“I think one of them is a Hound. Looks sick. The other two, a man and a woman. I haven’t seen them here before.”
“Okay, I’ll be there soon.”
“If I’m going to be your secretary, or spy boy, I’d like two weeks’ vacation and an office with a view. Oh, and a watch that dispenses dry martinis.”
“Sure thing,” I said. “I’ll get right on that. Thanks for calling.”
I said good-bye, and filled Zayvion in.
“Still want to go home first?” he asked.
I thought about it. I was damp and hadn’t gotten a shower since before the gym. But if someone was looking for me, especially if it was a Hound who was hurt, I didn’t want Grant to have to deal with that.
Note to self: set up a schedule for other Hounds to hang out at the warehouse and take in the strays. I refused to spend every night down at Grant’s dealing with Hound crap.
I groaned. “Get Mugged,” I finally said. “Do you have time?”
“Until the meeting tonight, I do.”
It didn’t take long to get to Get Mugged. The old coffee shop stood on the corner like a beacon in a grimy city. Yellow light spilled out from two stories of windows, and the street around it was lined with cars.
Zay found a place to park in the open lot next to the warehouse.
I couldn’t help it. Looking at the warehouse that still leaned a bit but—as we were told by inspectors and code officials—was sound, and knowing that a part of the building was mine, made me feel good.
I’d promised Pike I’d look after the Hounds for him. It was his idea to bring the Hounds together so we could watch one another’s backs. It was his idea to keep track of Hounding jobs and support the police through contract Hounding. He wanted better for Hounds, who too often died trying to escape the pain of using magic.
Just like his granddaughter who hadn’t survived her brush with the Blood-magic and drug dealer Lon Trager a few years ago. I’d helped Hound that case to throw Trager in jail. But when Trager got out, Pike had taken him on, alone. He hadn’t known Anthony, the kid he was trying to set straight, was being used by Trager. Didn’t know Trager was being used by Dr. Frank Gordon, the grave robber, to bind my father’s soul. Didn’t know there was a whole lot of secret-magic-user stuff going on in the background of this city.
Gruff, fair, blunt, Pike was a good man, and my friend. I still hurt when I thought about his death. The warehouse was a physical manifestation of my promise to him.
Pike had gotten his den.
I scanned the street as I got out of the car and made my way over to the sidewalk. A few people walked by, hoods up, or, that rarest thing in Oregon, an umbrella furled. Traffic drove past slowly, tires hissing against wet pavement. It felt like a pretty normal February night.
I inhaled, got that welcome-home scent of deeply roasted coffee, and something salty, like hot cheese and garlic. Grant had started serving homemade soup and sandwiches along with his baked-from-scratch pastries. If he didn’t watch out, he was going to become a sensation.
We strolled up the sidewalk to the front door of Get Mugged and stepped in.
Get Mugged was a lot bigger on the inside than it looked on the outside. An open loft took up the back half of the building, and the bottom floor was a combination of bricks, wood, and well-placed lighting. Tables filled the room, clustered by love seats and couches. The tables nearest the windows were plain dark wood, a little scuffed up. Homey.
No music played, or if it did, it was drowned out from the thrum of conversation. People sat at tables with coffee, tea, food, laptops, and handhelds, content to call Get Mugged their second living room.
I grinned. Noisy, crowded—I loved it here. Even though it was smaller than the dining room at Maeve’s place, it somehow managed to feel cozy, not claustrophobic. Plus, having the best coffee in town went a long way toward securing my affections.
Grant was at the end of the room, his back toward me as he bused a table. He wore a tight gray T-shirt with a dish towel thrown over one shoulder, dark jeans, and cowboy boots. Had good arms, a nice ass, and a strong, trim build.
When he turned, he gave me a howdy-baby smile.
Or more likely he gave it to Zayvion, who glided in behind me.
I walked toward the counter, pushing the hood of my jacket down and then unzipping it. I wished I’d thought about taking a heavier coat to my workout.
