Magic Breaks

“You don’t understand.” Christopher looked at me, and in his blue eyes I saw pure panic. “You don’t understand. I’ll follow you to the ends of the earth, but not there. I cannot go there again.”

I wouldn’t go there either, if I knew where “there” was. “It’s okay. Just tell me . . .”

He shook his head. “No. No. It’s not.”

“It will be okay.”

He reached out, touched the strand of my hair that had slipped out of my braid, and yanked it, ripping some hair out.

Ow.

Jim lunged at Christopher, knocking him back. The thin man fell on the floor. I rammed Jim with my shoulder. “No!”

Christopher scrambled to his feet, wild-eyed, a few strands of my hair in his hand. “Don’t trust the wolf!”

He turned and fled down the hallway.

“What the hell?” Jim growled. “I’m going to have him sedated.”

“He knows something,” I told him. “I don’t know if he had a vision or someone told him something, but it freaked him out and he can’t explain it. Let’s see what he does with the hair. I might be able to figure it out from there.”

Hair, like body fluids, retained the magic of its owner once removed from the body. A year ago I would’ve killed Christopher to retrieve the hair, because studying it would reveal all my secrets. But my secrets were about to burst into the open anyway. Hugh knew the truth, Roland probably knew as well, and sooner or later everyone would know. I had come to terms with it.

“If someone told him something, it has to be either someone in the Pack or divination magic,” I thought out loud.

Even now the Keep held at least two hundred shapeshifters, and strangers weren’t welcome. Christopher never left the Keep and the grounds.

Jim growled. “I’ll put a guard on him. Someone discreet. If he’s getting his information from some apparition that manifests in his bedroom at night, I don’t want him sharing your hair with it.”

I looked at him. “What wolf do you think Christopher was talking about?”

“Beats me.”

There were more than six hundred of them and I didn’t have many fans among them.

“And you say I’m paranoid.” Jim pointed in the direction of Christopher’s escape. “What about him?”

“He’s shattered. What’s your excuse?”

“I have to work with your ass. You’ve driven me crazy.”

I sighed. I could overrule Jim and go to the Conclave on my terms. But Jim and I had to work together. I could tell by the line of his jaw that he would die on this bridge if he had to. Going along with him cost me nothing, except a small chunk of pride, and pride was one of the things I didn’t mind sacrificing.

“What if we compromise?” I asked.

Jim looked at me for a long second. “They’re going to need sweaters in hell.”

Because me trying to be the voice of reason froze hell over. “Har har. You said they had vampires for backup. Let’s split our people in two. One group comes with us, the other waits as a backup. Put someone solid in charge of it, whoever you want, and have them wait nearby. Within running distance.”

Jim pondered that. “I pick both crews.”

I spread my arms. “Fine.”

“I can live with that. I’ll prepare a couple of exit strategies for you in case shit hits the fan. If I’m wrong, we lose nothing. If I’m right . . .”

“I hope you’re wrong.”

“I hope I’m wrong, too,” he said.

“Good. Then we’re done here.” I walked away from him, conquered the hallway, and started up the stairs. That was enough excitement for the day. If nobody did anything crazy, I could hide in our rooms and read . . .

Hannah, one of my and Curran’s guards, ran down the stairs.

Please don’t be for me, please don’t be for me . . .

“Consort!”

Damn it. “Yes.”

“There is a knight of the Order here to see you.”

What now? The Order of Merciful Aid served as a semiofficial law enforcement agency. Competent and efficient, but rigid in their thinking, they helped private citizens deal with their magic hazmat problems. Unfortunately, once you asked them for help they did it their way and not everyone liked it. I used to work for the Order. They decided shapeshifters weren’t people, I decided they were, and we went our separate ways. Ted Moynohan, the knight in charge, was still pissy about it.

“He has Ascanio and Julie with him. He says no charges will be filed.”

Why me?

