Magic at the Gate (22 page)

“Death magic,” Shame said. “Winter well.”

“Wait. Winter?” I asked.

“Way back, they were given names of the seasons. Four wells. Four seasons. Four disciplines of magic: Winter for Death, Spring for Faith, Summer for Life, Autumn for Blood.”

Very cool. And it was one more reminder that I had a lot to learn.

“Winter well is a plum assignment,” Shame said. “Victor must like you, Terric.”

“Reasonable people always like me, Shame,” he said with a straight face.

Shame flashed a smile and the tension between them let up a bit.

These two ran hot and cold so fast, they were going to wear me out. Maybe it wasn’t too late to trade up for new hunting partners.

“After we check the well,” Terric said, “we’ll sweep Laurelhurst to Forty-seventh, then up to Grant Park. It’ll be nice to have you along, Allie. Hounding could make this a hell of a lot easier. You feeling up to this?”

“Dr. Fisher gave me some painkiller. I’m fine. But I need to get into some warmer clothes first. And my coat. Give me a minute, okay?”

They nodded in unison.

“Shame’s car?” I was already walking.

“Yes,” they said together. Shame swore. Terric laughed.

I didn’t stop to talk with anyone else. Everyone was busy going over maps and working out who would bear Proxy for the night. From the snippets of conversations I heard, this had been a nightly event for the past two weeks or so. No wonder everyone looked so tired.

I really did want to change into warm clothes. Unfortunately, my duffel was in the room with Zayvion.

I crept in, not wanting to wake him. Not wanting to have to deal with him being angry at me, at himself, at life. I simply did not have the bandwidth to deal with that right now. It made me feel a little guilty. I mean, I’d said if we were going to be in a relationship with each other, we needed to be honest and present for each other no matter what.

And here I was sneaking around, hoping I didn’t have to deal with him, deal with us.

I dug in my duffel, pulled out a long-sleeved T-shirt. I shrugged out of Zay’s sweater and my own, put on the T-shirt and my sweater, then pulled Zay’s sweater back over my head.

“Going?” Soft. Just more than a whisper. Zay.

I tucked my hair behind my ear. “Yes.” I walked over, sat on his bed. I put my hand on his chest, and he lifted his arm—which looked like it took some effort—and placed his hand over mine. Warm, wide. It felt so right to be touched by him again.

“Where?”

What should I tell him? That I was leaving, going out?

To rescue the world. Without him. He’d be angry. Angrier. But it was the truth.

“Out. Hunting with Shame and Terric.”

Anger. Worry. Frustration. Yep, we could definitely feel each other’s emotions.

“Don’t,” he said. “You don’t know . . . can’t. You won’t be safe. I can’t keep you safe.”

He didn’t think I could do this. Didn’t think I was strong enough without him. I took a deep breath. Time and patience. Time and patience. He’d sat with me for two weeks when I was in a coma.

Then he’d dumped me.

Thinking about that did not help.

“I’m sorry,” I said, keeping my tone even. “There just aren’t enough of us for me to stay here. I know how to keep myself safe. And I’ll be careful.” I stood. Watched as his gold-brown eyes studied me.

“Take my sword.”

That was my man. I nodded. “I will.” I took his sword from where it rested in the corner of the room and pulled it over my shoulder. The weight of it was beginning to feel familiar, comforting. It made me feel safe. Safer.

But just in case, I also tucked the blood blade into my belt. I picked up my coat and looked over at him. He was watching me, his dark gaze begging me not to go, even though he said no more.

“I’ll see you soon,” I said. “Promise.”

“Allie, I—”

And just like magic, there was a soft knock at the door. Not Shame or Terric. Dr. Fisher.

“I thought you were awake,” she said. “It’s good to see you up, Zayvion. How are you feeling? Think you could eat something?”

I slipped out through the door before I heard his reply.

Chapter Fourteen

I
took the stairs down, my journal open, and scribbled updates as I went. Not my best work or handwriting, and as vague as I could make it in case it ever fell into the wrong hands. I noted that Zay was awake and recovering. Then, in smaller letters, I noted I had seen Shame’s art out in the town, and that Davy told me he had seen a ghost, just like Pike. Good enough for me to know what happened, not so blatant that anyone would suspect the sorts of people I was currently running with.

I tucked the book back in my pocket and exited through the side door Shame and I had used earlier.

