Magic to the Bone

Chapter Eight

I’d like to say my dreams were troubled. Filled with grief and anxiety-driven images. But I did not dream, did not even feel like I had really gone to sleep until a bump in the road knocked my head a little too hard against the window and I snorted awake.

Oh, so ladylike of me.

Zayvion was a quiet driver. No music, no tapping his fingers, no chewing gum, or yakking on the cell phone. He chuckled when I woke.

I turned my head, my neck stiff from leaning in one position too long. The marks from the tips of my right fingers to my temple were cool and tender, both hands still stiff and swollen, especially the left one with its black bands and cat scratches. Otherwise I seemed very much whole.

“The last skyscraper was at least four hours ago,” Zayvion said. “Lots of barns, miles of fences, cows off the road, cows on the road, horses, rusted cars, and a few hundred bars.”

“Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“I didn’t know you wanted to stop for a drink.”

“Ha-ha. Were you just going to drive until we ran out of road?”

“No.” He glanced my way, looked back at the road. “I thought I’d wake you up once we got to Burns. We’re almost there.”

It wasn’t raining on this side of the Cascade Range, but daylight was sliding into the golden tones of late afternoon. The rangelands spread out around us in wide expanses of dusty green and sun-baked browns, sagebrush and juniper dotting the land all the way out to the roll of mountains on the horizon. It wasn’t the wet and green that most people pictured when they thought about Oregon. What few houses we passed were surrounded by battered lawns that eventually stretched out into tracts of land gone brown beneath the advance of autumn.

And yes, we were getting close. Within a couple of miles to the turnoff that would take us up the dirt and gravel road to Nola’s farm, which was good. Even though I’d been soaking in it for hours, I still hadn’t gotten used to the stink of the garbage. I noticed Zay had cracked his window for a little fresh air. Right now, I wanted a shower more than almost anything in the world.

“It’s the first road after we cross the Silvies River.”

Zayvion frowned. “Silvies marks the edge of the grid in Burns, doesn’t it?”

“You know a lot about magic for a guy who stalks people for a living.”

“Call it a hobby,” he said.

“Stalking or magic?”

“Both. What does your friend do out here?”

“Farm,” I said laconically. “Not everyone wants to live their lives plugged into magic. Some people like to do things the old-fashioned way—electricity, gas, phone, but no magic.”

Zay grunted, but didn’t look at all convinced. He slowed the car as he approached the willow-lined river.

I’d forgotten how pretty the countryside was. Even though it wouldn’t be all that hard to make magic accessible, the people of Burns had voted against it. It felt quieter here, in more ways than one, and made it seem like we were worlds away from the noise, the crowd, and the worries of civilization.

“See that bridge?” I asked.

Zay nodded at the one-lane with wooden guardrails that spanned the river.

“That’s the edge.”

“Of what?”

“Of your world, Zayvion Jones.”

“My world?”

“The magic and stalking world.”

We were almost at the bridge and I knew it was coming, the line, the break, the edge where magic flowed up against, and then fell silently over, pouring into the Silvies and never touching the other side.

I was ready for it. Ready for the stomach-flipping lurch as magic released me from its hold and pushed us through to the other side, water and magic rushing beneath us. Zay drove onto the bridge.

I laughed, releasing the pent-up pressure in my chest. I was light-headed and it had nothing to do with holding my breath. Breaking out of the reach of magic felt like pressing around a corner on a really smooth roller coaster. I wanted to throw my hands in the air and yell.

“Oh,” Zay said. “Shit.”

So maybe he didn’t like it as much as I did. Maybe he wasn’t ready for the prickly sensation over his skin that felt like every hair was standing up straight. Maybe he didn’t like the weight and pressure of magic drifting away from his head and chest.

Some people didn’t like roller coasters either.

“You okay?” I asked.

Zay’s hands clenched the steering wheel so tightly that I could see the yellow of his knuckles. “I didn’t know.”

“That magic wasn’t easily accessible everywhere?”

“Why anyone would want to live without it.”

We were on the other side of the bridge now, and Zayvion still took it slow, even though the road on this side was in as good, maybe even better, condition than the road on the other side of the bridge.

“Some people choose to live without electricity or indoor plumbing. Some people choose to live without eating meat. Some people choose not to handle magic twenty-four seven, not to gather it, channel it, trap it, harvest it, eat it, breathe it, use it, and hurt for it.”

