Magic in the Shadows

Chapter Two

I ducked under the warm stream of the shower and couldn’t believe that this morning I’d been at my father’s grave. Only Violet, his newest-well, his last-wife had cried. I didn’t know how I felt about his death. Sad, I think.

But it was getting pretty hard to grieve someone who wouldn’t just get on with the dying.

The disks

, my dad whispered in my head,

must be found. The disks. My killer must be found. .

“La la la,” I said. “I’m not listening to you.”

I rubbed soap over the burn marks left from the Veiled, the incorporeal bits of dead magic users who had gotten a taste of me they couldn’t resist. The burn marks still itched in a sore kind of way, but the bruised-fingerprint look had faded. I checked my legs. Pale, long, a little bruised and scratched, but worth shaving. If I wore nylons I could probably even try a skirt above my knees.

Nola opened the bathroom door. “I’m going out. Need anything?”

“No. Wait. . nylons.”

“Anything else?”

“Is there something I’m forgetting?” Open mouth, exhale dumb question. Nola, of all people, knew there were probably a million things I was forgetting. And not just about how to get ready for a date.

“Do you have a nice bra?”

“Of course I have a nice bra.” At least I thought I did. Cotton counted as nice if it had lace on it, right?

“Not cotton,” she said.

“I own a bra that isn’t cotton, not that it is any of your business.”

She smiled. “I’ll be back soon.”

I rinsed, got out of the shower, and spent some time looking for remnants from my college dating days. Things such as hair spray, gel, and makeup.

The drawers under my bathroom sink gave up a few useful items. A tube of mascara, lip gloss, cover makeup, blush, and some goo I used to think made my hair look sexy. I applied everything with some degree of caution and stared at myself in the mirror for longer than I wanted to admit.

I looked. . well, if not soft, much more feminine. It was strange to see myself that way, as a woman out on the prowl for sex instead of a Hound out on the prowl for the scent of illegal magic.

I dug my fingers at the roots of my hair again, letting dark strands slide down the side of my face, covering the marks of magic along my jaw and catching on the corner of my lips. This was who I was. At least for tonight. No, this was who I always was, whom I hid behind the lack of makeup, behind the hard edge of being a street Hound, behind the torn blue jeans and Tshirts. This was the woman who had been hurt, betrayed, loved, dumped. This was the woman who hadn’t found a man who could look her in the eye. A woman who didn’t like to admit her own power. This was the me even I didn’t know how to deal with.

It was going to be interesting to see what Zayvion, the unflappable master of Zen calm, was going to do about it. Maybe he’d do nothing.

Maybe that worried me most of all.

I tucked the corner of the towel tighter around me, then bare-footed it out into my bedroom across the hall. My closet wasn’t exactly full. Unpacked boxes took up half the closet, and the other half held a couple suit jackets, some slacks, more sweaters, and not a lot else. I didn’t see my red dress. For all I knew I gave it away, burned it, lost it in a wild night of magical abandon. That subtle reminder that magic had burned holes through my memories made me angry. But it was a familiar anger, and one I knew I could do nothing about.

All I could do was go forward. That’s all I’d been doing my entire life. Let go of the past, of the things I wanted, of the people I loved, and move forward.

I glanced at the clock. Still forty minutes before Zayvion showed up. I could put together something suitable for a French restaurant by then.

Maybe a nice pair of slacks. I pushed hangers around again, looking for my gray tweed pair. Found them, considered my nice jade jacket. Even though it was silk, it looked far too much like business wear. I wanted to date Zayvion, not interview him for a job. I fingered the inside of the jacket collar and a flash of red caught my eye.

My dress?

I unhooked the hanger. Beneath the jade jacket, red shone like a winter fire. My dress.

I shucked out of the towel, put on my good bra (silk, lace, black) and panties, then slicked into the dress. It fit me a little looser than the last time I’d worn it and I made a mental note to eat three meals once in a while. I smoothed my hands over the silky fabric-what there was of it-but stopped that pretty quick. My hands sounded like industrial sandpaper over the silk, and I didn’t want to snag it up.

Shoes next. I found my high-heel black boots, sexy if you were into the straps and well-placed buckles look. I wondered how stupid they’d look with the dress, waffled when I came across a nice pair of high-heel sandals, and went back to the boots because it was January in the Pacific Northwest. Icy rain out there. Lots of wet. Sandals just weren’t going to cut it.

