Magic on the Storm (19 page)

“We need to find them,” I said. “They can’t just do this and disappear. I want
them dead.”
“First Zay,” he said. “Then we find them. Then we make them dead.”
Rain fell in a steady stream into his eyes. He didn’t seem to notice. There was
a darkness in him that burned hot, strong. A killing hatred.
I liked it.
“Do we carry him?” I asked. The very mundane mechanics of getting Zayvion out
of the rain and safe were suddenly more complicated than I had the brain to
handle. Using magic, all that I had, all that they gave me, had left me weak,
shocky, and not thinking straight.
Of course Zayvion dying might have something to do with it too.
“No,” Shame said. “They’re coming.”
And it was like magic words. Because I suddenly realized there were people
walking toward us through the rain.
Even in the low light, even through the rain, I could make them out. Lean
Victor, wearing a trench coat and carrying a sword that slicked silver and
black in the rain. Next to him, tiny Liddy wrapped in an ankle-length coat that
kicked open to show the whip she carried strapped to her hip.
The twins Carl and La strode step in step, heads up, moving as if the rain
didn’t exist, curved scythes clenched in Carl’s right and La’s left hands.
Other people too—short and fit Mike Barham, who wore glowing, glyphed gloves;
Sunny, dark, angry, knives in both hands; the Georgia sisters, who each held a
staff.
Maeve had pulled her hair back in a stark ponytail. She wore stiletto boots and
a leather full-length jacket, two blood daggers strapped to her boots, her
hands in her pockets. The hulking mountain of Hayden strolled behind her with a
rolling gait, big as the world. I was wrong—he didn’t carry a battle-ax or a
cannon. He carried a broadsword over one shoulder and a shotgun over the other.
Last was big Jingo Jingo, wool coat and fedora, his voice a low, soothing
murmur, maybe a song, maybe a prayer, as they came. All of them. Toward us. To
save the day.
This was not a funeral procession—Zayvion was still alive. This was the cavalry
arriving a little too late.
As soon as they reached us, time, which had felt like it slowed, suddenly
snapped up to normal speed.
I sat there while voices—while people—investigated spells, checked the area,
made plans. I sat there, Zayvion’s heartbeat beneath my palm, while Victor and
Maeve and Hayden came over. Maeve helped Shame to his feet, and Victor helped
Terric. And lastly, big Hayden picked up Zayvion, like he was a child, and
carried him to a gurney, then to a waiting van.
I pushed up on my feet, swayed. It was Jingo Jingo, of all people, who was
there for me, his wide, warm hands catching under my arms, holding me upright
while I breathed heavily and waited for my knees, my muscles, to start working
again.
I would not cry. Not now.
I tried not to think about the ghosts of children who clung to Jingo like a
winter cloak. Tried not to think about how much he bothered me. I focused,
instead, on his strength—and he had a lot of it—on his warmth and his calm. I
focused on his voice, low, soft, comforting.
“There, now, Allison, angel. You’re gonna be just fine. Take a step for me.
That’s good. Good. You’re something, aren’t you? Yes. Yes, you are. And it’s
gonna all work out. Keep going; you’re fine.”
I did as he said and walked, following Zayvion, because Jingo Jingo was one of
my teachers and he was here for me, helping me. Even though he was a freak.
“You’re not gonna have to worry about tonight,” he said, and his words sank
into my head and body with the weight and warmth of wine. A spell, I thought.
Or maybe I was just exhausted and he was telling me what I wanted to hear.
“You’ve done enough for the night. Kept Zayvion alive.” He said it as if he
hadn’t expected I would do it. “Done all you could. More than that. Rest now.
Rest.”
And my knees, which were working, suddenly felt like they were made of water. I
slumped against Jingo, fought not to pass out, not to sleep.
As he picked me up, I wondered why he had cast the spell on me. And wondered
why behind every gentle word, I could sense his fear.

Chapter Fifteen
V
oices, talking in hushed tones, woke me. I opened my eyes to an
unfamiliar ceiling—plaster and dark wood beams—and an unfamiliar, narrow bed. I
took a deep breath. The honeysuckle and lemon-polish scent of this place told
me where I was.
Maeve’s inn.
The hushed tones were coming from outside the room, the quiet murmur of people
nearby. I glanced around the room—or as much of it as I could see from the bed.
