Magic Without Mercy (26 page)

Well, maybe that explained the crappy buzzy landline. I’d always thought it had something to do with St. Johns being the only place in Portland without magic. Mama had once been involved with Perry Hoskil—my father’s business partner before my dad had forced him out of the company and into bankruptcy. It was whispered that Perry had more than just a small part in inventing the Beckstrom storm rods and many of the initial magical technologies. Technologies that had made my father rich.
It was possible he would have known how to set up an untraceable landline.

Or maybe I was reaching. Maybe one of her Boys was handy with espionage and had jimmied an easy line blocker.

“Thank you.” I walked over to the phone hung on the wall by the doors to the kitchen, picked up the receiver, and hesitated with my fingers above the keys.

I was pretty sure Nola was still staying with Detective Stotts. I was pretty sure that if he had been found, if he was awake, if he’d gotten over Zay Unclosing him, he’d be with her. He wasn’t a stupid man. He’d expect me to call her and he’d monitor those calls. He might even talk her into doing something “for my own good.”

Which meant I was very likely about to bring Detective Stotts, his crew, and, hells, the rest of the police force down on us.

There had to be a better way.

I dialed a different number.

It rang once. Then, “This is Sid.”

One of my Hounds.

“It’s me,” I said.

“Bad line,” he said.

“I know. Can you tell Nola I need to see her and Cody in St. Johns? You know Mama’s place?”

“Want them there now?”

“Back door. Faster the better. Police are looking for me. And she’s been staying with—”

“I know where she is. Give me twenty minutes.” He hung up.

God, I loved Hounds.

O
ne of Mama’s Boys pushed through the kitchen door and almost ran into me. He had both hands full with plates. On those plates were piles of delicious things that should be wrapped in a tortilla and devoured.

My stomach rumbled.

Mama stepped closer to the counter in a practiced, unconscious movement that made me realize they must have been avoiding these kinds of collisions for years. I followed her lead and stepped inward so he could press past us and take the food to the tables. A couple of the other Boys went back in the kitchen and helped bring out the rest of the food.

Even though I was suddenly starving, I didn’t head over to the table yet.

“Why are you helping us?” I asked.

Mama just lifted one shoulder, and put the glass back on the shelf, drawing another into her hand to be wiped down. “You came when Boy was hurt. I never paid. This makes us even.”

She wasn’t looking at me. There was a reason why she never paid me for coming to look at her youngest Boy, who was only five years old or so, and probably asleep somewhere upstairs. It had turned out her son, James, had been involved in my father’s murder, and in framing me for it.

“How is Boy?” I asked. Last time I’d seen him, he was dying from a heavy Offload spell. I’d traced that spell back to my father. I was wrong. It hadn’t been my father who had cast that spell to kill Boy; it had been James.

She looked up at me. “He’s good. Very good. School. Soccer. Good.”

I wanted to tell her I was sorry for what had happened between us, but the time for that talk was long past. She and I had never been close, but I’d always thought we might be friends. I thought now, maybe the best we could hope for was not enemies.

“I’m really happy to hear that. He’s a good kid.”

That got a small smile out of her that she quickly tucked away. “You go eat now. We open in a few hours. You will be out of here by then, yes?”

I glanced over at the room. “I think so. Sooner, if we can.”

All we had to do was convince Nola to let Cody unlock Stone for us; then, I hoped, we’d have an idea of what we could really do to cure magic.

“I might need a place for Davy to stay, though,” I said. “I don’t think he’s going to be out of bed for a while.”

“You mean him?” She pointed her dish towel at the stairs.

Davy stood there, one hand on the banister, looking a little confused, a little sleep-rumpled, and a lot more solid and steady on his feet. The pale image of Pike lingered on the landing behind him.

“Davy?” I headed across the floor. Pike nodded once to me, like he was handing off the duty of watching after Davy. Then he faded from sight.

Collins was already up and moving. He stopped before actually touching Davy. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

Davy frowned. “I don’t know you.”

“Eli Collins,” he said with a slight bow. Yes, bow. “Allie hired me to help with your medical condition.”

I walked up and put my hand on Davy’s arm, but he pulled away gently.