Cold—it’d gone dark early. The sky was clear, stars catching moonlight against the darkness. Very little wind stirred the night, which was odd considering how close to the river we were. I wished I was wearing gloves and a hat, not that I’d thought to pack either when I was back at my place. Too busy worrying about Nola, about Violet, about Shame, about Zay.

My friends were going to give me gray hairs.

I didn’t see Shame’s car. Which meant it was over in the main parking lot, around the front of the building. I thought about calling him to make sure he was out here, and patted my pocket. Journal, but no phone. And I’d forgotten to ask Maeve for a new one.

Should I go back in to get a phone?

I glanced at the inn. No, Shame and Terric were probably out front trying to kill each other. It’d be better if I got moving.

This side of the building was mostly unused, though a couple industrial-sized garbage Dumpsters squatted against the wall, giving off a strong old-vegetable stink. A couple cars could park back here, or continue on the mostly gravel road that led around the full length of the building, quite a lot of it to my right, or east, and then curve in toward the river. The inn was built when the railroad functioned. Even in those days someone may have wanted to get a horse and cart, or even a full wagon, around the building to load and unload supplies.

Beyond the open space on my right was a stand of trees that stretched all the way up to the main road.

I inhaled the clean, cool air and sharp green and earth scents of the river. There was another scent on the wind. Licorice, and a slightly chemical tang. I knew that scent.

Jingo Jingo.

I stepped away from the light pouring through the windows and covered myself in shadow. I was already halfway through a Shield spell.

Too late. Much too late.

Shadows pulled away, flowed like a silk scarf over my skin, wrapped tight around my wrist, tangling in my fingers, locking my hands, stiffening my joints, my muscles. I could not move, could not swallow, could not blink, could not breathe except for careful, shallow breaths.

“Ain’t no hiding from me, girl,” a low voice purred.

Trapped, stuck, chained. I’d be screaming if I could find that much air. I had to get out, had to get free, had to get air and space.

Jingo Jingo walked up from behind me. I didn’t hear his footsteps in the gravel over the panicked screaming in my head, didn’t hear the shush of fabric rubbing over his massive bulk. I could not smell the magic I knew he must be using on me. Only the stench of licorice, his scent, clogged my nostrils.

He stopped in front of me. Wore a pin-striped suit under a nice rain jacket—like he was headed to Sunday service.

“Oh, I know you don’t like being tied up. Don’t like little spaces either. I apologize for that, Allison. Least I didn’t bring a box to put you in. No one likes that. No, sir, no one likes the boxes.” He stepped closer to me, drug one thick, hot finger down my cheek, along my jaw, and tucked the tip of it in the corner of my mouth.

If I could have moved, I would have bitten his finger off.

Anger. Best way to clear my head.

“You know how pretty a child you were? Oh, so pretty. I could have brought you home. Fed you candy, made you my little secret. But your daddy had plans for you. Even then.”

I tried to move anything, a finger, a muscle. Nothing.

Jingo Jingo’s fingernail rubbed along the edge of my mouth, and he licked his own lips. “So pretty.”

If thoughts of hatred could kill, he’d be bleeding out his eyes right now.

“Where’s your daddy now, Beckstrom? He still in that pretty head of yours?” He pushed the rest of his fingers along my jaw, thumb on my chin, and clamped tight against bone, like someone who was used to holding skulls. Even if I could have moved my head, I wouldn’t have been able to budge in that grip.

He stared into my eyes. “We need to talk, Beckstrom. Now.”

He wasn’t speaking to me.

“I know you’re using her. Always known. And what you do with her, I don’t care. But if you don’t come forward, I’m going to come in there and find you.”

Nothing moved in my mind; nothing scraped, fluttered, or shifted. If Dad was still there, he was being incredibly still.

Jingo’s bloodshot eyes flicked back and forth, as if he could look through the windows of my soul and find my dad on the other side.

“Didn’t think you’d want me to tear into this child’s mind to find you. Might not do it in a way she’ll like. Might even do it in a way she won’t recover from. Always did want to get my hands on your pretty little daughter. Teach her how to be a good girl. Empty out her head.”

He pushed his big, meaty finger into my mouth, drew it along the inside of my lip, then pulled it out and sucked it.

“She’s delicious, you know.”

I wanted to vomit.

