Magic in the Blood

  Pike grunted, but it sounded more like a laugh. “At length. Now talk to me about Trager,” he said.

  “First tell me what happened to your hand. It was bleeding this morning.”

  “That’s none of your business, Beckstrom.”

  We stared each other down until I got tired of it.

  Jerk.

  “I had a little meeting with Lon Trager today. On the bus.”

  So much for Pike the jerk. Even though he didn’t move, didn’t twitch, he transformed into Pike the killer.

  “Explain.” Cold as steel.

  “He sat next to me. Had six of his thugs with guns with him. Told me he wanted me to do him a favor, and all the bad blood between us would be forgotten. He said he wants to make nice.” I waited, but Pike didn’t say anything.

  “He wants me to bring you to him. By midnight tomorrow.”

  “And?”

  “And he got some of my blood.”

  We both knew what that meant. Trager intended to use my blood with magic. I, however, didn’t know what he might want to do with it other than cast that glyph thing he’d left on my thigh. I hadn’t studied blood magic in school. Probably because it was illegal.

  “What do you think he’s going to do with it?” I asked.

  Pike was looking straight at me, but I could tell from his unfocused gaze that it was not me he was thinking about. He was weighing possibilities, costs, outcome.

  “Nothing good,” he finally said. “I want you to let me take care of him.”

  “Like hells I will. Weren’t you just saying we have to watch each other’s backs? Hounds don’t Hound alone and all that crap? Trager wanted both of us there. Wanted me to deliver you to him. I’m not going to be left behind and killed because you want to take him mano a mano.”

  Pike’s face flushed, and I could see the veins at his temples. He was very, very angry. At me. I braced myself, ready to yell it out or, hell, fight it out with him until he realized how stupid it would be for him to take care of Trager alone.

  But Pike did not yell. He closed his eyes and rubbed his palm over his face. “Allie. This is between him and me.”

  “No, Pike. It’s not. I know you want to kill him for what he did to your granddaughter. But it’s time to stop being pansy asses and acting like we don’t need help. We should go talk to the police about this. We should get protection—both of us. I have proof that can put him in jail—he threatened me and stabbed me in the leg. No one can tamper with that evidence, and I can’t be bought. Let’s get him legal, so legal he’ll never see the light of day, never hurt anyone’s granddaughter again.”

  Pike pulled his hand away from his face. He didn’t look angry. He looked tired.

  “Allie . . .”

  “Legal, Pike. Let’s do this right. Let’s get this bastard for life.”

  He looked down. Stared at the floor. Finally he nodded. Slow. Beaten. Old.

  He tipped his head back up. “You’re right,” he said, his voice tired. “That’s the smart thing to do. Get the police on it, help them if they need it. I could find him if they want me to. I’ll never forget that devil’s stench. But I can’t go down to the station today. I promise I’ll meet you there tomorrow afternoon.”

  A wave of relief, a knot of fear released in me. “Morning would be better, don’t you think?”

  “I got crap to do with Anthony—for his mother. It will take most of the night tonight and part of tomorrow.”

  “What kind of crap?” I was afraid he was evading this, evading me, trying to find a way to ditch on our deal.

  He winced. “Handyman crap.” He tugged his sleeve back to reveal his wrist. The gauze bandage was wrapped up his forearm about six inches, and thick gauze pads lay across the inside of his wrist. It looked like a poorly executed suicide attempt.

  “Pike, you didn’t try to . . .”

  “Christ, Beckstrom. What are you thinking?” He tugged his sleeve back down. “I damn near took my hand off with a goddamn circular saw this morning. And I still have to fix the sink, take care of a broken window, and patch a hole in the goddamn roof. I’m going to get that done before I deal with the cops. And you can wipe that smile off your face.”

  “I always knew you were a good guy, Pike.”

  “Shove it, Beckstrom.”

  “Noon tomorrow at the station?” I asked sweetly.

  He nodded. “Might be as late as one, but around then.”

  “You do know I’m going to talk to Stotts about Trager tonight, right?” I said.

  “Figured you would.”

  “He’ll want to put you under protective custody,” I said.

  “He’ll know where to find me, won’t he?”

  I nodded. “I’m sorry.”

  He didn’t say anything. That was almost harder, seeing him give in like that. It was another sign of how ready he was to retire, to be done with all this, to let the police take care of the city without him.

  “Thanks for doing this the right way,” I added.

  “You don’t think I’m going to do this without asking for something in return, do you?” he asked.

  “Seriously?” Not that I should be surprised. Nothing without a price in this town. Not even friendship. “What do you want?”

  “I want you to promise me you’ll stay here in the city. After I . . . retire. ’Cause this damn sure is going to be the last time I work with the police. And when the Hounds contact you, if they need you—even if they say they don’t—that you’ll go to them. Look after them.”

