Magic in the Blood

  Zayvion’s jaw twitched, and his fingers rolled into a loose fist. But not to cast magic. I checked.

  Just in case I was wrong, I didn’t let go of the Impact glyph.

  “No,” Zay said as he reached over to the chair he had sat in yesterday. “I don’t think going down to the station with you would be in the best of either of our interests.”

  He picked up something on the seat of the chair and placed it on the table.

  A single long-stemmed pink rose.

  He gathered his coat and draped it over his arm. Walked toward me. I moved to the side so he could pass, out of reach.

  He paused in front of me. “Promise me one thing.”

  I raised an eyebrow.

  “Promise me you won’t take on Trager alone. Stay with the police, do as they say, and you should be fine. If, however, you do meet him alone—” He flicked his hand out from beneath his jacket and offered me the hilt of the thin silver dagger. “Use this to break the skin on your thigh and cut the tip off the outermost line on the Binding. Then pull the magic out of it—all of it. Doing that untrained will hurt like a mother. But it should break his hold on you. Give you a chance.”

  I took the dagger with my left hand—the hand I was not holding the Impact glyph with. “Thanks,” I said.

  “Thank me tonight, over dinner, after you have returned from talking to the police and not from Hounding down Trager on your own.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” I said.

  Angry Zayvion, Zen Zayvion, gently touched the edge of my right cheek, where marks of magic whorled. Even though he was angry, mint soothed through me, easing my ache and racing heartbeat.

  “Be careful,” he whispered. “I don’t want to lose you twice.” Then he walked out of my apartment and closed the door behind him.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The silver dagger was so clear and deep, it looked more like white gold, the blade tucked in a simple leather sheath. I pulled it free of the sheath. From the tip of the blade to the rounded top of the hilt were carved glyphs in the same colors as the metallic swirls on my arm. The center of the blade encased a thin strip of glass beveled in such a way as to control the flow of blood. I had no idea how this blade had been made, but it was clear exactly what its purpose was—to cast magic. Blood magic.

  Zayvion Jones just got stranger and stranger.

  Other than a couple minor spells, like Truth, I had no idea how to actually cast blood magic. I sure as hell had never used a dagger to uncast a spell on myself. And, yes, that worried me. But not enough to leave the dagger behind.

  I put on my leather coat, tucked the sheathed knife into the deep pocket, and put on my gloves, scarf, and hat. I walked over to the table and drew the pink rose up beneath my nose, inhaling the sweet innocence of spring.

  What kind of crazy did I have to be to kick out a man who brought me strawberries and roses and a big honkin’ magic glyphed dagger?

  I put the rose in a glass of water in my kitchen, grabbed my notebook and nonfunctioning cell phone, and locked the door behind me. I took the stairs down and pushed through the main doors. I paused before hitting the sidewalk. It was still early enough to be dark, but a silvery light reflected from everything around me. A light that had nothing to do with magic.

  The stairs, the sidewalk, and every single twig on the trees were covered in a thin coating of ice. The rain had frozen last night, turning the world into something alien and beautiful. And slippery.

  I stepped outside. The wind whipped down the street, biting at my exposed skin and shooting painful shivers through me. My fever and headache weren’t gone yet. And sure enough, I’d forgotten to put the bottle of aspirin in my pocket.

  Tree branches up and down my street clattered and chimed, a rattle of glass. I put my hands out to the side to keep my balance against the wind and carefully made my way over to the curb, hoping a cab would show up.

  The city didn’t get enough frigid weather to warrant the Proxy cost of permanent Deicing spells, so Portland relied on sand trucks to keep the hilly streets passable. A truck must have already made a run down my street, because cars were easing by.

  I narrowed my eyes against the row of headlights and spotted a cab coming down the hill. I stepped out and waved it down.

  The driver braked and slid to a stop. I got in.

  “Have to be half penguin to be out in this weather.” The driver was a big man who sounded like he’d had a bowl of extraperky for breakfast.

  “Or just stupid,” I said. “Kickin’ Cakes, please.”

  The cab was warm and smelled soapy, like it’d just gone through a car wash with the windows open. The smell turned my stomach, but for the heat, I’d deal with the stink. I tucked my nose in my scarf and closed my eyes.

  The cab eased to a top, and Mr. Cheery called back, “Here you go.”

  I opened my eyes.

  “Thanks.” I dug in my pocket—the one with my blank notebook, not the dagger—and pulled out some cash. I paid him and made my way carefully up the walk to the restaurant.

  Kickin’ Cakes was a bar turned breakfast joint, and it still hadn’t quite shed its former identity. A long row of tables down one side of the single story building sat opposite the curved black marble bar to the left. All cooking was done behind that bar, and the restaurant had an art deco feel: tables in chrome and black linoleum, booth and chair seats in turquoise and maroon.

