Magic on the Line (29 page)

And look at that. An abandoned brick building just half a block down the tracks. That ought to do.

I jogged across the weeds and chunks of concrete and around the corner of the building where a car could not follow since there was a concrete barrier lining the side and back of the building. I put my shoulder against the building, fumbled in my pocket, pulled out the gun, thumbed off the safety.

The area between the wall and the brick building was tight. As tight as an elevator. I felt my pulse rising, my heart thudding heavy and thick, for another reason. I felt trapped, boxed in, smothered.

My hands were shaking. I knew I had to hold them steady to shoot the gun. I wanted to hold them steady. But I could not make them stop shaking.

I held my breath and listened. The goons were picking their way across the weeds. Still just two sets of footsteps, and one rotten-smelling Track spell.

Okay, Beckstrom, you can do this. Do what Zayvion told you to do: aim the shooty end, squeeze the trigger.

I heard a scuffling of rocks behind me. Looked like third goon decided to go the opposite way around the back of the building so they could trap me in the middle. I stepped away from the corner enough that I would not be in range if they decided to rush. Then I crouched down. Most people aimed for the chest or face. If they were coming up for me, they’d be expecting someone six feet tall, not four feet tall.

Plus this put the shooty end of the gun just below belt level.

Might not kill them, but it sure would shut them down.

I pivoted on the balls of my feet, ready to shoot to either side.

Scuffles behind me came closer. Sounded like he found a buddy. I could make out two sets of footsteps.

But something wasn’t right with those sounds behind me. The footsteps were in lockstep, like the goons were walking in perfect rhythm. Or like they were four-footed.

I shifted and lifted the gun, shooty end out.

The goon was not one goon. He was not two goons. About the size of a St. Bernard, made out of rock and magic with wings, Stone stood there. He pulled back his lips and gurgled like someone had just run their fingers through marbles. It was a very quiet sound, a lot wheezier than normal. And he looked darker than when I’d last seen him, like the concrete gray of him had gone slate. But he was definitely my buddy gargoyle.

I was so glad he’d found me. That meant I only had two goons somewhere out there toward the front of the building trying to kill me.

Neat.

“Stone!” I whispered. “Good boy. That way. Get the men, Stoney. Attack.”

I stood up and somehow Stone squeezed past me and I managed not to scream from claustrophobia. I wasn’t sure if he understood what I wanted him to do. But it didn’t matter. Stone could be damn intimidating, and certainly distracting, no matter what he was doing.

“Fine,” I called out. “I surrender. I’m coming out peacefully.”

Stone’s ears laid flat against his skull, and his ruff was hunched up. He crouched, ready to spring.

“Go,” I whispered. “Attack.”

Stone jumped on the side of the warehouse, making it ring out like a wrecking ball had just hit it, and started climbing. He was on the roof so quick, he was a blur.

And then he was on the goons.

I could tell, because I heard the screaming.

I glanced out around the corner, my back still tight against the building. Stone had landed on top of one of the men, who now looked unconscious. He had probably hit his head, or Stone had hit it for him.

The other guy was chanting, getting ready to cast a spell that looked like a huge Venus flytrap but with massive teeth.

I opened my mouth to warn Stone, but didn’t have to. Stone snarled, quiet and wheezy like a rusted pipe organ, and then leaped, his wings pumping hard.

You’d think a man in the employ of Bartholomew Wray would be able to keep his concentration on that spell he was weaving while half a ton of gargoyle, fangs, and claw was falling on him.

Nope.

The man yelled out and threw the incomplete spell, which just tattered apart in the wind. Stone opened his huge maw and clamped down on the man’s neck. He unfurled his wings and pumped upward, the man’s neck still in his jaws. He flew up ten feet, twenty. He shook his head like he was shaking off water. Then he opened his mouth.

The man fell, twisted, hit the ground. Hard. And was still.

Stone landed beside him and snarled. He looked like he wasn’t done hurting him yet.

“Stone?” I said.

Stone turned toward me. For the briefest moment, I saw a spark of green in his eyes, the same green I’d seen in the Veiled. Then it faded and it was just Stone’s eyes looking back at me. Happy eyes. Happy Stone. His ears perked up and he tipped his head to one side.

Okay, that was a little worrisome. The last thing I needed was for magic to taint Stone.

