Magic on the Line (3 page)

I wondered if Dad knew how this spell worked.

From the uncomfortable shifting of his thoughts in my head—some of which I caught—he did, and he thought it was oversanitized and outdated. A failed attempt to adapt a spell outside a specific discipline, which resulted in an inferior spell with an even higher pain price.

Terrific he had an opinion about it. Less terrific an inferior spell with a higher pain price was currently attached to my head.

“Were you involved in the battle at the Life well a few days ago?”

“Yes.”

Melissa nodded.

Bartholomew rubbed at his cuff links again. Note to self: get into a high-stakes poker game with him. His tells were so loud I needed earplugs just to be in the same room with him.

“Tell me who was there.”

“Everyone?” I asked. The vise on my head was starting to get uncomfortable. Inferior spell, wrong discipline meant the price of pain leaked to me. Faster would be better.

“Yes,” he said.

So much for fast. This was going to take some time.

“Me, Zayvion Jones, Shamus Flynn, Terric Conley.” That covered the current members of the Authority. Now to sum up the ex-members who were there. “Sedra Miller, Dane Lanister, some of Dane’s men, and Roman Grimshaw. Also, there were some dead people there: Mikhail, Isabelle, Leander, and my dad.”

“Your father?” Bartholomew asked.

Out of that entire list, the last four people were Veiled—ghosts of dead magic users who had been possessing the living. And of those four people—Mikhail, who had died years ago and was once the head of the Authority; Isabelle and Leander, who were the most powerful magic users in history, along with being two very sick and twisted souls bent on killing anyone in the way of their plans for ruling magic; and my father, who was a successful businessman—my dad, the most recently dead, was the only one who sparked Bartholomew’s curiosity?

“Yes.” Short, sweet, let’s get this the hell over with.

“Where was your father?”

“Possessing me.”

That got me a long, doubtful stare.

“Is he currently possessing you?”

“Yes.” I was starting to sweat. The pain from the spell was growing stronger, sending out licking tendrils to burn down my neck.

“Let me speak to him.”

“No.” Hey, it was a Truth spell. I had to answer his questions truthfully. I didn’t have to do what he told me to do. If he stacked Influence on top of this little bundle of fun, then things would be different.

But I hadn’t signed up for anything except Truth. At so much as one Influency wiggle of his fingers, I would be so out of here.

“Why won’t you let me speak to him?”

“Because I don’t want to.”

“Why?” The word pressed like he’d just put the heel of his palm against my forehead.

Ouch.

“Because I don’t like him.” Or you. Somehow I managed to shut my mouth before that last came out.

“If I forced the issue?” he asked.

“Do you have a form for that?”

The corner of his lips twitched, but it did not produce a smile. “Yes.”

“I won’t sign it.”

“Perhaps another day,” he said. “Tell me what happened at the well of Life.”

I paused, trying to gather my thoughts. So much had happened that led up to the fight at the well, I wasn’t even sure where to start. Jingo Jingo, one of Portland’s powerful Death magic users, kidnapped the head of the Authority, Sedra Miller. Sedra had been possessed for years (though we hadn’t known it) by Isabelle, who was waiting for Leander to return to life. Probably me stepping through the gates into death to save Zayvion’s soul had done something to let Leander into this world. Not that we’d figured that out before we’d ended up having to buddy up with Roman Grimshaw, the ex-con Guardian of the gates, whom we’d accidentally helped escape from prison, and Mikhail, Sedra’s long-dead lover, who was hell-bent on killing Isabelle and saving Sedra’s soul even if that meant possessing and nearly killing Shame.

Brevity. I needed it.

“When we walked into the room above the well, I saw Sedra Miller and her bodyguard, Dane Lanister. Several of Dane’s men were already dead. Sacrificed, I think, for the spells they were casting so that Leander and Isabelle could both possess Sedra at the same time.”

“Who was with you?”

“I just told you that.”

“Who among you was possessed?”

He had to have heard this before. At least three times, from Shame, Terric, and Zay. I was the last of the people directly involved in the fight to be called in. And they’d all told me they’d gone over the exact same story with him. No surprises were going to come to light from this. We were all telling the truth, under the geis of a Truth spell. Even though it was a crappily constructed spell, it still did the job.

