Authors: Devon Monk
Sweet wings of pleasure rolled through me and I shivered beneath the heat of his body. Our bodies. We answered before the other asked, a tangle of thoughts, emotions, memories, hope, need, rising higher, higher, into a sweet single moment.
I wanted him to never let me go.
Never,
he said, I said, we said, caught on the edge of ecstasy.
We surged over that edge. Broke. Fell together, still together. Always together. One. There was something dangerous about this. We knew it. Knew breathing as one, thinking as one, soul to soul, was wrong.
It didn’t feel wrong.
But slowly, slowly, we drew apart, one last languid stroke, one last lingering touch, one last gentle kiss.
I was aware again of my fingers, clenched against his back, my nails digging too deep. I was aware of his teeth at the curve of my neck and the tender heat of a bruise there. Then finally, finally we pulled away.
He relaxed against me in increments, breathing hard, sweating, just as I was breathing hard and sweating. Each of us tried to sort which thought was our own, which body was our own.
I don’t know how long we lay there, him on top of me, as I ran my fingers back through his hair, his head resting on my breast. But finally the cool air of the room was too cold and I shifted. He moved with me, lying beside me, and then pulling me tightly against him as he drew the covers up over us.
I curved into the familiar shape and feel of him, and took a deep breath. I was just me again. Mostly. There were still echoes of Zayvion within me. Echoes I hoped would never fade.
He was quiet and held me tightly as if he was afraid I’d leave.
“So not going anywhere,” I said.
“Damn right,” he whispered into my hair.
I waited for him to fall asleep, for his breathing to even out, for his heartbeat to slow. But even after what felt like a long time, he was still awake.
I, however, was fading fast. His warmth, his arms around me, were enough to lull me, until I fell blissfully asleep.
I heard the phone ring at a distance, but I was too tired to go get it. Luckily, I didn’t have to. Zayvion shifted, rolled away from me, and slipped out of bed. He made the phone stop ringing. I was pretty sure he said something, but sleep tugged on me, and I followed.
The next time I woke, I realized Zayvion had not slid back into bed with me.
The shower was running. The bed was empty. It was morning—or at least the clock on his bedside table said it was a little past eight o’clock. His windows were curtained so heavily, no light could shine through.
I rolled over onto my back and stared at the ceiling. If I had any say over what would happen today, it would involve coffee, Davy waking up and feeling fine, and Bartholomew deciding he had important business on the other side of the world.
One of those things I could absolutely guarantee: coffee.
I got out of bed and went looking for my clothes. Found them scattered like a trail leading out to the living room. I carefully plucked my sweater off Zay’s bonsai tree and checked through my haul. What was I missing? Ah, yes, my bra.
I walked back to the bedroom. Zay was standing there, a towel wrapped around his waist, my bra dangling from one finger. “Looking for this?”
“Yes. And the bra too,” I said with a grin.
He gave me that shy-boy smile that made my heart beat faster.
“So,” I said walking over to him. “How was the shower?”
“Good. Not as good as last night.” He held the bra out of my reach.
“Hey, now.” I stretched, trying to grab it.
He put his other arm around me and pulled me in close.
“Need something?” he asked.
I was naked, except for the clothes currently clutched in my arms. Zay was naked except for the towel around his waist. It made for a very pleasant predicament indeed.
“Hmm. Bra or sex?” I mused. “I suppose it depends. You got any coffee in this house?”
“Yes,” he said.
I grinned. “Mmm. Coffee sounds so good. Bra it is.”
He chuckled. “You sure?” He leaned down, just a bit, since he and I were nearly the same height, and kissed me. He smelled of pine and soap, and tasted like mint toothpaste. Warm, slow, easy. Way better than coffee.
My phone rang. Since it was in my jeans pocket between us, it was pretty hard to ignore.
I pulled back.
Zayvion growled.
“It might be important,” I said. “Just a sec.” He released me and I fumbled with my clothes until I dug my phone out.
“Beckstrom,” I said.
Zayvion leaned down and nibbled on my ear, then pressed a soft kiss on my neck over the sweet ache of the bite he had left there, and started working his way down along the marks of magic across my collarbone.
