Greyson, no matter what I told Shame.
It didn’t take long to get across town to the other side of the river. But even in that short time, the sky changed. Clouds, lots of them, all the shades of gray and black, gathered. Some of them tinted with a watercolor wash of green and blue and burnt orange. There was magic in the sky. And it was coming to kill us all.
Shame pulled up beside his mother’s inn. The inn seemed to be doing business as usual. A dozen or so cars were in the parking lot, and when we walked through the front door, the dining room had only a few empty tables. The one thing that was different was I didn’t see Maeve anywhere in the room, talking to patrons, or pouring coffee.
One of the other girls who worked the place, Kathy, looked up at us. Shame still had his hood up. He raised his hand in greeting, and she nodded. We walked along the outer edge of the room and through the arch to the hall beyond. I started up the stairs that led to the rooms above.
“You coming?” I asked when I didn’t hear Shame’s footsteps behind me.
“Downstairs first. See you outside?”
“Five minutes?”
“That should do.”
I took the stairs a little faster. If I only had five minutes before I went off to fight a storm of wild magic, I wanted to spend those five minutes with Zay.
I hesitated at the door to his room. Thought about knocking. Knew it would only hurt more when he didn’t answer, so instead, I just opened the door.
The light was dimmer in here, making the strange-colored clouds hanging outside in the darkness seem even more eerie.
Two beds. The one I’d been in was empty and had been remade.
But in the other bed was Zayvion. I walked over to him, trying to be quiet, and feeling stupid about that. I wanted him to wake up. So why was I being so careful not to disturb him?
I walked up to the head of the bed.
Even sleeping, he was a handsome man. In the low light, his skin looked like burnt bronze, his hair a dark tangle of midnight. I brushed my fingers through his hair, then down his cheek. Finally, I brushed my finger over his lips, hoping he could feel my touch.
The cool, steady exhalation of his breath against my fingers gave me hope. He was still breathing. On his own. There was very little medical equipment hooked up to him, an IV, and something that ran under his blanket, to attach to his chest. His skin was warm to the touch.
He looked alive. My sleeping beauty.
But I knew he was not in there, not in his body. And no matter how long his body breathed, without his soul, his spirit, or whatever part of him that had been shoved into the gate between life and death, I knew he would never wake up.
I didn’t know how long they would keep him like this. How long until they gave up on him.
Shame said it was possible to open a gate as soon as magic normalized. I didn’t know if that would help Zayvion find his way home, but it was all I had to hope for right now. And if that didn’t work, then I’d find something else that did.
But first we had to take care of the storm.
“Don’t think you’re getting out of this,” I said to Zay. “You still owe me that horses-on-ice-skates thing. I plan to collect.” I brushed my fingers across his lips again, thought about kissing him.
“Just don’t die,” I whispered. I concentrated on projecting my words, my thoughts, to him though my fingertips. Willed them into his mind, his heart. “Don’t give up on me. We’re going to St. Johns to take care of the storm. And after that, I am going to find a way to get you home. A gate. If you see a gate open, all you have to do is step through it. I’ll be waiting on the other side.”
I knew this wasn’t a fairy tale. Still, I bent, kissed him on the corner of his mouth, ignoring that, yes, he was motionless, unresponsive, not even a flicker of his awareness stirring at my touch. There wasn’t any magic in the kiss, but there was something just as strong: a promise that we were in this together.
I straightened and the crystal in my pocket clunked against the side of the bed. I dug it out.
It was warmer, pinker, the shadows dusty blue. It was filling with magic, though I didn’t know how it could collect it when even the best magic user couldn’t tap into the cisterns and networks right now. Maybe the crystal had a default mode that allowed it to collect whatever scraps of magic it could find to fill the emptiness.
Maybe it could help Zay. I thought about leaving it here. The crystal might act as a beacon for him.
My dad, who had been wisely silent this entire time, brushed the backs of my eyes gently.
I didn’t want to listen to him. I was heavy into hating him for what he had done to me. But his thoughts were weary, as if he had lost the hope of making me believe him, but tried anyway.
He was right about that. One of the reasons I kept Stone under wraps was because when the Authority found out I had him, they brought him here and were going to keep him for study. And even though the crystal was smaller, it was no less amazing than the gargoyle.
Dad was telling the truth. And it seemed to be a truth that would help rather than hinder me.
Weird.
That still didn’t make it okay for him to run me around like a puppet.
I put the crystal back in my pocket.
“Allie?” Shame pushed on the door. “Ready?”
“Has it been five minutes?”
“More like fifteen.” He stepped in and leaned against the wall. From the way he moved, I knew he had stashed more weapons on his body. A lot more.
“Do you know where Zayvion’s sword is?” I asked.
“Probably. Why?”
“I want to take it with me.”
“This is a peaceful gathering. We’re setting up storm rods, or something-Terric wasn’t very clear about that. But it’s not going to be a fight.”
“I’d feel better with a sword on me. As soon as we deal with the storm, and get Zayvion back through a gate, I won’t have to make a special stop to gear up before hunting Greyson.”
“Thought you might have that in mind.” With a little contorting, Shame pulled Zayvion’s blade out from the sheath he had strapped to his back.
Peaceful gathering, my ass.
“His knife?” I asked. I took the blade-not the machete Zay usually used on Hungers and for other magical threats, but a beautifully balanced sword, his katana. I’d used it a couple times in practice. It fit my hand and reach better than a machete, but it was harder to convince a police officer why it was in the trunk of a car. So for quick dirty hunts, a magic-worked machete was best.
I don’t know where Shame pulled the knife out of, but I was glad he had it on him. Zayvion’s blood blade was long, slender, deadly, centered with a beveled crystal and glyphs that were carved into the metal and glass, ash black against the shiny dagger. It was familiar, the first weapon Zay had given me, trusting that with it I would be able to protect myself.
Call me sentimental, but that knife was more romantic than a car full of pink roses.
I tucked it in my belt. Shame handed me the sheath for Zay’s sword, which I strapped on my back, before shrugging back into my jacket.
“Anything else?” Shame asked.
“Hold on.”
I stepped over to Zay, rested my forehead against his. “Come home to me,” I whispered. “I love you.”
Magic beneath my feet bucked and I braced against the bed frame to keep from falling. Something, low thunder with the strangest high wail behind it, like a horde of the dead come calling, skittered at the edge of my