Nola hadn’t returned with the nylons yet, so I carried the boots back into the bathroom to get a look at myself in the full-length mirror.

What do you know. I was still a girl.

The dress slipped low and wide in the front, giving off a maximum view of my collarbone, and the whorls of magic that painted down to my right breast, but mostly covered my cleavage, and the shiny pink bullet scar over my left breast. The sleeves were short and the skirt was shorter, body hugging but with a little swing at the hem.

The whole look, from dark, messy hair that I tucked behind my ear on the left side and left loose on my right, pale skin beneath bloodred curves, painted a version of myself I hadn’t seen in years.

Standing there in front of the mirror, in a dress-in a sexy dress-made me feel more naked than I’d been in the shower. For a second-just that long-I wanted to crawl back into my jeans and heavy sweater and leave the whole femme fatale stuff to girls who liked dressing up and didn’t get dumped every time they tried to fall in love.

The door opened. “I’m back,” Nola called out over the rustling of plastic bags. “Are you in the bedroom?”

“Bathroom,” I yelled.

More rustling as she neared. “I wasn’t sure what color for your nylons. Decided nude would be best. .” She stopped at the open bathroom door.

“What do you think?” I asked when she didn’t say anything. “Too much skin? Maybe it needs a sweater? Or a parka?”

“Turn around,” she said.

I did.

“Are you wearing those with it?” She pointed to the boots in my hand.

“I love my boots.”

“Hmm.” She handed me the nylons, and I surprised myself by remembering not only how to get into a pair of panty hose, but also how weird they felt against my skin.

I stuffed my feet in the boots and propped my heels on the edge of the toilet so I could zip the leather to just below my knees.

“Well?” I turned, arms out.

“Heels might be prettier,” she said.

“These have heels-over three inches of heels.”

“I mean dress heels. Sexy shoes.”

“These are sexy.”

“Girl shoes,” Nola said like it was a foreign language. “You have enough money to own a hundred Jimmy Choos if you wanted.”

“First of all, when did you start paying attention to designer shoes? And second of all, it’s raining out there. And cold. Portland is boot weather. Sexy-boot weather.” I gave her a grin. “How about the dress?”

Nola nodded. “Gorgeous. Really. Even with the boots. Plus your, um … The marks on your hand and arm make it look like you’re wearing jewelry down your arm.”

I looked down at both my hands. Sure, my right hand was covered in swirls of metallic colors that wove all the way up my arm, over my shoulder, and licked up to the corner of my eye. But my left hand had only thick black bands at each knuckle, wrist, and elbow from where I had denied magic’s use of me. Those black rings were stark against my white skin. Prison bars against moonlight. That, I realized, was a good deal of why I was feeling so exposed. My hands, my scars, my mistakes-and for the few who might really understand this stuff-my power was showing.

It made me feel all twitchy and vulnerable.

“Maybe I should wear a jacket. Real sleeves.”

Nola stepped into the bathroom and turned me back toward the mirror, standing next to me so we were both in the reflection. Wow. I looked good. The dress clung in all the right places and made my modest curves look much fuller. The skirt hit high enough above the knees that even with those boots taking up all of my calf, it looked like my legs never stopped.

“You look beautiful,” she said in a deal-with-it tone. “Wear your coat out. But don’t wear it in the restaurant. You’re on a date, not a job, okay?”

“It is pitiful you think you need to remind me of that,” I said.

Nola stared at me in the mirror and gently touched one of the fading fingertip burns on my shoulder. “What happened?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Does it involve magic?”

“Everything in my life involves magic right now,” I groused.

Nola stepped back. “So do something unmagical tonight. I recommend sex.”

I laughed. “Shocking. Where’s the prim and proper widow from the country?”

“I never said I was prim or proper.” Nola grinned. “Just because I live in the sticks doesn’t mean I don’t know how to live.”

The doorbell chimed.

“Think it’s Zayvion?” she asked.

“Unless you invited a boyfriend over,” I said.

“Stop it. I don’t have a boyfriend. Do you want me to get it?”

I shook my head and tucked my hair behind my left ear again. One last muss with the right side so it better covered the marks along my jaw, and that was as good as I was going to get. Not that hiding the edge of my face would matter much. My hands and arms were covered in marks from magic.