“Allie, this is Stotts. The lab has the results of the cause of death for Anthony Bell.”
“Okay. What?”
The heat from Zay’s mouth against my skin, against the magic that always flowed beneath those marks was making me a little dizzy in a hot and bothered kind of way.
“He was poisoned. By magic.”
I stepped away from Zayvion and held my hand up. That was exactly what Collins had said about Davy. “Someone cast a spell on him that poisoned him?” I asked.
“His toxicology report is off the chart,” Stotts said. “He had more magic running through his veins than blood. It went gangrenous.”
“Have you ever heard of that before?” I asked, searching my own memories—what I had of them—from college, from all I’d learned from the Authority of that ever happening.
Pretty much if someone cast magic at you that did a damaging thing, they had to bear an equal or similar damage. It was why people didn’t kill people with magic. Death to someone else meant death to the caster.
And while I knew now that I was part of the Authority, that people could kill people with magic and do creative things with Offloads and Proxy costs so they didn’t actually end up dead, most people did not know that.
“No, I haven’t,” Stotts said. “But he’s not the only one.”
“What?”
Zay dragged his fingertips down my arm, then walked over to his dresser for his clothes.
“There have been similar cases reported. The death count is rising.”
“That’s bad,” I said. “What can I do to help?”
“I talked with his mother,” he said.
“How is she?” I asked. I hadn’t called her yet. Hadn’t faced her.
“She’s . . . coping. She has family in the area. They’re caring for her.”
“That’s good,” I said. I was glad she had someone to lean on.
“She wasn’t able to give me much information about where Anthony was that night. Do you know where he was, who he might have been in contact with, anything he told you about the kinds of magic or spells he was using?”
“He was at the wake at the den—briefly. He left quickly after that. I last saw him walking up the street. That was before he bit Davy.”
“Was he alone?”
“Yes.”
“Was he doing a Hounding job?”
“No. Wait.” I looked over at Zayvion.
Zay, who had done a pretty good job following the conversation, shrugged. “The Veiled?” he suggested quietly.
“He might have been looking for something. For someone,” I said.
“Who?”
“Remember those ghost things that attacked you and me in the graveyard? They’re called the Veiled. They’re attracted to magic. It might be the Veiled he was looking for.”
Stotts was silent, but I heard the squeak of his office chair and two soft clunks of his shoe heels resting up on his desk.
“Why do you think that?”
I rolled my eyes and walked back over to the bed, dropping my clothes there, and digging for my panties. “I saw a Veiled. Or I thought I did, while I was looking out on the street. I was worried it was, um . . . bothering someone.”
“Bothering? How?”
I managed to get into my panties one-handed and picked up my jeans. “I don’t know, maybe I’m remembering things wrong.”
I most certainly was not remembering things wrong. But I didn’t want to tell him the Veiled had been inside some man, then walked off, and how weird that was, and that I thought maybe Anthony had been bit by the Veiled. No, wait. Maybe I did want to tell him that.
“Do you think Anthony could have been bit by the Veiled?” I asked.
“Bit? The marks on Anthony weren’t the same as the ones you and I got back in the graveyard by the . . . creature that attacked us then.”
“True. So we can rule that out?”
“Mmm. Maybe not,” he said. “Anything else you can remember about Anthony? Did he mention anything to you?”
“Other than getting his diploma, no, that pretty much sums up what I know.”
The chair creaked again. “Okay. I’ll keep you in the loop if I have any other information.”
“Thanks,” I said.
“Allie?”
“Yes?”
“How is Davy Silvers?”
“Still sick. Why?”
Stotts didn’t say anything for a minute. I heard his chair creak again. “I have nothing to back this up,” he said, “but if Anthony was sick, infected, it’s possible he passed that infection on to Davy when he bit him. You should make sure he goes to a hospital to get checked out.”
“I know,” I said. “I’ve had a doctor look in on him. You said there have been a lot of people dying from this . . . from this magic poisoning?”
“Yes.”
“What are their symptoms?” I asked.
“You watch the news lately?”
“Yes.” A chill rolled down my spine. Don’t say it, I thought. Please don’t say it.
“Their symptoms are flulike.”
