Magic on the Storm

“I know,” he said, getting the hang of my mouth far too quickly for my comfort, “that I-that he-married you because he saw your strength. You know how much he loves-loved you. You know he would be proud of you. And he regrets-would regret not being here for you, to see the baby, to hold you both.”

Sorrow, hope, fear, and regret raged through me. My father’s emotions, not mine. And on top of them all was love.

It pissed me the hell off. I was all for happy endings, but not if it meant my dad using me, my body, my mouth, my hormones. It didn’t help that he’d never shown this kind of emotion around me before. And now I was crawling with his emotions, and knew, far too intimately, his feelings for Violet.

Give me back my body! I screamed at him. Yes, like a two-year-old getting her tantrum on.

Shame, in the corner of the room, suddenly stood out of the chair and walked over to the opposite side of Violet’s bed. He tipped his head a little, letting the light under his hood, almost reaching his eyes. He stared at me, at my dad behind my eyes, and his eyebrows hitched up.

“I think he would be upset,” Violet said, still gazing at her belly. “About everything. About me. I’ve made a huge mess of things.”

“Perhaps some things, yes. But not everything. He most certainly wouldn’t be upset with you. And he’d be stunned.” He swallowed-I swallowed, whatever-then said, softer, “He’d be so very thrilled about the baby.”

“Do you think so?” Violet looked up, eyes unfocused but searching for hope, for comfort, for understanding. And I felt my heart, my body, stir with love and desire for her.

Okay: no. I just could not wrap my brain around where this road might lead. I had a complicated enough relationship with her. I didn’t need to mess it up with Dad’s desires.

“I know so,” he said gently. “Trust me, Vi. He is looking down on you right now with nothing but love.”

She smiled. “Daniel used to call me Vi.”

Shame snapped his fingers. “Wow. Isn’t that neat? I have an idea. It’s time for us to leave. Now.”

It was about time Shame picked up on the weirdness. You’d think someone who dealt with Death magic would have caught on sooner there was a dead guy running the show.

“You’re not a part of this family, Mr. Flynn,” Dad said through me. “You can wait.” And I knew he tried to put Influence behind it, because I could feel the twist and pull on the small magic inside me, but I wrapped around that flame, holding it back, far, far out of his reach. The magic, the small magic, stayed with me and Dad was shit outta luck.

Shame chuckled. “No, I can’t wait. And neither can you, Allie. We should let Violet get her rest.” Shame put his hand on my hand and licked his lips, smiling with his lips parted.

I felt it.

So did Dad.

Shame’s hand was warm, almost too warm, his palm slick on the back of my hand. Very clearly, the tingle of something being drawn out through my skin, like a leech had just stuck onto the back of my hand to suck my blood out, or like a really bad Band-Aid rip, prickled my skin.

Dad did not like it. We both knew what Shame was doing-taking a little nip of him. So much for needing magic to draw on energy. I guess Shame could draw on life-or was it death, since my dad was undead? — without magic.

That made Dad angry.

And distracted.

I shoved him with everything I had.

And fell back into myself, a wave of vertigo doing damage to my knees. I had the presence of mind not to fall on top of the pregnant woman.

No, I had more sense than that. Enough that I pulled my hand off hers, Shame pulling his hand off mine at the exact same time. But just before my fingertips left Violet’s hand, I felt the bump of movement in her belly.

“Oh,” she said. “Did you feel it? The baby moved.” Her words were slurring, and her eyes were only half open now. The lines on the monitor jumped again, uneven, ragged.

Somewhere in the center of my brain, my dad raged.

“I did,” I said, my mouth tasting of wintergreen and old leather, and not feeling nearly enough like it belonged to me. “It’s wonderful, Violet.” I tried to smile, but wasn’t sure I did it. “Shame’s right. You should get some sleep.”

Then there were nurses, striding into the room, moving briskly, doing things with the tubes that ran in and out of Violet. They told me she’d be fine, but needed me to leave so she could rest.

I turned and walked out of that room, leaving Violet and my unborn sibling to their care, and took my father and his pain as far away from them as I could.

Chapter Eighteen

Shame and I made it down to the car without any arguments about stairs. I didn’t care if he took the elevator-I needed to stomp, to move, to stretch out and feel my body as my own again. The stairs suited me perfectly.

We made it to street level. I straight-armed the door, and practically ran across the street to the parking garage. Fear, hate, and, yes, anger got me where I was going-anger at my father. For doing this to me. For using me. Again.

I was so done with it. I didn’t care what it took-I was going to get rid of him. He wasn’t going to stay in my mind and use my body, my thoughts, my emotions, ever again.

You, I thought, are going down.

A hand caught my elbow and yanked. Hard. “Slow the hell down.” It was Shame, breathing hard, looking even more like death, if that were possible.

“You are going to get yourself killed.”

A car, horn blaring, rolled down the parkade ramp.

“That car almost hit you. Allie? Are you in that noggin somewhere listening to me? Or is there another Beckstrom I’m addressing?” Shame’s grip was punishing, and the pain cleared my mind.

“I heard you,” I said. “Holy shit, Shame. I am so fucked-up.”

He blinked, gave me a weird smile. “And?”

I didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know what to do. Zay was in a coma. Violet could lose the baby. My dad was raging in my mind. The storm was coming, Stone wasn’t working very well, and someone out there had disks of magic that could kill us all. I’d forgotten to ask Violet about the break-in, but there wasn’t a herd of elephants that could drag me back into her room right now.

How come I had to be the one to fix everything? How come I had to be the hero? I sure as hell didn’t feel like a hero.

“No hero does,” Shame said.

I must have said some of that out loud.

He tugged my arm again, this time gently, and pulled me into a hug. He was a little shorter than me, thinner than Zayvion-the last man I’d been this close to-but strong, and careful. It was a simple, brotherly gesture. I had to work hard to not cry for the comfort of it.

“You,” Shame said, not letting go of me, “are going to save Zayvion. Not because you’re a hero, or he’s a hero. Not even because you’re Soul Complements. But because you love him, he loves you, and you deserve the chance to be together. Whatever that takes. Don’t give up on him. Don’t give up on yourself. You can do this. All of this. For him. For you.”

I inhaled, caught the deep burn of tobacco on his clothes, the spice of cloves beneath it. Shame was half dead, his heart pounding slow and hard, a slight tremble shaking his body. But he was standing there, giving me the strength he had left. So I could save Zayvion. So this could somehow turn out happily ever after.

“Thanks,” I whispered. It wasn’t enough. There weren’t enough words to say how much I needed him to be here for me, this way, right now.