Magic on the Line (13 page)

“See you around, Stotts,” I said.

Paul was still staring down at Anthony, his coffee untouched in his hand. I didn’t know if he heard me. But by the time I’d gotten to the sidewalk, he finally said. “Be careful, Allie. This is . . . something else.”

He didn’t know how right he was.

Chap ter Seven

T
he cab got there just as Stotts’ crew were getting out of the van. I didn’t stay and say my hellos to the police officers. All I wanted was a long shower and a change of clothes. I didn’t have a change of clothes at the den, so I asked the driver to take me home first.

I kept my phone in my hand, waiting for a call from Jack or Zay or, hell, Stotts. But no one called. I asked the driver to wait and jogged into my apartment building. I stopped outside my door, like I always did, and listened for any sounds. Nothing. Not even the rustle or snuffle of Stone in there messing around.

I was beginning to wonder where Stone was. I hadn’t seen him for a couple days now, and even if I didn’t happen to be in the apartment when he was, he always left evidence of his visit—usually in the form of stacking up something I’d sworn was unstackable, like spoonfuls of Jell-O. That had been fun to clean up.

I let myself in, grabbed a clean shirt, tank top, sweater, jeans, socks, and underwear and wondered where my gym bag was. Stolen. Right. So I stuffed my clothes in a shopping bag and jogged back down the stairs. Eventually I realized my phone was ringing.

By the time I dug it out of my pocket, it had stopped. The caller ID belonged to Jack. I dialed him back.

“Quinn,” he said.

“Hey, Jack. How’s it going?”

“You know this Eli Collins?”

“Never met him. Was recommended to me, though. Why? He legit?”

I got back into the cab and gave the driver the address for the den.

“Too good to be true,” Jack said.

Hounds are suspicious. Collins might just actually be that good and be true. He was my father’s contact, after all, and my father never settled for second best. “Think he’s dangerous?”

“Everyone’s dangerous for the right price,” he said.

“Well, I’m paying him not to be dangerous. He help Davy any?”

“That’s the thing. Said he won’t start without talking to you first.”

“So put him on,” I said.

“Not on the phone. Here. He wants you here.”

“I’m on my way. Anyone else still there?”

“Just us Hounds. All your other friends took off.”

I thought about who of the Authority had stayed the night. Terric, Shame, and Zay. Zay and Shame had gone out hunting Ant and then been called away by Bartholomew, so I knew they were gone. Terric must have gone home, or maybe Zay and Shame had taken him to see Bartholomew. I just hoped he hadn’t driven. Boy was probably still a long way from sober.

Sunny had stayed too. But everyone else—Victor, Maeve, Hayden, and all the people whose names I hadn’t memorized—had left around midnight.

They’d probably all gotten lots of sleep. Probably hadn’t had someone bite their friend. Probably hadn’t had to chase someone through the night down a dirty alley. Probably hadn’t had to deal with a dead body, a dead kid.

Lucky bastards.

“Allie?”

I still had the phone to my ear and the silence had stretched out. “I’ll be there. Tell Collins to wait a minute.”

I hung up. The morning was nice. Blue sky with just a string of clouds pulled across it, and not even cold enough for me to see my breath. I just wished I felt as sunny and upbeat as the weather.

It didn’t take long to get to the den. I didn’t see Zay’s car, or Shame’s for that matter. I paid the driver with the credit card in my jean pocket and stepped into the building, listening. Low voices to the right—that would be the paranormal investigators who rented out the office space on this floor. No sound from above. Hounds made it their job to be quiet. Always.

I headed up.

By the time I reached the top of the stairs, I decided it was stupid not to get something to eat at home or on the way. I’d lost everything I’d tried to keep down, and I was tired. My knees were doing that weird low-blood-sugar quiver.

But I pulled my shoulders back and stepped into the room like nothing was wrong.

“Morning,” I said. “Someone better be brewing coffee.”

“All set,” Bea said from the kitchen space. “And there’s scones.”

I knew where the scones came from. Grant.

I took in the room as I headed for a cup of coffee. Sid was still here, snoring in the easy chair by my desk. Someone had done a good job of cleaning up the place so it didn’t look like a party had happened. I had to guess that was Bea. Jamar and Theresa weren’t anywhere to be seen.

