When I made my list of things to kill Eli for, Terric’s near death at his hands was right up there.
“A woman named Doris Gables.”
“Haven’t heard of her,” I said.
“She died in 1910.” He tossed the towel over the arm of the couch and shrugged into the T-shirt he’d left there. “Allie’s father was very interested in her theories and experiments with magic, particularly her research on the bond between Soul Complements.”
“And you’re interested in breaking that bond? Between us?”
He paused and gave me a long look. “Aren’t you?”
“It would solve one problem.”
“But?”
“Out on that battlefield in St. Johns,” I said.
“Oh, so now you want to talk about it? Almost four years later?”
“Not if you’re going to be a dick about it,” I said.
He gestured with one hand, as if giving me the floor, then moved the towel out of the way and sat on the arm of the couch.
“You were dying,” I said. “So I gave you the life I had left. I expected to die. I threw myself into Death magic aiming for one last chance to take that bastard Jingo Jingo out with me. I became Death magic. Not just a man who can use Death magic. I let it in me. And it’s still there, in me.”
“And?” he said quietly.
“You brought me back, you ass.” I took a breath, let it out. “I didn’t know how then, but I do now. You called on Life magic, and it answered you, claimed you, just like Death magic claimed me. Even if we weren’t Soul Complements, we’d still be screwed by the magic we carry.”
“True,” he said. “That’s why I’ve been looking into the old records. To see if anyone ever became carriers of magic, and how they may have handled it. Or didn’t Dash give you those files yet?”
I grinned. “Maybe. I haven’t gotten that far. Has anyone?”
“Carried a certain discipline of magic in their flesh and blood?” He wadded up the towel in his hand. “We’re pretty much cutting edge on this gig.”
“Delightful,” I said. “Anything else you want to share with the class?”
“Nothing that comes to mind. Although I looked into the records on the transport device—the gate spell Eli has been using. It’s a modification of Beckstrom tech. Powered by electricity and a configuration of crystals from the well in St. Johns. Probably has a five-hundred-mile range.”
“So if Eli shows up, we can assume he’s stationed somewhere in the Pacific Northwest. Not helpful.”
“A little helpful,” Terric said.
I made the so-so motion with my hand, stood, and started pacing. “And nothing on the radar about strange magics, or walking human magic bombs, or anything else that could turn us onto where the hell Krogher has Eli and Davy stashed?”
“If I knew, you’d know,” he said. “Call when the pizza gets here.” He pushed off the couch and walked back to his room.
I finally gave up on the pacing and flopped down on the couch. I could feel Terric’s heart beating, just as I knew he could feel mine. It was annoying.
My fingers worked the heavy material of the couch, picking, pulling thread. Tearing. Destroying. There was a reason why all my furniture looked like it belonged in a junkyard.
I wasn’t easy on anything around me. Or anyone, for that matter.
But the world was filled with life I could feed to this death. I closed my eyes and reached outward with my thoughts. Trees all around, roots holding the hillside together. It’d be easy to drain them, but doing so could trigger a rock slide. I did not feel like digging my way out of an avalanche if I screwed that up.
Farther off was the river. Lots of things living in there. Who would care if I killed off a couple dozen steelhead?
Death magic sprang to my will without even a word or glyph. Hunger coiled in my bones, in my mind, like an attack dog on a leash. I focused on the river, focused on the fish. Only a few. I would only kill a few. I held that image in my mind, of magic slipping, hungry and dark, into those slick silver bodies. Crushing cold brains, drinking rich blood.
“Yes,” I whispered.
Death exploded, a thrown grenade dead on target. Fifteen fish. Fifteen small hearts stopped. Fifteen lives consumed. I inhaled, drank the lives down. Wanted more. So damn much more.
The doorbell rang. I stared at the ceiling and held my breath against the uneven, painful beats of my heart. Death wanted more. Death wanted the guy on the other side of the door.
Crap.
“Terric?” I whispered. The bell rang again. “Terric?” I said a little louder.
“Heard you the first time.” He strode through the room and opened the door. We never locked it because, seriously? Who was going to break into this dump and try to kill two of the most powerful magic users in Portland?
“Thanks,” I heard Terric say. There was a pause, and then the door shut again. “Kitchen.”
He sauntered past. It took me a second, but I finally got my brain clear enough to walk into the kitchen. I needed more life than I’d taken from the fish. Pizza wasn’t going to solve my problem, but it was going to be delicious.
Terric sat at the table, the pizza boxes stacked on top of the other, the top one open. Pepperoni. He hadn’t bothered with plates. A six-pack of beer sat next to the boxes and the potted lucky bamboo Allie had given me as a housewarming gift was next to that.
“Sit,” Terric said around a mouthful. “Eat.”
The bamboo was woven at the base, seven trunks interlocked to form a sort of living basket. Vibrant green leaves reached out from the top of the bamboo, and as I watched, the entire plant grew half an inch or so.
Terric was slowly, carefully, feeding Life magic into it.
I sat down across from him, grabbed a piece of pizza, and tore into it.
The bamboo grew, new leaves curling outward.
If I drained too much life out of it, the plant would die for good. But if I pulled just as much life out of it as Terric was pouring into it, the plant would be fine.
I can’t remember when we started doing this. We never spoke about it; just every once in a while the plant would end up at the kitchen table while we were eating and pretending not to use magic together, or out on the coffee table by the TV when we were arguing over a show and pretending not to use magic together.
So far we’d kept the plant alive.
I finished two slices of pizza before I felt up to the task. Then I carefully drained the life out of the plant. Which was good because the thing had grown another couple of inches.
Terric poured more into it. But not too much, because too much life was just as deadly as too much death.
“Dash is worried about you,” I said, going for my third slice.
“He told you that?”
“He said you’ve been spending a lot of time digging into old records. Called you obsessive.”
Terric chewed, chased pizza with beer. “Is this you asking me if I’m okay, Shame?”
“This is just casual dinner conversation.”
“Our casual dinner conversation usually involves arguing over song lyrics, sports, and you asking me when I’m going to move out.”
“When are you going to move out?”
“When you ask me nicely.”
“Like that will ever happen.”
He grinned and tipped his beer. “There you go.”
“I’m willing if you’re willing,” I said.
“To do what?”
“Break our connection. Give it a try, anyway. If you want.”
For a second, he stopped pouring life into the bamboo, and the leaves edged with brown because I hadn’t adjusted for the pull.
But he picked it up again like the smooth son of a bitch he was and the plant greened up again.