Magic at the Gate (32 page)

Chapter Twenty-six

T
here were two showers in the room, spacious enough that I wasn’t claustrophobic, and private enough that two people could shower and dress without seeing each other.

Where the rest of the den was sparsely decorated and leaned pretty heavily on the appeal of uneven brick walls, exposed pipes, and support beams, the bathroom was enclosed by honey-colored oak floors and basins tiled in deep green, lights set to be soothing rather than clinical among the brass, glass, and mirrors.

It was designed to be a place where a Hound could rest her weary bones.

And this was the first time I got to try it out. I tossed a towel over the shower door so I wouldn’t have to search for one after my shower.

I took my time undressing, and lingered in the warm, wide fall of water. There was a bench along the shower wall, and I thought about adjusting the water and sitting there until I sucked down all the hot water in a three-mile radius, but I would probably just fall asleep and wake up when the water went cold.

I had the expected array of bruises and cuts, more burns than I remembered getting, but nothing was bleeding. That was something, right?

I heard someone enter the bathroom, which meant I had forgotten to lock the door. Smart, Beckstrom. “I’m taking a shower. Privacy, please.”

The door shut. The person had not walked out.

“Don’t make me hurt you,” I said. “Because if you don’t let me take my shower in peace, I will make you regret it.”

“Speaking of regrets,” Zayvion said. “I wish I would have gotten in here earlier.”

I turned off the water and stood there dripping, trying to decide how I felt about him. How I felt about us.

“Well, you’re too late. I’m perfectly capable of showering on my own.”

Ouch. That sounded funny in my head, but came out too sharp.

I pulled the towel off the door, dried myself while trying to put my head and heart into some reasonable order. I loved the man. That had not changed.

But would it hurt him to thank me for all I’d given up for him?

I’d felt like a hollow shell since I relinquished my small magic into Mikhail’s hands. There was a cold emptiness I could not fill. I didn’t think I’d ever feel whole again. But I’d do it twice, if it meant Zay could live.

I opened the shower door.

“Hey, sexy,” he said. He had a cup of coffee in one hand and a scone on a small plate in the other. “Thought you could use some coffee.”

I smiled. “That was nice. Thanks.” I took the cup, sipped, and sighed as the warmth trailed past the lump in my throat that threatened to make me cry.

I picked up the scone, took a bite, and put it back on the plate so I could carry it to the sink to set it down. I didn’t want to let go of my coffee cup, so this required one-handed eating.

“Wait until you see my next trick,” he said.

“Taming lions?”

“Too easy.”

“Really?” I took another bite, washed it down with the coffee. “Tightrope?”

“Not dangerous enough.”

I smiled again. “What, then?”

“This.” He walked over to me, too thin in the black T-shirt and jeans. He licked his lips, and the look in those beautiful brown eyes made me hold my breath.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, taking my hand, scone and all, into his. “I’m sorry I said you couldn’t handle yourself. That you didn’t know enough. I was wrong. I’m still angry that you walked into death—death, Allie—what were you thinking?” He shook his head. “But thank you. Thank you for being my Valkyrie and saving me.”

“Wow,” I said. “Stuck the landing on that. Bruise your ego much?” Okay, maybe it was going to take me a couple minutes for his apology to really sink in.

“A little. Maybe a sprain. I can walk it off.”

I pulled my hand out of his and put the remaining scone on the plate. I swallowed one last mouthful of coffee, then put the cup down too.

“I have a better idea.” I untucked the towel wrapped around me, and let it fall to the floor.

“How about if you apologize again. Only this time naked, with me, in the shower, wet.”

“Anything else?”

“And slow.”

He grinned. “There’s a room full of Hounds out there,” he said. “They might hear us.”

“I don’t care who’s out there. All I need, all I want, is you.”

I wrapped my arms around him, sliding my hands up beneath his T-shirt, savoring the heat of his skin, the roll of his muscles as he shrugged out of his shirt. He pulled me against his body, the rhythm of his heart pounding in time with mine. Then he kissed me, gently, patiently, until the cold emptiness inside me began to fill with his warmth. He took his time to taste me, to touch me. Then we proved to each other, soul to soul, that we were inseparable, whole, and very much alive.