“My dad possessed me,” I said. “Mikhail possessed Shame Flynn, and Leander and Isabelle possessed Sedra Miller.”

“Yes,” Melissa said.

“Continue, and do speak up.” He fingered the cuff links. What? Did he have a recording device hooked up to them? “What happened after you walked into the chamber?”

“Sedra Miller—who was possessed by Isabelle—said she was going to kill us all, and especially Mikhail, whom she knew was possessing Shame. She said that she and Leander were going to rule all magic.”

I swallowed, and took my time to inhale and exhale a couple times. The pain was getting worse, skittering out along my shoulders, but I was good at handling pain. Hounds almost always Proxied the pain of their own spells, unlike most magic users I’d met in the Authority, who hired out for Proxy.

I glanced at Melissa. She was sweating, smiling. I could smell the pain on her and knew she was carrying at least some cost of this spell. It didn’t seem to bother her. As a matter of fact, from the way she licked her lips, and from how dilated her pupils were, it looked like she was enjoying the pain.

Masochist. Probably cast the crappy pain-leaking spell on purpose.

“And what did you do?” Bartholomew asked.

“We fought them, Zayvion, Roman, Terric, Shame-Mikhail, and I. We used magic and our weapons and it almost wasn’t enough. They almost killed us. All of us. Zayvion and Roman were able to take care of the Veiled who Leander and Isabelle dragged out of the well. Shame-Mikhail and Terric fought Sedra-Isabelle and Leander. They were able to force Leander to exit Sedra’s body. He then attacked me. I was already a little busy dealing with Dane, who had brought a gun to the fight along with magic. Leander somehow pulled me out of my body. I almost died.”

I swallowed, tasting the acrid burn of that memory on the back of my throat as if I were still standing in that underground room, filled with magic, the dead and dying, and trying to decide if I should return to my own body or join with Zayvion and be with him forever as one.

“Things got a little blurry for a bit,” I said. “But I know Shame-Mikhail eventually forced Isabelle out of Sedra’s body. That’s how Sedra died. I think Mikhail crossed over into death with her soul. I didn’t see how Roman got away. But I know Leander and Isabelle didn’t just walk into death. I think they might still be loose. Here. Maybe in the city.”

“Yes,” Melissa said again.

“How did Dane Lanister die?”

“I didn’t see it.” That was true. But I knew how he died. Zayvion shot him through the head because Leander had possessed Dane and was using him to remove my soul from my body.

He considered that answer. And I waited for the big questions: why did we let Leander and Isabelle slip through our fingers? Why did we break into the prison filled with magical criminals and not only ended up with ex–Authority members Greyson and Chase dead but also set the spirit of Leander and the ex–Guardian of the gates, Roman, free? Why did we join up with Mikhail—the dead, exiled ex–head of the Authority—and Roman, both of whom were considered enemies to the Authority?

But all he said was, “Very well. Just one more question, Ms. Beckstrom. How long have you been possessed by your father?”

It took me a second to count back. “Six months or more.”

“But your father died eight months ago.”

“Yes.”

“Tell me, how is it he possessed you?”

“How do you not know this? Maeve sent you reports on me, even before I started training with her.”

“If I wanted Maeve Flynn’s information, I would have asked her here and put her under a Truth spell.” He didn’t say it like he was angry, or concerned. Which was what bothered me. This man was above us, all of us here in the Authority. He could, and from that statement would, do anything he wanted to us. And there was nothing we could do about it.

“Tell me how your father possessed you,” he repeated.

The pain kicked up a notch or twelve as it snapped along my ribs. I breathed through it. In through the nose, out through the nose.

“I don’t know how he did it.” Calm, clear. Like I wasn’t hurting enough to scream. Go, me.

“Surely you must have some memory of when and how it happened,” he pressed. “I understand you keep notes. In a notebook, I believe.”

“Dad’s dead body was on a slab. Frank Gordon, who was a member of the Authority at the time, was using magic, light, dark, Life, Death, and I don’t know what else. I didn’t know it then, and I don’t know now what he was trying to do. Maybe he was trying to bring my dad back to life. Maybe not. I was there trying to save some girls who had been kidnapped and were being used as Proxy victims.