“The boots?” I asked. “Honestly?”

“Tough,” Nola said. “Unexpected. Sexy. You.” She smiled. “Call me if you want the apartment to yourself tonight. I can get a hotel room for the night.”

“Oh, I’ll be home,” I said.

“I’m not so sure about that. I know you.”

I made a face at her, but she was right. I hadn’t even been good at dating back in college. One-night stands, yes. Seven-course meals, no.

“Yeah?” I said. “Well, Zayvion has some idea in his head that I jump into bed too quickly with men and then push them away. Shut up and stop grinning. He wants us to take it slow. To know I really want this, want him.”

“Gotta love a patient man,” she said. “Rarest of them all. Go. Date.”

She moved out of the way so I could walk out of the bathroom. It’s amazing how little time it takes to get back into the swing of wearing heels again.

I strolled to the door and looked out the peephole. Zayvion’s back was to me. He had traded his ratty blue ski coat for a black leather jacket that did worlds of good for showing the width of his shoulders. Well, well.

I opened the door.

Zayvion turned.

We stood there, caught in a breathless moment.

He looked amazing. Leather jacket, open to reveal a black sweater thin enough it showed the definition of his chest he always hid under sweatshirts. Black slacks. Black shoes. Handsome as hell, with those deep brown eyes, wide lips, and dark, tight-curled hair. He looked a little surprised. Maybe a lot surprised.

That made two of us.

“Allie,” he exhaled.

“Zayvion.” I licked my bottom lip, tasted the unfamiliar gloss-vanilla-and gave him a slow smile. “Don’t you clean up nice? Come on in. I’m almost ready.” I turned away from the hunger in his eyes and walked into the apartment. I had two reasons for turning my back on him. One, I had to stop looking at him before I just grabbed him and dragged him off to bed; I was trying to prove I wasn’t that kind of a girl tonight.

Two, I wanted to see how the going-away view of my getup worked for him.

“Nola, you remember Zayvion Jones?” I looked over my shoulder at Zayvion.

Even though I’d gotten halfway across the room, Mr. Master of Zen had frozen, only one step into the apartment. He wasn’t looking at my apartment. I’d lay money he didn’t even notice Nola standing in the living room, watching us this whole time. His gaze slipped up the back of my boots, thighs, ass, and finally slid along the edge of my breast to my face.

Sweet loves. If he didn’t stop looking at me like that, I wasn’t going to make it to the door, much less the first course.

“Hello, Zayvion,” Nola said.

He looked away, suddenly in motion again as if her voice had freed him. Freed us. I inhaled and realized I had stopped breathing. I had also, unknowingly, taken a step toward him.

Like metal to a magnet. That man was a force I could not resist.

“Good evening, Nola,” he said as he shut the door. “I didn’t know you were coming to visit.” But the way he said it, the subtle tightening of his shoulders, the carefully neutral tone, sent warning bells off in my head. He was lying. He knew Nola was going to be here.

Did he know something about Cody? Something that would help Nola gain custody of him? Or was he spying on Nola? I didn’t like that idea. Zayvion worked for people who gave me nightmares.

“Well, it wasn’t a planned trip,” she said. “I have some business in town that needs my attention.”

“It is nice to see you again,” he said.

Nola raised one eyebrow, obviously not buying it. I wasn’t getting a good read on either of them. Partly because all I could think about was Zayvion’s hands touching me, his body pressing against every inch of me. Partly because I had no idea how much they knew each other since I’d lost those memories. I suddenly felt the desire to keep Nola safe from the kind of people Zayvion associated with.

People like you

, a whisper said in the back of my head.

Oh, just thanks so much for adding a little extra creepy to my night, Dad

, I thought.

Now go away.

I couldn’t be sure that he listened, but I didn’t hear him, didn’t feel him anymore.

One thing was for sure: I trusted Zayvion-hells, trusted just about anyone in this city-more than I trusted my father.

Nola told me Zayvion had sat with me out at her farm for two weeks when I was in the coma. They would have had some time to talk then, to get to know each other. She also just said she liked him.

Good enough.

“It’s nice to see you too,” Nola said, and I was pretty sure she meant it.“Allie, before you go, I have something for you.” She knelt beside her suitcase propped next to the couch and unzipped one of the outer pockets. “I was going to give it to you later, but I think it might come in handy tonight.”