Read on for an exciting excerpt from Devon Monk’s next Allie Beckstrom novel,

MAGIC ON THE HUNT

Coming in April 2011 from Roc.

Z
ayvion stretched out on my bed. He lay on his side, elbow propped under his head, wide shoulders blocking most of the view of my door and apartment beyond. I faced him, covers tucked under my free arm.

We were not touching. We were not talking. We were at war.

“Two out of three?” Never go into battle without laying basic ground rules.

“Fair,” he said.

Zay threw rock. I threw scissors. Damn.

“One,” Zay said.

I threw paper. Zay threw rock.

“Mine.” I looked into his eyes, brown and filled with that gold fire that came from using magic. And let me tell you, he’d been using it very nicely over the last three days since we’d sealed the undead magic users in Maeve’s Inn. Three days we’d spent almost entirely in bed.

We both knew our rest would be short-lived. Victor had called last night and asked me to come down so he could talk to my dead dad, who was possessing my mind. He wanted to know what my dad knew about the solid Veiled sealed in the inn, and about Leander, who had followed me into this world through death’s gate. I didn’t want Victor digging in my head to talk to my dad about powerful undead magic users, but we were running out of time. Leander had tried to kill us all a couple days ago.

“Still with me?” Zayvion asked.

“Sorry. Tiebreaker?”

“Winning hand.” He gave me a quick smile, then schooled his face into that impenetrable Zen mask.

“Think that’s going to throw me?”

“What?”

“That Zen thing.”

“What Zen thing?”

“You know what I’m talking about. It won’t work. You are the easiest man in the world to read, Mr. Zayvion Jones.”

One eyebrow quirked. “Bring it.”

It was one of the most underrated survival skills in history—winning at rock, paper, scissors. Zay had thrown rock twice in a row. Would he stick with his game and throw it again? Or would he expect me to think he would and instead throw scissors to cut my paper?

I studied his eyes, his lips, his smile. Nothing.

We fist-pumped one, two, three.

I threw paper.

Zayvion Jones threw rock.

“Aha!” I crowed. “I win. I’d like my eggs scrambled, toast buttered, and coffee hot.”

“You get a bowl of stale cereal.”

“Oh, no. Hot breakfast was the deal.”

“True.” He pushed the covers down a little, getting his feet free. “What do you think about omelets?”

“I’m pro-omelet if there’s cheese involved. If not, then I’m totally on scrambled’s side.”

“Maybe I’ll make a nice, slow quiche.” He leaned over me, forcing me to roll onto my back.

I made a face. “I don’t like quiche.”

“I can make you like quiche.”

He kissed me, soft, easy. He moved down to my neck and the edge of my breast and kissed me there, his tongue catching my nipple.

“No, you can’t,” I gasped. Which was a lie. When he kissed me like that, I was pretty sure he could make me like anything.

“Tell me you want quiche.”

“I want coffee.”

“And quiche?”

“Omelets,” I breathed.

He grinned. “Stubborn, stubborn, stubborn.” He kissed me again.

Oh, baby. If he’d kept kissing me like that, I’d have eaten a dozen quiches.

He pulled back suddenly and sat.

“Wait. Where are you going?”

“Those omelets aren’t going to cook themselves. Deal was hot breakfast.” He mercilessly shucked out of the covers, pulling them off me in the process.

Cold air sent goose bumps over my bare legs and arms. “Oh, you are such a sore loser. Winner means I get to stay warm.” I tugged the covers back over my shoulders.

“I’m not a sore loser. I let you win.”

“You did not.”

“Throwing rock three times in a row? Yes, I did. You make your eggs too runny.”

“I cannot believe you are critiquing my kitchen skills in my own home.”

“Not your skills. Just your eggs.” He stood up. “Well, now. Since you’re awake, how about winner sets the table?”

“Winner doesn’t want a formal breakfast.”

He strode out of the room wearing nothing but his boxers and the fine skin he’d been born with, though he grabbed a T-shirt from the dresser top.

“Not feeding it to you in bed,” he called back, “again.”

I smiled and pulled the covers over me, snuggling down. “Didn’t want you to.” Okay, that was a lie too. But he was right. It was probably time to start behaving like regular people instead of honeymooners.