Holy shit. The epidemic. Could it be a plague of people being bit by the Veiled?
“Well, hells,” I said.
“Pretty much, yes,” he said. “Gotta go, Allie. Stay in touch.”
“Bye.” I thumbed my phone off.
“Zay,” I said, “I think we have a big problem on our hands.”
“We always have big problems on our hands,” he said as he tucked his shirt in. “What did Stotts want to know?”
I filled him in on the other side of the phone conversation.
Zay put on his shoes as I went over everything. “So you think the sickness sweeping the city is from the Veiled biting people?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Yes? Maybe? I think it’s something we should consider. We could at least see if Bartholomew is looking into it.”
He went silent.
“What?” I asked. “You don’t think he will look into it?”
“I don’t think he’ll want to share any information with us even if he does,” Zay said. “He runs the Authority his way. Which appears to be through demands, orders, and his people to back him up with physical and magical consequences.”
“You’ve seen him work before?”
“I’ve heard what other people have said about him. Victor, Maeve. Even your dad.”
“Dad still doesn’t like him.”
Zay chuckled. “Well, that’s an upgrade. They used to hate each other with a passion. Bartholomew was convinced that magic and technology should never be used in concert with each other. He was outvoted on a national level, mostly, some people say, because your dad had the funds to push his agenda and buy off other members of the Authority to see things his way.”
“He bought votes?” I asked. Sounded like something Dad would do.
“It’s rumored,” Zay said. “Although as soon as the tech and magic devices were developed for use in health care, there wasn’t anyone who thought mixing magic and technology was a bad thing.”
Except maybe Bartholomew.
“He can’t ignore what’s going on, though,” I said pulling one of Zayvion’s sweatshirts over my T-shirt. “The Authority is all about keeping people safe from magic. And if the Veiled are why people are getting sick, that’s a part of magic.” I found my socks and put on my shoes.
“What was that other call earlier?” I asked.
“Terric. He wants to meet with us today. I told him he could find us at the den looking in on Davy.”
“How’d you know that’s where I was going this morning?”
Zayvion shrugged. “You’re predictable. When someone’s hurt, you immediately think you need to do something to fix them.”
“That’s not predictable. That’s having a conscience. And besides, Davy was hurt because of a decision I made.”
“I doubt Davy would see it that way,” he said.
“Doesn’t matter.” I picked up my coat, looked around his living room to make sure I hadn’t left anything else behind. “Still how I see it. You coming?”
Zayvion shrugged into his ratty blue ski coat and pulled on a brown beanie. “Let’s go.”
It didn’t take us long to get to the parking garage below the building. We didn’t say much. Zayvion was walking in front of me, and I could tell from his movements that he was worried, or angry. Probably both. Even the silver glyphs that superimposed his body flickered with a rise and fall of light that was similar to a heartbeat. Whatever was bothering him—and if I’d had to put money down I would’ve said it had everything to do with Bartholomew and the Closing he’d ordered Zayvion to do—was digging into him bone deep.
The glyphs of magic he had always worn as a badge of honor were chafing like chains.
We got in his car and I asked, “Get Mugged for coffee and quiche?”
“I thought you didn’t like quiche.” He smiled and I couldn’t help but smile back. This felt like normal again, if we’d ever really had a normal.
“If there’s cheese, I like quiche. If not, you know, other eggs are superior.”
“I could use a cup of coffee,” he said.
We drove to Get Mugged and parked around the back side of the buildings. It was early enough that the morning coffee crowd was still in full swing and street parking was scarce. That was okay with me. I wanted a walk in the cool air, in the sunlight. Even though the magic I could see everywhere was still pretty distracting.
“What are you doing?” Zayvion asked me as we passed by yet another window with an Unbreakable Ward so strong I could almost feel the prickly heat snapping off it.
“Walking?”
“Really?” He stopped and I stopped too. “I think that’s called weaving.”
“I’m not weaving.”
“Yes, you are. I almost ran into you three times already.”
“Well, then let me walk on the outside of the sidewalk.” I stepped in front of him, but hadn’t realized there was a Lure spell on a piece of statuary just ahead. As we headed that way, I corrected my course so as not to get caught by it.