Grant swung behind the counter, his hands filled with plates and mugs, which he carried into the back room. He deposited the dishes with a quick comment to another employee there I couldn’t see before he came out to stand behind the cash register.
“Allie. Good to see you, girlfriend. Hey there, Zay. What can I get you two?”
“Sixteen-ounce, black,” I said, “and the freshest scone in the case.”
He grinned. “My scones are always fresh. Last out of the oven was lemon poppy seed. Is that okay? And for you, Zay?”
“Just coffee. Black.”
“For here?”
I shook my head. “To go would be better.”
He plucked a couple paper cups off the stack beside him.
“So who’s looking for me?” I asked.
“The man at the back of the room near the stairs to the loft. The woman who was with him is in the bathroom.”
Okay, I am not a spy. I’m pretty sure I would fail spectacularly at spy school. So instead of trying to make it look all accidental, I just turned and looked at the guy.
Light hair, big eyes that were sort of puppy-sad, chin too narrow, he was the kind of man who spent his life disappearing in crowds. No one would guess he was a part of the Authority, a magic user, and a damn good one too.
He was also my stepmother’s bodyguard. Kevin Cooper.
Well, so much for being followed by bad guys. Violet probably just wanted to talk about Beckstrom Enterprises. Business. Or maybe she had news about the baby she was carrying—my only sibling.
I didn’t even have to ask Grant who the Hound was. I could smell his scents among the people in the room, though the subtleties of his scent had changed. No more sweet cherries, which was good. That meant he hadn’t been around Blood magic lately.
Hunched against the wall to my right, close enough he wouldn’t have to push many people out of the way to get to the door, was Anthony Bell. The same kid Pike had been trying to help.
My heart did double speed for a minute. The last time I’d seen him, he’d been beaten to a bloody mess on the floor of the warehouse where Dr. Frank Gordon was trying to raise my dad from the dead. Dr. Gordon had used Anthony as a Proxy and made the kid pay the price for the magic Frank threw around. I’d heard Anthony survived it. Spent some time in the hospital. Then in the courts. I hadn’t followed his case, not much caring whether he would be convicted of the charges of working with Lon Trager and dealing in illegal Blood magic, kidnapping, murder.
I hated following the media when it came to things that touched me personally. I’d never been much of a spotlight lover when I was growing up in my very influential father’s spotlight-filled life.
Still, another Hound, Davy Silvers, had told me Anthony got off pretty easy, since he was a minor and hadn’t had an actual hand in kidnapping the girls. He’d gotten some counts on forgery of a magical signature, he’d spent some time in juvie, and, last I heard, he was doing community service.
Didn’t seem like a fair trade for Pike’s life.
“Coffee,” Grant announced, as he placed the cups on the counter. “Scone.”
I looked away from Anthony, put a few bucks down, and picked up my cup and the scone Grant had put in a small bag. When I looked back at Anthony, he was staring at the table. Had his hands in his pockets, and there was no cup or plate in front of him. I looked over at Violet’s bodyguard again, and he gave me an imperceptible nod.
Right. Violet could wait. I’d go take care of Anthony first.
But before that, coffee. I took a drink, savoring the heat and rich, dark flavor. So good. No one in the
city roasted beans like Grant.
“You’re a doll, Grant,” I said.
“A doll without a martini dispenser,” he said.
I grinned, then started off toward Anthony. Zayvion followed. “You sure?” I asked. Hounds were my responsibility, my trouble. I didn’t want Zayvion to feel like he had to get into this mess with me.
“I was there,” he reminded me, like maybe I didn’t remember he had been the one who untied Anthony and tried to get him out of the warehouse.
I did remember, but it was nice of him to remind me anyway.
Anthony looked up, scowled when he saw both Zayvion and I were headed his way.
I stopped next to his table, between him and his easy escape to the door. Power play? Me?
“You looking for me?” I asked. I didn’t mean for it to come out quite so flat and angry, but hey, this kid was part of what got Pike killed. Sue me.
