“Yes,” she said. “He did. It is a dangerous spell, very old, rarely taught. I’d rather you not use it again without training.”
She let go of my chin and took a step back. She looked normal again, her red and gray hair piled in a messy bun, her skin creamy and freckled, her eyes green. Just green.
“Sure,” I said. “Sorry. It’s my first day.”
A sound halfway between a snort and a choked laugh rose from where Shamus sat.
“She’s right, Mum.” He tipped his face up. Black hair fell back, revealing the livid bruises across both eyes that were nearly swollen shut, and the bloody smear of red from under his nose and across his cheek.
“This is only her first day. Give the poor slacker a break.” He laughed again, then rubbed his forehead. “I’m going to need a lot more to drink if I’m going to make it through her second day. So. You, Beckstrom, give a man a hand, eh?” He held his hand up toward me.
I walked over to him, my energy slowly coming back-whatever Maeve had done with my forehead had helped-and took his hand. I hefted back as he rolled up onto his feet. He rocked a little too far forward, putting his mouth close to my ear. “Holy fuck,” he whispered. “No one throws that much power untrained. Impressed the shit outta Mum. Good for you.”
He straightened, though he rocked a little precariously on his feet. “Call it a night?” he asked.
Maeve exhaled and seemed to let go of whatever it was that was bothering her.
She’s afraid
, my dad said. Smug.
Hells. Me too. I so needed a drink.
Maeve reached over and touched Shamus’s face, studying the blood and bruises. She drew her finger across his forehead, and he sighed happily. The bruises around his eyes faded just a little. Maeve made a
tsk
sound. “Next time we’ll have a Grounder here for you.”
Shamus stiffened like she’d just told him she was going to dip him in fire.
“Not Terric,” he said, a tinge of panic in his voice.
“No, no. Of course not Terric,” she soothed. “Maybe Sunny. She works well with you.”
Shamus relaxed.
“All right, then,” Maeve said. “I think we can all call it a night. This wasn’t exactly what I had planned for your first day, but we’ve done well enough. How are you feeling? Any headaches? Pains?”
I shook my head. I mean, I was still tired, but I felt more awake by the moment. “Shamus took the brunt of the spell.” I hated watching someone else pay the price for a spell I used. And seeing Shamus take an ass-kicking just to prove to his mother that I didn’t know what I was doing irritated me. “He did a good job.”
Maeve’s eyebrows shot up. “Of course he did. He’s a Flynn. He knows his way around magic, not that you could tell by his manners. Or choice in clothing.” She gave him a wholly disapproving motherly look. “Out now.” She flicked her hand toward the door, and made it obvious she had released the Lock and Ward set there. “Allie, I want to see you tomorrow at ten. You too, Shamus.” She marched out the door ahead of us.
“And Shamus, eat a decent meal. Then I don’t care how drunk you get.”
“You’d think I was a bloody child,” he muttered beside me. “She never lets up,” he whispered, loud enough his mom was sure to hear. “Personally, I think she needs to get laid.”
Maeve lifted her hand over her shoulder and made a little waving motion that somehow also managed to level the threat of a particularly uncomfortable spell-something in the line of an embarrassing rash-at him.
“Love you too, Mum,” he called after her as she walked through the adjoining, empty room out into the restaurant area.
He paused and touched my arm.
“What?”
He patted his pockets for a cigarette, pulled one out, and offered me the pack.
“No, thanks.”
He nodded, lit up, and took a hard suck. “Balls, woman,” he said, exhaling smoke with every word, “you pack a punch. Where did you learn to throw magic like that?”
“On-the-job training.”
“Well, don’t let my mum fool you. She was impressed.”
“She didn’t look impressed. She looked angry.” The memory of her standing tall, pale, and burning above me flashed behind my eyes.
“Naw, not angry about what you did. Just pissed she was wrong about you.”
“Oh?”
“She argued against you getting trained. ’Cause of what your da did to my da-not a lot of forgiveness in the Flynn blood. She said you were too old, too stubborn, too likely to be the sort of person your da was-a prick,” he added, in case I’d forgotten what he thought of my dad.
“But Z-Jones-” he explained, “wouldn’t give up on giving you a chance. He pushed hard for you, took it all the way to the top-and I mean the top. Wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t have to pay something for that.”
“Huh,” I said rather ungracefully.
“Do you like him?” he asked.
“Who?”
“Zayvion.”
I focused on Shamus, his body language-leaning against the wall like he was just being casual, but the smell of fatigue mixed with the cigarette smoke told me he was leaning there because keeping his feet wasn’t going so well. Shamus was no slouch. He had Proxied a lot of pain. A hell of a lot of pain. And since I didn’t know what he thought of Zayvion, I didn’t know what answer would do Zayvion the least harm. Especially since I’d just found out Zay might have put himself in some sort of debt to get me training.
It was like the frickin’ magic mafia around here. I didn’t know whom to trust.
I went with the truth. What else?
“I like him. And that’s none of your business.”
Shamus pushed his hair away from his face and smiled. “Aren’t you the sweetest? Now I see why he has it so bad for you. Tough on the outside and sweet in the middle. Well.” He shoved off of the wall. “Good on you both, and I mean that with all my cheating little black heart. It’s about time Mr. Somber had some fun in his duty-unto-death life. And watching my mom eat crow hasn’t been half bad either. As a matter of fact, for that alone, I’ll buy you a drink.” He pushed away from the wall, found an ashtray, and ground out his cigarette.
“What’s your pleasure?”
“I don’t care,” I said. “Anything.”
He walked through the door, and I followed him.
I felt the tingle of a Mute spell slide over my skin as I passed through the doorway.
The noise of people talking came on suddenly. The entire room was full now, every table occupied with people eating, drinking, talking. The light outside the windows was diving into evening. I’d been back there with Maeve and Shamus for hours. No wonder I was so tired and hungry.
“Pick it up, Beckstrom,” Shamus said.
I did so, and followed as he wove his way between tables. He was aiming at the lunch counter, although in the dim light I didn’t see any available seats there either. Just suits, fancy dresses, T-shirts, and jeans. A mix of Northwest just-off-work and out-for-the-evening. Shamus made his way through the noise and down the length of the counter, then turned left, where eight or so stools held the end of the lunch area.
Two of those seats were free. Shamus slid down into one and was already yelling over the loud conversations for the attention of one of the girls behind the counter. The stool next to him, toward the wall, was open. And in the seat next to that was Zayvion.
He was partly turned, his elbow resting next to a half-empty glass of beer on the countertop, his back toward me.
Being six feet tall gives me some advantage. One is I could look around Zayvion and see whom he was talking to.
A woman, about my age, brown hair cut in straight bangs across her forehead and pulled back in a single long braid. Her face reminded me of a movie star’s-wide, catlike eyes, high cheekbones, and lips most women would mortgage the house for. She had on a black tank top, over which she had thrown a long-sleeved plaid flannel shirt, black jeans, and boots. No makeup-and she didn’t need it.