  I walked through the front door, and the smell of butter, onions, sausage, and coffee, along with the nutmeg-sweet scent of the signature dish, Kicking Pancakes, greeted me. They were good smells that got through my pain and made me hungry. The restaurant was nice and warm.

  And busy, even with the icy roads. I scanned the room for Violet. I spotted a pretty young redhead. Next to her, sitting so he faced the front door, was an unassumingly plain-looking bodyguard wearing a henley shirt rucked up at the elbows. His name, I think, was Kevin. I knew of him, but if I had met him before, I could not remember it.

  Kevin watched me walk in, held my gaze, and nodded to me. I took it as an invitation.

  Violet glanced over at me, and since I was nearly at their table, I had to work on not letting my shock show. She was so young, we could have been sisters if she weren’t my father’s wife. And I was pretty sure I’d be the big sister.

  Yes, I’d seen her in photos in the papers since my dad’s death, and my friend Nola said Violet and I had met during the time I could not remember. She thought we had gotten along too, which was weird. I had never gotten along with any of my father’s wives.

  Violet had a petite build, wore simple but fashionable glasses, and had great cheekbones and a smattering of freckles. She wore a loose sweater, jeans, and sneakers. Put her in a lineup, and I would not point her out as a billionaire widow. She looked radiant, her face glowing and happy despite the dark circles beneath her eyes that spoke of sleepless nights.

  “Allie,” she said warmly. “Sit, sit.” She pointed to the chair opposite where she sat on the booth bench against the wall. It put my back to the bar. I could see behind Kevin, and the windows and front door were at the corner of my eye.

  “How are you feeling?” she asked.

  “Good.” I hadn’t seen her since the coma that had knocked me out. “Better. Thanks. How’s the coffee?”

  Kevin was already pouring me a cup out of the carafe from the center of the table. Violet shrugged. “No coffee for me. I’m an herbal tea girl right now.”

  “Stress?” I thought about the pressure she must be under now that the duties of running my father’s multibillion-dollar magic and tech integration company had fallen largely into her hands.

  “Pregnant,” she said.

  The whole restaurant swirled under my feet. “Preg—what? Who?” I looked over at Kevin. He quietly picked up his cup and took a drink. He watched Violet across the cup’s rim, and his gaze carried something—sadness? Jealousy? Then he tipped the cup down and smiled at me. Smiled at me for Violet, I realized.
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  Oh. I might be fevered, headachy, and struck dumb, but I could see a man who was in love and hadn’t admitted it to himself. Or to Violet.

  “Whose?” I repeated, looking at Violet.

  She took a sip of her tea. “Mine. And your father’s.”

  Wow.

  At my expression she said, “I’m four months along. We had, well, just before he was killed.” She didn’t say any more, which was good. I was having a hard time sorting this out, and picturing her in bed with my father wasn’t helping any.

  Kevin had the right idea. I picked up my coffee cup and took a drink. Hot, bitter. I wished it were something stronger.

  Violet, who was about my age, was pregnant with my father’s child.

  One part of me hoped maybe she was wrong—that it wasn’t my father’s child. That maybe it was Kevin’s or some one-night stand she’d had. But Violet was a smart woman—the brains behind most of the newest tech coming out from my dad’s company. If she believed it was my father’s child, then I was certain it was.

  “Wow,” I said. “Are you happy?”

  “I am. It was a . . . shock. I didn’t find out until after. He never knew.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I am. Happy.”

  “You and my dad were okay together?”

  “Allie, I loved your father. Despite the age difference. I was the one who chased him.”

  It didn’t take magic for me to know she was telling the truth. I didn’t know what she had seen in him. My father was a controlling, driven, frequently angry man. But maybe this—the child—was what she had wanted.

  “Congratulations?” I offered.

  She laughed, a short, happy sound. “I’m sorry. Just . . . the look on your face is hilarious. Haven’t you ever wanted a little brother or sister?”

  Oh. Sweet. Hells.

  “When I was a kid, maybe. I’m old enough to be this kid’s mother.” How was that for tactful?

  But Violet laughed. “I know. Weird, isn’t it? That’s part of why I wanted to tell you before anyone else. Only Kevin and my doctor knows. I thought you should have a chance to get used to it a little before the gossip columns pick it up.”

  “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

  She slipped her fingers behind her glasses and pressed against her eyes. She was still smiling. “What else am I going to do? It is what it is. I’ll figure it out as I go. That’s life.” She readjusted her glasses and placed her hands on the tabletop.

  Kevin’s fingers stretched slightly, almost but not brushing her hand before he pulled away. I don’t think Violet noticed.

  For all her laughter, Violet sounded tired. Maybe even a little weepy. In her shoes, I’d be a big fat pile of panic.

  “I’m happy for you,” I said.

  “Really?”

  “Yes. And I’m happy for our family.”