I took a minute to stretch out and hog the bed all to myself. Zay’s half was still warm and smelled of his cologne. I closed my eyes and savored the far-too-uncommon sensation of not hurting, not worrying, and not running for my life.

Things were good. Right here, right this minute. It felt good to be happy.

Yesterday, the higher members of the Authority—Victor, Maeve, and Hayden—had broken the magical lock on the inn my dad had left there. They had transported the undead magic users—Veiled who had used the disks my dad invented to reclaim bodies—to the secret prison the Authority used to deal with magic users who broke the law. Zay had been angry he hadn’t been asked to help. Shame, the only one of us who they had asked go along, didn’t want to talk about it afterward. He’d said they were still alive, but held in a prison they’d never break out of.

I was actually glad I hadn’t had to face those people again. They had died once, and, as far as I was concerned, they had no right to be living again—especially when they had been bent on killing me and my friends.

The sizzle of bacon hitting the pan made me smile, and then the salt and maple of the bacon were joined by the rich, almost-chocolate scent of fresh-brewed coffee.

I knew I should get out of bed. If not to set the table, maybe to harass Zay while he cooked. But the bed felt too good to leave behind. Just five minutes more.

I woke to the sound of my front door opening.

We weren’t expecting anyone. Maybe Shame had decided to drop in. I heard voices. Two. Zay and a man I couldn’t quite place. My landlord?

I got out of bed and put my robe over my shorts and T-shirt. I strolled into the living room. Zay stood in the middle of the room, his back toward me, hands up and out to the side.

It was not my landlord who had walked into my apartment.

It was Dane Lannister, Sedra’s bodyguard and a member of the Authority I hadn’t seen since before we fought the Veiled. I’d last seen him during the wild magic storm when Jingo Jingo—my ex-death magic teacher and the current Authority betrayer—had kidnapped Sedra.

The gun in Dane’s hand was new too.

He lifted the gun and aimed it at both of us.

“Don’t move, don’t cast magic, and don’t make a sound, or I will kill you both.”

Magic is fast. Bullets are faster. And neither Zay nor I was in any shape to dodge bullets.

I held very still, the thump of my own heartbeat in my ears so loud I almost couldn’t hear him over the noise of it. How had he gotten in? I realized it wouldn’t have been hard. Last I knew, last Zay knew, Dane was a good guy. One of the people in the Authority who was trying to make sure magic was safe for everyone. There was no reason to suspect he would be pointing a gun at us.

“We are going to do this quietly,” he said. “Very quietly.”

He stepped into the room and two other men I hadn’t even seen followed behind him. I didn’t know them, or at least I didn’t think I knew them. They shut the door and it made no sound. Mute spells. They were using magic to make sure no one above or below us heard what was happening.

“I have business with you, Allison,” he said. “Something I should have finished months ago. Don’t—” he said to Zay, who had opened his mouth and inhaled. “Or I will shoot her between the eyes this time.”

This time? My stomach twisted, and I wanted to vomit. I didn’t know what other time he was talking about, but I had two bullet scars I didn’t remember receiving. And even though I had no memory of him shooting me, my body, my adrenaline, made it clear he was responsible for at least one of my scars.

Zay did not move, did not twitch a muscle, did not cast magic, did not say a thing.

I tried to pick up the pieces of my brain, to think of what I could do to stop this so we didn’t wind up dead. What weapons did I have? Magic. But I’d have to move to use it, and then I’d be dead.

I knew Zayvion was going over the possibilities too. I wasn’t touching him, so I had no idea what he was thinking.

The two men strode across the room, silently, straight toward Zayvion. Without breaking stride, they both flicked their fingers, releasing a spell they’d been holding. I could hear more people behind us, maybe two, maybe four.

They’d used Illusions to give them time to spread out into the room. Illusions so well cast, I couldn’t smell the magic they were using for it. There could have been an army of people in the room right now, with guns, knives, swords at our backs.

My skin crawled, and it was all I could do not to turn and look, but Dane’s gun was unwavering. I could hear very soft footsteps on my carpet. I counted at least five people in the room. Two in front closing in fast on Zayvion, two behind doing the same, and Dane, still just on this side of the closed door, the barrel of his gun steady, finger on the trigger.