She stood and held something black and knitted in her hands.

I took the soft and supple hand-knitted lace, held it up, and discovered it wasn’t just lace, it was gloves. Long enough they would rise up to my elbows where they tied off with a delicate black ribbon woven through eyelets.

“Oh, Nola. You made these, didn’t you?”

She shrugged. “I had some time on my hands.”

“They’re beautiful. Thank you.” I pulled them on. They fit perfectly. A lot of skin showed through the lace, but they did a nice job of making both of my arms look like they belonged on the same body. Plus, I thought they might be kind of sexy. I glanced over at Zayvion.

He had put both his hands in his pockets, same way I did when I was trying to keep my hands off the artwork in a museum. His gaze flowed down my body, then traced back up until his warm brown eyes met mine.

“Stunning.” Deep and soft, husky with need. A wash of warmth flushed under my skin. I was blushing. Fabo. So much for femme fatale.

Sweet loves, this was going to be a long night. Maybe Nola should get that hotel room.

“Thanks.”

We stood there, looking but not touching, wanting each other but doing nothing about it, until he finally tipped his head down and stared at his shoes. “So, your coat?”

“Right.” I walked past him, and inhaled the warm pine and sweet spice scent of him-a new cologne? I liked it. He didn’t touch me as I walked by. I kept my back to him until I had my long wool coat securely on and buttoned.

Then I turned.

He was looking at me, his shoulders tipped slightly down, body language visibly tense, as if a fire burned beneath his skin.

I knew the feeling.

“Ready?” I asked.

“I am. Are you?” He smiled, just a curve of his lips, and I wanted to kiss him, to open his mouth with my own and taste him.

I’d show him who was ready.

“Sure.” It came out a little breathless, and I cleared my throat to get my volume back. “Bye, Nola. See you in a few hours.”

“Or, you know, call,” she said.

I gave her a look, then walked past Zayvion and out into the hall. He followed, pausing near enough that even with his hands in his pockets, I could feel the heat of him behind me as I turned to lock the door.

I took a step backward, hoping to feel the press of his body. Instead, he stepped in time with me, moving backward as if we were dancing, as if he had an instinctive knowledge of my body and his moving as one. As if he remembered very well that we had been lovers, even though I did not.

I held still, waiting, wishing he would touch me. Instead, he walked around and stood next to me.

Damn.

“You are hungry, aren’t you?”

“Starving,” I said.

He tipped his head toward the end of the hallway and the stairs that led down. “Good. Let’s not lose our reservation.”

“Right.” I strolled over to the stairs.

He walked with me. “If I knew you had that dress in your closet,” he said while looking straight ahead, “I would have taken you out somewhere nice a long time ago.”

“Really? Before or after the psychopath tried to kill me?”

“Which psychopath?”

And seriously, if he had to ask that question-and he did-how crazy had my life been lately?

“Allie?” Zayvion asked.

“Minute. I’m thinking.” How many psychopaths had I been dealing with? There was Bonnie, who had tried to shoot me. James, who was in jail now for trying to kill Zayvion, Cody, and me. Then there was the gunman I couldn’t remember who left a bullet scar across my ribs.

“It wasn’t a serious question,” Zayvion said.

“I know.”

And just a couple weeks ago, a whole slew of new psychopaths who also liked mixing a little blood magic in with their gunplay showed up in my life: Lon Trager’s men. And to top it all off, the crazy death-magic doctor, Frank Gordon, had not only tried to kill me, he’d also dug up my dad’s corpse to try to re-kill him.

“Forget I asked,” Zayvion said.

“No, that’s okay,” I said. “Let’s just say all of them.”

“Mmm.” He gestured to the stairs, indicating I walk in front of him. “I would have asked you out somewhere nice before all of the psychopaths. I don’t like fighting on an empty stomach.”

“That’s so romantic.”

I started down the stairs, ready to drop the psychopath train of thought, and pretty darned pleased with my continued grace in heels.

We made it across the lobby to the door. He held the door open for me. As I brushed past him, my leg slid against his. I caught my breath at the thrill of electricity that washed through me. Sweet loves, I wanted him. Even with all the psychopath talk.

I paused. Thanks to the heels, I was maybe half an inch taller than him. And close.

