It took some time, maybe two minutes, for the nausea to pass. Zayvion was silent, waiting, one hand pressed between my shoulder blades. Touch, his touch, felt good. I stood away from the wall. And grinned at the look on Zayvion’s face-something between worry and confusion.
“What? Never seen a girl get sick before?”
“Are you okay?” he asked. “Did it touch you?”
“The dog thing? No. It’s just …” I swallowed. “Don’t pin me down like that, Zay. I hate not being able to move.”
“I know.” That surprised me. But then, he probably knew lots of things about me I didn’t remember telling him. “I. . wasn’t thinking,” he said. “But you should never break a Camouflage spell, and never assume attack is the best action. Did I make that clear?”
“Loud and,” I said.
The wind stirred the fog just enough to revive the stink of the alley.
“Is that thing out there?” I asked.
“No. But I’ve called some friends. They’re looking for it.”
“Are you going to tell me what it is?” I started toward the street.
“I could. Would you rather I take you home?” Zayvion asked.
Every logical bone in my body said yes. I was a little sweaty, a little spooked, and my boots had blood on them. But, damn it, I wanted a normal date and I was determined to get it.
“No,” I said. “I’d like to try dinner. We have reservations, remember?”
We waited for traffic to slide by, then crossed the street to the car. Zayvion walked around to the passenger’s side with me even though the car was still unlocked.
“Hold on,” I said. I took a few steps away and wiped my boots on the patch of grass near the sidewalk before getting in the car. Zayvion shut the door behind me before walking around to the driver’s door. He got in, started the engine, and pulled out into the street.
After we’d driven a while in silence, I finally spoke. “Should we call the police?”
“I already did.”
“Really?” I turned in my seat so I could better see him. “I didn’t think you much liked the police.”
Zayvion shrugged one shoulder. “I have no problem with the law.”
“What did you tell them? A mutant man-dog was on the loose?”
“I told them there was a mess in the alley. Animal cruelty, criminal mischief, and magic. Stotts’ people will deal with it, make sure there are no magical contaminants in the conduits and cisterns. Make sure there aren’t any hot spots.”
“That makes sense,” I said. Hot spots of too much or too little magic disrupted the power grid and caused problems with city services that rely on a steady flow-places like hospitals and penitentiaries.
“So what was that thing?”
He frowned as if trying to decide how much he should say.
I gave him my best I-can-take-it look.
“It’s a problem,” he said.
“I got that part.”
“The stolen disks-the ones Violet and your father were developing so that magic could become portable?” He paused.
“Yes.” I still had my memories about the disks. It was one of the magic-technology integrations inventions Violet had been working on for my father’s company. A portable way to carry magic. And once carried like that, magic had much less price to pay. It would revolutionize how magic was channeled, networked, piped. Like a wireless phone, it would make magic more mobile. There would no longer be dead zones. Magic could be taken where technology could not, and the theory was, great good would be the result.
It would also put magic, literally, into the pockets of any person who wanted it-and let them use it with hardly a price to pay. Unfortunately, it was becoming apparent great bad could be the result of that.
“The disks can be used for changing the boundaries of what magic can do.” At my blank look, he added, “Allie, those disks can make magic break its own laws.”
“That is a problem,” I said. It explained a few things-like how Bonnie the Hound had teleported herself and Cody off Nola’s farm. Not that I remember that happening, but Nola had told me about it. “So, the thing back there?”
“We think it’s a Necromorph-a magic user who has used some kind of magic, blood magic, death magic, to transform their natural state into something. . dark.”
“Think? I thought you Authority people were good at this secret magic stuff.”
“We are.” He flashed me a half smile. I liked what it did to his eyes. “But we haven’t caught it-him. We don’t know who he is, or who he may be working with. We are certain he has access to the disk technology. If he were Proxying the price to hold his body in such a mutated state, we’d know about it.”
“Why would anyone do that? He didn’t even look human.”
“He’s not.”
It felt like the temperature in the car fell ten degrees. I mean, sure, I use magic. We all use magic. But this was like something out of a horror movie. Some person was using magic to make himself inhuman. On purpose. And it scared the hell out of me to think about what he could do if he could make magic break its own laws. I rubbed at my arms, trying to dispel the chill.
“Why did he kill the dog?” I asked.
Zayvion drove a little while. The tension in his shoulders, the tightness at the corners of his eyes told me the answer was not pretty.
“Transmutation. He was either trying to use magic and the life force of the dog to change himself, or he was trying to use magic and his own life force to change the dog.”
“Into what?”
“I don’t know. Whatever he’s trying to do, he hasn’t been successful yet. We’ve only found his. . failed attempts.”
“And how long has this been going on?”
“A few months.”
“Months?”
He shrugged again. “Things are on the brink in the Authority. A very dangerous brink. Light and dark magic.” He shook his head. “We’ve been busy.”
“Chasing him?”
“And. . other things.”
“Don’t tell me there are more things like that on the streets.”
“Okay,” he said.
I thunked my head against the headrest and watched the foggy city go by.
He glanced over at me. “Not exactly the kind of conversation I planned to have tonight. I was leaning toward suave and mysterious.” He said it quietly, with a smile.
I rubbed at my eyes with the fingertips of my gloves, remembered I was on a date and wearing makeup, and placed both hands in my lap. “I’d be on for a change of subject.”
“We’re almost there. Have you ever eaten at the Gargoyle?”
“No. It was made into a restaurant while I was under my dad’s thumb in college. Have you?”
“Been in college or eaten at the Gargoyle?”
“The last thing.”
“I’ve been there.”
“Waiting tables?”
“Nothing wrong with waiting tables.”
“Good for spying on people?”
“Do I look like a spy?”
“No. You don’t look like a waiter either. Perfect for a spy.”
“Perfect for a lot of things,” he said.
“Is that the suave or mysterious part?” I asked.
“Both.”
The fog got thicker as we wound our way up the West Hills. Wooded neighborhoods wherein mansions lurked passed by to the left until there, up ahead on the crown of the hill, the flickering lights of the Gargoyle, which was once one of the grandest mansions in Portland, pulsed through the fog.
Sweet hells. Even from this distance, I could feel the massive amounts of magic being drawn upon and used by the restaurant. Those lights glowing up the road ahead of us flickered lavender, midnight blue, then slid to red, copper, and on to plum. Not electric. Not neon. Magic. So much magic that even in the enclosed car, I could smell it-deep, rich notes of vanilla and caramel. My mouth watered, and my stomach rumbled. Whoever set the spells on this place was good. Very good. I was already hungry, and we still had half a mile to go.