  “You know,” I said, “we’re friends.” I stumbled a little on the last word, but it was true. Of all the Hounds I knew, Pike and I had hit off a strange sort of dysfunctional teacher-student, or maybe even father-daughter relationship. “But you are so not my boss. No one tells me what to do.”

  “I’m telling you what to do. And I expect you to listen to me.” Then, a little softer. “Just this once.”

  What would it matter if I said yes? I didn’t think Pike was going to be retired for long. He’d be back, after he got tired of the sun and sand. Back to boss me and all the rest of the Hounds around. Back to take a kid under his wing and try to set him straight.

  “Okay,” I said. “I’ll look after your little sewing circle for as long as it lasts. That’s all I’m promising.”

  “That’s enough.”

  He leaned away from the stud and opened the door. The heavy smells from a restaurant mixed with the perfume of the candle shop. I realized I hadn’t eaten lunch yet. But the smells were overwhelming and triggered my headache. Add to that a nice helping of brighter light out in the main hallway, and my hunger turned to nausea in three seconds flat.

  Neat.

  I walked past Pike into the light and stink of the rest of the world. It was still early afternoon. I had time to go home, chew down some more painkillers, maybe sleep off some of the get-a-clue-and-set-a-damn-Disbursement-next-time headache before I had to meet Stotts at the station at five.

  And right now, a little sleep sounded fabulous.

  “See you tomorrow,” I said to Pike as I headed toward the nearest set of stairs that would take me up into the retail space and on to daylight.

  “Allie?”

  “Yeah?” I looked over my shoulder at him.

  His pale blue eyes burned in the shadows from the hallway. “It was worth it.”

  And then he walked away, down the corridor quiet and quick.

  I hoped he meant getting the Hound group together was worth it. I hoped he meant Hounding for twenty-five years was worth it. I hoped he meant deciding to retire was worth it.

  Or maybe he meant putting Trager in jail once was worth it, and it would be worth doing it again. The right way.

  Chapter Eleven

  I emerged from the building just as the bus pulled to a stop across the street. I swore and jogged for it. I caught the bus, scanned the people there, and didn’t see anyone who looked like they were going to stab me. Just in case, I chose an empty se
at near the driver and sat down.

  Unfortunately, it was the wrong bus. That meant I got to spend an extra twenty minutes lurching from stop to stop, nursing my headache made worse by the stink of diesel that poured in the doors every time the beast belched its way back into traffic. And just in case that wasn’t fun enough, once I got off the bus, I had an eight-block trudge—uphill—to get to my apartment. The rain had let up, which was something, I guess, but the wind was still blowing out of the Gulf of Alaska, too cold and too strong.

  Okay, yes. I was feeling a little sorry for myself.

  And the headache made it impossible to pay close attention to the people around me. It wasn’t like I was wandering in a blind fog; it was more of a set-jaw determined slog up the hill, and I just didn’t have it in me to twitch at every little sound. If Trager’s men decided to jump me, I would beat them senseless with my shoe.

  So when I paused to catch my breath outside a restaurant with big glass windows, it probably took me only a full thirty seconds to notice the man waving at me.

  Apparently Davy had taken Pike’s words to heart. He was sitting at a table at the window, alone, half a huge burger demolished on the plate in front of him.

  I frowned. There was no way it was a coincidence he chose this restaurant this close to my apartment on this day.

  He was planning to stalk me. The little twerp.

  I didn’t waste my energy glaring at him. I started up the block.

  Davy jumped out of his seat. From my peripheral vision I watched him continue to wave his hands at me while he dodged tables, heading to the door and getting there faster than me since he was inside and didn’t have to deal with the incline. I hoped someone stuck out their leg and tripped him.

  No luck.

  Just as I passed the restaurant door, it flew open. Out strode Davy. The wind shifted and I got a hint of his scent. Beneath the cloud of burgers and onions from the restaurant, Davy smelled like warm cedar and lemons. The taint of booze lingered on his sweat too, adding a sour note.

  “Here,” he said, closing the distance between us in a few loping strides. Kid was all leg. He stepped in front of me and shoved something at my face.

  I knew what it was before I even looked down. French fries stacked in a cardboard carton, two packs of ketchup, and a napkin tucked down one side.

  “Ordered an extra for Tom—” He swallowed the rest of what he was going to say and tried to hack it back up before I noticed. “—for a friend who didn’t show up. I think you and I started off on a bad foot today. No hard feelings, okay?”

  Ordered for a friend. Right. His angry cutter girlfriend, Tomi.

  “Did you spit on them?” I asked.

  “I thought about it.” His mischievous twinkle was back.

  I’d promised Pike I’d look after the Hounds. And even though Pike wasn’t retired yet, this was a part of it.

  I took the carton. Still warm. He either hadn’t been waiting for his “friend” for very long, or he had ordered the fries late into the meal. He might have called her and asked her to eat lunch with him after he was already at the table. She might even have said yes and then called back to bail on him.