“I think I’m getting the hang of this.” He started down the stairs and seemed to have the falling-through-the-floor thing under control.

“Do you remember what happened?” I asked as I followed him.

“Some of it. Anthony. He bit me, right? Then he died. And… and someone said magic was poisoned?”

“That’s right. And the bite infected you with poisoned magic. You’ve been very, very sick.”

“Which explains why I feel like death warmed over.” He sat in the chair Zayvion had vacated for him. “And why I’m starved.”

Shame shoved an untouched plate of food over to him. “Welcome back to the land of the living, mate,” he said. “We have fajitas.”

Davy carefully picked up a fork. Then, when that didn’t fall through his hands or do anything un-fork-like, he began eating.

Yes, we were all staring at him. Yes, I was wondering if food would, you know, stay in his stomach, which was dumb because he was as real and solid as anyone else in the room and nothing had fallen out of him when he’d gone ghost before. If I couldn’t constantly see magic, and see the pulsing ribbons of light and dark that shone through the thin material of his T-shirt, I’d think he was just a normal guy.

A normal, hungry guy. He inhaled that food in about ten seconds flat.

Apparently, being half dead gave you an appetite.

Boy came over with another plate of food and silently handed it to me. I really was hungry.

“Thanks.” I glanced at Zayvion. He nodded toward the empty chair at the table, and paced across the floor to the windows so he could look out at the street.

Zayvion wasn’t all better yet, his pace shortened, a little stiff, but I could tell moving helped some.

I sat. “Shame, could you let Victor know Nola’s coming?”

“Sure. I could use a smoke anyway.” He got up and headed toward the back door. I didn’t know if there was Pooh code for that, but figured Shame could get the idea across.

Terric watched him walk off, then rubbed his left thumb over his right palm, where the mark, the blessing, from Mikhail rested.

Cody, the ghost, had been sitting on the bottom step, making one of those bouncy balls slowly roll from one side of the step to the other. But once Shame was out of the room, he stood up and drifted over to stand near Terric.

“He has a mark?” he asked me.

I had to chew for a minute before answering. I was not shy about getting my chow on, and Mama and her Boys knew how to cook.

“Do you know what it is?” I asked.

“What?” Davy and Terric asked at the same time.

“Cody,” I said.

“She can see the ghost of Cody Miller,” Terric explained.

Davy just frowned. “Like Pike?”

“Yes,” I said.

Cody was bent over and staring at Terric’s hand, which was on the table, curled slightly. His palm wasn’t visible. That didn’t seem to stop Cody from seeing the magic Mikhail had worked there.

“I think it’s a Binding spell,” Cody finally said. “Very
specific. I don’t know what it’s a Binding for. Maybe magic? For life? Health? No, that doesn’t seem quite right. I don’t know. It isn’t a spell I know. It’s beautiful, though,” he said longingly.

“He says it’s a Binding of some kind, Terric,” I said with a slight nod toward his hand.

Terric’s eyebrows raised and he tipped his hand so he could see his own palm. “To what? Death?”

I shrugged. “He doesn’t know.”

“Thank him for me, okay?” Terric said.

“He’s welcome,” Cody said, looking pleased to have done something to help him.

By the time I was mopping the last bit of sauce off the plate with my tortilla, I heard a familiar voice coming this way from the kitchen area.

Cody heard it too. He turned, an expectant, nervous look on his face.

It was weird to think that he probably hadn’t seen himself for a long time.

Nola walked into the room. Her blond hair was pulled back in a braid, and she had on a flannel jacket, work boots, and jeans. She looked like she’d wished she’d brought her shotgun too.

I stood and walked over to her. “Hey, Nola,” I said. “Really good to see you.”

She wasn’t smiling as she looked around the room and took in the situation. A situation that included three Boys still holding guns. Her gaze finally rested on me and she took a long moment before she said anything. Finally, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. It’s been a rough night or two, but I’m okay. I’m sorry I couldn’t call you. I was worried I’d get you in trouble with Paul. Have you seen him?”

“Not since this morning. Is something wrong? No,”
she said, “let me try that again. What’s wrong? How can I help?”

I hadn’t heard sweeter words in days. “A lot has happened. Let me bring you up to speed. How about we sit down? This will take a couple minutes.”

