Zayvion finished the glyph-an intricate, thick-lined beast of a thing-and began chanting.
Okay, I’d done two years at college studying magic. I’d been around magic and my father for most of my life and had watched him do all kinds of spell casting. Ninety-five percent of the people in the city use magic.
And I had not once ever heard anyone chant.
What. The. Hell?
The words didn’t sound like a language I recognized, but the magic-oh, sweet loves, the magic-poured up out of the ground, leaping to Zayvion’s body, sparking the glyphs and symbols on his skin to catch with a secondary fire so they seemed to shift and undulate across his skin. Magic rolled up his body in metallic colors like the marks on my arm, bright against black fire.
The man was raw, controlled power, and I wanted to touch him. Wanted to be that with him. He drew his wrist and palms together and then separated his hands in one smooth motion. He spoke a word. It sounded a little like “not” or “nunt.” My ears stopped working for a second-nothing but white noise and a high-pitched ringing.
Then the air in front of Zayvion became hard-I don’t know how else to explain it. The space around him, around me, turned into a thick glass wall, and in that glass wall, currents of gold mist swirled and shifted. Just as I almost made out the glyphs the gold formed, it would change into another glyph, fluid, flowing.
The watercolor people slammed into the glass wall, grappling at it with fingers that could find no purchase.
Zayvion spoke another word, and I could tell he was pouring magic through that word. His leaned forward, both palms extended but not touching the wall. He shifted his stance, leaning into something that looked vaguely tai chi, knees bent, one leg stretched back, torso and arms forward, as if he were pushing against a great weight. And still the magic rushed up his body, molding, whirling through the glyphs and flames against his skin, pouring through his hands into the wall. Raw power I had never seen before.
The glass wall darkened in front of Zayvion. A hole-no, a door or a gate-appeared there, so dark, it hurt to look at it. So I looked away to the edges of the wall that were still snaked with gold glyphs.
Beyond the wall, the watercolor people gathered in a huddle. They weren’t moving now, not even their arms. They did not look happy. Worse, they leaned, no, stretched out toward the black gate thing Zayvion was casting, faces and bodies elongating in a manner that defied the laws of nature. Like watercolor flames caught in an updraft.
Another word from Zay, and the dark gates filled with a rushing stream of light, filled with the watercolor people pouring in off the streets around us and funneling into that black hole. Zayvion slammed his hands together in a resounding clap, and the gate thing closed and was gone, leaving the glass and gold wall still standing.
He chanted again and brought his hands together. Another resounding clap that broke the glyph. The wall shattered into a million translucent droplets of magic that fell from above us, around us, and mixed with rain to splash against the street, where it disappeared into the rain, swirling, down the storm drains.
The watercolor people were gone. Sucked into that black door in the wall that was no longer there.
“Wow,” I breathed.
Zayvion tipped his head to the side, working out stiffness. Then he put both his hands in his pockets and turned to face me. Zen Zay. Now that I wasn’t pulling on magic, he just looked like a guy in a knit hat and ratty blue ski jacket.
And he was so damn much more.
“Let’s get out of the street,” he said. “We’re going to get run over if we’re not careful.”
He took a step toward the car, and I did too. My mind wasn’t doing so good keeping up with everything that had just happened. For right now, I decided to cut myself a little slack.
I got into the car, even wetter than I’d been just minutes before. I glanced at the clock on the dash.
That entire altercation had taken less than a few minutes.
Zayvion got in the driver’s side and put the car in gear. Traffic behind us honked, and a car passed on the right. The driver gave us the middle finger.
Zayvion rolled through the intersection, taking the normal street into the normal city, driving through the normal rain.
When we were just a few blocks from my apartment, he spoke. “Are you okay?”
Why did people always ask me that?
“I’m fine. That was some… spectacular magic you threw around back there.”
“Hmm.”
“So what are they? Those people?” I asked.
He double-parked next to my apartment building. “We’re here.”
I glanced at the clock again. I had just over an hour until I needed to be at the Hound meeting. Plenty of time to shower and change. And I was not about to let Zayvion wander off without coming clean about what had just happened.
“Why don’t you come on up?” I said.
He took a deep breath, leaned his head back against his window, and looked at me. “You’re going to grill me about all this, aren’t you?”
“Have I told you lately that you are a very astute man, Mr. Jones?”
“No.” He paused, seemed to be weighing something. “You saw them?”
“Yes, I did.” I gave him a level gaze.
“And you saw your father?”
“Why don’t you come up and we’ll talk about it?”
It took him a moment more to decide. “I want to. How about we make a date of it instead?”
“What?”
“A date. It’s a custom that’s been around for a long time. It usually involves two people going out for drinks, dinner, and companionship.”
“Ha-ha. You’re just trying to dodge me, aren’t you?”
“No.” I knew he was not lying. “There are some things I need to take care of. Appointments I have to keep. I’m free tonight. Does that work for you?”
“No, I’m Hounding tonight. Tomorrow?”
“For dinner?”
I hesitated. Did I have time for dinner with him? I didn’t know what Pike would want to do once I told him about Trager. I didn’t know if I’d be in protective custody. But I didn’t want to miss my chance to get information out of Zayvion, or miss what might be my last chance to be with him.
“Maybe around five,” I said. “You might want to call first.” I made it sound all hard-to-get instead of worried, and apparently, he bought it.
“That should work,” he said. “I’ll call at five.”
“Good. See you then.”
It was still raining, but it wasn’t like I could get any wetter.
I opened the door and got out.
“Allie?” Zay called after me.
I ducked down to look at him.
“Be careful.” He was dead serious.
I wanted to crawl back into the car and stay with him. Instead, I shut the door, and then strode across to the sidewalk, under the awning, and into the familiar surroundings of my building.
Chapter Ten
I jogged up the three flights of stairs, maybe because I wanted to get to my apartment and shower and change in time to pull myself together before the Hound meeting. Or maybe because that fight with the watercolor people on top of the rest of my day had shook me in a deep way that made me want
