Davy hadn’t stepped through the doorway. He had good instincts. The ward on the door would push him out or knock him unconscious if he stepped in. But the room wasn’t covered in Glamour or Illusion. Instinct might tell him not to step in, but his eyes showed him exactly what was going on.
People went back to talking, ignoring him, and acting like this was just a normal sort of meeting for some normal sort of business social.
I don’t think Davy was convinced. But it wasn’t the confusion on his face that I was worried about. It was the pain.
I turned and strode across the room, Shame ghosting me, and made it to the door in a few seconds flat. Davy’s bad habit of following me around since Pike’s death didn’t make living three lives, all filled with secrets, and none of which could be shared equally, any easier. Every time my lives crossed, like now when Davy the Hound was sticking his nose into the secret business of the Authority, it set my teeth on edge.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
Boy looked like death on a bender. He didn’t smell of alcohol. No, he just stank of sweat and pain.
“Where are you hurt?”
He shook his head.
“Hello,” Maeve said, coming up beside us. “Can I help you?”
Davy squinted over at her, like the light in the room was too much. Migraine? Concussion? “I need to talk to you,” he said to me, eyeing Shamus. “Allie. Could I talk to you? Now.”
“Do you need help?” Maeve asked, a little less hostess, and a little more concern. I liked that she didn’t immediately try to send him on his way. Maeve was one of my favorite teachers.
“This is probably Hound business,” I said to Maeve. “I got it, thank you.” I walked through the door and Davy backed off. The ward was good. Built to let the right people out and to not let the wrong people in.
Davy paced the porch. I reached back, intending to shut the door, but Shame was there, and stepped out with us.
“You want me to drive you to the hospital?” I asked. I’d long ago learned there was no use being subtle with Hounds. Too much substance abuse, too many overdoses, from dealing with the constant pain of using magic, for subtleties to get through to a reasonable mind.
“I didn’t do it,” he said, his voice tense, too high.
“All right. Do what?”
Davy turned, the yellow light of the porch lamp revealing his tortured expression. “I think it’s Bea.”
“What’s Bea?”
“I think she’s hurt.”
My phone rang, and Davy and I both jumped.
I fumbled with my jacket pocket and pulled out my cell.
“Hello?”
“This is Stotts. I need you to Hound a case. Meet me at Third and Southwest Main.”
“When?” I heard the sound of traffic behind him.
“As soon as you can.”
I did a quick calculation. How long would it take me to drop Davy off at the hospital, or at least get him in the hands of someone else who could keep an eye on him? Like maybe over to the warehouse and have Grant look in on him, or, hells, back to his own apartment, not that I knew where he lived.
“Can you give me an hour?”
“Allie.” Stotts paused, took a breath. “One of your Hounds is down. I’ve called 911. She’ll be on her way to the hospital soon.”
“She?” I glanced up at Davy, who had his arms crossed over his stomach and was standing there, rocking a little on his feet, miserable.
“Beatrice Lufkin,” Stotts said over the sound of a siren growing louder in the background. “Whatever happened to her, there’s a hell of a lot of magic involved. But it’s fading fast.”
My heart punched my ribs like a fist.
“I’ll be there.” I shoved the phone in my pocket. “Shame? Tell Zay-no, tell your mom that I had to handle a Hounding job. Thank her for inviting me to the get-together tonight.” What more could I say with Davy listening? “I’ll call her later tonight if I can. Tomorrow morning at the latest.”
“Are you going alone?” he asked.
“No. Davy’s going with me.” Davy’s head lifted at the mention of his name. His eyes, for the briefest of seconds, flashed red.
It might have been my imagination. Or it might have been magic.
Weird.
“You have the keys to your car?” I asked.
Davy fumbled in his jeans pocket, held out a set of keys with a plastic frame attached to it. In the frame was a picture of him and Tomi in one of those photo booths. They were kissing, Tomi’s hand stretched out to try to cover the camera.
I put my hand on Davy’s arm to help him down the porch steps.
“Stotts, right?” Shame asked.
“Yes.” We were already on the gravel. “I’ll have my phone on.”
Davy walked with me, not nearly as light on his feet as he usually was. He breathed a little too hard, and was covered in sweat even though all he was wearing was a T-shirt and jean jacket in the below-thirty-degree weather.
We made it to his car, and he didn’t even argue when I helped him slump into the passenger’s seat.
I got in the driver’s side, started the car, and got us across the parking lot and onto the access road.
“Talk to me,” I said. “How badly are you hurt?”
His eyes were closed, his head against the headrest. He’d tried to buckle his seat belt, pulling it across his chest, but given up short of actually clicking it into place.
He didn’t say anything until I hit the road that ran parallel to the river and would get me to one of the bridges and back across the river to Portland.
“Ever since I got out of the hospital, I’ve felt it,” he said quietly. “When Hounds are hurt. I told you that, right?”
He had. Well, he’d told me he could tell when Tomi was hurting. But he sure as hell hadn’t mentioned how debilitating it was to him. “You said you felt Tomi. You feel the other Hounds too?”
“Sometimes. When the pain’s big. When it’s magic.”
“Is it always this bad?”
“No. Headaches. Muscle aches. But this. .” He was quiet for a little bit and I noticed his breathing was more even.
“It felt like I was on fire. And where there wasn’t fire, I was numb. Freezing.”
“You Proxying for anyone?”
“No.”
“None of the Hounds? Not even Tomi?”
His breathing hitched, and it took him a little longer to answer. “No.”
I didn’t smell a lie on him.
“Where were you when this happened?”
“Here.”
“The car?”
“Yes.”
“Driving?”
“Parked outside the inn.”
“Davy, how many times do I have to tell you to stop following me? That was a private business meeting between a lot of investors who want their interests in Beckstrom Enterprises kept quiet. If they find out I have a Hound on my heels, it could seriously damage my dad’s company.”
I’d kept that lie ready for months now.