White plaster walls, window curtained to block all light, small lamp on the
dresser in the corner, not nearly bright enough to break the shadows down, and
another narrow bed next to mine.
In that bed was Zayvion Jones. Sleeping, I thought. Breathing. Thankfully,
breathing.
Medical equipment hooked into him, something that silently flickered with green
light, an IV, and a few other things I couldn’t see clearly. Gina Fisher, the
Authority’s doctor, had been here to see him.
The reality of what had happened, the fight with Chase and Greyson, hit, and I
moaned softly.
“He’s alive.” A voice, Shame’s, from the shadows by the window.
I pushed up, sat. My bones felt hollow, ached, empty of magic. It was a strange
feeling, like I had somehow lost a part of myself. Maybe it was just that I
couldn’t feel Zayvion, couldn’t sense his emotions, his thoughts. If I weren’t
staring at him, I wouldn’t even know he was in the room.
I still had on my shirt, though someone had gotten me out of my jeans and boots
and replaced them with something that felt like sweatpants, or maybe pajama
bottoms. A cool weight shifted against my breastbone and I realized I was still
wearing the void stone.
No wonder magic was so silent in me. Maybe that was blocking it.
“How long have I been asleep?” I asked.
Shame shifted in the chair. I couldn’t make out his features in the shadows of
the room.
“It’s evening the next day. You’ve been asleep sixteen hours.”
“Zay?” I asked. It was only one word, because I couldn’t get my head around all
the other words, and all the fears they contained.
“He’s been seen by the doctors. They’ve done everything they can for him.
Medically. Magically.”
“He’s okay, right? He’s going to be okay?” I didn’t like the tremor in my
voice, so I swallowed and clutched the void stone in my hand, hoping it would
calm my mind along with my magic.
Shame stood, slowly, I noted. He walked over to the foot of my bed, where he
sat. Light finally revealed him to me.
I bit down on a gasp. “What happened?”
Shame looked like hell. His skin was pale and greenish, sunk in, all the bones
of his face showing through too sharply. A red welt ran from the edge of his
jaw, following the line of his jugular down his neck to disappear in his black
shirt. His eyes were dark, more black than green, and carried something: pain,
hunger, or anger, I couldn’t tell. He looked like he was on his way to
corpsedom. He also wore a void stone at his neck, a black stone wrapped in
silver and lead on a leather cord, choker-tight so that the stone pressed
against his throat and moved when he swallowed.
“We, my friend, were fucked.” He smiled, a flash of humor in a face of pain. My
heart caught. That was like him, though. Given the choice to laugh or cry,
Shame always laughed.
“Do you remember us hunting Chase?”
I nodded.
“Do you remember us fighting her?” He said that a little quieter, but steady,
as if ready for me to react.
It took me a second—then I realized why. Shame had tried to kill me.
“I remember Chase carved you up with Blood magic. Is that why you look like
Death?”
Tact. I have it.
Shame’s shoulders relaxed, and he sat back, crossing one leg over his knee.
“Don’t like the new look? Sort of death-chic, don’t you think?”
“Undoubtedly the new fashion trend.”
He smiled again. “You want me to give you the rundown of what happened?”
“Sure.” With a memory as spotty as mine, I had learned to never say no if
someone wanted to recap events.
Shame went through the time line, starting with us finding him knocked out and
Closed by Chase in the car in the parking lot.
I, surprisingly, remembered all of it, and added in some details about Zay and
Chase fighting, and Greyson being cloaked in Illusion the whole time.
“And Stone showed up.”
Shame grinned. “Thought so. They found footprints—well, more like craters—at
the scene. You call him?”
“No. He likes to follow me around at night.”
“Did you see what he did to them?”
I thought about it. I remembered Stone attacking, remembered him pinning
Greyson. And I remembered Chase fell to her knees. I hadn’t watched the rest of
it, too angry, too afraid for Zayvion. But Chase had knocked Stone out once
before. Maybe she had done it again.
“I didn’t pay attention.” I couldn’t believe how stupid I’d been. “I should
have done something. Should have stopped them.”
Shame gave me a steady look. “No. If you had done anything differently—anything—Zay
would be dead.”
I don’t know if he was telling me the truth or just trying to make me feel
better.