  I so did not miss my high school relationships.

  “Tomi?” I asked just to make sure.

  He tucked his hands under his armpits and shrugged. “Not anymore, you know?”

  “Yeah,” I said, not knowing what else to say. I didn’t know him, didn’t know her, and didn’t have much luck with my own relationships anyway. Even though my stomach was still queasy and my head hurt, I pulled out a nice thick fry and took a bite. Hot, crunchy, salty, and greasy. Really, really good.

  “Thanks,” I said, lifting the carton a little. “I think I was starving.” I popped another fry in my mouth. “Next time we start off on a bad foot, could you bring me orange soda, too?”

  He grinned. “No prob.”

  I shoved another fry in my mouth and walked past him. “Excellent,” I mumbled. “See you tonight.”

  “Not if I’m any good, you won’t.”

  “I expect you to be very, very good, Davy,” I said over my shoulder, thinking about Trager. “There are bad men out there. You stay out of their way, out of my way, and I’ll give you a cookie.”

  “Gee, thanks, Mom.”

  I ignored that and kept walking, stuffing my mouth with hot, salty fry goodness. I didn’t even hear Davy walk away until the door to the restaurant closed behind him.

  He was good.

  The last few blocks went by quickly. I devoured the fries like I hadn’t eaten this century, hoping against hope that my headache would let me keep them down.

  I made it to my apartment without any other interruptions and clomped up the stairs and down the hall to my door.

  I paused outside my door and listened for movement on the other side before opening it. Some old habits are worth keeping. There was no one in my apartment. I checked every room, including the bathroom, where I swallowed a couple more aspirin and wished I had something stronger. Then I tugged off my coat, hat, gloves, and boots and left them in a pile on my bedroom floor.

  Standing next to my bed, I took off my jeans but left my tights on. I wanted nothing more than to crawl into my bed naked and be wrapped up in the softness of my sheets, but I had to get up in a few hours to Hound. Getting undressed and comfortable would only make me sleep too deeply.

  It had nothing to do with not wanting to be naked and asleep if my dad’s ghost popped in to pay me another visit. It had nothing to do with an ex-con blood magic dealer looking to break my neck.

  Okay. It had everything to do with that.

  The tights stayed on. I did take off my sweater but left my long-sleeved T-shirt on too. Good enough.

  I crawled under the covers and remembered to set my alarm for three thirty. I closed my eyes and counted each beat of my headache until it lulled me senseless and, finally, to sleep.

  Three thirty showed up far too quickly.

  But even that much sleep helped shave away the edges of my price-for-using-magic headache so now it was just an uncomfortable tightness at the back of my neck and temples. That, I could deal with.

  I got up, got dressed, brewed a pot of coffee, and took my time drinking half of it before calling a cab. I had plenty of time to get down to the police station and meet Stotts by five. I looked out my living room window. The winter day was fading fast and would be dark soon. I checked the sky. It wasn’t raining, but I didn’t see any blue out there either.

  My gaze wandered to the street. People just getting off work or done with class for the day hurried along the sidewalks, trying to beat the rush hour crowds. A couple hearty bicyclists pumped up the hill. And there, in the shadow of an awning, two men stepped forward. They stopped at the edge of the overhang and looked up at my building, at my window.

  There was just enough light left in the day for me to make out their faces. Trager’s men, two of them, from the bus.

  Shit.

  They stared at my window, stared at me, because this building didn’t have fancy tinted windows. No, with the curtain pulled back, anyone could see into my living room. Anyone could see me.

  A cab pulled up in front of the building and I let the curtain drop. If I missed my cab, I’d have to take the bus. And I was not going on another ride with those goons.

  Hands shaking, I tucked my hair up in my knit hat and patted my pockets to make sure I had everything I needed. I took a deep breath and calmed myself. I was going to be fine. Let the goons watch me. Hell, let them follow me all the way to the police department; I didn’t care. All I had to do was get in the cab without letting them touch me.

  Feeling a little more settled, I left my apartment and jogged down the stairs. Before I pushed through the door to the street, I looked up and down the sidewalk to be sure no one was waiting to jump me. All clear.

  The wind gusted at my back as I hurried to the cab. I ducked into the backseat and glanced across the street. Trager’s men we
re still there, still under the awning, still watching me.

  “Evening,” the cabdriver said.

  “Hey.” I didn’t look over at him. “Police station, please.”

  The cab slipped into traffic. I watched the goons watch me drive away and was really, really glad I’d called the cab.

  Once they were out of sight, I sat back and waited for the police station to show up. I didn’t know what case Stotts wanted me to Hound. I hadn’t read a newspaper in a month, and I didn’t watch news on TV, so I wasn’t even sure what crimes had been committed lately.