would be fine with me. I did not like being possessed.
I shoved my workout clothes into my bag, zipped everything, and put on my hoodie before strolling out of the locker room. Zay and Shame stood by the door. Shame cradled a cigarette and lighter in one hand-neither lit.
“So, where to?” I asked.
“The River Grill’s on the way to Mum’s,” Shame suggested.
“You’re coming with us?” I asked.
“Like you’re surprised. Free lunch, right?”
“Wrong,” Zay said. “It’s your turn to buy.”
I opened the door and stepped out into the hard, cold air. The sun lent the day no warmth, but it was sunny and the sky was a shock of blue that hit my winter-weary soul like a cool drink of water.
Zayvion followed behind me. Shamus paused to light up.
“You going to tell us the rest?” Zay asked over his shoulder.
Shame exhaled smoke. Finally got walking.
“The rest of what?”
We’d made it to the car, and Zay unlocked the passenger’s side and touched my arm before walking around to the driver’s side. Shame, still smoking, paused near the back of the car. He’d gotten here on his own-I assumed his car was in the parking lot somewhere.
Zay turned and gave Shame a look that said more than words.
One corner of Shame’s mouth curved upward. The wind stirred his hair, pushing it closer over his eyes, and taking his scents-cigarette smoke and cloves-away from me.
“Sedra called in the crew from Seattle.”
“Terric?” Zay asked mildly.
Shame just took another drag off the cigarette. His shoulders were squared, tense, his free hand fisted. He looked like someone who had more pain in him than he had breath left to scream it out.
“Of course.”
“Have you seen him yet?” Zay asked.
“Nope. And if luck holds, I won’t see him at all.” Maybe it was supposed to come out funny, but his voice dropped into a growl, even though he was smiling. Whoa. There was a lot of fury behind that smile.
“Come to lunch,” Zay said.
Shame tossed the cigarette to the damp concrete, then clapped his hands together as if brushing away dirt, his fingerless gloves muffling the sound. “Not going to talk about it.”
“I know.”
Shame nodded, then strolled off to his car, whistling a punk rock song from the nineties.
I looked over the roof of the car at Zayvion. He watched Shamus with such intensity, it was like he could see the man’s bones, his soul.
Who knows? Maybe he could. There were a lot of things about both of them I didn’t know.
Shamus, walking away, couldn’t see us. Still, he must have felt Zay’s gaze. He lifted his hand in a dismissive wave.
Zayvion inhaled, his nostrils flaring. When he looked back at me, he was calm. Zen Zay. Private Zay. Controlled. Deadly.
“Vacation’s over, isn’t it?” I asked.
Zay shrugged one shoulder. “I think we have time for one last lunch.”
“As long as lunch involves coffee, I’m on for it.” We both got in the car, and at least one of us, namely me, wondered how long it would be before the storm really hit.
Chapter Two
The River Grill was on the Oregon side of the Columbia, and should have been swank if the real estate surrounding it had any sway. Instead, it looked pretty much the same as it did back in the day when the lumberyards were still going strong-a squat, wide building with plenty of windows facing the water, mostly clean tables, and food that was hot, filling, and cheap.
It was three o’clock, a little late for lunch, and a little early for dinner, so the place was mostly empty.
Zay and I took a table by the window and Shamus strolled in behind us. He plucked a menu off the stack by the cash register, and read it while walking over to the table.
“Think it’s the burger today.” He sat in the remaining chair and folded the menu.
“Big surprise,” Zayvion said over the top of his glass of water.
Shame held up one hand, and caught the waitress’s attention.
She was over in a jiffy, took our orders-burgers and sodas all around-and then was off.
Shame cracked his knuckles. “So, how did sparring go today?”
“She’s improving,” Zayvion said.
“She won,” I said, clearly.
Zay just smiled. I really was getting better. Good enough I knew I could hold my own in a fight. Good enough I was doing more than just knife training-we’d moved on to the machetes Zay and his crew use to hunt down magical nasties. Zay had let me work with the katana, a beautiful blade, heavy with the weight of old magic. Training, being aware of every muscle in my body working in concert to my command of magic, made me feel powerful. And I liked it. A lot.
“Very nice, Beckstrom,” Shame said. “Zay’s a hard man to take down. Not that he’s much of a challenge for me, of course. I could take him with one spell tied behind my back. And now that he’s all soft from his time off, he’d go down in a hot second.”
“Are you done?” Zay asked.
“Done?” Shame said.
“Not talking about Terric.”
Shame glared at Zayvion. Zay sipped his water, patient as time. Shame finally gave up, and rubbed his mouth across the palm of his fingerless glove. With his other hand, he cast a very subtle Mute spell. The people around us, not that there were many, wouldn’t be able to hear our conversation. Handy, that.
“Mum said Sedra’s calling. . them. . down. Said it’s about the storm, but I think there’s more going on.”
Zay folded his fingers and propped his elbows on the table. He stared at Shamus, waiting for him to talk.
“I think there’s something wrong with the wells,” Shame said.
Zayvion’s eyebrows rose. End of reaction. “All of them?”
Shame took a drink of water. “Like I know? I don’t have access to all of them. But the one beneath Mum’s place. .” He shook his head.
Zayvion did not look pleased. Then he pulled on the somber mask of Zen, of calm, of duty, and simply looked emotionless.
Well, that was helpful.
“Want to tell the new girl what can go wrong with the wells?” I wasn’t a complete idiot. In the time I’d been taking classes from Victor, Liddy, Maeve, and Jingo Jingo, I’d realized that Portland has four natural wells of magic beneath the ground. That was unusual. Other cities had wells-usually one. Sometimes two. Rarely three. But the Portland area had four wells, one of which was beneath the Flynns’ inn, which Shame’s mother ran, just on the Vancouver side of the river, and all of which were a hard-guarded secret.
The waitress hurried over, three plates balanced across her arm. She placed everything on our table, plunked down a carrier of condiments, and left us to our meal.
“So?” I asked. “What can go wrong with the wells?”
Shame took a huge bite of burger, pointed at his mouth, and gave me a shut-up-and-let-me-eat look while he chewed.
Closers such as Zayvion, Chase, and, apparently, Terric could take away the memories of any people they judged were a harm to themselves or others when using magic. Judge, jury, and executioners, Closers had the final
