterred. “A doctor who knows the ways of the Authority.”
I thought about it. “I know a guy,” I said. “He seems to be up on the magical tech/medical interface. And he used to be a part of the Authority, I think.”
“What’s his name?” Hayden asked.
“Eli Collins.”
“Collins the Cutter?” Shame asked.
“What?” I said, startled.
“He was a brilliant up-and-coming surgeon on the Authority’s rosters,” Hayden said. “Did one too many unapproved experimental procedures and got Closed, and Closed hard. I thought the best he’d be able to do with his future was relearn to tie his shoelaces.”
“How did you come across him?” Maeve asked.
“He, uh, knew my dad.”
They all stared at me.
“Was he working for your dad?” Maeve asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe. Yes.”
“Huh,” Hayden said. “Maybe he had more connections in the Authority than I’ve given him credit for. Fell into the Beckstrom safety net.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Did he hurt anyone with his experiments?”
“Oh, most definitely,” Shame said. “Wicked bugger. Hurt a lot of people.”
“When he was practicing magic,” I said. “But he’s a medical expert, right?”
“As much as any torturer is,” Shame said.
“Enough, Shamus,” Maeve said. “Why do you think he’d help us now?”
“Because I hired him. To help a friend of mine, a Hound, Davy. Who was . . . hurt.”
“Hurt how?” Shame asked.
“He was bit, but I think he was bit by a Veiled.”
Maeve frowned. “Has that been a problem lately?”
I couldn’t help it; I laughed. “No. Or I don’t think so. Yesterday was the first time I’ve seen it happen. Though I think—” I shook my head and regretted it. “Ow,” I said. “I think I’ve seen more Veiled on the street. And, um . . . inside people.”
“Ick,” Shame said.
Maeve just took a deep breath and let it out. “I didn’t realize how very annoying it would be to have gaps in my memories. I don’t know how you put up with it, Allie. So tell me what Mr. Collins is doing with your friend.”
“He’s trying to treat the infection the bite caused. With what appears to be normal medical intervention, and also with magic, and magic tech.”
“And,” she said, “you think he’d be willing to look at your head, and maybe hazard a guess as to why you are seeing magic. Were you bit by a Veiled?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Take off your clothes,” Shame said.
“What? No.”
“If there’s a bite, we’d see it. You saw the bite on Davy, didn’t you?”
I couldn’t help but notice that he was trying very hard to hold back a smile.
“Yes, I saw the bite.”
“So we’d be able to see yours.”
“I am not taking off my clothes.”
“Do you remember being bit?” Maeve asked.
“No. I passed out the last time I used magic. But a lot of people were around. I think someone would have noticed if I were being bit.”
“Without my memories of the full situation, I don’t feel comfortable giving you advice, Allie,” she said. “But you should have your head looked at by a doctor, and you should have a doctor see if your vision problem is of a physical or magical nature.”
“I’ll go see Collins.” I figured I needed to check in on Davy anyway.
“If you think that’s right,” Maeve said.
“I, for one,” Shame said, “still think you should take your clothes off.”
“Not a chance, Flynn.”
“Fine. Then let me drive you,” he said.
“I have a ride. Jack Quinn’s out there.”
“I’ll take you anyway.”
I didn’t know why he was being so insistent about it, but was too tired to fight him. “Fine.” I turned to Maeve. “Thanks for the medicine and for everything.”
“Ah, now,” she said. “This isn’t the last of things. Just because I’m not a Voice of Blood magic doesn’t mean I’m done with the Authority. Despite what Bartholomew may or may not do, this is my home. And the Authority has always stood as the protector for all those who use magic. I’ll fight for that cause until the day my bones are cold.”
I stood. The room stayed in its current un-spinny mode, so I risked leaning down and giving Maeve a hug.
She hugged me back. Strong and warm and reassuring as if nothing at all had happened since the day I’d first met her.
I wanted to tell her that everything was going to be okay. That I was going to try to find a way to save Shame, to bring her memories back, to keep Bartholomew from making all the stupidest, most hurtful decisions possible.
But instead I just smiled and started toward the door.
Shame drifted up beside me, quiet, but burning hot.
“You going to tell me why you didn’t want me to go to the den with Jack?” I asked as I opened the door.
“I don’t have ulterior motives,” he said. “But if we want to talk, really talk, we’ll have the best chance in the car.”
“Why couldn’t we really talk back there?”
He pulled out a pack of cigarettes, tapped out a cig and lit it in his cupped hands. He exhaled smoke and tipped his chin toward the inn. “Do you really trust him?”