  Sweet hells. I’d just told her we were family. Must be the fever. I mean, I did think I could like her someday—not as my stepmother but maybe as a friend. And if that kid was my father’s child, then he or she had my father’s blood—my blood. That made us family whether I liked it or not.

  Violet smiled and her eyes got a little teary. “Thank you.”

  She reached over and gave my hands a squeeze just as the waiter showed up for our orders.

  “Are you ready?” he asked.

  “Sure.” I ordered a stack of pancakes, sausage, and eggs. Violet went for eggs, toast, and fruit; Kevin chose the omelette and a side of bacon.

  As soon as the waiter left, Violet spoke up again. “There are a couple more things I want to talk to you about. Nothing quite so . . . life changing, I think. First, I want you to take this.” She pulled a cell phone out of her purse. “It’s the same number as the one you have that isn’t working. It’s top-of-the-line.”

  I opened my mouth and she held up a finger. “This is coming out of Beckstrom Enterprise’s budget, and it should. I want to be able to get a hold of you easier, Allie. So do other people in the company. Ethan has been trying to talk to you for days.”

  “Who?”

  “Ethan Katz. Our accountant. He needs to go over some things regarding your father’s estate with you.”

  I took the phone. Slick, black, and small. I flicked it open; the screen lit. So far so good. We’d see how long it lasted. I put it in my jacket pocket. “Thank you,” I said. “For some reason, I’m not having much luck with phones lately.”

  Kevin shifted slightly. “Batteries going bad on you?”

  “How’d you guess?”

  He shrugged. “If this phone doesn’t hold up, I have some other ideas.”

  Just as I thought. This man played in the magic sandbox with the big boys. Good for Violet. At least she’d have someone who could kick some magical ass and keep her, and my little sibling, safe.

  The waiter came back with our food, and no one apologized for digging in. Kevin was attentive to Violet in small ways I don’t think she noticed. Without her asking, he refilled the water of her tea and turned the jam carousel so that the huckleberry was within reach. They moved easily in each other’s space. Something at least I and, when Kevin caught me watching, he was very aware of. I wondered why he hadn’t told her he had feelings for her.

  Maybe it was the recently murdered husband and unplanned pregnancy thing? Did they even make a greeting card to profess your love under such circumstances?

  Yeah, they probably did. It was probably on the shelf next to the “sorry to hear you got groped by your dad’s ghost, but running him down in the street isn’t the way to pay him back, and by the way, dead people don’t like you” card.

  “I don’t know how much thought you’ve put into this,” Violet said. “But I want you to have a part in guiding your father’s business.”

  “Interesting. So you don’t like Beckstrom Enterprises?”

  “No. I think your father wanted you to step in.” She held up one hand and it cut off my smart-ass reply.

  When did I start responding to hand signals? Note to self: work on that.

  “I know running the business may not be your goal in life. With the present board and competent heads of all the divisions, things are going fine. Daniel didn’t run the company single-handed, though that’s what he would have liked everyone to think. He hired incredibly qualified and capable people.”

  “Sounds like all the bases are covered. What do you want me to do?”

  “I want you to think about it. Do you want to follow your father’s footsteps and take the company down the path he chose? Do you want to take the company in a new direction? You have a majority of the vote, Allie. Even if you don’t want to do anything different from what is already happening, you need to at least lend your voice to the company’s future. People are waiting to hear what you have to say.”

  Holy shit. I don’t know why I hadn’t ever looked at it that way, but she was right. I had the reins of my father’s dirty, vicious, greedy company in my hands. To make, or break.

  Violet ate the last of her toast and stared down at her nearly empty plate.

  “Sick?” Kevin asked quietly.

  “No.” She smiled up at him, and he was very good at not letting her see what her smile did to him. “Just happy I can eat breakfast again.”

  He nodded and went back to sipping coffee, watching the door, and ignoring my pointed looks.

  Okay, so I wasn’t just going to grind my father’s company into the ground. Violet, and my soon-to-be sibling, depended on it. Not only that, she had cutting-edge magic technology copatented with Beckstrom Enterprises, and I would hate for the control of her own technology to be taken out of her hands. And I bet there were a lot worse hands it could fall into.

  “Let me think about it,” I said.

  “Good. That’s all I’m asking. So. How are things with you and Zayvion Jones?”

  I carefully did not let my reaction show. “What do you mean?”

  “I saw the security tape of you and him in the elevator. Lo
oked like things were getting serious between you. Are you still seeing each other?”

  Note to self: find security tape and figure out what she’s talking about.

  “We’re going to dinner tonight,” I said.

  She smiled. “I think you would be good together.”

  “Wait—you know him?”

  Kevin had gathered her plate and stacked it on his and then taken mine and done the same. Violet leaned back on the padded bench and tucked one leg up beneath her, cradling her tea in her hands. She looked over at Kevin, and he nodded.