Magic in the Blood (8 page)

I could talk to him about the magic near his place, could talk to him about the ghosts on his street, but telling him about my dad, in my apartment bathroom, touching me when I was naked and alone in the dark . . .

Nope. Wasn’t gonna happen. All I wanted to do about that was find some way to scrub the memory of it, and the echo of his touch, out of my brain and off my skin. Too bad magic didn’t erase the memories I wanted to get rid of.

“I don’t really want to get into it, okay?”

And he must have caught the “please” in my tone because he reached over and patted my hand.

“Does it have something to do with this?” He gently brushed the back of my right hand and the whorls of metallic color that webbed there.

“Maybe.”

“That happened when you left town for a while, right? The coma and all?”

I nodded.

“When you feel like talking about whatever happened in your apartment, or anything else, you come back here, okay?”

“If you keep making these scones, I will.”

But he wasn’t about to be brushed off so easily. “Allie. Listen to me now. I want you to know you can come here anytime. No questions asked. I have a place you could sleep—alone—if you need it. And I know how to keep my mouth shut about people’s . . . business.”

“Thank you,” I said.

That, Grant accepted. He probably thought it was sincere. He had good instincts.

“Okay, so how about I get you a refill on that coffee?”

“That’d be great.”

He gave my hand one last pat and then pushed up on his feet and walked off as the door opened.

I don’t usually pay attention to opening doors. Not really. I mean, sure, when I was running for my life I jumped at every creak of door and slide of window. But that was over with now. This was my town. I was safe. Except for the released felon, the cursed cop, and the ghosts, everything was peachy.

Or not.

It wasn’t just one person coming through the door; it was a half dozen, split four men, two women. They were all dressed in Sunday morning churchgoing clothes even though it was not Sunday. They all carried that earnest sincerity of those who feel a deep need to spread the Word.

I let out the breath I’d been holding. The last thing I needed to worry about were churchgoing people. They looked around the room as they took off their coats and hung them on the coatrack by the door. They were chatty, smiling, and making the “isn’t this nice” noises of people discovering a new pleasant place to hang out.

But another movement caught my eye. A man sitting in the far corner of the building lifted his cup of coffee toward me in a sort of salute. I’d say he was in his mid-fifties, and he was bald except for a ring of hair that may have once been blond and was cut short behind his temples. He wore bifocals and a nice dark brown sweater. He didn’t take a drink of his coffee and didn’t look away from me. He just sat there and smiled and smiled.

Creepy.

People moved between our line of vision, so I went back to finishing my coffee. Since I’d told Detective Stotts I’d Hound for him tonight, I also needed to score a phone and call Violet to cancel our dinner date. Now that I thought about it, I wondered if Pike could tell me something about those weird glyphs. I still had the card he’d given me for the Pack. He said if I called, they’d tell me when they were meeting next. I pulled my cell out of my pocket, hoping it might have miraculously repaired itself, but no. Still dead. Maybe Grant would let me use the phone here.

A man walked up to my table.

“Good morning,” he said as though he knew me and I should be glad to see him.

I looked up. Yep, it was the creepy guy from across the room. Didn’t recognize him.

“So good to see you,” he said. “My name’s Frank. Dr. Frank Gordon. I believe we are neighbors.”

“Oh?” I asked.

“Third floor of the Forecastle. I just moved in. I thought I saw you leave the building this morning. You’re an early riser, Ms. . . .”

“Beckstrom,” I said. “Allie Beckstrom.”

He held out his hand, and I reached over and shook it.

Frank’s gaze shifted from my face to my hand. He tipped his head back so he could gaze through the bottom half of his bifocals. His smile went hard, his teeth clenched, and he held his breath. Surprised. Then, quietly, “Remarkable.”

Okay, I was done with him staring at my hand like it was fresh meat. I tugged free of his grip.

“A remarkable tattoo, Ms. Beckstrom. Where did you go to find such an . . . unusual design?”

