Devon Monk - Magic on the Storm

Magic rolled in me, deep in my stomach, and I worked hard not to moan with the need to have him.

“You are not winning,” he noted.

“No kidding,” I gasped. Right. The idea here was to not give in to magic. Or, apparently, my need for Zay.

I pressed my fingers against my eyes. My right fingers were hot, and my left were cold, positive and negative from the magic pouring through me. I took a second to breathe in again and clear my mind.

When I looked again at Zayvion, he was paying attention to the road, taking us across the bridge, calm, unconcerned. And he was Grounding like mad on the inside.

All I had to do was find a way to slow magic pouring into me. That meant a glyph that would track back and forth at the beginning, loop and loop so that magic had a long way to travel before it could add to the pool I already carried. I could do that.

I thought.

“Victor said I could use any of the spells that slow magic, right?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” I didn’t care how good Zayvion was-I was absolutely certain I could not just mentally draw a glyph and expect it would work. I used my right hand and traced a liquid, curvy glyph for Linger in front of me. These kinds of spells were used inside stores, restaurants, and salons. They gave off a comfortable, relaxed feeling. If they were particularly well drawn, they made shoulders drop, smiles come out, and people spend way more money and time in their vicinity.

I pinched the glyph between thumbs and two fingers of both my right and left hands. Instead of pouring magic into it, I was going to push the spell into me, so the magic in me would be forced to follow it.

I had no frickin’ clue how to do that.

“Uh,” I started.

“You can do it.”

“A little help?”

“I’m watching.”

“I wanted help, not an audience.”

He just gave me a look.

Okay, fine. I recited my go-to mantra, the “Miss Mary Mack, Mack, Mack” jingle, to clear my mind. Then I pulled the glyph into me, toward my chest, concentrating on it wrapping around the flow of magic, the speed of magic, the pressure of magic.

My heart stuttered. Whoa. Not good. I concentrated harder on the spell. Magic, not heart. Find the magic. Just the magic. I released the spell. It sank like a rock toward my feet, then settled beneath my feet and pressed against my arches and heels. It rested there like a layer of sand and stone and soil, soaking up the magic, filtering it, and giving it a place to stretch out before it trickled up into me at a much slower pace.

My head cleared. I broke out in a sweat.

“Holy crap. Good?” I asked Zay.

He nodded. “Not how I would have done it, but effective. So yes. Good. You have control?”

Oh, right. That was the other half of this deal. I cleared my mind again, calmed my thoughts, and pressed back on the magic rolling within me. Magic fluttered, pressed once again, tempting me to use it, to fall to its siren call.

Nope. La, la, la. Not listening.

Magic quieted.

“Very nice,” Zayvion murmured. “I’m impressed.” He drew his fingers slowly up my thigh, then away, leaving the lingering cool warmth of mint and his touch behind.

“Are you still dizzy?” he asked.

“No. I feel pretty good.”

Oh, screw it. I felt powerful. Proud. That had been a fine little piece of magic using I’d just done. Yes, I’d probably pay for it with a walloping headache, but right now, I didn’t care. “I’d feel even better with a hell-of-a-job kiss.”

“So that’s how it’s going to be? One elementary-level spell and you get naked?”

“First, that was not elementary level. High school at the very least. Second, tell me you don’t like the idea of me being naked.”

“How about I tell you I don’t like the idea of driving off the road. Which means your clothes stay on you.” He stopped at a light, then added, “For now.”

“Chicken.”

He grinned. Zay had a good profile, a strong, wide nose, high cheekbones, and a slant to his eyes that I thought was incredibly sexy, and that spoke to his mixed heritage. Under that ratty coat and jeans was a very fine, very fit body.

But he was also a man full of secrets. Even though we’d been officially dating for a couple months now, I still hadn’t gotten much about his past out of him.

I didn’t even know where he’d grown up.

“Did you do time with Shame in juvie?” I asked.

“That’s what you were thinking about when magic was trying to burn you up?”

“No, it’s what I’m thinking about now.”

“Shame?”

“Your past.”

“Hmm.”

We were on the other side of the bridge and making our way southeast along the Washington side of the Columbia River. The sun pushed through cumulus clouds on their way to the Cascade Range, where rain would cover the mountains in snow and keep the skiers happy.

“Well?”

“I never got in trouble with the law when I was young.”

“So why was Detective Payne staring at you?”

He glanced over at me, then back out at the road.

He drove for a while, silent. I’d learned to give him his space. I didn’t know if it was life or if it was just second nature to him, but he was the most private person I’d ever met. I didn’t even know if he had a middle name.

“She helped me out once.”

I waited. I didn’t want to, but I did it. Go, me.

“I was twelve. Fostered to a family that. .” He closed his mouth, inhaled through his nose. “She caught me digging in Dumpsters for food. Made me give her my foster parents’ names and address. Things got better after that.”