“Him who?” Yes, I’m an idiot. I turned around to see who he might be talking about.
Hayden was at the door, behind the glass, locking it behind us.
“Hayden?” I asked. “Oh, come on, Shame. Hayden’s in love with your mother. And he’s fought right along side us every step of the way. Why wouldn’t I trust him?”
“He wasn’t Closed.”
“Neither were you,” I said.
“Does that make sense?” he asked.
“Nothing Bartholomew is doing makes sense to me. Maybe he just doesn’t see you as a threat.”
Shame smiled. “Wouldn’t that be grand?”
We were at his car now. I just waved at Jack, who didn’t respond. Not that I’d expected him to. All I expected was that he’d follow us.
I got in Shame’s car, and practically groaned at the soft seat and headrest. Shame threw his cigarette into the gravel, scanned the parking lot, then got in the car too. He made it look like he wasn’t hurting, but the scent of pain on him told me otherwise.
“So are you?” I asked Shame.
“Am I what?” he said.
“A threat.”
He started the car and drove down the access road. “He hurt my mother. I’m not a threat. I’m a promise.”
Chapter Eleven
S
hame drove like there wasn’t another car on the road. Which was not true. My friendly little warnings and suggestions that he try not to double the speed limit fell on deaf ears. I decided I’d have fewer heart palpitations if I closed my eyes, so I did. With far less horn honking and screeching of brakes than I expected, we arrived at the den.
“You coming in with me?” I asked as Shame parallel-parked at about thirty miles an hour.
“Yes.”
I was actually glad about that. If magic was knocking me out, I couldn’t use it more than once to protect myself before I’d end up sucking pavement. I didn’t have my sword or blood blade on me. Which didn’t mean I couldn’t defend myself, under normal circumstances. But medicated and with a possible concussion weren’t exactly normal circumstances. I was not at my best.
Not that Shame was either. But he, at least, was in a killing mood. He probably wouldn’t feel the pain of a fight for a week.
Shame and I got out of the car and strolled down past Get Mugged. He looked in the window and scowled. I had no idea what he was scowling at, so I looked in too.
All I saw in there were a few people sitting at tables, reading, drinking coffee, and Grant, by the counter, talking to a man and laughing.
“Shame?” I said.
“Shut up.” He stormed off toward the den.
I glanced back in the shop, saw Grant lean a little closer to the man as he handed him back his change.
Oh. “You knew Grant was gay, didn’t you?” I asked as I caught up with Shame.
“Not talking about it.”
“Because I was sort of surprised when he and Terric hit it off back at the wake.”
Shame said nothing.
“I mean, I knew Grant was gay, but no one told me Terric was.”
“Terric is whatever Terric wants to be,” Shame said. “What difference does it make?”
“Well, it would have explained some of your behavior toward him.”
Shame spun. “That has nothing to do with him and me.”
“Doesn’t it?” I just looked at him. Offering no judgment, but accepting no bullshit.
I had to give it to him. He held my gaze for a full thirty seconds before he finally looked away.
“So none of your damn business,” he said.
“Agreed. But Grant is my friend. And so is Terric. I probably would have introduced them to each other before, if I’d known.”
“Terric doesn’t need your help introducing himself to people.” Shame had started walking again. “And I don’t give a damn who he’s with.”
I followed, a little slower, puzzling out Shame’s body language. I knew he wasn’t gay—he’d told me so, and at this point I could only assume he was being truthful. Since he and Zay and Terric all used to hang out together, I could guess he’d found out Terric was gay a long time ago.
Shame opened the lobby door, and I was right behind him. “You just find out recently about him?” I asked.
“About who?”
“Terric.”
Shame stopped before the bottom step. He didn’t turn. He didn’t face me. He just stared at the wall. “I’ve known he’s gay since he told me and Zayvion back when we were still teenagers. I do not care if he’s gay. I do not care if he dates men. I am not gay. Terric’s known that since we were teenagers. None of that matters. None of that makes a difference. In what he and I—what we might have to be.”
“Soul Complements?”
He winced as if even hearing it was painful.
“It’s not like you have to sleep with him to cast magic with him, Shame.”
He turned, just enough that I could see his face and all his sharp, dark edges in profile. “I am very aware of that, Allie. My objections to Terric don’t have anything to do with his sexual orientation.” He turned the rest of the way and leveled a look at me. “Got that yet?”
“Not really, no.” His heartbeat was too high, and I could smell the discomfort, the fear on his skin. He could tell me, and tell himself that Terric being gay made no difference in their friendship, in their using magic together, but he was lying.
