“Can you sense her here?” Zay asked.
I shook my head. “I thought so. Nothing I’d swear on, though.”
“She’s good, Allie,” Zay said like I shouldn’t blame myself. “One of the best.”
That was what I was worried about. If she was good enough to get us out here, she’d be good enough to lead us to where she wanted us to be.
Shame stayed where he was in Zay’s car. Terric nodded to me, offering a ride again.
“We’re better than her, right?” I asked Zay.
“We are.” He hesitated. Nodded. That worried me, but I didn’t tell him so.
I got into Shame’s car next to Terric.
“How good is she, really?” I asked Terric once we were on the road and speeding to Vancouver.
“I haven’t worked with her for a couple years.” He was silent for a minute, navigating traffic. “She is very good. I’ve always thought Zayvion was better.”
“Is he?”
“He is if he doesn’t pull his punches.”
“Which means?”
Terric rubbed the side of his nose, then brushed his hair back, even though it was banded at the nape of his neck. Boy had a lot of nervous twitches. I wondered if he was always like this or if this kind of thing made him nervous.
Wondered if I should get my worry on too.
“What does that mean, Terric?”
“They used to be lovers.”
“And?”
He glanced at me, maybe glad I already knew that. “How easy do you think it would be to kill someone you’ve loved?”
A knot in the pit of my stomach clenched. Memories of Zayvion flashed through my mind, his smile, the easy sense of humor that he kept so carefully hidden under his dutiful exterior. His touch, the weight of him next to me, in me. Could I kill him if I had to? If he did something stupid like what Chase was doing?
“He doesn’t have to kill her,” I said a little doubtfully.
“Maybe not. But he might need to.” Terric shifted his grip on the steering wheel, and pushed his shoulders down as if settling an uncomfortable weight. “It is always possible when you’re a Closer.”
“To kill?”
His eyes were a darkness in the night. “To destroy the ones you love.”
Creepy. Sad. And so not what I wanted to deal with. “We’ll all be there. Enough of us to stop her and find Greyson, and what? Does the Authority have a jail?”
“There are. . places. Out of the way. Guarded. Betraying the Authority doesn’t always end in your death. There are worse punishments.”
There he went with the creepy again.
“So that’s where they’ll take Greyson. And her?”
“That’s where I’d put them.”
We were on the other side of the river now. Ever since magic had been found and piped, Vancouver had become Portland’s darker sister. Maybe it was because there were so many wells in the area, or maybe it was just geographic luck, but somehow all the light seemed to shine on Portland, while Vancouver huddled in Portland’s slick, dusky shadow.
We were following Zay. He drove like he knew exactly where she would be. Terric and I didn’t say much. Zay took the exit right on the other side of the Interstate Bridge that dropped us immediately on the other side of the river.
Fort Vancouver spread out to our right, a collection of historic buildings in brick and clapboard, with barracks and winding neighborhood-like streets, huge oak trees, and fields surrounded by split-wood fences.
Zay stopped by the brick three-story buildings down in Officers Row. It was late. There were no lights on, no one out on the street. Zay killed the engine and got out of the car, striding, then bolting into a run, heading between two of the big brick houses. I couldn’t see where he was running, but I felt his heartbeat, kicking strong against my wrist. I felt his emotions, grim determination with the heady thrill of the hunt. Shame was out of the car too, not running.
He walked a short distance from the cars, turned on his heels, spinning so he faced the cars while he walked across the street. He had a lit cigarette, and held it in his mouth, the cherry glow of it marking his place in the shadows.
He motioned with one hand for us to get out of the car.
“This is it,” Terric said. “Ready?”
“Always.”
He didn’t give me flak, just got out, paused as if scenting the air, then headed to the left of where Zayvion had gone, breaking into a jog.
Shame waited until I was next to him. He hitched his hands forward, which drew the sleeves of his jacket off his wrists, and flicked an Illusion over the two cars so that they faded from casual observation.
He grunted, and swayed, his heartbeat under my wrist missing a beat, then pounding hard to make it up. I reached over and caught his elbow. He was shaking.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
He pulled the cig out of his mouth. The cherry trembled and jumped as he tried to push his hair out of his eyes. “Just. Fucking tired. I’m okay.”
And that was when I smelled the pain on him, and the blood.
“Bullshit. She hurt you, didn’t she? Where? How?”
He gave me a considering look, noticed I was fuming mad. He exhaled. “My gut. I’m fine.”
I gripped his elbow tighter and dragged him back to his car. “No, you’re not.”
“What part of the language don’t you understand, Beckstrom?”
The very fact that I could actually force him to walk with me told me just how badly he was hurt.
“You need a doctor?”
“No.”
“Stitches?”
“No.”
We passed through the Illusion he had cast, the slippery green scent of aloe filling my nostrils and throat. I opened the front door of Zay’s car. “Get in.”
“For Christ’s sake,” he started.
“Duck.” I pushed on his shoulder at the same time I shoved him into the car.
He gave in, or more correctly, his knees gave in, and he folded down into the seat. Groaned.
“Let me see.”
He turned his pale face in my direction. “I’ll call my mum. Honest.” He pulled out his cell phone and flipped it open. “You go make sure Z. and. . Make sure Zay’s okay.”
He looked sick, greenish even in the low light. Casting that spell must have exacerbated his wound.
“How badly are you bleeding? Don’t bullshit me, Shame.”
“She stabbed me once. With a knife. I remember that.” Dead serious. What did you know? The man could tell the truth without going up in flame. “The bleeding isn’t too bad. She planted a Blood glyph and when I cast that spell, it started bleeding. It’s not enough to kill me-you can trust me on that, Beckstrom. But she is seriously fucking up my fun.”
“Show me.”
He scowled. Gave in. Lifted his jacket. Even in the low light, I could see the glyph of Blood magic spread out across the width of his flat stomach, just catching on his hip bone. It bled-not badly-from one edge, probably the entry of the wound. The rest of the glyph snaked out under his skin, like deep red ropes. Blood magic was strange stuff. The glyph formed itself to the caster’s will like a time-release capsule after the incision was made.
He pushed his shirt back down.
“You’ll call your mom?”