So close, all I’d have to do was lean forward to kiss him. Half in, half out of the doorway, his left arm extended to keep the door open, Zayvion would have nowhere to go if I did exactly that. I searched his face, wondering just how that would play out.

Silent, still, he relaxed backward into the doorframe and smiled softly. Inviting me. No, daring me. He knew exactly what the slightest brush of his body did to me. And he was enjoying every minute of it.

“Yes?” he murmured.

Keep smiling, Jones

, I thought.

Two can play this game.

“I think my boot’s stuck,” I said. “Hold on.” I pressed the heel of my palm against his hip bone, for balance I really didn’t need, and bent. I reached across my body, swaying my hip away from him as I lowered my head. My face skimmed just inches above his stomach, belt, and thigh as I bent to inspect my shin.

I messed with one of the perfectly not-stuck buckles on my boot and noted that Mr. Jones sure was breathing a lot faster than he had been a moment ago. Luckily, my hair swung forward to cover my grin.

Round one

, I thought.

Bring it on, baby.

I wiped the grin off my face and straightened, my fingers digging into his hip just a little. I let my hand drop, but not before dragging my thumb along the edge of his front pocket. I met his gaze.

He blinked, once, slowly. Couldn’t seem to get his Zen attitude working. Had to blink again before he managed the calm, unaffected front. I was ridiculously proud of that.

“Everything check out?” he finally drawled.

“Looks good so far.” I flashed him a smile and stepped out into the cold, foggy night. “Reservations?”

“Plenty,” he said behind me. “Oh, were you talking about dinner?”

“Ha-ha. When do we need to be there?”

“In about an hour. We have time.”

“That’s good to hear.”

The night was cold. I kind of wished it were raining. I could use a little cold-shower action right now. My body, my senses, my nerves were focused on one thing only: Zayvion Jones.

Well, two things: Zayvion Jones, and keeping my hands off him.

Okay, three things: Zayvion Jones, keeping my hands off him, and not snapping my ankles in my boots.

Zayvion strolled up alongside me, and wonders of wonders, I heard the heel of his shoes thunk against the sidewalk, a hollow heartbeat in the fog. I didn’t think I’d ever heard his footsteps before. He was Mr. Zen, Mr. Silent, Mr. Invisible. Which I supposed came in handy for a Closer.

But I liked the sound, liked experiencing the auditory weight of him beside me.

“The car’s this way,” he said.

We crossed the street. Traffic hushed and growled through the fog, an ocean of metal and steam and oil, the rasping croon of the city. We walked uphill in silence. Pale yellow and blue streetlights caught moonlike in the fog to diffuse light and deepen shadow. I took some time to breathe in the cold air, think calm thoughts, and rein in my heartbeat.

The car was parked at the end of the block. Zayvion, always a gentleman, unlocked the door for me while I scanned the shadows for Davy Silvers, or any of the other Hounds who might be following me.

I didn’t see anyone, hear anyone, smell anyone, and it wasn’t worth the pain of drawing on magic to sense them in any other manner.

If it were any other day I’d figure I was just upwind and too distracted to spot the Hounds in the night. And that still might be the case. Except every Hound in the city had been at the pub this afternoon to pay their respects to Pike. To say their good-byes. To mourn.

There hadn’t been a sober body in that room by the time I’d gotten there. And I’d left long before the party ended. I figured there wasn’t a Hound in the city sober enough to walk, much less track magic or follow me.

Still, something made me pause. A shift in the gray and yellow fog. A man-sized shadow across the street held still for too long. There, in the alley between the single-floor antique and notions shop and the condemned, hollow and broken ten-story apartment building, something waited. Something watched.

The wind picked up, pulled the scent of the watcher to me. Blackberry, burnt, all the sugars used up so only the bitter, thick tar of it remained, sweetness burned down to ash. And with that, the stink of animal defecation, sweat, and pain.

The shadow shifted again, and eyes, now low to the ground, flashed ghost green.

The thing growled, whimpered in pain. A car drove past, blocking my view and covering the sound. Once it had gone by, I heard a sucking-smacking from across the street, like something, or someone, was making messy work of a spaghetti dinner.

“Allie?”

I jumped at Zayvion’s soft voice. He was standing in the open door on the driver’s side, leaning one elbow on the roof of the car. Watching me.