“Good boy,” I said. “Let’s go. Come on, Stoney, we need to go.”

Stone trotted over to me and wrapped his wing up around my back, the prehensile tip holding tight to the collar of my coat. He didn’t smell like bad magic, didn’t smell like the Veiled. He seemed just like his normal self now.

I dropped my hand down on his head and petted him as we walked—quickly—away from the scene. This was a pretty deserted part of town, but people still came down here. The police came down here.

I didn’t want to be around when they started asking questions.

Chapter Seventeen

H
ere’s the thing. When you’re on the run, every shadow looks like a goon, every person looks like a member of the Authority you might have once seen, and every street is so covered in magic that you wonder if you would even notice a person hiding behind it if you tried.

And here’s the other thing. None of that was going to stop me from finding my way to Grant’s apartment under Get Mugged.

I stuck to the shadows and least-used streets and alleys, but that wouldn’t get me to the coffee shop. Lots of open, well-traveled streets between here and there. And I couldn’t just go strolling down the street with Stone beside me. People would see him.

“You need to go, Stone,” I said. “Go play.” I pointed to the top of a building. He sniffed at my finger, gurgled at it.

“Go,” I tried again. “Before someone sees you. Hide.”

I don’t know when “hide” had entered his vocabulary, but I was glad he finally seemed to get what I was saying. He tipped a look up at the building next to us, then trotted back the way we’d come. He wiggled his rump and jumped, catching the fire escape with his front hands, then nimbly clattering up to the rooftop.

Good enough.

But since I couldn’t fly from rooftop to rooftop, my best chance of disappearing was to blend into a crowd out in the open.

I took off my coat and emptied my pockets. I stuck the gun down the back of my pants, dropping my sweater over the top of it. My journal didn’t fit in my jeans pocket, so I’d have to carry that. There was no way I’d leave it behind.

My wallet was small enough to shove in my pocket.

I folded up my jacket and left it in the alley. It was cold without my coat, and I wanted a coat and hat so I could cover up anything the goons had seen me in and maybe reported to other goons. I ducked into a secondhand store and went straight for the coats, finding a wool beast of a thing that was two sizes too large and sported a plaid in shades of pea soup and muddy berries.

Not pretty. Not even close to what I’d usually wear. Perfect.

I also grabbed a black slouchy beanie that looked like it had been hand-crocheted. It had taken me less than a minute to shop.

I walked over to the counter.

“You’re ready?” a girl called out from somewhere behind the racks of shoes. “Be right there.”

I tried not to look nervous or in a hurry as she came over. “Hi there,” she said.

“Hi.” I made a big show of being busy pulling out my wallet so I could avoid eye contact while she rang up the items. Handed her my card and still didn’t look up.

Dumb, dumb mistake. My name was on that card. The Authority could track that card. Hell, the police could track it.

“Um,” I said, glancing up. “Can I have that back? I’d rather pay in cash.”

“Oh, sorry,” she said, her hand hovering with the card over the reader. “I already ran it.” She frowned. “Funny, it’s not working. Hold on. Oh. It says you don’t have sufficient funds.” She continued reading something on the computer screen. Then she went dead silent and flushed red. She licked her lips, sweat peppering her forehead.

“I’m sure it’s going to be fine, um . . . Ms. Beckstrom,” she said. “Would you like me to try it again, or do you want to use another card?”

Shit. They must have frozen my bank account.

“I’ll just do cash,” I repeated. I dug in my wallet. Three dollars. Not enough for the coat. “I guess I’ll only take the hat.” I handed her two bucks. She nodded, but her fingers were cold and she was trembling as she took the money and gave me back my card.

“Sure,” she said. “Sure.”

I didn’t think a secondhand store had a silent alarm, but that didn’t mean that she wouldn’t call the cops. Crap. She’d tell them I had the hat on too. So much for the disguise idea.

She rang up the purchase. “Do you want a bag?”

“No,” I said with the best smile I could manage. “But thanks.”

I picked up the hat and headed out. No money meant no cab. I had to get across town and the longer I was on foot, the bigger the chance they’d find me. But what other choice did I have?

I’d been Hounding the streets of this city for a long time. I knew where the security cameras were set up. I knew which roads the police cruisers didn’t ever patrol. I could see the magic spells dripping all over everything. There was a chance, a very thin chance, that I could get to Grant’s without being seen. If luck stayed with me.