Jack stood near the windows over by the bunk, and on the bottom bunk lay Davy. Standing next to Davy, and directly across from Jack like a gunfighter in an old western duel, must be Eli Collins.

“So good of you to come by,” I said as I put the pot back on the burner and picked up a scone. I took a bite, chewed and swallowed. Maple hazelnut. Delicious melt-in-your-mouth Grantness. “I’m Allie Beckstrom.”

Jack flicked a gaze my way, and Eli Collins turned.

“Very pleased to meet you, Allison.” He extended his hand. He was younger than I’d expected, maybe in his early thirties. Thick sandy brown hair cut just a little short, wire-rim glasses, a suit vest over a white shirt with rolled-up sleeves, and slacks. His face was long, friendly, and handsome. Except for his eyes. A little too bright, a little too happy. Just this side of madness, if I had to make the call, and since I’d invited him over here, I had to.

I shook his hand. “Nice to meet you too.” His handshake was gentle, not soggy, reassuring. Maybe he knew he projected a “mostly mad” vibe and made up for it with a nice firm handshake. The handshake felt sane.

“So are you a doctor?”

“I am not currently practicing, though I specialize in magical wounds. I’ve forgone that for years, to instead pursue research and development.”

Jack gave me another look. The one that said,
Can I throw this clown down the elevator shaft now?

“Jack tells me you wanted to talk to me before treating Davy?” Enough time had been wasted. I was tired, hungry, and in no mood for polite conversation.

“In private, if you don’t mind.”

“Come on out of the room then.” I turned and picked up the rest of the scone and popped it in my mouth, washing it down with coffee before I reached the door. I headed up the stairs and Mr. Collins followed without a word. In the back of my mind, I realized he could be trying to get me out of sight so he could murder me or something.

He’s not going to kill me, is he?
I asked Dad.

I don’t think so.

Well, not complete confidence, but enough. Plus, those weapons-training and self-defense classes hadn’t gone to waste. I could handle myself.

I unlocked the door and held it open for him to walk in first. He stepped in past me, his shoes making a pleasant thump across the beautiful original hardwood floor. I flipped on the light—not that I had to. Morning poured long rectangles of light across the room, giving it a soft burnish. The mattress on the floor in the far corner with my spare quilt and extra blankets was hidden in shadow, leaving the room looking as if it was empty, untouched.

“Very nice property,” he mused in that pleasant accent of his. “Is it yours?”

“I lease. So what did you want to talk to me about?”

“This friend of yours, the young Mr. Silvers?” Good lord, he made it sound like the first act of a stage play. “Do you understand how, exactly, he has been injured?”

“No.” Honesty. The only way to fly.

He paced toward the high windows, his hands behind his back, right hand clasping left wrist. “Let me be very clear as to the injuries I see upon him then.” He paused in front of a window as if gathering his thoughts, then turned and stood in front of the wall between the windows.

So he was a cautious man who didn’t like to give people a clear shot at him through windows, if people were watching. That indicated a shady past. Of course the very fact that he knew my father indicated a shady past.

“He has been infected.” He stopped as if that explained it all and watched my reaction.

“By what?”

“Ah,” he said finally catching on that I wasn’t trying to play dumb. It came naturally.

“First off, I believe he was involved in Blood magic rites. You are acquainted with the Authority, are you not?”

Okay, now I was fully awake. I held his gaze, trying to read the reasons behind that question, trying to read anything behind those smiling, too bright eyes.

“Yes.”

“Good, that will simplify my explanation. He’s been used for dark Blood magic. Not recently, but within the last year. It has left a mark on him. Changed how he uses magic, I’d think, though it may have been gradual enough that he didn’t notice it.”

He was right. Davy had been put in the hospital because his ex-girlfriend Tomi had gotten mixed up with Greyson, who had been using dark magic and Blood magic to release the Hungers through the gates of death into life.

Davy hadn’t ever quite been the same since. For one thing, he could feel when other Hounds were hurt, especially if they were hurt by magic.

His medical records wouldn’t be difficult for someone like Collins to find. So I was not impressed. “And?” I asked.

“And that is why I believe the infection is spreading so quickly in him.”

“What infection?”

“He’s been bitten by a Veiled.”