Zayvion nodded. “I didn’t say it was a bad thing. I just said I didn’t understand before.”

“Before the bridge? You have been over bridges, haven’t you?”

He gave me a dirty look. Portland was full of bridges—you couldn’t go anywhere without crossing water in that city. “I haven’t been off the grid for a long time.”

“Really? I thought you only came to the city recently.”

“I never said that.”

“So you’ve lived in the city for years?”

“I never said that either.”

“Zayvion.” I was getting annoyed now. “I know you worked for my father, but I don’t know anything else about you. Would it hurt to open up and tell me a little about yourself?”

He didn’t say anything for a while, and that worried me.

Finally, “There’s not much to say. I’m an only child, my parents live on the coast. I’ve done freelance work.” It sounded like a well-practiced book-report recitation. As revealing as a grocery list.

He stopped talking, so I got him started again. “What kind of work?”

He shrugged. “Whatever I could get.”

“Spying?”

“If it pays, I can do that.”

“You’re not answering me.”

“Well, I followed you around for your father. I’ve had a couple other jobs along those lines.”

“You’re a PI?”

He smiled. “No. You have to go through training for that, report to the regulatory agencies, keep good records.”

“Let me guess, you hate paperwork?”

“See? You know more about me than you thought you did.”

“I know how you kiss,” I said.

“One kiss does not a man make.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means maybe I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve you haven’t seen yet.”

“Well, well. Look at you all confident and strutting. I think getting away from magic has done something to your attitude, Mr. Jones.”

“Oh?”

“I think it’s made you human.”

“Not even close.” He took a curve in the road a little too fast and slowed down again. “How about you, Allie? Tell me about yourself.”

“You worked for my father. You know everything about me.”

Zay glanced over at me, his brown eyes intense. “Everything?”

I shrugged. “He gave you my personnel file, right? Don’t look at me like that—I’ve seen it. My entire life in black-and-white—my strengths, my weaknesses. I was just another asset to him, Zay. Not a person. Not a daughter. Not a woman.”

Zay thought about that while the scenery slid by. “So tell me something about the woman.”

This conversation was heading dangerously into intimate territory and that scared me. My heart beat harder. “What do you want to know?”

“Why do you Hound so many jobs for free?”

Oh. I didn’t realize he’d ask about that. I’d done a lot of free jobs. Mostly for people who didn’t have the money, and mostly when it was pretty clear they were being taken advantage of. Every time I sat down to pay my bills I’d ask myself why I did it. It wasn’t like I was rolling in the dough and could afford to be charitable. Hells, I wasn’t even making my rent month to month. But I didn’t do it to get back at my father, though I’m sure he would have disapproved. I guess I did it because I honestly believed it was right to help people when I could.

“Money isn’t everything,” I said. “Magic isn’t either. Sometimes people get confused about that. Sometimes even I get confused about that.”

“You, confused? When?”

“College,” I said with forced cheerfulness. “Magic and drugs do not mix. Or rather, they mix too well.” I’d lost almost a full term to that particular hell. I’d managed to pull myself out of it with the help of a few people I hadn’t seen since. I found out the hard way I have an addictive personality. That’s bad news for a Hound, and probably why I was always drinking coffee. “Thanks for bringing up that particular subject.”

“Didn’t like college?”

“Liked college. Didn’t enjoy being manipulated into being there.”

Zay nodded. “I like that about you.”

“That I dropped out of college? Did drugs?”

“That you weren’t afraid to do what you thought was right, even if it meant failure in your father’s eyes. You picked up your life and moved on. More than once.”

I felt a blush warm my neck and face.

He, of course, chose that moment to look over at me. “I like that about you too. For such a tough girl, you blush easy.”

I scowled, but it didn’t help. I just blushed harder. Time to change the subject. “Lots of people get over failure,” I said.

“Lots of people don’t have such a . . .” He paused, thought something over. “A lot of people don’t have a man like your father telling them what they should be. A lot of people can’t stand up to that kind of pressure, Allie, can’t stand up to that kind of will. You could. You did.”

“For all the good it did me, right?” That sounded sullen, so I tried to steer away from the subject. “Do I get an award for good behavior?”

He shook his head and did not look at me. “No,” he said regretfully. “You just get this.”