“Dad stepped into my head. I don’t know how. He’s never told me.”

Bartholomew narrowed his eyes, then shifted his look to Melissa.

“Yes,” she said, sounding a little surprised.

Right. Mr. Wray needed a second opinion on whether I was telling the truth. For a man who had risen in power and status over people I considered wickedly deadly with magic, it was a real disconnect to see him needing a second opinion on anything magical.

Maybe he wasn’t good at Truth spells. Or maybe he sucked at magic. I wondered if someone could brown-nose his way up the Authority’s ladder.

“Thank you, Ms. Beckstrom. That will be all for today.” He stood and I looked over at Melissa.

She was practically glossy with sweat, her cheeks hot red. And she was smiling all the way back to her molars.

“How’d you like it?” she asked.

“I didn’t,” I replied, well, truthfully.

“I’m so sorry,” she said with no remorse. “This might sting a little.”

She slashed her knife through the air, breaking the Truth spell. The spell backlashed so hard, a hot line of pain whipped across my chest.

I hissed.

She faked a little surprise. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know it would kick like that.”

Lying bitch.

The weight of the spell took a couple seconds to lift, but finally my head, my body were mine to move again. I stood and brushed my hair back behind one ear while I reached for my backpack.

I turned and headed to the door. Goons or no goons, I was not staying here a second longer.

“Ms. Beckstrom,” Bartholomew said.

I paused in front of the goon who was blocking the door. Clenched my hand to keep from throwing magic at him, and turned to look at Bartholomew.

“I want you to know that I am going to do everything in my power to clean up the mess you and the other members of Portland’s Authority have made. And if you cooperate, I am confident we will find a place for you and your skills within the organization.”

Sounded like a threat to me. “And if I don’t cooperate?”

His eyebrows hitched up, stacking wrinkles up to his hairline. “If you don’t cooperate, you will expedite procedures that will put your file and service on review. And with the current state of things, I do not think the results of your continued . . . service would be favorable.”

“Good to know,” I said.

He gestured at Goon Two to open the door for me, which he did.

I stormed out of there and through the attorney’s office, not caring whether it would blow Bartholomew’s cover. My head was pounding and I was shaking from after-pain sweats—that I-want-to-crawl-into-bed-and-not-come-out-for-a-week kind of feeling. The backlash in the middle of my chest from the spell still burned hot—it was either blistering or would soon—from my belly up between my breasts to my collarbone. She’d broken that spell with the intent to make me hurt.

And on top of all that I was angry. Angry at myself for going there alone. I’d watched my father in enough business negotiations to know you should always,
always
bring a witness into any contentious situation. And I was angry at Bartholomew for being a dick.

Zayvion had said as much, though in a politically correct sort of way. I should have paid attention. I should have had him come in with me.

“Beckstrom!”

I stopped. I was on the street outside the lawyer’s office. Somehow got down all six flights of stairs without paying a damn bit of attention. That kind of detail tracking would get me killed.

Could this day get worse?

I glanced at the people walking the streets, then over at the cars.

“Hey!” The voice called out again. And then I spotted him.

Anthony Bell, the kid who wanted to be a Hound. The kid who had been involved with Frank Gordon, kidnapping and killing those girls to try to raise my dad from the dead. The kid who my friend Martin Pike had tried to help out—and instead had died for—was walking my way, smiling.

He had on jeans, a white T-shirt, and a dark hoodie. Walking next to him was a woman who looked enough like him that I figured she was his mom.

“Allie,” he said. “I was gonna stop by and talk to you. This is my mother. Mom, this is Allie. Beckstrom.”

“Marta,” she said, leaning forward to shake my hand. I shook. Her hand was warm around my icy palm.

“Nice to meet you,” I said, trying to get my social norms in line.

“Anthony told me you were considering letting him job-shadow a Hound,” she said.

“Really?” I leveled a look at Ant.

“No, Mom,” he said. “I told you I was gonna ask her for a job shadow.”

“Listen,” I said to both of them. “We’ve talked about this. I don’t think Hounding is a first-choice career move. And I told Anthony that I wouldn’t even consider his Hounding with my—” What did I call us? Group? Union? Pack? “With me and the other Hounds until he got out of high school.”