• • •

I WALKED INTO the conference room ready to do battle. Ascanio sat in one chair, looking suitably guilty and regretful, and if I hadn’t worked with him for the last few months, I would even believe it. Julie sat across from him, slender, blond, and defiant. She had mostly passed through her Goth phase, but black was still her favorite color and I was treated to a lovely ensemble of black jeans, charcoal turtleneck, and piercing stare.

A huge man took up the only other occupied chair. Massive, slabbed with muscle and covered in elaborate tattoos, he had the bold handsome features, dark skin, and dark eyes of a Pacific Islander.

“Mauro!” Of all the knights of the Order I liked him the most.

“Hello, Consort,” Mauro boomed. He got to his feet, spread his arms, and curtsied.

Ascanio clamped his hand over his mouth.

“I see you still think you’re funny.”

“Damn right.” His face split in a happy grin.

I turned to Hannah. “Could you bring us some hot tea?”

“Sure.”

Mauro nodded at my ward and Ascanio. “I brought these two miscreants to you.”

“What happened?”

“I was on an unrelated call in the Shiver Oaks, when a woman ran out from the house across the street and asked me if I could help her with some burglars her dog cornered.”

I turned to Ascanio and Julie. The look on my face must’ve been scary, because they flinched in unison. Ha! Still got it.

“Burglary?” I asked quietly. The Pack took a dim view of any criminal activity. We had enough trouble as it was.

Ascanio sighed, clearly resigned to his fate. “She wanted to see the bunnycat kittens. It was the breeder’s house. We found the ad in the newspaper. The woman wouldn’t let us in unless we showed her money, so we scaled the fence when she went out. I could’ve dealt with the Rottweiler. I just didn’t want to hurt him.”

Of course, Julie would want to see bunnycat kittens. Hell, I wanted to see the bunnycat kittens. And of course, he took her. The problem was, they got caught.

“We weren’t going to steal them,” Julie said. “We just petted them.”

“Is she pressing charges?” I asked Mauro.

“I convinced her it wouldn’t be a good idea.”

“Thank you.”

“Any time,” he said.

I looked at the kids. “Scram! I’ll talk to you later.”

They scurried out, nearly knocking Hannah and her platter of tea off her feet. She bared her teeth at them.

“Thank you.” I took the platter. Hannah stepped out and closed the door. I served tea to Mauro. “How’s it going?”

Mauro took his cup and blew on it. “Thank you.” He swallowed a little. “God, that’s good. I was about frozen solid. Damn weather. Things are . . . going. Selena still thinks I work too much.”

“How is your wife?”

“She’s good, thank you.” He hesitated. “I’m thinking of transferring.”

That was news. Atlanta was considered one of the more important Order chapters in the South. Not only that, but knights didn’t like changing duty stations. Once they were assigned to a chapter, they developed street contacts and professional relationships. Most of them would do just about anything to avoid starting over. “Transferring where?”

“Somewhere. Charleston. Orlando.”

Odd. I added more tea to his cup. I’ve learned that if you just stay quiet, people will say more to fill the silence.

“Thank you.” Mauro sighed. “This post used to be the place you went because it would be good for your career. You know, high-speed post. Where things were happening.”

“Things are still happening.”

“Not the right kind of things.” Mauro set the cup down. “Did you know Ted Moynohan was one of the original Ninety-Eight?”

Twenty-three years ago the original Ninety-Eight, drawn from different law enforcement agencies, formed the core of the Order of Merciful Aid. They were dramatically knighted in a single ceremony in front of the Washington Monument. The Order had wanted to make a statement.

“That makes Ted a knight-founder,” I said.

Mauro nodded. “We’ve had three hundred fifty percent turnover in personnel in the past three years. Typical for a chapter is about twenty percent.”

That made sense. Knights died, but they died occasionally. They were really well trained and difficult to kill. “Atlanta also had a hard three years.”