“Garbage and an almost-dead guy?”

The corner of his mouth twitched up.

“Garbage, an almost-dead guy, the cat, and me. Not all bad.” He looked over, brown eyes filled with warmth, with sympathy. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t hold his gaze without the blush starting to creep up again. I looked out the window.

“Can we go back to talking about drugs?”

“If you want.”

On second thought, I didn’t want that either. My dark past should stay in the past. I changed the subject. “Nola’s is right up here somewhere. A big white house with a huge driveway. On the right.

“There.” I pointed out the window. Her driveway was a gravel and dirt affair, wide enough that three cars could drag race down it, and close enough to her front porch that getting groceries out of the car was a breeze.

Zay turned down the driveway and we crawled along it until we came up next to her porch, the headlights shining against the closed door of her garage.

Jupe, a mud-colored brute of a dog that was part Lab, part Great Dane, and all parts of him huge, tore through the side yard from behind the house, barking his big square head off and wagging his tail like mad.

“Jupe!” I called to him. I didn’t do pets, but Jupe was big enough to be a family member. Maybe two. Still, I did not roll down the window, and I wouldn’t until Nola came out. I wasn’t stupid.

“Don’t you remember me, boy?” I asked.

“Don’t open the door,” Zay warned.

“Not planning on it. Nola should be out soon.” At the mention of Nola’s name, Jupe’s ears perked up. “That’s right, boy. Go get Nola.”

“You speak dog? Wonderful talent. Now that might get you an award.”

“Shut up, Jones.” I did like it better when we were joking instead of talking about serious things.

Jupe just kept barking and running from Zay’s window to bark at him and over to my window to bark at me.

Finally, the front door opened and Nola stepped out onto the porch. She was country through and through, from her steel-toe boots to her overalls with daisies stitched down the shoulder straps. She’d let her honey-colored hair grow long enough to pull it back in one braid down her back, but otherwise I caught my breath at how much she looked the same as when I knew her in high school.

Nola whistled and Jupe looked back at her. He wagged his tail and barked. She whistled again, lower this time, and the big lunker of a dog bounded over to her and stood at her side.

I rolled the window down a crack. “Nola! It’s me, Allie,” I yelled.

Nola put both hands on her hips and leaned forward at the waist, peering through the dust-covered car windows.

I stuck my hand out the window and waved.

“Are you okay, Allie?” I knew what she was asking. Did she need to get a gun, call the cops, or tell Jupe to tear the car apart?

“I’m good. I have someone with me. His name’s Zayvion. And another guy asleep in the backseat.”

Okay, that sounded seriously weird. “Can we stay for a while?”

Nola shook her head and clomped down the porch stairs. She came around to my window, Jupe trailing her like a trained grizzly. She looked in the window at me and got that worried frown I hated to see on her. She glanced at Zayvion, then back at Cody.

“Come on in,” she said. “All of you.”

Zayvion unlocked the car doors and I opened mine while Nola waited until she saw me push my own door open. She flinched, probably from the smell, or maybe from the mess of blood and gunk on me.

“Are you hurt?” she asked.

“Just messy. The kid in the back needs help, though.”

She took a breath, then opened the back door.

“Wait,” I said. “There’s a cat.”

But it was too late. Nola had the door open, and Jupe stuck his big bear head in the back of the car, snuffing and sniffing.

The kitten hissed and yowled. Jupe harrumphed and licked his chops. The kitten yowled again.

Served the fluffy little monster right.

“Leave the cat alone, Jupe,” Nola said. “It is not a toy. Out of there now. Out.” Nola patted Jupe’s side. He put it in reverse and got out of the way.

“Is this man hurt?” Nola asked.

I stood up out of the car, and wished I hadn’t. Everything I’d been through in the last eight hours came roaring down on me. Sweet loves, I was tired, stiff, and sore. And I really had to pee. My stomach cramped and I realized I hadn’t eaten all day, either. All of that hit me in one nauseating wave and I was glad for the cool wind against my face.

“Allie?” Nola said.

“I’ll help her,” Zay said.

I was working hard not to puke, so I kept my mouth shut. If I could have opened it to talk, I’d have told them I was fine and didn’t need any help.

“No, I’ll help her,” Nola said. “You can take him into the house. If you need me to help carry him, I’ll be back out.”

