Magic on the Storm (10 page)

“Well, for one, Hayden Kellerman is in.”
Zay paused, just a second, a half beat in his normal stride. “Huh. Who else?”
“Oh, you know, some of the Seattle branch.” Shame said that with a little too
much forced cheer. “The Georgia girls, Romero, Pham. Maybe a dozen people.”
“Terric?” Zay asked.
Shame smiled, like he’d come down with rigor. “Wouldn’t be a party without
him.”
I opened the door and stepped through a ward that had been cast upon the
doorway. The ward would probably make me stop cold if I didn’t have an
invitation to enter the room. Not exactly screening the participants, so much
as letting whoever cast the ward—which, by the sweet Earl Grey tea taste on the
back of my throat, I assumed was Victor—know who was coming in, and if they
belonged here.
Even in the off-hours, I’d never seen the main room of the inn so quiet.
It wasn’t that it was empty. There were maybe thirty or so people standing or
sitting at the eight round tables with clean white tablecloths, arranged so
that the area to the left, where a longer table was placed, held the room’s
focus. The lunch counter to the right was empty.
I had met half of the thirty or so people present, and could only assume the
others were the Seattle contingent. Everyone had a drink: water, or coffee,
tea, soda. There didn’t seem to be any alcohol present. Ample baskets of bread
and cheeses and olives were ready at each table.
It was clear there wasn’t a regular customer, a non-Authority-sanctioned magic
user, in the room. And it was also clear that no one much liked one another.
Body language was tight and tense; expressions bordered on civil at best.
People were grouped in four sections, probably shoring up with whichever
faction they were sided with. Zayvion had been telling me for months that there
was a war brewing among the Authority, and that it would break any day. Looking
around the room made me wonder if it was going to break tonight.
The last thing I wanted to do was enter a room of angry, trigger-happy magic
users. And that was exactly what I had come here to do.
Welcome to the bigs.

Chapter Eight
M
ost of the people in the room turned to look. Not at Zayvion, who stood
to my right, not at Shamus, who stood to my left, but at me. Or more likely, at
Daniel Beckstrom’s daughter.
I met each of their gazes. A brief blur of faces, of eyes, of expressions:
judgment, curiosity, and blatant hatred.
Yeah, well, I was thrilled to meet them too.
Maeve appeared from one of the doorways, walking beside a giant of a man,
easily six inches taller than me or Zay, and almost as wide-shouldered as
Mackanie Love. Black hair, dark beard with a dust of gray cut close to his jaw.
He wore an old bomber jacket complete with wool collar over a T-shirt, jeans,
and lumberjack boots. He smiled as he talked with Maeve. He gave off an easy,
ready-for-a-fight kind of vibe, like he was in the company of old friends and
old enemies and would be more than happy to take either down.
Some of the tension in the room shifted. Not that it was much better; it was
just different.
Zayvion started off toward Maeve and the big man. I glanced out of the corner
of my eye to see if this, perhaps, was Terric. But Shame’s fake smile had
turned into something introspective. Wicked. Boy was planning something. I
didn’t know what he was thinking, but anytime I’d seen that look on his face,
it had been trouble.
“Who’s that?” I asked as I strode toward an empty table in the exact center of
the room, not caring who was staring at me, nor what faction I might be sitting
down with.
Shame followed. “Hayden Kellerman. One of Mum’s old friends. Might be my new
da, the way she’s looking at him.” He yanked a chair out from the table,
grinding the thing across the wooden floor, and then slouched down into it,
scowling.
“You don’t like him?”
“Are you even in the same room with me?” He gave me a brief, sideways look. No
smile, but plenty of twinkle in that eye. “I thought you were good at reading
people.”
“So you do like him. What? Don’t want your mom to know?” I took the other
chair, and sat with a lot less noise, thank you.
“Better that way. For some reason she doubts the purity of my intentions when I
give her pointers on her love life. Especially when it comes to me handing out
her phone number.”