“If it’s not that he’s gay,” I pressed, “then what is it?”
“I just . . .” He looked away from me, back at the wall. “Soul Complements. It’s intimate. No, it doesn’t have to be about sex. But it’s about being in someone’s life, hell, in their mind, forever. They know what you’re thinking, know what you want, know your stupid jealousies and fears and desires. They know how much you’re hurting, even if you lie.”
He paused. Long enough I probably should have said something. But I didn’t.
“It’s about being committed to someone for the long run,” he said so softly, I almost couldn’t hear him. “And it’s about being vulnerable. I’m no good at either of those things.”
“I think you’re wrong,” I said.
“Thanks for the support,” he said.
“I think,” I said, brushing away his comment, “that you can commit to someone. You already have. You are Zayvion’s best friend. You are my friend. And friendship means you’re going to be there for the long run. It means you feel safe around the other person. No matter how vulnerable you are.”
“They don’t call it Soul Friendship, Beckstrom,” he said.
“Maybe they should.”
He finally looked over at me again. “Is that was it is between you and Jones? Friendship?”
“No. But Zay and I decide what we have between us. We define what being Soul Complements means
to us.
No matter what anyone else tells us it should be. No matter what magic wants us to do or be. We decide what we are.”
“Magic doesn’t work like that,” he said. “There’s always a price to pay.”
“I didn’t say it was easy.”
He considered that for a moment. “You think it’s worth it, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“I—” He shook his head. Then, quietly: “I just don’t know.” He climbed the stairs, his boots making the most noise I’d heard out of him all day. He didn’t look back, which was fine with me. I was holding on to the railing to keep my balance as I walked. My head didn’t hurt—thank you, narcotics—but the only sport I was fit for right now was championship holding-very-still.
Stairs sucked.
As I slogged upward, I realized I still hadn’t heard from Zayvion. I wondered where he was, wondered why he hadn’t contacted me. I needed to call him again, but right this minute one-foot-up and one-foot-down was all I could handle.
I was happy to reach the second floor. I was also out of breath. Shame paused outside the door to the den and seemed to notice I was lagging behind. He frowned. “You look like hell.”
I lifted my middle finger.
He laughed. It was good to hear.
I walked past him and leaned on the door until it opened.
Not a lot of people in the den. Sid was there, watching a game on TV. “Welcome back,” he said without looking away from the TV. “Nice to have you by again, Shamus.”
The way I was huffing and puffing, Sid had probably heard us coming a block away.
“Hey,” I said, heading straight to the kitchen and pouring myself a glass of water, “anyone else around?”
“Bea’s upstairs,” he said.
With Davy, probably with Collins. “Is Collins still here?”
“Yes.” He said that like maybe he wished the good doctor would pack it up and take off.
“Trouble?”
Sid turned the TV on mute and finally shifted so he could look at me. “Allie? Are you okay?”
“So good.” I finished off my water, keeping one hand clenched on the edge of the countertop, my knees locked.
“She needs to see the doctor,” Shame said. “Is he upstairs?”
“Yes. Let me help.” He got up and then Sid and Shame were walking over to me with twin expressions of worry.
Fabulous.
“Oh, knock it off. I’m not in that bad of shape.”
“The last person I saw who was as pale as you,” Sid said, “had been dead for twenty-four hours.”
“Who says I haven’t?” I laughed. I thought it was funny. They weren’t laughing. They were taking my arms and putting them over their shoulders. And then they were walking. I think I lost track of exactly where we were going. But when the elevator door dinged, I was awake like the damned sirens of Armageddon had just gone off.
“Don’t,” I said.
“Darlin’, why don’t you ever stay unconscious when I want you to?” Shame asked.
“Bet you say that to all the girls,” I slurred. And then we were in the elevator and I closed my eyes. Between the weird stomach-pressing lurch of the elevator, my fear, and my general discomfort, I was pretty sure if I kept my eyes open I’d scream.
“Still with us?” Shame asked. We were walking again. I must have checked out. I checked back in.
“I’m fine,” I said. Didn’t even slur. Go me. “Let me walk, Shame. I got it.”
“Fine. Show us what you got, hotshot.” He let go of me. So did Sid. I brushed my hair back out of my eyes, my right hand too hot and trembling. Then I squared my shoulders and walked into the loft space.
The lighting here was soft, yellow, and much easier on my eyes than the fluorescents downstairs. Note to self: upgrade lighting. Even though there were plenty of floor-to-ceiling windows, someone had managed to carefully unroll the ancient shades and pull them down so that only the uppermost parts of the windows let light into the room, catching it up among the rafters, and filtering it down into the rest of the room.