“You kept him alive, Allie,” he said quietly. “I think you sat there, breathing
for him, living for him, for some time before I came to. Nice Sleep spell, by
the way. Remind me not to piss you off.”
“Don’t piss me off,” I said distractedly. “What did you do, Shame? What did
Terric and you do? I remember you added something to my magic. Helped Zay.”
He held his breath, just the slightest tensing of his body. “Death magic,
mostly. Channeling magic, taking a little of our . . . life and giving you and
Zay something more to work with.”
“Oh, Shame.” I didn’t know what else to say. How could I pay him back for that
sacrifice? “How badly are you hurt?”
“I’ll be okay. So will Terric. I know how much to give before things get dire.
We’ll recover from this. Eventually.”
There was more to it.
“And?” I asked.
“And it worked. Enough.” He glanced over at Zayvion, and I did too.
“What else, Shame?” I felt like I’d woken up too soon, and into a world that
wasn’t the way it should be. It wasn’t just that I was tired and sore. It
wasn’t just that Zay was injured and Shame looked like he was on death’s door.
There was a deep wrongness about everything that triggered panic in my gut. I
wanted to get out of this bed, take Zay—hells, take Shame and Zay and
Terric—and get somewhere safe before whatever I was feeling, before the fear
that scraped around inside me, got out and became real.
“Magic’s gone,” he said.
“Excuse me?”
“Gone. Maybe just off. Certainly not accessible. The backup spells, which carry
time-delay triggers—kind of like batteries to keep the city going—are in
effect, keeping things like the hospitals and prisons limping along.” He tipped
his head toward the window. “The backup spells won’t last long. Then it’s all
going to go to hell out there. Soon. Real soon.”
Maybe it was the fact that he said it so calmly. Maybe it was just that he had
finally put a name to my fear. Whatever it was, I suddenly felt calm.
Reasonable even.
Have I mentioned I am good under pressure, and can handle stressful situations
well? Consider it mentioned. Well, at least I wasn’t the only one who couldn’t
access it now.
“Has this ever happened before?” I asked.
“Which part of it?”
“Magic being gone?”
“Brief flickers. Usually before storms.”
“So it’s not unheard of.”
“No, but it’s usually just a pause. Magic’s been out for hours now.”
“And are there standard procedures the Authority implements when this happens?”
“We’ve done them. All the things Sedra has allowed.”
“Do I want to know more about that?”
“She doesn’t want any of us screwing with anything more until the storm hits.
It makes some sense. When magic is this unpredictable, adding fuel to the fire
can be disastrous.”
“Explain disastrous.”
“Magic channels through all the spells set throughout the city, hits hard,
blows the network, destroys Proxies’ brains, burns the city down. For
starters.”
“So the plan is to do nothing?”
He shrugged one shoulder. It looked like it hurt. “That’s what Sedra wants.
She’s been”—he looked over at the door as if expecting someone to walk
in—“different.”
The latch clicked and Maeve pushed the door open, letting in the golden glow of
light beyond the room, and the smell of lemon wood polish and something more
savory that made my mouth water. Clam chowder, I thought. Maybe bread.
I blinked in the raised light. Shame got to his feet and headed over to the
shadows again as if even that small amount of light coming near him burned.
“I thought I heard voices,” Maeve said. “I brought food. For both of you,” she
said pointedly.
She expertly maneuvered a large tray with bowls, bread, and glasses of water on
it over to the dresser, where she set the whole thing down. “How are you feeling,
Allie?” She turned, a bowl of soup and hunk of bread on a plate in one hand, a
glass of water in the other.
“Can you move the tray?” she asked.
I broke out of the hypnotic trance the food had me in—I was starving—and
reached for the medical tray next to the bed that slid on wheels until it was
over my lap.
Maeve placed the food and drink on it, adjusted the tray height without
spilling a drop, and put her hands on her hips, giving me a motherly stare.
“Headache?” she asked.
I already had the spoon in one hand and had gotten a mouthful of the creamy,
rich, salty, buttery soup down. Still, I frowned. I didn’t have a headache. I
didn’t really hurt at all, though I should. I’d used a lot of magic, and using
magic always meant paying the price in pain.
“No headache,” I said. “I should, though.”