“Doubts your purity? Can’t imagine why.”
He kicked my foot under the table, not hard, and went back to his sullen scowl.
I’d missed dinner, so checked out the cheese, chose a few squares, and popped
one in my mouth. Very good. Mild and a little smoky. I watched Zayvion make his
way across the room, pausing to talk and shake hands with at least a dozen
people as he slowly strolled toward Maeve and Hayden.
“He’s popular tonight,” I noted.
“Guardian of the gates,” Shame said like that explained it all. “I think he’s
been in Alaska.”
“Zay?”
“Hayden.”
“And?”
“And. Nothing.” He picked up a glass of water, took a drink. He looked much
more relaxed, or maybe he had been relaxed and I just hadn’t been paying
attention. This many powerful magic users in one room made me jumpy.
No, it made me want to stand up and walk out. But that wasn’t the way it
worked. Once a part of the Authority, you didn’t leave without checking your
memories at the door. And I planned to keep hold of as many of my memories as I
could.
I watched Zayvion work the room, all Zen and smooth, deadly confidence. Looked
good on him. And it made an impression on the other people in the room too.
Made them sit back, calm, or sit forward, anxious, reactions that were
interesting in and of themselves.
For the first time, I realized Zayvion was a respected, or maybe even feared,
member of the Authority. Not just a student. Not just a man who patrolled the
streets looking for bad guys. But a very dangerous man who used all forms of
magic—Life, Blood, Death, Faith, light, and dark—to guard the gates, to keep
magic in the way the Authority intended it to be kept, and the people of this
city safe. Even if it meant opposing fellow members of the Authority.
“Shame?” I asked, keeping my gaze on Zay.
“Mmm?”
“Am I dating royalty?”
“You tell me.”
I smiled. “King Jones. Doesn’t sound very royal.”
That got a chuckle out of him. “He’s a beauty, though, isn’t he? Especially
when he’s working. Can make a mountain bow down to the sea.”
I sat back to enjoy this. Maybe I’d get a good look at a part of Mr. Private I
hadn’t seen before.
Zay finally made it over to Hayden. I was right. Hayden was about six inches
taller than Zay, and twice as broad at the shoulders. He made Zay look tiny,
towering over him like that. Hayden would make a hell of a Viking, swinging a
battle-ax or carrying a cannon over one shoulder as he stormed the castle
gates.
He shook Zay’s hand, then wrapped him in a huge bear hug, slapping him on the
back so loud, I winced as it echoed through the room.
“Good to see you, boy!” Hayden’s voice carried over the rest of the
conversations filling the place. “Looks like you’re about to be put through
your paces! Think you’re up for it?”
Zay stepped back and answered, but his response was so quiet, I couldn’t pick
it up, not even with Hound ears.
Still, Hayden laughed. “That’s what I like to hear. Got some new kind of fire
burning in him, doesn’t he, Maeve? What you been doing to this boy while I’ve
been gone?”
“Excuse me,” said a man behind Shame and me. “Are you Daniel Beckstrom’s
daughter?”
Danger. That was all I knew. Shame tensed from head to foot, both hands off the
table now. The cheese knife was missing.
I inhaled, taking in the stranger’s scents—the plastic of too much hair gel,
and a deeper note of something faintly metallic. He was not familiar to me. I
turned.
He was maybe midthirties, shorter than me, looked like he knew his way around a
gym, and gave off that professional broker, banker, doctor vibe. Wore a Nike
T-shirt under a Windbreaker, and jeans with tennis shoes. Clean haircut.
Clean-shaven. Small, close-set brown eyes. I’d never seen him before in my
life.
“Your father was a good man. I’m very sorry for your loss.”
If he thought my father was a good man, my opinion of him just took a dive.
Still, I had manners. “Thank you. And you are?”
“Mike Barham.” He held out his hand. I didn’t take it.
“Nice to meet you,” I said. “If you’ll excuse us, I don’t want to miss out on
the main event.”