Bea was indeed in the room—sitting sideways in the big easy chair I’d fallen asleep in, and doing a crossword puzzle in ink.
“Hey, guys,” she said. “Here, Allie. Do you want to sit down?”
Her tone of voice must have broken the trance of whatever it was on the table filled with ever-growing numbers of contraptions that had held Collins so riveted.
“How’s Davy?” I asked.
He gave me one long, slow look, from my feet all the way up to the top of my head. And then he totally ignored me and talked to Shame instead.
“It’s been a long time, Flynn,” he said.
“Wish it were longer,” Shame said.
Collins bit down on a reply. “What happened to her?”
“She fell and hit her head.”
“Is that your story too, Allison, or did Flynn help you make that up?”
“It’s my story. But mine also has me trying to cast magic and passing out. Then hitting my head.”
“That’s quite a different story,” he noted. “Let’s see if you can lie down.”
“Where?” We didn’t have an extra bed up here. We didn’t even have a couch.
“The chair should work.”
I walked over to the easy chair. Bea, the sweetie, came to my side and put her arm around mine, helping to steady me.
“You are hot as fire, girl,” she said. “Literally. I think she’s running a fever,” she said before I could get my reply together.
I sat in the easy chair but didn’t lean back. Instead I cradled my face in my hands, and kept them there by propping my elbows on my knees.
“Took two pills,” I said, figuring Collins would want to know.
“Mmm,” he said, as he pulled a chair in front of me and put a blood pressure cuff on my arm. “What sort of pills?”
“Shame said they were codeine.”
“Were they, Shamus? Were they codeine?” Collins asked.
“Yes. They were. What’s that?”
“A stethoscope,” Collins said with droll emphasis. “You’ll find them all the rage these days.” He pressed the disk against my back, my chest, and listened. Then he brought a flashlight out of his vest pocket and examined the back of my head, then my eyes, and then he helped me lean back in the chair.
A blanket seemed to appear out of nowhere and wrap around me. Good blanket. Stay.
“Shame?” I said.
“What?”
“Don’t let him get me naked.”
Collins laughed, one hard bark that turned into a cough. Someone patted my shoulder, Shame, I was pretty sure. “Don’t worry, love. He couldn’t if he tried.”
With that, I went to sleep. Deep, like diving from a cliff into tranquil dark waters.
It was wonderful. And ended much too quickly.
“ . . . going to have to get a few supplies, and a change of clothes. She should wake up soon.”
“She’s awake now,” I mumbled. I opened my eyes, stretched. Sweet hells, I felt good.
“How are you feeling?” Bea asked.
The light in the room had changed. It was early evening now. I must have gotten a couple hours of sleep.
“A lot better.” I sat forward and my head didn’t hurt. Also, I was still dressed. Bonus. “Really a lot better.”
“Want something to drink?” Bea asked. “I made iced tea.”
“Sure.”
Bea went to the kitchen and it took me a minute to realize what was different. I could see the magic around her. The magic around Jack had been a charcoal haze. But Bea seemed to have a fuchsia aura. Very pretty, actually. She even left fuchsia footsteps on the floor that faded away almost instantly as she walked.
“So,” Collins said as he unrolled his starched white sleeves. “You have a concussion. After talking to Jack Quinn, I’m surprised you didn’t do worse damage. There might be a slight headache off and on for the next week or so. Otherwise, clean bill of heath there.”
Collins didn’t have magic surrounding him like Bea did. Yes, I was staring.
Instead, magic wrapped a thin wire garrote around his neck, so tight that it moved when he swallowed. Silver wires bound his wrists and both his thumbs, and when he turned to the table to pick up something there, the magic that lingered on the table drew away from his touch, like oil retreating from water.
Those wires, those bindings, repelled magic. I wondered how he could even get his hands on enough magic to complete spells, much less cast those delicate medical spells. It must have taken a hell of a lot of focus on his part.
Shame was sitting in one of the windowsills, the window cracked open. He had his knee up, his elbow propped on it. The cigarette in his hand was near the open part of the window, smoke drifting outside.
Magic made Shame look like a sleek, dark-edged fighter. It also bathed him in sunset-colored mist that streamed in from the windows—magic from trees and other living things feeding him, feeding the crystal burning in his chest.
Shame nodded at me. “The clunk to your noggin wasn’t the worst of it.”
“Okay.” I stood. Felt more like me than I’d felt in a long time. I stretched again, rocking up on the balls of my feet. “What was the worst of it?”