A thin, strong arm slipped around my waist and, even through the garbage, I smelled the warm yeast and butter of bread she must have been baking. It should have made me feel more sick, but it just made me hungry.

“Ready?” she asked. “Take a few steps for me.”

I opened my eyes. “Hey, I’m fine. Just a little tired.”

“Good. I’m getting messier the longer I hold you. Let’s get going.” Nola smiled, but her eyebrows were drawn down in a frown. She was worried about something. I hoped it wasn’t me for a change.

We got in the house, which was warm enough that I wanted to sleep right there in the hall, or right there in the living room, or right there in the kitchen. We stopped in the kitchen, and I sat at her oak table and dragged garbage-soaked shoes across Nola’s lemon-clean wood floors.

“Thanks for the money,” I said. “I hope this isn’t a bad time to visit.”

“Nonsense. I told you to come out and visit any time. Here.” She put a bowl in front of me. “Chicken noodle soup. Eat.”

She wiped her hands and the side of her face on a dish towel and then clomped out of the kitchen the way we came in.

I did as I was told, and was not disappointed. Nola was the best cook I had ever known.

While I ate, I listened to Nola direct Zayvion about where to put Cody. Upstairs bedroom, across the hall from Nola’s room, probably, so she could keep an eye on him. Plus, Nola knew every floorboard and creak in this old house. It had belonged to her husband’s parents and she’d spent a lot of time here even before they were married. If Cody got out of bed in the middle of the night, she’d know.

Zay and she had a conversation, something that involved doctor and magic and authorities and my name. It was the kind of conversation I figured I should be involved in, but I just couldn’t muster the strength to give a damn. Not with a hot bowl of soup in front of me.

I was done with the soup by the time Nola and Zay came into the kitchen. Zay walked in front of her and smiled a little, like he’d had a couple beers and could feel the buzz. I wondered when he’d had a chance to drink. Come to think of it, he’d been a lot more open and relaxed in the car. Talkative, even. I wondered if it was because of the lack of magic around these parts.

“Sit,” Nola ordered. “I’ll get you some soup.”

“Say yes,” I advised.

Zay sat down across the table from me, where I noted he could watch the doorway to the living room, and also keep an eye on the other door that led to the pantry and mud room.

“Yes, please,” he said. “Thank you.”

Nola put a bowl down for him, then took mine and refilled it. “I’ll get you some bread.”

“No, thanks,” I said.

Nola put the soup in front of me again and got busy with the kettle on the stove. Nola had a clean, modern kitchen. An old potbelly wood stove stood in the corner, but I knew she only fired it up in the winter when the snows lingered. Just because she was magic-free didn’t mean she lived without the other modern conveniences.

“This is excellent,” Zay said. He didn’t slur, so I rethought the beer thing. Still, he looked like he was officially on vacation: kicking back, eating soup, and relaxing. I think the lack of magic was good for him.

Nola pulled three cups from the cupboard. “I don’t have coffee on, but I’ll make us all tea.” Nola never asked; she just told you what she was going to do for you. I’d learned early on in our relationship that if it bugged me, I just had to speak up, and she usually didn’t mind changing her plan.

“Have you been drinking?” I asked Zay quietly.

He grinned. “No.”

“Then why are you so happy?”

“It’s quiet here.”

That so didn’t make any sense to me.

“No magic,” he said.

So I was right. Interesting. Magic was his hobby, my ass. I checked his eyes. Still brown. Just brown, like when I’d first met him, with no hints of gold.

“Okay,” Nola said, “which of you is going to tell me why that young man—and you—are covered in blood?”

I looked at Zay and he gave me a she’s-your-friend look.

Lovely.

“I found him down by the river—the Willamette,” I clarified. “He was hurt. I thought he was stabbed. Punctures in his chest.”

“We took his shirt off,” she said. “Not a scratch on him. Took down his pants too. Other than dirt and a smell that will probably take me days to get out of my sheets, he wasn’t bad off below the belt.”

“He was hurt,” I said. “I thought he was hurt. He wasn’t walking very good, wasn’t breathing very good.” I put my elbow on the table and rubbed at my face. “I don’t know, Nola,” I said through my hands. “It’s been a long day.”

She poured water into mugs, put them on the table, and sat in the chair next to me. “I heard about your dad. I’m so sorry, honey.”