“Sorry,” I said before he asked me what was wrong. “I saw. . something.”

“Something?”

At least he didn’t brush me off or say it was just fog. I guess being an assassin makes you pay attention to subtle things.

“Over there.” I tipped my head toward the buildings across the street. “Do you see anything? A dog, maybe?”

Zay tipped his head down, and his body language looked like he’d just heard something funny or embarrassing. Nice act. With his face at that angle, he could look across the street without whoever was over there knowing.

After a moment, he said, “No. Do you?”

I didn’t even try for discreet. I stared across the street. No shadow. No one. Nothing.

A chill plucked down my arms and magic stretched in me, pushed at my skin, heating my right hand and chilling my left.

Just what I didn’t need to deal with right now.

I took a breath, cleared my mind, and relaxed, letting the magic move through me, up through the ground, back out of me to fall into the ground again, an invisible, silent loop.

“Someone was there,” I said. “Something. Maybe hurt.” And the image of Davy or one of the other Hounds, too drunk to think straight, maybe stabbed, mugged, or, hell, chewed on by a stray dog flashed in front of my eyes.

My heart started beating faster. There was no way I could drive off and leave one of my Hounds in danger. I started around the front of the car.

“What are you doing?” Zayvion asked.

“We’re close enough to my house; we can call 911 if someone needs help.”

“Allie,” he warned.

“It will just take a second.” It came out like I didn’t care if he followed me or not, and the truth was I didn’t care. If one of my people was hurt, I wasn’t going to stand by and leave him on his own.

I wondered if this was what a mother felt like and quickly pushed that away. Didn’t matter. What mattered was making sure whoever was over here was okay.

Zayvion shut up and followed me. I only knew he paced next to me because I could see him out of the corner of my eye. He was walking, breathing, moving, like an assassin again. Silent.

I was not nearly so smooth. I stomped over in my boots, making noise on purpose.

Grunts accompanied the smacking and slurping, and I had a weird feeling there was more than one person back there.

I almost turned back, because, seriously, I had no desire to walk in on some dirty lovin’ going on in the alley. But the whimper, the stink of pain, drew me forward.

“Hey,” I called out once I stepped up on the sidewalk. “Everything okay over here?”

Silence.

The fog in the alley did not stir. There were no lights down the narrow passage, just two buildings standing so close together I didn’t think Zayvion could walk in there without losing jacket, shirt, and an inch of skin off both shoulders. Plus, the brick foundation of the apartment bulged outward at the bottom, sagging under the weight of years and making the alley even narrower.

I could see maybe ten feet into the alley. Something shifted back there. Then an almost-human moan rose to a keen, was muffled, silenced.

The familiar smell of strawberry bubble gum and cheap wine hit my nose. Those scents belonged to Tomi Nowlan. Tough girl, cutter chick, she was a Hound who didn’t like me stepping into the boss job now that Pike was gone.

I didn’t care how much she hated me. She was one of Pike’s pack, my pack, and that meant I looked out for her. Especially when it involved a dark night and a dark alley.

“Tomi?” I called out a little more quietly.

Okay, dark night, dark alley, me with no gun-not that I ever carried one-and Zayvion with no gun, or at least I didn’t think he carried one. All systems go for getting hurt or killed.

Except we both had magic.

I recited a quick mantra, just the first lines of a Beatles’ song, set a Disbursement to choose how I’d pay for the magic-I was going with the tried-and-true headache in a day or so-and drew a glyph so I could pull magic up into my senses of sight and smell. Magic licked across my bones, warm, heavy, and poured out of my skin, filling the glyph.

The world burst into layers of old magic, caught and tangled like slowly dissolving spiderwebs. The ashy macramé hung in the air, snagged on the building fronts, smudged in pastel luminescence among the piles of garbage leaning farther down the alley.

Scents came at me too quickly, bubble gum and booze: Tomi; pine and spice: Zayvion; Diesel, mold, algae, moss, grilled meat, and soap from a nearby dry cleaner: the city.

The other scents were harder to sort from the stink of dog shit that permeated the entire alley. Burnt blackberry, licorice, the chemical taint of formaldehyde, and a burn of copper that tasted like hot pennies on the back of my tongue.

And among it all fear. Pain. Death.

I noted it all with detached interest, not wanting to let my emotions get in the way of casting magic.