We stood there a moment, just staring at each other. Outside, the train whistled and a car or two drove by. He didn’t flinch, didn’t twitch, didn’t change his stance on what he’d just said.

“He was bitten by a kid,” I said. “Another Hound.”

“Really? Who?”

And I suddenly did not trust this man with any information at all. Dad said he was once aligned with the Authority. He might still be, might be on his own, or might be aligned with someone or something else.

“Another Hound,” I repeated. “Can you treat the infection?”

“I can treat it. I am uncertain that I can cure it. It isn’t like a cold or some other common malady, Allison. Your friend Davy is being poisoned.” He paused to see how that news sank in. When I gave no outward indication that it surprised me, he added, “By magic. Magic is poisoning him. And unless we can stop the spread of magic inside him, I am afraid there won’t be any chance to cure him at all.”

“You’re telling me he’s going to die?”

“Yes,” he said, a little too excitedly for my taste. “But that isn’t the crux of it. The heart of the matter is that magic is poisoning him. I’ve never seen this before. It is almost as if the magic itself is tainted. I can’t know, of course, unless I run some tests.”

He paused again, watching me. Finally, “That’s what I wanted to ask you about. Since he is fevered and barely coherent, I couldn’t very well have him sign permission. I wondered if you knew of a parent, a spouse?”

“No. We’re Hounds. We don’t talk about our private lives.”

“That puts us at loggerheads, then. Unless you have any legal say for his health care while he’s under your employ?”

“Tell me what kind of tests you’re going to run. In detail. Then I’ll sign your papers.”

He clapped his hands together. “Wonderful! All the preliminary tests will be done with the least amount of discomfort to Mr. Silvers. I’ll need to draw blood, a urine sample. I’ll want to set a very low-level Syphon on him to see if we can draw the toxins out via conventional magical techniques.” He raised his eyebrows, and I nodded.

“I take it you’ll want me to run these tests here?” he asked.

“Can you be discreet?”

He took in a short breath as if he were going to say something, but instead he just smiled. It was a comforting kind of smile, even though his eyes, his body language told me he was at his core a man who had killed other men. And enjoyed it.

“Very.”

“Then here is fine. This floor. We can bring a bed up.” I looked around the room. Not much to work with. Just the mattress and the kitchen that was stocked, but not for more than a few days.

“This will work very well,” Collins said. “Perhaps we can borrow some of the furniture from downstairs?”

“Yes.”

“Perfect,” he said. “I shall unpack my things. I left my bag in the car.”

“You’ll have a Hound with you at all times,” I said as we walked toward the hall.

“Yes, of course. I’d like to examine you also, Allison,” he said once we were in the hall.

“Me? Why?”

“I believe magic might have changed you.”

“Old news,” I said, shoving my magic-marked right hand into the pocket of my jeans. I didn’t want Collins to touch me, or magic around me. The last doctor who’d gotten all interested in how magic had changed me had tried to kill me to raise my dad from the grave. And right now, I needed to stay clearheaded so I could keep an eye on what he was going to do to Davy.

One sicko at a time.

We started down the stairs. “If you reconsider,” he said, “for science.”

“I’ll let you know.”

It took about an hour to get one of the bed frames broken down and taken up the elevator to the second floor. We also transferred a couple chairs and a long folding table. Sid and Jack helped me move things, while Bea stayed with Davy.

Mr. Collins whistled his way happily out to his car, and then hummed to himself as he set up equipment that would have made a mad scientist drool. I didn’t recognize half of the things he spread out on the table, but I could feel the magic worked into them. Most of his medical equipment reminded me of my dad’s storm rods, or the disks that held magic.

It was like he had a trunk full of my dad’s experimental magic-tech equipment.

Much of it is,
Dad said quietly.
We worked very closely together before I met Violet. He helped develop much of the medical applications of my products.

So Dad had known him for years. I wondered if he and I had ever met.

“Are you ready for us to bring Davy?” I asked.

Collins glanced over his shoulder. “Yes.”

“Should we take any precautions?”

He stopped fiddling with the buttons on some kind of monitor screen and looked up at the rafters. “You say someone bit him?”

“Yes.”

He looked back down at the table and started messing with things again. “We have no indications, but just to be on the safe side, you might want to gag him.”