Oh, great. That was the last thing I needed to hear—my best friend, who had probably heard me complain the most about what a jerk my father was—sympathizing with grief I could not feel.

I nodded, because my throat was tightening around a knot. Maybe it was the soup, maybe it was the tea, or the warmth of Nola’s house. Maybe it was because I was away from the immediacy of magic and felt safe in a way I never felt in the city. Whatever it was, I just wanted to sit there and cry. I sat back and pulled my hands away from my face.

“I think you need a doctor, Allie,” Nola said.

“I don’t need a doctor, I need a shower.”

Nola’s gaze flicked from one side of my face down to my hands, one of which was red while the other looked like I’d gone black-ink tat-happy around every joint. Then she looked over at Zayvion, of all things, and he shrugged one shoulder. Why in the world would she want his opinion instead of mine?

“Just a shower, Nola,” I repeated. “I’m tired, but I feel fine.”

Nola nodded. “Even those burns and bruises?”

“Don’t hurt.”

“Okay, let’s get you in a bath. Mr. Jones—”

“Zayvion.”

“Zayvion. You’ll be sleeping on the couch tonight. Blankets and sheets are in the coat closet in the living room. You can make up the couch while I get her in a bath.”

“I don’t need a bath,” I mumbled. “I’ll fall asleep and drown. Just shove me under a shower and hand me a bar of soap. A big bar.”

I pushed up away from the table.

“You know where the bathroom is,” Nola said. “Give me your clothes when you get out of them. They need a wash. And I’ll find you some pajamas. Did you pack before you came here?”

“I tried, but that didn’t really work out.”

Nola patted my left arm very gently as she moved past me. “After your shower, I want to hear all about it.” She tipped her head to point at Zayvion. “Everything that’s happened since I last saw you.” He kept eating soup like he didn’t notice her unsubtle hint.

“After my shower I want to go to sleep,” I mumbled.

“And since you didn’t pack, you have no right to make fun of my taste in sleepwear.”

“Like that would stop me.”

Nola paused. “I don’t think I have anything left from John that would fit you, Zayvion.”

“I’ll be fine,” he said. “I have some spare clothes in the car.”

“Good. Get in the shower, Allie,” she called over her shoulder.

Like I was going to do anything else.

Zayvion picked up his empty bowl and mine, and put them both in the sink, manners that spoke of either a strong female influence in his upbringing or a long life of living alone.

For the life of me, I did not know why that man was here, with me, at the only place in the world I considered a sanctuary. But I was glad. Grateful even.

I was such a sap.

I watched as he started the water, rinsed bowls. Relaxed, he moved with the kind of easy grace I’d seen in people who do Tai Chi in the park. Unselfconscious. Comfortable. At home in a kitchen away from the push and pull, the want and denial of magic and city living. Or I could be just hoping he felt that way, hoping he’d like this place and Nola as much as I did. And hoping she would like him too.

Jupe galumphed into the kitchen and bumped my legs with his ox head. I scratched him behind the ears. Satisfied, he trotted over to give Zay the sniffing of a lifetime.

Traitor. I’d been the one walking through garbage and peed on by a cat. I should be the most interesting person in the room to sniff. So much for loyalty.

I headed down the hallway to the bathroom. Jupe, who usually likes to follow me around when I visit, trotted off after Zayvion, which was actually fine with me. Nola’s house didn’t just look like an old farmhouse, it was an old farmhouse, and the rooms were on the small side. The bathroom was no exception. If Jupe had decided to hang out while I showered, I would have kicked him out anyway. I needed every inch of space I could get to breathe in there, and Jupe took up acres of exhale room.

I turned on the shower and shucked out of my shoes and clothes. I ached in weird places and itched. The back of my throat hurt, so the Offload from the spell I’d worked on the kid was starting to kick in.

I used the toilet, then washed my hands. I glanced in the mirror and winced at the red mark by my eye that fingered out like thin red lightning, down the arc of my cheek to my ear, along my jaw, then down my neck. At my shoulder it spread out even more, webbing down my arm to finally merge into a more solid red from my elbow to my hand. It was like the mother of all burns, but when I touched it, it didn’t hurt, didn’t feel hot, didn’t feel any different than my non-red skin. My left arm wasn’t red at all, just ringed by black bruises that were beginning to look like black tattooed bands around my knuckles, wrist, and elbow.