He glanced at Shamus and gave a halfhearted attempt to look surprised. “Shamus
Flynn,” he said. He didn’t sound angry, but hate radiated off the man. “I
didn’t know you were in town. Still living with your mother?”
Shame didn’t turn. Didn’t twitch, didn’t look at him.
Mike’s smile slipped. He walked around to stand next to Shame, which did not
seem like a very smart thing to do. “You still mad at me about the position up
north?” he asked. “You know the best man won. Plus, you’d never make it out
there without your dear mother to protect you. It’s dangerous out in the real
world.”
Something inside Shame coiled and burned, ready to leap. One more word out of
Barham, and I was pretty sure Barham would have a cheese knife stabbed in his
throat.
“Blow me, Barham,” Shame said.
Barham shook his head. “You are a spoiled little boy, Flynn. Your father used
to tell me you were his biggest disappointment. He used to tell me he had
wanted a son, not a fag.”
Shame rolled his head back and smiled up at him. “Tell me more about my father,
Mike. Please do.”
I’d never heard that tone out of Shame. It was sweet, nice. And scared the hell
out of me.
“You,” I said to Mike Barham with enough Influence to stun a rhino, “move away.
Now.”
He jerked, and glared at me. He opened his mouth.
“Go,” I said.
He did as I said, because he couldn’t not do it. Under my Influence, he turned
and walked away. He ended up across the room, where he sat at another table,
and threw me angry looks.
Whatever. I was not going to just sit there and listen to him insult my friend.
It took Shame a full five minutes to finally let go of the cheese knife under
the table, and place it back on the table. He didn’t look at me. He didn’t say
anything. Just rolled his head down and stared off on some middle distance.
“So, he’s a prick,” I said. “Want to talk?”
He shook his head imperceptibly. I didn’t push him on it. I’d always thought
Shame was straight. Not that it mattered. If Mike had wanted to make Shame
angry, he’d done a bang-up job of it.
I glanced around the room, looking for Zayvion. He was absorbed in a quiet, intense
conversation with another man I’d never met. The man with Zay was slender and
tall, wore black slacks and a black turtleneck, and held himself with an
elegance that made me think of historical movies with sword fights and
aristocrats. His hair was so blond, it was white, and long enough it fell
between his shoulder blades, pulled back and banded. He and Zayvion were both
turned half toward us, talking quietly, but also with hand gestures, as if they
had a lot to say, and not enough time to cover it with words alone.
Hoping to change the mood, I nudged Shame.
“So who’s Zay with now?”
Shame blinked and seemed to come back from a long, long distance. He inhaled,
and looked in the direction of my gaze.
“Terric,” he breathed.
It wasn’t the sound of a man who hated another man. No. In that one word, in
that one name, was longing, need, the sound of something precious lost.
I didn’t realize they had been intimate. Or maybe they hadn’t. Maybe the draw
between Soul Complements wasn’t about the sex. Maybe it was just about magic.
Using it, having it, letting it use you, immersed and joined by it in ways
unimaginable. Power.
Whatever it was, Shame’s body language was that of a starving man using all his
strength not to yield to the poisoned feast before him.
I thought about putting my hand on his arm to console him, and decided against
it. Shame was keyed up and I didn’t want to get a cheese knife in the throat.
“Zay and him friends?” I asked instead, trying to draw Shame down.
“We all were once.” Saying that seemed to help. He closed his eyes a moment.
Maybe he realized he was sitting on the edge of his seat. He relaxed in stages
back into his normal slouch and rubbed his gloved hand over his eyes.
“Balls,” he said. “It’s gonna be a long night.”
“Were you and Terric lovers?”
“No.” He sighed behind his gloves. “I’m not gay. But that man . . .” He pulled
his hand away from his eyes. “Soul Complements. It’s . . .” He just shook his
head. “Him and me . . . and magic? No. It doesn’t—can’t—work.”