“People up the chain of command noticed. A three-knight investigative team came down from Wolf Trap. There was a hearing. A question was raised about some of the turnover. You came up.”

“Me?” I was never a knight, more like an off-the-books employee.

“You were seen as an asset, and then you became a Consort, and the question was asked why that bridge wasn’t mended. Andrea came up. They spent a long time on that one.”

Damn right they did. I was never a knight, but Andrea was a decorated veteran and a master-at-arms, which was nothing to sneeze at, and they tossed her out like garbage when they found out she was a shapeshifter.

“The Order can’t afford to bleed masters-at-arms,” Mauro said. “It never sat right with me the way that was handled. It shouldn’t have ever come to that. There was no need to put her back against the wall the way Ted did. I respect her and her skills.”

Hard not to respect someone who can shoot you in the eye from a mile away. “She knows you had her back.”

“How is she doing?”

“She’s running Clan Bouda with Raphael. She has her hands full.” And Aunt B’s big shoes to fill, which wasn’t a job I’d wish on anybody.

“Good to know.” The big knight shifted in his chair. “After they got through with Andrea, they went straight to Shane Andersen and the Lighthouse Keepers.”

There was no way for Ted to come out smelling like roses on that one. One of his knights had proven to be a terrorist. If Ted knew, he was as guilty as Shane. If he didn’t, he was incompetent. “So what happened?”

“That’s the bad part. Nothing. They conducted their hearings and went back to HQ. Then came the time to rebuild the chapter with new personnel. We got completely new people in. The only ones left of the old crew, besides Ted, are me, Richter, and Maxine.”

Mauro was a good knight and Maxine, the Order’s telepathic secretary, was the backbone of the Atlanta chapter, but Richter was psychotic and a liability.

“That’s it?” I asked.

“Mm-hm. The rest are . . . new.”

“Don’t like the new people?”

Mauro grimaced. “We are being staffed with people who are on their second or third chapter. Their command made no effort to keep them, because they didn’t distinguish themselves. Most of them made some mistakes. Some made a lot of mistakes.”

The light dawned. Since Ted was a knight-founder, well connected and probably vigorously defended, the Order’s High Command couldn’t force him out without some glaring evidence of his incompetence, so they staffed him with rejects. Either he would see the writing on the wall and retire or his new people would screw up so badly, it would give them grounds to remove him. Mauro didn’t want to be part of the screwup squad.

“Mauro, you’re a good knight. Any chapter would fight to get you.”

“Yeah. I like the city. It’s home. But yeah. Time to go.” He rose. “Thank you for the tea.”

“Thank you for saving the kids from trouble.”

“Any time.” He grinned. “Any time.”

I walked him out. It was almost five. I would lay into Julie and Ascanio after the Conclave. For now I had to get dressed, get my sword, and go make polite noises at the Masters of the Dead.

3

THE PACK JEEP rolled through the dusk-soaked streets. The other car, carrying my murder-prone honor guard, followed us. Jim drove. Barabas sat in the backseat.

Post-Shift Atlanta had many neighborhoods, some old, some new, born from the magic age. There was Honeycomb to the southwest, a place where “solid wall” was a relative term. In the southeast was the Warren, a rough dirt-poor neighborhood, policed by roving gangs preying on each other. And then there was Northside, where Atlanta’s wealthy used their money to hold the chaos of the ravaged city at bay.

Magic liked to nibble on the asphalt, but here the pavement felt smooth, the clean streets a far cry from the refuse and garbage-choked pathways of the Warren. Large houses, each sitting on its own acre-sized plot, stared at us with barred windows from behind iron fences topped with coils of barbed wire. Most houses were built post-Shift, no more than three stories tall, with thick walls, reinforced doors, and barred windows. Money bought security, land, and good masons.

The sun had set, and the moon claimed the sky, a huge, deep orange as if dipped in blood. The magic was down, but the city still held its breath, apprehensive and watchful. It was the kind of night when monsters came out to play.