Maybe I did need a doctor. I’d heard of magic leaving marks, especially back when it was first being discovered and used thirty years ago. But those marks were open wounds that quickly festered, resisted medical intervention, and claimed the lives of the wounded. There had been a lot of trial and error before magic was considered mostly safe to use.

My father had been on the forefront of making magic accessible and relatively safe to the general populace. The iron, lead, and glass lines he patented, the Storm Rods that pulled magic out of the infrequent wild storms, the holding cisterns beneath cities—he’d had a hand in all those things.

So while magic was not harmless, most people believed that if they limited their use, or hired a good Proxy service to handle the price and pain, then the benefits outweighed the cost.

I moved my arms around, flexed my fingers, wrist, elbows. A little stiff, including the stupid blood magic scars on my left deltoid, but nothing serious. No open wounds.

I decided to take a wait-and-see approach. I stepped into the hot water and moaned.

Heaven.

I let the water sluice over me for a good ten minutes, my eyes closed, breathing in the warm and clean of it all. Then I stopped soaking and started scrubbing. All of Nola’s things were natural, organic, and nonmagic. Her soaps smelled like oatmeal and honey, her shampoo eucalyptus. I used every soap she had available and came out of that shower feeling one hundred percent warm, clean, and sleepy.

Nola knocked on the door. “Allie?”

I wrapped the towel around myself and opened the door.

Nola handed me a folded pair of sweatpants, a T-SHIRT, and panties.

“The underwear are new—I’ve never worn them. The pants will be too short, but the T-shirt should be comfortable. Want to talk?”

“Sure. Am I sleeping in the coatroom?”

Nola’s mouth quirked up. “Yes, you are sleeping in my quaint and comfortably cozy guest bedroom.” She stepped into the bathroom and gathered up my filthy clothes.

“Nola—you don’t have to. I can get them in the wash.”

“So you have more time to think about the things you’re going to self-edit before you talk to me? I don’t think so. I want every detail. Especially the ones involving that man out there. I’ll get these washing and meet you in your room.”

She shut the door and I slipped on the clothes she had brought me. The sweats were too short, but I rucked them up to my knees and they were comfortable. The T-shirt was soft, roomy, and had a giant cartoon cow sleeping in a field of daisies on the front of it. Not my style, but I didn’t care. I was dry, warm, and grateful nobody was shooting at me.

Still, when I walked out of the bathroom rubbing the towel over my head, thinking short hair had some advantages—it dried fast—I was a little uncomfortable to come face-to-face with Zayvion. It’s not like we were dating, not like we’d done anything more than get a little handsy in the car. But still, the sweatpants-slob look is something I usually save until after the first month of seeing someone.

“Um,” I said.

“I was just heading to the bathroom,” he said. Those Zen eyes were calm, unreadable.

“Right.” I moved out of the way, both disappointed and relieved he hadn’t said anything about the cow outfit.

“Nice cow,” he said just before he shut the door.

Terrif. I padded off to the bedroom, and took a deep breath before actually stepping through the door. The room was small, but if I focused on the one wall that was almost all window, and kept the door open, I was pretty sure I was tired enough I could handle my claustrophobia and get some sleep. I didn’t care that it wasn’t even five o’clock yet. I was tired.

Nola knocked on the door frame and walked into the room. “So. Tell me what’s been going on.”

I pulled the handmade quilt down and crawled up to the head of the bed. Nola sat on the foot of the bed. She was still wearing her overalls, but had kicked off her boots. She held something in a towel in her hands, and at first I thought it was a cup of tea. Then it meowed.

“You mean Jupe hasn’t eaten her yet?” I asked.

Nola petted the kitten’s little gray head. “No. Poor thing. She finished off an entire can of tuna. When did you get a kitten?”

“She’s not mine. I found her when I found the kid.”

“Talk to me about it.” Nola scooted across the bed so she could lean against the footboard and sit with her legs crossed up. The kitten mewed again, and Nola put her in her lap and petted her. The kitten fell asleep midpurr.

I heard the pipes in the old house thrum and figured Zayvion was taking a shower.

“I don’t know how to explain it,” I said. How was I supposed to condense the last two days—days that felt like months—into something that made sense? Where should I even start?