I drew one of the most simple glyphs for Light, thinking

small, orb,

and

glow

, as I poured magic out through my fingertips to fill the ribbon and promise of the glyph.

An orb of light the size of a grapefruit appeared in front of my hand and flooded the alley with white light.

Probably should have used a lot less magic. The orb blazed like a searchlight, reflecting off the fog instead of piercing it. Blinded by the brightness, I caught only a vague outline of the figure crouching in the alley.

Hunched over, the size of a thin man or a big dog, the figure was gravestone white. Its head swiveled toward me and was too wide for a man, unless he was wearing a hood. Eyes shone animal green. Human eyes, I thought, but everything else about him was wrong.

He lifted away from the other, crumpled form on the ground. Then he lunged at us.

Fast.

Zayvion grabbed my arm.

The thing’s blood-covered mouth opened on a yell, revealing fangs thick as my thumb on both the top and bottom of his jaw.

My back hit the rough stucco of the antique shop. I exhaled at the impact. Zayvion spun, pressed his back full-body against me. He blocked my view of the thing.

He whispered something that sounded like “Dead” and threw his arms out to both sides.

The smell of butterscotch and rum assaulted my nostrils, filled my mouth and lungs. A second ago, I couldn’t see around Zayvion. Now that he had cast this spell over us, I couldn’t see Zayvion at all. I still felt him, his wide back pressed against me, his hip leaning against mine. Through a wavering, watery curtain around me, I could make out the buildings. But I looked right through where Zayvion should be, where I felt him, and saw only the sagging bricks across the alley in front of me,

Weird, weird, weird.

It was a Shield spell I’d never seen before. Some kind of camouflage.

Zay didn’t move. I could feel his breathing, even and la bored, like he was jogging or lifting weights. I got the feeling he wanted me to be quiet and still, so I did my best not to freak out while my claustrophobia stuck fingers down my throat and made me want to scream.

Just because I couldn’t see any living thing didn’t mean I couldn’t hear.

The thing yelled again, a nerve-burning sound that was half human and wholly something else. The muscles down Zayvion’s back flexed, and he leaned forward a fraction, as if pushing against an unmovable wall.

Sweat poured down my back, trickled between my breasts. I wanted to run, run, like a child from a nightmare, like an adult from a gunman, a killer, death. Instinct told me that thing out there was death. My death. Zayvion’s death. And death to whatever it had been feasting on before we interrupted it.

And then it wasn’t yelling anymore.

It was talking.

“Fear me.”

Its voice was low-a man’s-words mangled by fangs. Those two words crawled under my skin, and I wished he’d go back to yelling.

Okay, yes, I was afraid. Yes, I was comforted knowing Zayvion would stand in front of me and put himself in the way of danger. But I was done being smashed against a wall, unable to move my hands, and therefore more helpless than if I were free and standing beside my knight in leather coat armor.

I drew my hand up Zayvion’s back, felt the tension in his muscles. It occurred to me that with his hands stretched out on either side, holding this spell in place like a curtain over a window, his hands were not free to draw glyphs. He couldn’t cast.

Not a problem. Because I sure as hell could.

I pulled magic up from the stores deep within the earth and it poured into me, filling me, jumping to my call until I burned with the strength of it.

I set a new Disbursement-a little more pain to that headache-and stepped out from behind Zayvion, outside his reach. I stood next to him.

“No!” Zayvion yelled. The spell he cast broke. Butterscotch and rum magic rained big, warm, slippery drops around us.

“Fear this,” I growled at the thing in front of us. I traced the glyph for Impact and poured all the magic I had in me into it.

The thing was a man, I think-heavily modified or disfigured, his arms too long, skin too white, and covered in blood. His legs bones were wrapped in sinew and bent wrong at the knees. He pivoted so damn fast, I didn’t even have time to swear.

He dropped to all fours, dodging my spell. The spell bashed into the brick wall behind him, blowing a hole into the building and sending brick and dust everywhere. Something farther down the alley skittered and ran-the very human sound of footfalls.

A siren called out in the distance.

Then the thing, still on all fours, ran. Long legs and hands stretched out into a strange liquid lope. He covered twice as much ground as anything I’d ever seen-man, animal, or nightmare-a blur of white against shadow that crossed the street and disappeared, like a ghost into the foggy night.