I started walking. Not too fast, didn’t want to draw attention. Not too slow either.

It was nerve-racking. I hated being out in the open like this with nothing for safety but the gun rubbing a bruise into the base of my spine.

I hated not having magic.

I’d probably gone about two miles when a man stepped out of a bar doorway, his back toward me as he fumbled in his shirt pocket for a smoke.

That was not just a man. That was a Hound. Jack Quinn.

“Car’s this way,” he said as he lit a cigarette and walked off. I followed, trying to keep it casual. Thank you, Pike, for making it a rule that no Hound goes out on a job alone.

I had no idea how long Jack had been following me. Couldn’t have been for very long because I would have seen or heard him. But I was so grateful he was here, and had a car, I almost wanted to hug the man.

Jack’s car was up two blocks. We both got in.

“Thank you,” I said.

“For what?” he asked, easing out into traffic.

“For following me.”

He shrugged. “Bea said she was worried and made me come out looking. You can thank her.”

I nodded. I planned to do just that. Give her a raise maybe.

“So why’d you do it?” he asked.

“You’re going to have to be a hell of a lot more specific than that,” I said. “Why’d I do what? You are headed back to the den, right?”

“Yes. Why’d you steal from your own company?”

“What?”

“Embezzlement. Why did you drain the corporate bank accounts and piss off all the stockholders?”

“I didn’t,” I said, sort of dazed. “Who said I did that?”

“Every news channel in the Northwest.” He glanced over at me. I knew he was deciding whether I was lying. Since I was pretty much in shock over what he’d just said, he should deduce this came as a bit of a surprise to me.

“What are they saying?” I asked. “I don’t . . . I haven’t even been in to the offices for a week or more.”

“They are saying they found your backpack with a thumb drive with all the account information,” he said. “They are saying they caught you on the surveillance cameras going into the offices day before yesterday. They are saying you gutted Beckstrom Enterprises because you are jealous of Violet Beckstrom’s control and share of the company, and also angry that her son is likely to inherit everything your father disowned you of.

“They also say you’re armed and dangerous and probably on your way out of the country.”

I licked my lips and tasted the salt of my sweat. “My backpack. Someone punched me in the stomach and stole it from me a couple days ago. It just had my gym clothes in it, so I didn’t even report it to the police. Oh, fuck me. I’m being framed.”

“If you say so,” he said.

“I say so.” It had to be Bartholomew behind it. He knew Zayvion and I were together. Zayvion had just quit. Violently. Bartholomew probably thought Zay would go to me for money and resources.

Either that, or it was Violet. Bartholomew might have convinced her that this was the best thing. For me, for her, and for the Authority.

Damn it to hell. I was sure Bartholomew had looked into our files. I was sure this had to be his doing.

Dad, in my head, shifted. He was angry, and that anger confirmed my suspicions.

Is he the kind of man to play hardball like this?
I asked.

Bartholomew Wray,
my dad said,
will do anything to get his way. Including destroying my company.

And your family?
I said.
Hello, I could be put into prison for this. Violet could lose her livelihood.

Of course and my family,
Dad growled. Then he did the mental version of slamming a door in my face. I could tell he was still angry. It felt like a headache.

“Ever been a fugitive before?” Jack asked.

“Not like this.”

“Want any advice?”

“Probably not. Just take me to the den and drop me off. Then don’t look for me, okay, Jack? Tell all the Hounds not to look for me. I’m going to do what I can to figure this out and to clear my name. I do not want to drag any of you down with me. As a matter of fact, I want you to vacate the den, scatter. Don’t get caught and don’t get questioned.”

“For someone who hasn’t been chased by the law before, you’re doing pretty good so far.”

He handed me a small package of wet wipes—the antibacterial kind. “Keep one of these in your palm when you touch things like door handles. Won’t leave fingerprints, won’t leave your scent behind. Don’t cast magic. Don’t use your cell phone. Don’t use your credit cards.”

“I thought I wasn’t asking for your advice,” I said, taking the wipes and putting one in the palm of my hand.

“I don’t care. And we’ve already cleaned the den. No magic, no traces, no scents. But we aren’t going to leave you behind. You’re one of us.”

I opened my mouth but he kept talking.