“The country,” I said. “It was nice meeting you, Dr. Gordon, but my friend will be here . . .”

“Magic, isn’t it? You do know that, don’t you? I make it a hobby to study such things.” He hadn’t moved, hadn’t stopped smiling, but everything else about him—the sudden stiffening of body language, the tone of hunger and anger just behind his pleasant words—meant I had a problem on my hands.

Well, not on my hands themselves, though that was also true, what with the marks and all, but the current problem was Dr. Creepy here.

I knew when things were edging toward violence of some sort—physical, magical, verbal. I checked his hands for weapons: a knife, needle, or gun. Nothing. But you didn’t need anything more than your fingers and a few well-spoken words to draw on magic.

And magic could do a lot of harm. Trust me on this.

I inhaled to catch his scent—the smell of almonds and sweat with just a hint of licorice—and then I stood because I wasn’t about to get into a fight sitting down.

“Hey, Allie,” Grant called out, cheerful and loud.

I didn’t look over, didn’t look away from Dr. Gordon. Dr. Gordon didn’t look away from me either.

Grant, however, wasn’t caught in the showdown. He strode right over, all casual and cowboy, and leaned his entire body between us while he placed a fresh cup of coffee on the table.

“Here’s your refill.” He turned and stuck his hand out. “I don’t believe we’ve met.” He and Dr. Gordon were close enough, there was no way Dr. Gordon could get out of the handshake. And Grant had wide enough shoulders that he pretty much blocked my view, breaking off our glaring match. “Name’s Grant. Grant Rhines. I’m the owner of this coffee shop.”

Dr. Gordon had to take a step back to shake Grant’s hand. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Rhines. I’m Dr. Gordon.”

Thank you, Grant. I did not want to become someone’s pet project. Didn’t want the doctor to get some kind of idea that he could take me apart to find out how I could hold magic in my body when no one else could. It was time for me to get out, move on, be done with being here.

“I don’t believe I’ve seen you in my fine establishment before, have I, Doctor?” Grant asked.

“As I was saying to Ms. Beckstrom before you interrupted us, I’m new to the neighborhood.” He wasn’t even trying to be pleasant anymore. “Now, if you’ll excuse us?”

“No,” I said. I stepped out from where I was closed off by Grant and stood slightly behind him because there wasn’t any more room to go past him unless I forced the issue. “We’re done talking. Grant, could I use your phone?”

“Sure thing.” He didn’t move or look away from Dr. Gordon. “I’ll show you where it is. Can I get anything else for you, Doctor?” he asked.

Dr. Gordon smiled, instantly a mild-mannered nice guy again. And it freaked me the hells out that he could do that—look so completely harmless in the blink of an eye.

“Oh, I don’t think so, Mr. Rhines. You’ve done enough. Thanks for the offer.” He stepped aside and glanced at me. “I’ll see you soon, Ms. Beckstrom. Have a nice day.” He turned and ambled over to the door. He paused and pulled a heavy coat and umbrella off the rack. Grant and I stood there, watching him until he was out the door and onto the street.

“Great guy. You really know how to pick ’em, don’t you?” he said.

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” I said. “Can I really use your phone?”

“Sure, sure.” Grant strolled even farther to the back of the shop, and I followed him through a door to the left. He pulled out a set of keys, unlocked the door, and pushed it open. Beyond the door were nice, carpeted stairs going down.

“A dungeon?”

“I did mention the Shanghai Tunnels, right?” He moved past me and started down the stairs. “Just give that door a good tug behind you. Wouldn’t want a customer tripping down here.”

I hesitated. I mean, how well did I really know Grant? All I had to go on was his word. The whole birthday thing could be a lie.

“Mind if I leave it open?” I asked.

“That’s fine. I’ll be back up in a sec.” He had turned the corner, out of eyesight from the top of the stairs. “Phone’s here on the table. Allie?”

