rotted meat filled my mouth. I rocked back on my heels, hit my head on the elevator wall. I pushed at them, at their hands, but it was like pushing air. I let go of the glyphs for Sight, Smell, and Taste. I wanted, I needed a spell, another spell. Something to make them go away.
As soon as I let go of magic, the watercolor people were gone.
I breathed in short, shallow gasps. Everywhere they had touched me burned. And they had touched me-all of me-inside and out.
“Allie?” Stotts said from somewhere far away.
I needed air. I needed to be out of this elevator.
I got up to my feet and ran out of the elevator, ran past Stotts, ran across the garage. I heard footsteps behind me, chasing me, but I didn’t stop until I slammed into the concrete railing at the edge of the garage. Air. Space. I was going to puke.
I leaned over the edge.
A fist grabbed the back of my coat and yanked so hard I landed on my ass on the floor. I groaned. Too much. It was too much. I rolled up on my knees, and then I lost everything in my stomach.
“Shit,” Stotts said from close above me but not too close.
I heaved and heaved, trying to get the taste of death out of me, trying to get their rotten touch out of me, trying to forget them reaching inside of me and pulling me apart.
Why didn’t magic ever take away the memories I wanted to lose?
A hand, Stotts’ hand, pressed gently on my back. “Here,” he said.
I swallowed until I was sure nothing more was coming up and sat back. Stotts kept his hand on my back, a comforting weight. He offered me a handkerchief, and I took it, wiped the tears from my eyes, blew my nose, and used the last dry corner of the cloth to wipe my mouth.
“Think you can stand?” he asked softly.
I wondered if he had kids. He seemed like an old pro at this.
I stood, and his hand came under my elbow to help support me. “I’m fine,” I said. “I’m good.” My legs, however, didn’t believe me. Exhaustion rolled over me, and I stubbornly locked my knees to stay standing. Even so, I was trembling.
“You’re doing just fine,” Stotts said. He helped me walk maybe six or seven steps away from the mess I’d made. I was breathing hard, like I’d just climbed Mt. Hood. Darkness closed in at the edges of my vision, and the whole garage slipped away down a far tunnel.
“I’m going to help you sit. That’s good,” Stotts said from somewhere farther away than the ringing in my ears. “Now I’m going to help you lie down. That’s good. I’m going to go get the car. I will be right back. You are going to stay right here. No trying to jump off the building again, okay?”
Jump off the building? Did I look like I was in any shape to jump off the building?
As soon as I could open my mouth, I was going to ask him what he meant.
Maybe I blacked out. I don’t know. The next thing I knew, his hands-warm, human, living hands-helped me up.
“I’m going to help you into the backseat so you can lie down.”
“No,” I mumbled. What do you know, I could talk. “The front. The front’s fine.”
“Are you sure you can sit?”
“I’m feeling better,” I said. Even I could tell my voice was gaining strength. He helped me into the front seat, closed the door. The weight of the car shifted as he got into his seat. He twisted to pull something out of the back and then handed me a blanket.
“Thanks,” I said. I draped the blanket over my lap and leaned my head against the headrest. I was feeling stronger, but the magic that usually filled me so full was distant, dulled. I felt empty but not in a good way.
The watercolor people had done more than just eat the magic of my spell. They had pulled the magic out of me, and magic was having a hard time filling me back up.
The absence of it, the absence of its weight and motion, made me feel raw inside. Knowing those people could do that scared the hell out of me.
“Sorry,” I said.
“Tell me what happened.” The engine was running, and the heater was on full blast, but we were not driving anywhere yet. “Tell me what you saw. Could you trace the spell?”
I nodded. “It was still strong. Even after three days.”
“Do you know who cast it?”
“I want to Hound the other site before I say.”
“We aren’t going to Hound the other site. Not with you trying to leap tall buildings back there.”
“I wasn’t going to jump.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Listen.” I took a deep breath. Pike told me to confide in Stotts. Even though I was feeling a little shaky about Pike’s loyalties at the moment, he was right about one thing-Stotts knew about magic and magical crimes. If anyone in this city would know what those watercolor people were, it might be him.
Well, and maybe Zayvion, but Zayvion wasn’t here, was he?
“Listen,” I said again, keeping my voice calm. “I Hounded the spell and it’s very strong. Blood magic was involved. There was more than one blood used for it. Those things I would swear to in a court of law. I have a suspicion of who cast it. But I want to Hound the second site so I can be one hundred percent sure. And me freaking out back there?”
“I saw people. I think they’re ghosts. They attacked me, and pulled apart the spells I cast, and ate them.” I didn’t tell him they sucked the magic out of me too, because as far as I knew, he didn’t know I could carry magic in me. As far as anyone knew, I pulled magic out from the stores deep beneath the city and poured it directly into the glyphs, just like every other magic user.
No one was stupid enough to try to draw magic into their bodies-magic always demanded a price, and the price of holding it in your body was organ failure and death. At the very least.
Detective Paul Stotts had a good poker face. He gave me a considering gaze, and I returned it. I was beginning to get my strength back and might even be capable of walking when I got out of the car. But the sunburn from the watercolor people’s touch was worse than the last time they’d attacked me. I wondered how many more raw circles would be on my skin when I next looked in the mirror. It felt like a lot more-dozens more.
“Can you describe what you saw?” he asked.
This was the calm and controlled police and procedure thing I could really appreciate right now.
“I saw a pastel mist rise at the edges of the parking garage before I got in the elevator. I finished Hounding the spell, and when I turned, several people who were not solid were walking toward me. I could see their clothes and I could see their faces, except for a blackness where their eyes should be.”
“Could you smell them?”
I nodded. “They smelled like death. Rotten flesh, compost pile, matter breaking down.”
“Did you recognize any of them?”
“No.”
“When did you stop seeing them?”
I frowned. “What?”
“When did they disappear? I’m assuming they
“Yes. They did. They disappeared as soon as I stopped using magic.”
Oh, crap.
“All right. Did you first see them when you were using magic-Hounding?”
“Yes.”
“And have you seen them before?”
“Just today, but yes.”
He didn’t have to say it-I’m not stupid-but he said it anyway.