“How did your dad die?” In typical Nola fashion, she cut right to the heart of the matter.

I told her I didn’t know. I told her I’d gone to see him that day, which she was surprised to hear. I told her I’d threatened to take him to court, which she was not surprised to hear. I told her about Mama and her sons, about the youngest Boy being hit, and the Hounding job that led me to my father. I told her about Bonnie chasing me, and the kid and cat I stumbled over buried in the garbage at the river. I told her the kid had been so hurt I thought he was going to die.

She listened, and only interrupted when things got confusing. She didn’t offer opinions, encouragement, or criticism.

Then I hesitated. “This part gets a little foggy. Someone had used magic like a bandage on the kid’s wounds and I tried to sort of sustain that spell. I think I might have healed him. With magic.”

She sat there and stared at me like I’d just told her I’d vacationed on the moon. “Can that happen?” she asked.

“I’m pretty sure it did.”

“Have you ever done that before?”

“No. I’m not even sure I could do it again. It was strange, Nola. When that kid touched me, he did something to—with the way I use magic. To the way I perceive it. Like he took off my blindfold and I could see so much more. See the possibilities of what I could do. . . .” I stared at the wall behind her, trying to find the words to explain the experience and coming up with nothing. I must have stared a little too long because Nola sounded worried.

“Okay, that’s it. You’re going to see a doctor.”

I blinked. Looked back at her. Tried out my winning smile. “I’m fine. I don’t feel any different except for these.” I held up my hands. “Please don’t call a doctor, Nola, I really am okay.”

She didn’t look convinced. “We’ll talk about it in the morning. What about Zayvion?” How did he get involved in this?”

“Dad hired him to watch me. He said he quit the day I saw my dad.” I didn’t say the day my dad died. I guess it still hadn’t sunk in—that he was gone. It just felt like how it always was between us: him off somewhere hoarding money and power, and me trying my best not to be anywhere near him.

“What do you think about Zayvion?”

I leaned my head back on the headboad. I’d slowly sunk down while talking, so now I was lounging more than sitting. “I have no idea.”

“Do you like him?”

“He’s a good kisser.”

She raised her eyebrows and smiled. “So far so good. Let me rephrase the question. How much do you like him, and how long has this been going on?”

She was my best friend. The one woman who liked me even though I was crazy sometimes. The one woman who kept her feet on the ground no matter what happened. I didn’t have to tell her everything. But I usually did. It was strange, but, in a way, she probably held more memories of my life than I did.

“I do like him. But I don’t think I should. I’m so weirded out right now, I’m not thinking straight, not feeling straight. He’s quiet, Nola. Insular. But he’s gone out of his way to help me more than once and hasn’t asked for anything in return, which is great and worries me. I mean, real life doesn’t work like that. There’s a price for everything, you know? And every time I think I have him figured out, he does something, and I’m back at square one again. It’s hard to tell who he really is.”

“Sounds like he’s a lot like you. Does he have any redeeming qualities?”

I scowled at her. “Remind me why I come here?”

“Because I am your best friend, and you know I’m always here for you if you need me. Oh, and you think my opinions are pure gold.”

“Gold?”

“Well, you think my opinions are pure something.” She grinned and it made me smile too.

“So how about some of that golden wisdom?”

She tipped her head back and stared out the door. She was quiet for a while, her calloused hand still on the kitten’s head. She had a habit of not saying anything until she was really ready to give her opinion. I hoped she wouldn’t want to sleep on it before telling me how screwed up my life was. I hoped she’d tell me she thought everything was going to work out okay.

She finally looked over at me. “Allie, I think you need to take a little time and figure out what you’re going to do next. You have been accused of killing your father. You skipped town with someone you barely know, and picked up a guy who had been stabbed. You didn’t go to the police and didn’t go to the hospital. That is going to be hard to justify.”

“I know. I tried to get Zay to take me to the police, but he said it wouldn’t be safe.”

“And you believed him?”

I shrugged a shoulder. “I was fried. I couldn’t think. He was there when I needed him, though.” The memory of his hands on my skin, the mint and warmth of him that I was drawn to like a magnet to metal, rolled through me.

There was something between us. Maybe something more than just a physical attraction. “He helped Boy too. And didn’t leave Cody behind. Or the cat. I think that counts.”