I took a deep breath. Hounds are not trusting people. But Grant had given me more than his word. He’d gone out of his way to run interference with Dr. Nosy up there. And besides, we were friends. I think. I shut the door and clomped down the stairs. “I’m leaving wet footprints on your carpet,” I said. Then, “Wow.”

The room opened up at the bottom of the stairs and was most definitely not a dungeon. A full apartment, it was nicely furnished in leather and linens, with accents of deep blues and greens and lights set along the walls and ceilings in just the right way to make it feel airy and spacious instead of like the brick basement it was.

“You decorate this yourself?” I asked.

“Mostly. Had some help from a friend or two. Do you like it?”

“It’s fantastic.” I meant that.

“Thanks,” Grant said. “The phone.” He gestured to an old-fashioned standing candlestick phone with a rotary dial.

“Serious?”

“Authentic. Works too.”

I walked across thick carpet to the phone table next to a very comfortable-looking easy chair.

“Take your time. I’ll be right back.” He headed up the stairs, leaving me to make my call.

I dug in my coat pocket and pulled out my blank book and thumbed through it until I found Violet’s number. I dialed the number and got her on the second ring.

“Beckstrom speaking,” she said.

Strange to hear my father’s name, my name, from her lips. I wondered if I’d ever gotten used to that before, when I had known her, before I had forgotten her.

“Hi, Violet, this is Allie.”

“Allie. Is everything okay?”

Note to self: start living the kind of life that would make that question no longer the first thing everyone thought to ask me.

“Fine. Except I need to cancel our dinner appointment.”

“That’s too bad. I was looking forward to it.”

“Yes, well, I got a Hounding job that needs to be done tonight before the spell fades. Maybe breakfast?” I offered.

Violet hesitated. “I think I could do breakfast. What time?”

“Eight?”

“Eight should work,” she said. “How about Kickin’ Cakes?”

“I’ll be there.”

“Perfect,” she said. “And, Allie?”

“Yes?”

“Be careful.”

Note to self number two: start living the kind of life where people weren’t always ending their conversations with me like that.

“Sure thing,” I said.

I hung up the phone and dug in my pocket for the card Pike had given me.

I dialed the number. I was about to hang up on the fifth ring when a man’s sleepy voice answered. “ ’Lo?”

“I’m looking for the Pack?”

“Found it.” He yawned loudly and I heard rustling, like blankets being swept aside, and the wind-chime clink of a couple of beer bottles thunking onto carpet.

“Pike told me to call for the next meeting time.”

“Yeah?” he said.

“Yes.”

There was a long pause.

“Listen, if there’s a secret password or something, he didn’t tell me what it was,” I said.

“Wait,” he said. “Who is this again?”

And I thought Pike said not all the Hounds were as dumb as Anthony.

“Forget it.”

“It’s cool, it’s cool,” he said. “It’s just early, right?” More sounds of him grunting as though he’d stood up, and then the plastic-on-tracks rattle of window blinds being pulled aside. “Damn,” he said. “Not early. So what was your name?”

“Allie Beckstrom.”

“No kidding.” He suddenly sounded much more awake. And happy. That made me suspicious. “Nice to finally hear from you, Allie Beckstrom. Meeting’s at noon at Ankeny and Second. You know where that is, right?”

“I’ll manage,” I drawled.

He laughed, and it sounded like a dog’s bark. “Right. You got this town down, dontcha? Okay. Lower level. Today. Noon.”

“Is there a room number?”

“You’ll find us.”

And then he hung up on me. Hung up. Fab.

I hooked the ear piece on the receiver and stood there in Grant’s apartment, feeling a little less lost. At least I had a plan for finding out more about ghosts from Pike, and once I talked Pike into going to the police with me, we could take care of Trager too. The muffled thump of footsteps on the floorboards above my head was a comforting sound. Down here, in this place, I was alone, removed from the world. Hidden. Safe.