“I understand you’re hot property right now. We’ll give you room and we’ll be careful. But we’ll be in touch.”

I nodded. No sense trying to talk logic with a Hound. Like I said, we’re the loyal type. “I’ll get in touch with you,” I said. “When I can.”

“Or if you need us,” he replied. “For anything.” He stopped in front of Get Mugged. “Good luck, Beckstrom,” he said.

“You too, Quinn. See you soon.” I got out of the car and he drove away.

I walked into Get Mugged. I didn’t know what time it was, maybe dinnertime. The place was almost empty, five people sitting at separate tables. None of them were Authority that I knew or remembered.

Grant was working behind the counter. I didn’t see Jula or the other employee, Ryan, anywhere.

I walked over to Grant. “Hey,” I said. “Large coffee, please, room for cream.”

“Hey yourself,” he said. Grant smiled, but he was not his normal happy self. Tense was a better description. “For here or to go?” he asked.

“To go,” I said. I didn’t know if any of the others had contacted him, and I hadn’t had a chance to ask if we could get to the tunnels through his apartment.

“Can I—?” I started.

“—use the bathroom?” he asked. “Sure. It’s down the hall, to the left. Use the stairs.”

The bathroom was not to the left and down the stairs. It was at the end of the hall. The directions he had given me would take me to his apartment.

“Thank you,” I said.

He held my gaze, and nodded. He knew I wasn’t thanking him for the coffee, I was thanking him for letting us use his house, the tunnels, and his business as a cover.

“Anytime, girlfriend,” he said.

I walked down the hall, which had both the middle and last lights burned out, conveniently throwing the door to Grant’s apartment into darkness.

I tried the handle to his door, the sanitized wipe in my hand. The door was unlocked. I stepped through and closed it behind me.

I took the stairway down. Sure, Grant lived under an old brick building. But the man had a taste for expensive and fashionable and knew how to put old together with new to make the place more of a home than any of my apartments I’d ever had.

“Anyone home?” I asked quietly.

I heard footsteps, soft. Then Zayvion emerged from the shadows on the far side of the room. “This way,” he said.

A rush of relief washed over me, but I didn’t have time to think about it, didn’t have time to give in to it, even though a whole lot of me wanted to run over and put my arms around him. “Good to see you, babe,” I said.

“You too. Everything okay?” He pushed a wall panel aside, revealing a door. He opened it with a normal, nonmagical key.

“Yes,” I said. “Stotts doesn’t believe me. So he’s out.”

Zay nodded. “Everyone’s back here.”

“What is this, a storage room?” There were boxes stacked and neatly labeled and a few pieces of furniture shrouded in dust covers, along with several framed paintings tucked on shelves and along the wall. A fixture in the ceiling—very industrial Art Deco—gave off enough light to see there was a low brick arch at the end of the room.

“Grant uses it for storage,” Zay said. “It connects to the tunnels.”

“How far?”

“He said he doesn’t know and hasn’t had time to fully explore it, though he did give me a map he’s been working on over the years.”

“All the tunnels lead to the shipyards, right?” I said. “I’m not sure how much getting to the river will help us.”

“All the tunnels that the public knows about ran to the shipyards,” he agreed. “The others were put in place by the Authority before Portland was even incorporated.”

It figured the Authority even had their hands in the building of secret smuggler tunnels. “I don’t suppose you have the Authority’s map of that?” I asked.

He gave a frustrated sigh. “I do not. To the left.”

I ducked under the archway and took the left branch of the tunnel. It was lit by the one bulb behind us. Zay clicked a flashlight and handed it to me.

A lot of dust. A lot of dirt. A lot of bricks and a tiny enclosed area. My own perfect little hell.

I worked on breathing evenly. It was going to be okay, the tunnels weren’t going to collapse, weren’t going to close in and trap me forever. I had lots of space, enough that I could put my arms out to either side if I wanted to and still not touch both walls.

One good thing—there wasn’t a single flicker of magic down here so at least it didn’t smell like rot. But this claustrophobia was going to undo me.

“Watch your step,” Zay said softly. “It goes up, then takes a tight right.”

Tight. Just what I wanted to hear.

I followed those directions and after the turn, which was more like a wall of stone that I had to squeeze around while not screaming, I was in an open living room–sized space lit by several lanterns.