I tried thinking to my dad, not to ask him for help—okay, maybe to ask him for help—but mostly for information. I needed to break Jingo’s hold on me. Dad broke Truance’s hold. It felt, as much as I could let myself think about it, the same. I didn’t know if Death magic was involved—Death magic is hard to track, and seriously, I just wasn’t at my cognitive best now—when Truance had me pinned. But whatever trick worked on Truance might just work on Jingo Jingo.

I didn’t have to think to Dad. Because all of a sudden he rushed forward, was around me, and did that same thing he did back when I was fighting Truance. He picked me up, turned his back, and stuck me somewhere in a corner of my mind where I could hear but not see what was going on.

I hated it as much now as I did then.

Don’t,
I thought.

“You forget yourself, Jingo.” It was my voice, but my dad’s words. And it made me want to gargle with gasoline.

“So you are still in there. I’d been told you might have flown this little nest.”

Told? How? Was someone spying on me? Was Truance checking back in with him? I pushed at Dad. No luck.

“Do you have her?” Dad asked.

“Of course. And she’s been . . . prepared. I’ve done my part, just as I said I would. Now you pay me.”

“Pay?” Dad laughed, a short scoff that sounded strange coming out of my mouth. “Until I have witnessed the results with my own eyes, you receive nothing. That was our arrangement.”

“You underestimate who is in power here,” Jingo Jingo said. “Oh, you were something once, but you’re dead now. And keeping you that way would be as easy as squeezing her throat. Tell me where you’ve hidden the simulacrum.”

“Do not push me.” Dad put enough Influence behind it, I could taste the honey-coated hatred. “I, and those who walk with me, are more powerful than you can imagine. Magic will be restored. Mikhail will have his revenge on those who betrayed him. But not until the wells are closed. That is your responsibility. See that it is done. Soon. And then you will receive your payment.”

Jingo Jingo clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Now, how I see it, I’ve done more than my fair share on nothing but promises. On nothing but your good word. That good word of yours is wearing down to a whisper with every passing day. Pretty soon, I just won’t hear it no more. I saw what you did to Greyson. Getting in his mind like that, and making him crazy.” Jingo Jingo chuckled. “And you said I was a monster who should be Closed.”

“I was not responsible for turning him into a Necromorph. I would never waste my technology on a man determined to leave the Authority. But times are changing. The war is changing. Those who survive, change. I have never doubted your loyalty to the cause that most benefits you.”

“That’s as much respect as you’ve ever given me,” Jingo said. “Too bad I’m not a man who needs to be respected. I follow my own cause—and maybe that isn’t your cause.”

Dad pulled on the magic in my bones and blood. Twisted it, molded it, cast it. Without ever moving my hands. Without ever chanting a word.

But when he spoke, there was a dread softness that stitched each word down in my head and made them hurt. I didn’t know what magic was behind that. I didn’t know what it would feel like to have that . . . whatever that was . . . cast at you. Maybe like broken glass dipped in acid. “Tell me. What cause still benefits you? Jingo Jingo?”

Jingo Jingo took a deep, hard breath. And when he exhaled, I knew every word hurt. “Your cause, Daniel Beckstrom.”

“Of course it does,” Dad said. “Never forget that. See that the wells are closed. Leave, and do not be followed.”

That
was Influence.

Jingo grunted and then I heard his shoes scrape across gravel. “You’ve let something through, Daniel Beckstrom,” he said quietly. “You’ve come back from death and let something through that gate. There ain’t no power against it. Mikhail can’t stand against it. Someone’s making living Veiled with those damn disks of yours. Even you can’t win against the monsters that are walking this city.”

I felt Dad hesitate, not quite panic but a quick calculation. Jingo Jingo kept walking and Dad let him. Maybe three footsteps later, Dad turned around in my mind.

I never intended for you to hear that. Never intended for you to become this involved, this at risk. But I cannot let you remember.

Before he even got to that last bit, I was bracing for his attack. I reached for my small magic, the magic that had always been there, the magic that had always kept me if not safe, safer than I would have been without it.

It was gone.

Given away.

By me.

When I was dead.

So Zay could live.

I reached for what I could, trying to hold anything, everything, pieces of me I didn’t want to lose, memory I didn’t want erased, didn’t want him to touch, didn’t want him to have, own, use.

Get away from me!
I yelled.

But there was nothing I could do to stop my dad from Closing my memories.