Nola nodded. “Well, I think you should go to the police. For one thing, you’re innocent, for another, you’ve been chased by that Hound woman and we don’t know what she wanted to do with you. I’m not sure what to do with Cody.”

I yawned. “I just couldn’t leave him behind to bleed. Zay suggested we get him to a hospital and see if he’s on record.”

“Something else to do in the morning, after he finishes sleeping himself out. We’ll get him up and let him eat, then see what he has to say on all this. Now, how are you really doing with your dad?”

Oh, I so couldn’t talk about this, because if I did I’d just cry, and if I started crying I wasn’t going to stop. “I’m okay. I’m trying not to think about it too much, yet. I don’t think I want to talk.”

She patted my leg. Even though her husband, John, had died four years ago, the marks of grief still showed in her eyes. I knew she’d understand.

“I’ll let you get some sleep, honey. We’ll see what we can do to straighten your life out in the morning.”

I snuggled down between the blankets, not caring that I hadn’t brushed my hair and was going to regret it in the morning. The bed was soft but not too soft, and the blankets smelled of soap and a little like flowers.

“Thanks, Nola. For everything.”

“Any time. But let’s try a visit with less drama and more shopping next time, okay?” She picked up the kitten and got off the bed, then called Jupe. I heard him clomp across the living room—which was across the entryway hall from my room—and pad through the door.

“Jupe is going to sleep in here with you tonight.”

“Why?”

Nola pointedly looked out the door, and I propped up enough to see what she was looking at.

Zayvion had made up the couch in the living room, and was stretched out on it, a blanket tossed over his hips and chest, leaving his bare legs and arms free. His eyes were closed, but I didn’t think he was asleep yet.

“Like I can’t look after myself?” I whispered. “I’ve been dealing with him for days.”

Nola raised her eyebrows and gave me a long look. “Do you know this man?” she whispered. “Do you know anything about who he is? I’ve watched you fall into bed with men so fast that you didn’t even know their names. And not one of them treated you right.”

“That was high school, Nola.” At her look, I added, “Okay, okay. And college. And after that.”

“And this is now,” she said. “It doesn’t change my opinion.”

“You worry too much.”

“I’m not the one with burns up my arm and face, nor am I on the run from the law.”

I looked up at her. She wasn’t angry, wasn’t trying to make me feel bad. She was worried. Deeply. And I was lucky to have a friend who cared that much about me.

“Sorry,” I said. “I’m just not thinking very straight.”

“I know. That’s why I’m thinking for you.” She walked over to the bed and squeezed my hand. “Good night, honey. Are you sure you don’t want anything for the burns or bruises?”

“No. They really don’t hurt.”

She walked to the door, and Jupe followed her. “Stay, Jupe,” she said.

Jupe wagged his tail and tromped back into the room, made a circuit of the meager space between the bed and door, then sprawled out across the floor. He took up so much room that my chest instantly tightened with the panic of being closed in, trapped.

Nola propped the door open wide, giving me more breathing room. “Good night, Allie.”

I licked at my lips, eyed the floor full of dog, and looked out at the not-sleeping Zayvion with all that great space around him.

“Is this really necessary?”

“I think so,” Nola said. “Trust me on this.” She turned off the lights, leaving me and the beast in the darkness. I heard her stocking feet go through the living room, then up the stairs to the second floor. I listened to her check on the kid in the real guest bedroom, wished she’d put me in that room instead because at least it was big enough for me and the dog, then heard her walk to her own room. Pretty soon I heard her light click off and then the squeak of bedsprings as she settled down.

The dark room was a box, a grave, a coffin. My heart beat clunked along while I practiced calming mantras. I could do this—I’d shared a dorm in college. When I had to, I could handle small spaces. And this room was much bigger than an elevator. Bigger than a bus, a crowded subway, a compact car, a cramped closet, a crate—okay that line of thinking was not helping. I was starting to sweat.

Think positive.

This room was so big, a dozen Jupes would fit in it with me. And if I could just stop thinking about it, I could fall asleep and if I could fall asleep, I could stop thinking about it.

I worked on meditating and relaxing my muscles systematically, starting at my toes. By the time I got to my knees, the dog was snoring. By the time I got to my elbows, Zayvion was snoring.

Great. Like sleeping between dueling chainsaws was going to do me any good. I knew I’d never be able to fall asleep.

Then, of course, I did.