“Is she part of the Authority?”

“No.” He paused again. “The past is the past, Allie,” he said. “I’d rather not go over it.”

I just shook my head, but didn’t push him. Strange. There was so much of my past that I’d lost-memories magic had taken away from me-moments I wished I could have back. It was odd to hear someone choose not to remember. Maybe I’d been that way once too. It was hard to say. Magic had done a lot of damage to my life. Maybe it had done a lot of repair to Zayvion’s.

We made it to Maeve’s and pulled into the gravel parking lot between the inn and the scrap-metal collection site beside it. Both buildings were tucked off the main road, and close enough to the Columbia that I could smell the algae and green off the river as I stepped out of the car.

The inn used to be an old train-station boardinghouse and restaurant. The track didn’t run past here anymore, but the building remained much as it was when it had been built. Fresh white paint, and glittering rows of uniform windows, gave the Feile San Fhomher a welcoming, homey feel.

Zay stood on the other side of the car, silent. I knew why. Something was wrong here.

There was an immense sense of emptiness, as if something huge, solid, and familiar had been removed.

It took me a second; then I finally placed what was missing: the well. I couldn’t even catch a scent of the magic I knew roiled beneath the ground.

“Do you not feel that?” I asked.

Zayvion nodded, then walked silently across the gravel to me. He looked calm, but when I touched his wrist, I could feel the heightened awareness of his senses. He was calm. He was also ready for a fight.

I took a second to check our surroundings. The parking lot was about half full and the rush of cars over the bridge and freeway hummed in the distance. The river on the other side of a thin line of trees gave off that clean, rich green scent, and far off, I heard either a boat horn or a factory whistle.

It seemed like a normal evening.

And it most certainly was not.

“The well,” I said, somewhat unnecessarily.

He placed one hand on the side of my face, the other on my hip, and pulled me close. I pressed against him, wrapped one arm around his back, the other up around his neck.

His mind was obviously not on the well. Neither was mine.

He tipped my face up, and bent to me. His lips were soft, catching at my lower lip, pressing, then opening, inviting. His tongue dipped sweetly at the corner of my mouth, then drew into the heat of my mouth. Electric tingles warmed me, and made my toes curl. I pressed tighter against him and kissed him back, taking my time, sharing a long, lingering kiss that made me want more.

He finally pulled away, reluctant, then rested his lips against my ear. “Hell of a job,” he murmured.

I leaned into him, my cheek against his chest, and smiled. I loved a man with good follow-up.

We pulled apart. Holding hands, we crossed the parking lot and walked up the steps to the covered porch that wrapped the building. Zay pulled the door open and we stepped inside.

The delicious sweet, buttery smell of pies baking, and something savory, maybe sausage, greeted us. Even though I’d just had lunch, my mouth watered, and that had nothing to do with magic. Maeve knew how to cook.

Light poured down from the high-vaulted ceilings, making the large dining room feel even bigger than it was. The tables to the left were filled with the early dinner crowd. I knew the arched doorway beyond them led to private rooms, and the well-warded study where Maeve tutored me.

Upstairs were bedrooms, and down in the basement, a grand ballroom with the well pulsing just beneath its marble floors.

Here on the main floor, the girls behind the lunch counter to the right of the room were brewing coffee and plating pies.

“Coffee?” Zayvion asked.

“Sure.” I didn’t know if we had time, but I wasn’t one to go into any situation undercaffeinated.

He strolled off toward the lunch counter and I unzipped my hoodie, scanning the room for Shame or Maeve.

Maeve strode through the arched door to the left. Her red hair was pulled up in a loose bun, ringlets touched with gray falling around her face. She wore a dark green blouse, a tan skirt, and a pair of riding boots, all of which gave her the look of a woman who knew how to use a whip. Which, coincidentally, she did.

She carried a stack of menus in her arms, and gave me a smile and a nod as she walked my way.

“Allie. It’s good to see you. Tea?”

“Coffee, thanks. Zay’s getting it. How are you?”

“Busy. Beautiful weather, today. Walk with me a minute?”

“Sure.” I matched her stride and crossed the room to the lunch counter, where she handed the menus to one of the girls there.

“I have a job you might be interested in,” she said. “Hello, Zayvion.”

“Mrs. Flynn.” He handed me a cup of coffee. No, more than coffee. A latte, which the girls had poured to leave the image of a four-leaf clover in the foam.

Very nice.

“Why don’t you come along, Zayvion?”

It wasn’t really a request. We both knew that. Still, to any outsider, it sounded like chitchat between her son’s best friend and his girlfriend, who Hounded for a living.

We strolled along and Maeve took the time to say hello to a few people at tables and ask them if they were enjoying their meals. I knew those people weren’t a part of the Authority. Despite being involved with supersecret magic users, Maeve was also a successful restaurateur.