They hit Zayvion from behind. The Mute spell made sure I didn’t hear what they hit him with. It might have been magic. It might have been a crowbar. He grunted and crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

“Eyes on me, Beckstrom.”

I did as he said, trying to see what they were doing to Zayvion out of my peripheral vision. No luck.

“What do you want?” I asked.

I heard the ratchet of handcuffs opening, and then Zay was dragged to the far corner of my living room toward the radiator.

I chanced a look over my shoulder.

“Your attention, Allison,” Dane said, “or I will shoot you. You don’t have to be standing for what I want out of you.”

Zay was bleeding, out cold. Five men, not four, were handcuffing, gagging, and blindfolding him. They all had guns too. I heard the meaty thump of a boot slamming into muscle. Probably ribs. I hoped it was just ribs.

I turned back to Dane. Furious. I didn’t know how, but I was going to take him down.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing? Do you even know what will happen to you when the Authority finds out about this?” Buying time, really. I didn’t care what he thought was going to happen. I needed a minute to figure out what I could do to him and his five friends without hurting Zay. In theory, I could have called on enough magic to burn this place to the ground. I had enough magic at my fingertips, even without the small magic I’d sacrificed in death, to do it. But I’d have to pay just as big a price as the spell I cast, and then I’d be nothing but ashes and burned bones.

I didn’t have any weapons—which scared the hell out of me, and that, in turn, only made me more angry.

I was good at angry.

He motioned with the gun. “Now that Zayvion is out of the way, you have two choices: do what I tell you to do or bleed.”

If I lifted my hand to cast magic, I’d be on the ground bleeding. And I did not want to fall to the floor with six angry armed men in the room.

“All right,” I said. “What do you want?”

Dad?
I thought. I knew he was still there, still in my mind. But he had been silent for three days. Either he was too weak to help, or he was hiding from Dane. I didn’t think Dane knew my dad was in my head.

No, he had to know. I’d been trying to convince everyone in the Authority my dad had been in my head for months now. Great.

“You are a problem,” Dane said. “And the easiest way to get rid of a problem is to kill it. Simple, efficient, gone. A gun to the back of the head, a knife through the spine, magic to boil your blood, crush your skull, stop your heart. The kind of death we, Greyson and I, gave your father. The kind of death I will give you. But first, I want to know where Daniel is keeping Sedra.”

Holy crap. I knew Greyson, along with James Hoskil, had been a part of my dad’s murder, but I didn’t know who else had been involved—had no idea Dane had been involved.

“My dad’s dead,” I said, anger steadying my voice. “He’s not keeping Sedra anywhere. Jingo Jingo has her.”

“A technicality. Jingo is working for your father. Carrying out what, I admit, is a very thorough plan to hold Sedra hostage and use her as a sacrifice to bring Mikhail back into power. I don’t know what Daniel plans to get out of that. And I don’t care. Tell me where she is.”

“I don’t know. Dad never told me his plans.”

“Oh, he told you. You may not remember it.” He paced toward me. “Daniel was paranoid about how much information any one person should be allowed to access. But not you. He told everything to you. You just don’t remember.”

He stopped. Not close enough for me to make a grab for his gun, but close enough I could smell the old vitamin stink of him. One sniff and a wash of fear rolled through me. I remembered that smell. That smell meant pain. Even though I was furious, a whimper filled my throat.

“The information, your father’s information, is in your head,” he said. “All I have to do is pull it out of you.”

The men behind me were moving. I couldn’t hear them, but I felt their footsteps, like a faint trembling beneath my bare feet, coming closer.

“Your father Closed you many times. Used you. He’s been taking your memories away since the accident when you were five years old.”

A high ringing started in my ears; my heartbeat thrummed behind it. I was breathing too fast. I didn’t know if I was angry, panicked, or about to be sick. I didn’t remember an accident. I didn’t remember my dad Closing me.

That didn’t mean those things hadn’t happened.

He had to be lying. He had to be trying to knock me off my footing, to break me down so he could get me to tell him where Sedra was.

I didn’t want to believe the bastard, but I knew—somehow I knew—every word was the truth.