event, though. I’d paid for that like hell.
“They’re not going to ask me to do that again, are they?”
He breathed in, his nostrils flaring. He still didn’t look at me, didn’t move. “I’m asking you not to do that again.”
I laughed, one hard choke. “Like I would.”
That wasn’t enough for him. He finally looked at me. “I’m asking you to not step in. Not to help. Even if you think you have to.”
I raised an eyebrow and opened my mouth, but he kept going.
“I know you’ll do whatever you want. But there will be many storms in the future. This is the first time you’ll be involved. The first time you’ll see what we can do when we all work together and what damage the storm can do, even if we’re at our best. I am asking-” He paused, thought it over. Maybe he noticed the challenge in my gaze. People didn’t tell me what to do. He of all people should know that by now. “I am asking you, Allie. Don’t be a hero.”
Hero. Was that what he was worried about? “Trust me, I’m the last person in the world who will put on the tights and cape.”
The muscle at his jaw clenched. And I don’t think he was trying to hold back a smile.
“I will,” he said.
“Put on the tights and cape?” I thought about that. With a body like his, he’d look damn fine. “How about leather instead?”
“No. I’ll trust you.”
Oh. That was nice too. I nodded. I wouldn’t promise to stand by and do nothing. But I wouldn’t be stupid. I knew how dangerous magic could be. After a couple months of learning with the Authority, it was clear just how much more I still had to learn.
A tap at Zay’s window made me jump. Shame’s pale face bent into view. “You two kids done bumping boots?”
Zayvion hadn’t turned to look out his window. He didn’t even twitch. What he did was smile. Then he opened the door so quickly, I thought for sure Shame would land flat on his back. Shame sidestepped the move, and made a little tsk-tsk sound.
“So slow,” he said. “You’re getting soft, Z.”
“Want to try it again?” Zay asked.
They, apparently, had done this before.
Zay got out of the car and I did the same.
“You won’t believe who’s at this thing,” Shame said.
“Try me,” Zay said.
The two of them walked around the car, shoes grinding in the wet, loud gravel. Well, Shame’s shoes, anyway. Zay moved like he always moved. Silent as an assassin’s shadow.
“Okay, so, Sedra, Mom, Victor, Jingo, Liddy, you know, the regulars.” Shame nodded at me. “How you feeling?”
“Why?”
“After the well-Hounding bit earlier today. You still look a little. . tense.” Without waiting for my answer, he turned to Zay. “Jones, this woman is tense. I thought you were supposed to take care of that for her. Getting soft in more than one way, buddy?”
“Shut up, Shame.”
“Just trying to be helpful. I’m here for you. To talk it out, if you need. Or to get you pills for what ails you.”
“Done telling me who’s here?” Zayvion asked. We were at the porch now. My bootheels made a solid thunk as I climbed the stairs and walked to the door.
“Well, for one, Hayden Kellerman is in.”
Zay paused, just a second, a half beat in his normal stride. “Huh. Who else?”
“Oh, you know, some of the Seattle branch.” Shame said that with a little too much forced cheer. “The Georgia girls, Romero, Pham. Maybe a dozen people.”
“Terric?” Zay asked.
Shame smiled, like he’d come down with rigor. “Wouldn’t be a party without him.”
I opened the door and stepped through a ward that had been cast upon the doorway. The ward would probably make me stop cold if I didn’t have an invitation to enter the room. Not exactly screening the participants, so much as letting whoever cast the ward-which, by the sweet Earl Grey tea taste on the back of my throat, I assumed was Victor-know who was coming in, and if they belonged here.
Even in the off-hours, I’d never seen the main room of the inn so quiet.
It wasn’t that it was empty. There were maybe thirty or so people standing or sitting at the eight round tables with clean white tablecloths, arranged so that the area to the left, where a longer table was placed, held the room’s focus. The lunch counter to the right was empty.
I had met half of the thirty or so people present, and could only assume the others were the Seattle contingent. Everyone had a drink: water, or coffee, tea, soda. There didn’t seem to be any alcohol present. Ample baskets of bread and cheeses and olives were ready at each table.
It was clear there wasn’t a regular customer, a non-Authority-sanctioned magic user, in the room. And it was also clear that no one much liked one another. Body language was tight and tense; expressions bordered on civil at best. People were grouped in four sections, probably shoring up with whichever faction they were sided with. Zayvion had been telling me for months that there was a war brewing among the Authority, and that it would break any day. Looking around the room made me wonder if it was going to break tonight.
The last thing I wanted to do was enter a room of angry, trigger-happy magic users. And that was exactly what I had come here to do.
Welcome to the bigs.
Chapter Eight
Most of the people in the room turned to look. Not at Zayvion, who stood to my right, not at Shamus, who stood to my left, but at me. Or more likely, at Daniel Beckstrom’s daughter.
I met each of their gazes. A brief blur of faces, of eyes, of expressions: judgment, curiosity, and blatant hatred.
Yeah, well, I was thrilled to meet them too.
Maeve appeared from one of the doorways, walking beside a giant of a man, easily six inches taller than me or Zay, and almost as wide-shouldered as Mackanie Love. Black hair, dark beard with a dust of gray cut close to his jaw. He wore an old bomber jacket complete with wool collar over a T-shirt, jeans, and lumberjack boots. He smiled as he talked with Maeve. He gave off an easy, ready-for-a-fight kind of vibe, like he was in the company of old friends and old enemies and would be more than happy to take either down.
Some of the tension in the room shifted. Not that it was much better; it was just different.
Zayvion started off toward Maeve and the big man. I glanced out of the corner of my eye to see if this, perhaps, was Terric. But Shame’s fake smile had turned into something introspective. Wicked. Boy was planning something. I didn’t know what he was thinking, but anytime I’d seen that look on his face, it had been trouble.
“Who’s that?” I asked as I strode toward an empty table in the exact center of the room, not caring who was staring at me, nor what faction I might be sitting down with.
Shame followed. “Hayden Kellerman. One of Mum’s old friends. Might be my new da, the way she’s looking at him.” He yanked a chair out from the table, grinding the thing across the wooden floor, and then slouched down into it, scowling.
“You don’t like him?”
“Are you even in the same room with me?” He gave me a brief, sideways look. No smile, but plenty of twinkle in that eye. “I thought you were good at reading people.”