“Did you refuse to be tested to see if you and he were Soul Complements because
you were afraid you might want sex with him?” Yes, I am tactful that way. And
also stupid.
He stared at me for a moment. “It’s good you and I are friends, Beckstrom,” he
finally said. “Because I’m willing to ignore that ridiculous nonsense that just
fell out of your mouth. It doesn’t have a damn thing to do with sex, okay?
There were other reasons, other . . . bad things.”
“Like?”
“Like I’m done talking about it. And like I wish Mum had ponied up a bottle or
two of wine right about now.”
“I can see why she wouldn’t want to serve alcohol to a roomful of trigger-happy
magic users,” I said.
“She doesn’t have to feed it to the magic users. She could just feed it to me.”
“I’ll buy you a beer if you give me a who’s who on the rest of the people
here.”
“Done.” He sat and leaned his elbows on the table. “The three women laughing
over there? Dark wavy hair, coffee skin, and beautiful matching sets of big,
lovely—”
I slapped him on the arm.
“Hey. Eyes. I was going to say eyes. What were you thinking? They’re the
Georgia sisters. Life magic. The blonde next to them, about Mum’s age in the
biker jacket who looks like she can wrestle an alligator? Darla. Death magic.”
He shifted in his seat a little. “The Russian underwear model over there is Nik
Pavloski, and the family man next to him is a sweet-hearted killer named Joshua
Romero. Faith magic—that means they’re both Closers. At the table near the wall
is the ass wipe, Barham. Life magic, and the woman sitting next to him who
looks like she hates him—petite, pale, black hair with a red streak, and a
knockout scowl—Paige Iwamoto. She’s Blood magic. Stab him, baby—you know he
deserves it.” Shame licked his lips and stared at Paige, as if he could will
her to wield the cheese knife.
“Shame,” I said.
He looked away from Paige and Mike, giving the room a subtle glance while he
reached for a piece of bread. He would make a good spy.
“You know the rest of the people in the room, I think.”
I looked around, the remaining people standing and sitting at the other tables:
Kevin Cooper, Violet’s bodyguard; Sunny, whose demeanor was the exact opposite
of her name; Ethan Katz, who was my dad’s and now my accountant; the twins Carl
and La, whom I’d seen briefly at my test; the ex-quarterback-looking dude whom
I’d also seen briefly at my test; and a few other suits—two women and a
man—board members from Beckstrom Enterprises I’d met over the last couple
weeks. The rest of the people I’d seen off and on at Maeve’s, but hadn’t been
officially introduced to.
“Pretty much,” I said.
“You’re welcome,” he said. “Now, about that beer.”
“If I could please have your attention.”
I glanced at the front of the room. Victor, trim and gray-haired, stood behind
the long table, an open laptop in front of him. His suit jacket hung on the
back of the chair, along with his tie, and his shirtsleeves were rolled up to
the elbow. Even from this distance, I could see that his eyes were bloodshot.
He looked like he’d just been through the longest meeting of his life, and been
elected to stand up and give everyone the bad news.
Maeve, looking more composed and refreshed than Victor, sat to his left. Next
to her was Liddy Salberg, a quiet, mousy woman, who took plain to the extreme.
I’d first seen her at my dad’s burial. She’d also been at my test, and she’d
since been my teacher in Death magic. I never seemed to get a good read off her
body language. That mousy exterior hid something else—I was sure of it—though
I’d never seen her be anything but polite and professional.
Still, I got the impression that she didn’t like me, or that I made her
nervous.
At her left was Sedra, the head of the Authority in Portland. Always cool,
always portrait-perfect, her unchanging expression and porcelain complexion
made her look like she was carved out of marble. Only her blue eyes gave her a
hint of life. Her bodyguard, Dane Lannister, stood behind her, looking how he
always looked: relaxed and deadly. There was something about him that made me
pause, like a bad taste in my mouth, but try as I might, I couldn’t think of
what it was about him that bothered me.