“What things?”
“Me having depth perception for a few days.”
I blew out air, exasperated. “Davy. Don’t make me pull this out of you. Did she do this to you?”
He hitched one shoulder, uncomfortable. “We. .” He paused, looked off at Stotts, and I swear I saw fear cross his face.
“What, Davy?” I said, softer now, trying to coax it out of him nice-like, and resisting the urge to just yell at the boy until he told me what the hell was going on. “Tell me what she did, okay?” I could Influence him. It would be easy. A word, a tone, and a little magic, and he’d tell me anything I wanted to know. Would do anything I wanted him to do. But Influence was one of my dad’s favorite moves, and I didn’t want to be my dad any more than I had to be.
“What were you talking to her about? Your breakup?”
He sniffed and rubbed his hand down over his lips and chin.
“It wasn’t about that. We never-she never-wants to talk about that. It’s over, you know?”
“So why did you go talk to her?”
“She’s been mixed up with a guy. I think. And I think he’s using her. She says she Hounds for him. . but she’s-she’s a cutter,” he said, and I nodded to let him know I’d already figured that out.
“She’s doing it more. Worse.” He sniffed again and looked out into the rain. Then, finally, back at me. “Something’s wrong. She’s different. Ever since she started doing things, Hounding for him, cutting for him, she’s just not. Not the same.”
I’d seen this before. It was why I’d never gotten into a relationship with a Hound. Using magic meant it used you back. It caused you pain. Most Hounds could not afford to use a Proxy service, which meant most Hounds had to endure the pain of magic use. That led Hounds to a desperate search for pain relief. Booze, drugs, cutting, self- mutilation, food, exercise. Everything in excess. Anything to get away from the pain. Chronic pain management changed people. Then it left them dead.
“Do you want to talk to Stotts about it? Maybe get her into a program and checked out?”
He laughed, a short, hard exhale. “Right. Mr. Dot the i’s and Cross the Police Procedures? It doesn’t work that way. There isn’t a program for Hounds. Rehabs won’t take her-they don’t take anyone who won’t give up Hounding. And me telling her she’s screwed up didn’t work out how I pictured it.” He gave me the painful smile again.
“Listen,” I said. “I’m done with this job except for filing my report. Why don’t you go home? Get some sleep. Take some aspirin for your eye. Call me when you’re feeling better. I’ll take you out for lunch or something. We can talk about Tomi if you want. Try to come up with some ideas to help her.”
“I wasn’t looking for your pity. . ”
“Oh, for cripes’ sake, Davy,” I said calmly. “I don’t pity you. If you’re dumb enough to hunt down your ex- girlfriend and tell her you think she’s screwed up, while you were drunk-and no, there is no way you sobered up between the time I left you and that evening; I’m surprised you could even walk to find her, and I hope to hell you didn’t drive-then you should have known she would try to deck you.
“But you are my right-hand man in the pack I am now the leader of-thanks to you. You really are a meddler, aren’t you? Don’t answer that. And being my right-hand man means I get to tell you what to do, and you do it. So. Go home, Davy Silvers. Sleep. When you are conscious, call me.”
“And where does
fit in my job description?” he asked.
“Right after
.” I smiled, and so did he. Probably one of the stranger working relationships I’ve had, but then, no one before Pike had tried to organize the Hounds into any sort of group. And Pike mostly just made sure they kept tabs on each other. I had other things in mind for the Hounds. Especially with Beckstrom Enterprises’ money behind me.
“Fine.” He pushed away from the tree, carefully, I noted. If I had to guess, I’d say Tomi got in a few other hits besides the one to the face. Girl wore steel-toe boots, and she looked like the type who wouldn’t mind getting in a few kicks to the ribs, if the opportunity presented itself.
“Anything broken?” I asked. “Do you need to see a doctor?”
“Naw. Just bruises.” He grunted as he bent beneath a low-hanging limb.
Just bruises, my ass.
He pushed his soggy hood back and ran a hand through his short hair. His face was pale behind the vivid bruise, and moisture that might have been sweat covered his forehead. Kid was in pain but too damn stubborn to admit it.
Come to think of it, that was another trait you needed for Hounding. A colossal sense of denial.
“Well, don’t be stupid about it, okay?” I said. “If you need to get checked out, I’ll cover the bill.”
“Wait-you’re paying me now?”
“You’d have to actually
for me to pay you.”
“I’ll take that as a yes and go get some sleep like you told me to. On the clock.” He tugged his hood closer to his face. “See ya, boss man.”
I stepped back and he walked off toward the street, holding a hand up over his shoulder to acknowledge Stotts, who was strolling over to me.
“Take care of the kid?” Stotts asked.
“For now.”
“Anything I should know?”
“Not unless you have jurisdiction over teenage love affairs gone wrong.”
“That might be a little outside my expertise,” he said.
A big white box van rumbled up to the curb, then slowly rolled over it and came down the park path. The van parked a good distance from the gazebo, and all the doors opened. Stotts’ MERC crew-or at least the members of his team I had met, two men and a woman-stepped out of the van. They each carried a backpack slung over one shoulder and had on some variation of jeans and dark coats, but that was where the similarities ended.
Garnet, the tall, aging hippy, was probably the oldest of the crew and wore a crocheted rainbow-colored hat over his balding head. He squinted in the pale light like a mole in the middle of summer sunshine.
Next to him and twice as wide strode Roberts, the woman on the team. Built like a shot-putter, she had the look of a weight lifter from the Eastern Bloc. Her cheeks were flushed red beneath her startlingly wide brown eyes. The hood on her coat wasn’t up, leaving her short dark curls free to catch a frost of rain like misty cobwebs.
Julian, the driver, was the shortest of the bunch, about five foot two, and he carried himself with the confidence of a business executive. He wore a tailored black wool coat with a scarf tucked around his neck. He had to be the youngest of the group, fit, good-looking.
“Detective,” Julian said when the three of them were close enough to us. “Ms. Beckstrom.”
I nodded my hello.
“What have you got?” he asked Stotts.
“Spent spell. Physical remains.” Stotts started walking, and we followed. “Dead animal in the bushes over there. Might be someone playing vampire. You know the drill. Pictures of everything. Map the residual of the spikes in magic use off the grid out a hundred feet square. Scrub it down to zero impact-this is a public park and we don’t need the environmentalists on us for sloppy cleanup.”
“Got it covered,” Julian said.
I glanced over my shoulder. Garnet busied himself plunking down orange traffic cones that blocked the pathway to the gazebo, and then farther off, blocking the path along the bushes and trees. Not that anyone was out in this weather at this time of day, but it was probably a good precaution. In Portland, if you aren’t willing to go outside in the rain, you never go outside.
Roberts walked along the path where concrete met the grass in front of the gazebo. In each hand she held witch ing rods. I hadn’t seen those since college. The two narrow lengths of metal were bent and held loosely in