“All right.” She looked over her shoulder.

As Cody, the living, breathing Cody, walked into the room. He looked surprisingly different from ghost Cody. Ghost Cody seemed younger, slighter of build. His face still retained an edge of childhood that alive Cody no longer carried. But their eyes were the same extraordinary blue, and when they smiled—which they both did—it was the exact same smile.

“Hi, Cody,” ghost Cody said.

“I’m Cody,” the alive Cody said. “Me? Are you me?”

Nola walked over to the living Cody and took his hand. “Yes, you are Cody. And everything is fine. Do you want to sit down? You could have something to drink if you want.”

“No, thank you, Nola,” he said nicely. “Me? Are you me?” he called out.

The ghost Cody walked over to him. “I’m you,” he said. “Everything’s okay, but you should probably be quiet now. Let’s sit down together.”

Cody smiled and walked over to an empty table and sat. “Hi,” he whispered. “I can’t find monster.”

Nola looked at Cody, and then at me. “That isn’t like him,” she said. “He hasn’t done that for a long time.”

“It’s okay. Really,” I said. “Let me explain.”

I guided her over to a quieter corner of the room. Maeve and Hayden had been silent for so long, I’d almost forgotten they were there.

“What is going on?” Nola asked quietly. “They have guns. And your friend, Sid? He didn’t even stay, just
dropped us off. If I hadn’t seen Shamus outside, I wouldn’t have come in.”

“It’s such a long story,” I said. “You know about Stone, right?”

“You mean the half ton of statuary that found us not too far from here a few days ago, followed us home, and keeps sneaking into the house and making fortresses out of books?”

I smiled. “At least he’s staying out of your ice-cream sandwiches. Those make a hell of a mess when they melt. You know he’s an Animate—a magical construct—but you might not know who made him.”

“Who made him?”

“Cody.”

One of Nola’s eyebrows hitched up. She glanced at Cody, who appeared to be talking to thin air. “All right,” she said slowly.

“Cody was really good with magic. He worked some spells into Stone that would make him shut down if someone decided to use him to blend magic.”

She shook her head. “I don’t understand. Isn’t all magic just magic? All of it the same?”

Nola didn’t use magic. She lived on a very nonmagical farm out in Burns, growing very nonmagical alfalfa, which sold through the racing circuit. She’d taken in Cody back when he’d been hurt and I’d been accused of murdering my father.

Nola was like that. She took in strays and helped them get on their feet. In many ways, I was one of her strays, even though we were the same age. She just had an overactive motherly streak.

“There are really only two different kinds of magic,” I said. “Light magic and dark magic. It’s been kept under wraps, but magic was broken a long time ago—
hundreds of years ago—into those two things. Both can be used with the same spells, and you have to know one of the five disciplines to use magic. The disciplines are Faith, Blood, Life, Death, and Flux, but using the same spell with light magic or with dark magic will vary the results. For one thing, dark magic kills most people who touch it or use it for more than very short and infrequent times.”

“I’ve never heard of Death or Flux magic. And isn’t Blood magic just magic mixed with drugs?”

“No. There’s been a lot of misinformation circulated. On purpose so people wouldn’t hurt themselves using magic.”

“Okay.”

“So here’s the thing,” I said. “We’re not exactly sure how, but magic has been poisoned.”

A glass shattered against the floor.

I looked over. Mama was standing there, staring my way, her hands empty, the glass a spray of shards at her feet.

Her Boys sprang into action, two at her side, another bringing over a broom and dustpan.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” she said, brushing them off and taking the broom. “So I drop a glass. Just a glass.”

She swept the floor in short, hard strokes, her gaze riveted on the glass, a flush of scarlet pouring down her cheeks. I’d never seen her this flustered before. Not even when her littlest Boy had been dying in her arms.

A couple of months ago I would have tried to keep this all secret, even from Mama. But right now I didn’t care who knew about this stuff, just as long as we could fix magic.

“What poisoned magic?” Nola asked.

I turned back to our conversation. “We don’t know.
We went to one of the cisterns that holds magic beneath the city and tried to filter it to cleanse it. That failed. Explosively.”