She nodded. “If there were magic flowing right now, under the ground, or inside
you, you’d feel the pain. That’s why you still have the void stone on. As soon
as magic kicks back on again, there’s a chance we’ll all suddenly feel the
price of using.”
Didn’t that sound like fun?
“Any idea when that might happen?” I asked. “I like to plan for when I catch on
fire.”
She turned back to the dresser. But Shame had already scuttled from the shadows
and taken his share of the food. He was back in the chair in the shadows by the
window, bowl in one hand, slurping it down.
“Utensils, Shamus,” she said.
“Mmm.” He pulled the bowl away long enough to get the hunk of bread involved.
“Magic will revive when the storm hits,” she said, “maybe sooner. It’s
difficult to know. These things don’t calendar well.”
She walked to Zayvion’s bed, brushed her fingertips across his forehead. She
had done that a hundred times for me in the last few months I’d been training.
Her touch brought a sense of soothing, an ease of pain. She said it wasn’t so
much magic as it was a knack. A little like my father and I have a knack for
Influencing people, she said, she and her kin had a knack for settling the
mind, soothing the body, easing, just a slight amount, the pain magic made you
pay.
If Shame had the knack, I had no idea. I’d never seen him use it.
Zayvion didn’t move, didn’t so much as stir at her touch.
“He’s in a coma, isn’t he?” I asked quietly.
Maeve nodded. She folded her hands in front of her, fingers twined. I’d never
seen her look helpless. “We think he’ll come out of it. When magic stabilizes.”
I was pretty sure she was trying to convince herself of that, because I wasn’t
buying it. I’d seen Zay fall. I’d seen his spirit, his soul, get sucked into
the gate. And I didn’t think magic coming back was going to fix that. Fix him.
Well, unless it blew open a gate. And if Zayvion was still capable of finding
his way home through that gate, maybe that would work.
“He went through the gate,” I said.
Maeve looked over at me. I’d never seen that expression on her face before, but
I knew what it was: horror.
“He what?”
“Went through the gate. Chase and Greyson opened it. I watched Zayvion’s soul
cross over the threshold.”
It sounded like I’d just said he died. And in a way he had. But he was still
breathing. He was right here in the room with me. Still fighting to live. I
refused to give up on that.
“I see,” Maeve said, no more than a whisper. “That changes things.”
“How?”
She just shook her head. “Let me talk to some people first. When I know, I’ll
tell you. Right now, you should rest. I want you to stay here until you are
feeling better.”
“I’m fine.”
She raised one eyebrow.
To prove how great I was feeling, I pushed the tray away from the bed and then
the covers away from my legs. Pajamas, plain blue, flannel. Not mine, but nice
not to be in nothing but panties.
I stood, and brushed my hair back behind my ears. My hands didn’t even shake.
Much. And the good thing? I wasn’t dizzy.
“You want to leave?” she asked.
“I’m not staying in bed.” I took a few steps. My body didn’t ache, really.
Other than the hollowness of magic not in me, I didn’t feel like I’d done much
more than work out really hard.
“Can I do anything for him?”
Okay, I’ll admit it. I was afraid to touch Zay. Afraid that if I did, I would
have to come to grips with him not being there, not being present in his body.
That I’d realize he was little more than a breathing corpse.
No. I pushed that thought away.
Maeve wove her fingers together again. “I don’t know.”
Three words I didn’t want to hear.
“So there’s not a lot about this in the histories?”
She shook her head. “Did you see him go through the gate with your bare eyes,
or were you using Sight?”
“I don’t remember. I don’t think I was holding magic. It all happened so fast.”
She sighed. “I’ll talk to Sedra. To Liddy. To Victor. To Jingo Jingo. We’ll
contact other members of the Authority outside the city. See if anyone has
experienced this before.” She was suddenly all business again. Busy was her
default mode when she was faced with an emergency.
“In the meantime, you’ll stay here. Not because I don’t think you are well
enough to leave. We may need you once magic flares again, once the wild-magic
storm hits. It would be easiest for us if you were nearby.”
“I’ll stay awhile,” I said.
“Good.” Maeve looked over at Shame, who had been sitting quietly, head back,
eyes closed, for most of the conversation. It didn’t take magic to see how her
body language changed once she looked at him. She was worried for him. She was
afraid for him. I’d never seen her doubt Shame’s strength. Not even when magic
had taken him to his knees.