“I got some things I should say,” Anthony started. His tanned cheeks flushed a deeper red. Boy was sweating this one. I could smell the discomfort on him, could tell it was taking every fiber of his will not to squirm, or maybe get up and get out from under my gaze.
Tough. I just didn’t have it in me to forgive the kid.
“Say it.” I didn’t sit. Neither did Zay.
Anthony, to his credit, nodded, and pulled his hands out of his jacket. “You want to sit, maybe? You could sit. This is gonna take more than a minute.”
I didn’t want to. I wanted the kid to say he was sorry Pike was dead, and then I was going to tell him I wouldn’t accept his apology, and to never talk to me again.
Zay hooked the leg of a chair with his foot, and scooted it out.
His shoulder brushed mine as he took the extra seat, and I felt a flash of his curiosity, his sense of compassion.
It was strange. Zayvion went through his life taking away people’s memories, sometimes taking away their lives, without qualms. I didn’t expect him to have a shred of compassion for a kid like Anthony.
Hells.
I took the other seat. “Talk.”
Anthony licked his lips. His gaze skittered over my face, finally settled somewhere around my chin.
“I’ve tried to think of how I should say this, and I can’t.” He raised his eyes, met my gaze, then looked away. Ear this time. “I’m sorry. For those girls getting hurt. For what I did to Pike.”
“You killed him,” I said. “You might not have held the gun, but you sold him out, and you killed him.”
Anthony’s eyes went narrow. It looked like he was trying hard not to yell. I could smell the heavy stink of guilt on him.
“I know what I did,” he said. “If you can’t forgive me, it doesn’t matter. I just had to say it. Counselor told me.” His looked back up at my forehead, his gaze steady, flat.
I couldn’t forgive him. And there was no way I would ever trust him. I wanted to tell him to go away and never talk to me again. But I had a pretty good idea what would happen if I handed the kid his ass. Sometimes it takes only one word to send someone into a spiral they never pull out of. Then how many deaths would he be responsible for? And how many would be on my hands?
“I don’t trust you, Anthony, and I don’t like you. But Pike saw something in you. Get clean. Get your life together and make something out of it.”
“I want to Hound. I want to be a part of the pack.” Sweet hells. What was I supposed to say to that? I sure as hells wasn’t going to be his babysitter. I was nowhere near as nice as Pike.
“Have you even finished high school?”
“I’m doing online classes.”
“Does your mother know you want to do this?”
“We don’t talk much.”
I took a drink of coffee to keep from yelling at the kid. He was what, sixteen? And already taking his life back down a path that had almost killed him the first time.
No sense.
Of course, most Hounds didn’t have any sense.
Me included.
This was a bad idea.
“This is a bad idea,” I said.
“So you’re saying no?”
I’m sorry, Pike. I can’t do it.
“I’m saying no.”
“That’s what I thought you’d say.”
Kid was angry. But even if I let him join the pack, no one would work with him. Plus, I was pretty sure Davy would kill him if they ever got in the same room together.
“You want to be part of the pack, you have to earn it.”
“Pike wouldn’t—”
“I suggest,” I said over the top of him, “you don’t quote me on what Pike would or wouldn’t do. Ever.”
Kid wasn’t the only one who was angry.
He shut his mouth. Good.
“Finish school. Get clean. You give me your counselor’s number so I can check in on you. You don’t Hound—at all. You got me on that, Bell? Not for the cops, not for a friend, not for anyone, until you’re straight and clutching a diploma in your hand. You do that and I’ll give you a try.”
“Fuck that shit,” he said. “I don’t need you.”
“No,” I said, “you don’t.” I stood. “And one more thing—I’d avoid Davy Silvers if I were you. He’s not as forgiving as I am.”
Pike had been my friend, but Davy had worshipped the man. I waited a second to see if Anthony had anything else to say. He didn’t. So I turned and walked off.
Anthony swore again behind me.
Kid didn’t know it, but I was doing him a favor. I was giving him a chance at a life without pain. Well, with less pain anyway. I think that’s what Pike would have really wanted—for the kid to have a second shot at a clean life, regardless of the dumb things he’d done.
Anthony had that chance. I hoped he made good use of it.
I strolled over to the table where Kevin and a noticeably pregnant Violet waited for me. Zayvion, surprisingly, stayed seated for a few more seconds. He said something to Anthony, but even with my good ears, I couldn’t catch it over the noise of the crowd.
Rats.
“It’s good to see you,” Violet said once I was close enough.
I smiled, even though Anthony still had my hackles up. “Good to see you too.” I took the extra seat. “Is it okay if Zayvion joins us?”
Violet nodded, the low lights of the room flashing across her tasteful wire-rimmed glasses. She had pulled her red hair back in a plain ponytail. She wasn’t wearing any makeup, but had that beautiful glow pregnant women were supposed to always get. I used to think the whole glow thing was a bunch of baloney before watching Violet go through the last few months of carrying my dad’s child.
Yes, it was weird to see someone younger than me pregnant with my dad’s baby. Family issues. I have them.
“Why didn’t you just call?” I asked.
Violet pushed her glasses back on her nose and shifted to sit up straighter. Kevin pulled a Mute spell out of his sleeve. I mean literally. He tugged his rucked-up shirtsleeve back down on his wrist, and somehow in the middle of that put up a very subtle Mute that even a good Hound would have a hard time tracking.
Like I said, he was very, very good at that sort of thing.
“I didn’t want the call traced,” Violet said.
Wow. The woman knew how to set a mood.
“Someone’s tracing your calls?”
“There are members on the board of Beckstrom Enterprises. They represent a faction of shareholders. They are displeased with the amount of resources going into the lab and technology development, and the lack of results. They insist I show them classified documents of my progress.”
“Okay,” I said, trying to get my head around the problem. “What classified documents?”
“The disks. They want to know about the disks.”
The same disks that were stolen. The same disks that were implanted in Greyson’s neck and used to turn him into a beast. The disks that would make magic portable and nearly without price. Disks that would change how everyone accessed magic
and be used for as much bad as good.
That was a problem.
Zayvion strolled over, made eye contact with Kevin, and then sat in a chair next to me without ruffling the Mute spell. Very nice.
“Are they members of the Authority?” I asked. I knew some of the people in my father’s company were in the Authority, like his accountant, Mr. Katz, but it wasn’t like anyone had ever done a roll call for me.
Note to self: get a roll call.
“No,” she said. “The disks are proving to be too dangerous when not in the right hands, which is such a shame considering how much good they can do in the right hands. I’m working on ways to limit how much magic a disk can hold, and how many times it can be recharged. There are pros and cons as to creating fail-safes for compatibility between disks. We designed them to be compatible. But ever since the robbery at the lab, and then Daniel’s death . . .” She paused.
In my head, my dad stirred and pressed outward, like he was leaning against a wall of glass. He scratched at the backs of my eyes, and a melancholy need that was not my own filled me.
“Since his death,” she continued, “I haven’t been pushing forward on that project as hard.”
Which made sense. James Hoskil, one of the people involved in my dad’s murder, had admitted using disks with Blood magic. Violet didn’t know it, but Greyson had a disk implanted in his neck, holding him permanently between life and death, neither man nor beast.
As far as I could tell, the disks had only ever been used to harm.
“What happens if you don’t release the documents to the shareholders?” I asked.
“There are legal actions they could take.” She picked up her cup, the steam giving up the sweet perfume of licorice. “They’ve threatened locking me out of the lab, seizing my files, closing down the facility . . . and . . . other actions. We’ve had some interesting mail. Threats.” She gave me a small smile and I saw a flash of anger in her eyes before she took a sip of her tea. Violet was no fainting flower. I’d come to believe she had matched my moody father’s intellect and stubbornness point for point.
“The attorneys are involved, but these kinds of people don’t always go through legal channels. Which is why I wanted to talk to you. I’m going to move in with Kevin for a little while. Just while the condo is being remodeled for the baby, and retrofitted for security measures.”