“The forgeries he did when he was younger? Or him being used as part of my dad’s murder?” Cody hadn’t been the one behind the scheme to kill my dad, though he had been a part of forging my dad’s signature on the hit on the kid in St. Johns, and my signature on the hit on my dad. As far as the law was concerned, James Hoskil was the brains behind the crime.
But the law did not know about a lot of things going on in this city, like the Authority, and weird half-dog men running around. Even I didn’t think James Hoskil was powerful enough to take down my very powerful father.
My dad fluttered behind my eyes. I ignored him.
“I don’t know,” Nola said. “They won’t say more than that. I’m guessing it’s from the most recent crime. He was in custody before that. Those records, of why he was jailed for a short time, I can’t find. I’ve tried looking up newspaper articles, courtroom documents, but there are no reports in the news. It’s strange. The courtroom documents aren’t even public. I don’t understand what all the cloak-and-dagger stuff is around this poor kid, and I’d like to know what crimes he committed before I take him in.”
I took another bite of soup. The Authority was probably behind the secrecy. They had put the hush on the circumstances of Lon Trager’s death, Frank’s dark magic shenanigans, and my dad’s stolen corpse. None of those ever hit the news. Maybe the Authority had pull, or people, in the courts as well.
Nola didn’t know much about the Authority, and I was inclined to keep it that way for now. Telling her about the secret society of magic users meant putting her at risk.
I refused to do that.
“I’ll ask Violet if she knows anyone that can help us with this,” I said. “Are you going to call Detective Stotts and see if he can help?”
She twisted her fingers together. “I think I will. What do you think about him?”
I sipped the remainder of the broth out of the bowl. “I only met him a couple weeks ago. He seems to be a good police officer. Dedicated to his job. Determined. Said he grew up in the Northwest. Raised by his mom mostly here in Portland. Has good taste in coffee, so that’s something in his favor.” I smiled.
“I didn’t know his wife had passed away though. I thought the ring. . well, you know.”
She nodded. “He could be lying about that.”
“How very suspicious of you,” I said approvingly. “But I don’t think so. He didn’t smell like he was lying. Oh, one more thing. He’s cursed.”
I took a huge bite of bread, white with a hint of garlic and Parmesan. Delish.
“What?”
I talked around the mouthful of bread. “Cursed. Hounds who work for him die very unusual deaths. Weird, huh?”
“My God, Allie. How can you joke about that?”
“I’m not joking. People really think he’s cursed.”
“Do you?”
I took another bite of bread to give me time to think. Stotts could prove by numbers and odds why Hounds tended to die when they worked for him. But a small, suspicious side of me wasn’t buying it. I didn’t think foul play was involved. I did think Stotts had a knack for being around when Hounds pushed too hard, made the wrong choice, or finally gave up all together.
“I don’t know if it’s a curse. I don’t believe in curses. But. .” I rubbed my fingers back through my wet hair and slouched in the chair. “Something. If nothing else, he’s a magnet for bad luck.”
“And you are working for him because. .?”
“I’m bad luck?” I grinned. “Because I made a promise to Pike that I would look after the group of Hounds he was leading. Make sure they checked in with each other, keep track of who was working with the police, with Stotts, so we’d know who was alive and who was dead.”
“Sounds kind of lonely and grim,” she said.
“Not really. It’s a support group, I guess.”
“And you’re leading it?”
I couldn’t parse her change of tone. “Yes?”
She grinned. “I can’t believe I heard that out of your mouth. You, taking responsibility for others. Good job.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I drawled.
“No, really.” She leaned forward, a twinkle in her eye. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you step up like this. So respectable.”
“Forget I said anything.”
“No, it’s good. And you must have really cared for Pike to promise to look after everything for him.”
“Not everything. Just the Hounds. Have I talked about Pike much?” I asked.
“No. You’ve mentioned his name a couple times. What was he like?”
“Sort of what I wished my dad could have been. Not that he was the nicest guy around. But he was. . fair. He always told it to me straight. Didn’t lie. Even when he knew I wouldn’t agree with him.”
“I’m glad he was in your life,” she said.
Which was just what I needed to hear, because I was glad he was in my life too. I’d just never been able to say that to anyone. See how great best friends were? Even if they were also incredibly annoying.
Someone knocked on the door. I straightened, dug my thumb in a circle at my temple, waiting out the spike of pain. I should have taken some aspirin. “Did you invite someone?” I asked, trying to remember if I had locked the door after opening it the second time.
“No.”
“It’s probably Zayvion,” I said. “I have a. . meeting to go to today.”
I recited a mantra and walked over to the door, clearing my mind. I wasn’t going to call on magic unless I had to.
The locks were not set. I leaned forward and looked out the peephole.
Zayvion Jones stood there, staring right back at me as if he knew I was watching him. He had traded his slick leather jacket for that ratty ski coat thing, had a forest green beanie pulled tightly over his dark curls, and his jeans had been worn down to threads and a couple holes in the thighs.
Street drifter, Zen master, killer, magic user, Zayvion Jones.
I let go of the breath I’d been holding and opened the door. “Hey.”
“Afternoon.” His gaze took me in, from wet hair to soggy shoes. “Are you ready?”
“Almost. Come on in. I need to change. Do you want some soup?”
“Smells fantastic.” He stepped in and shut the door. Then he purposely set the locks, holding my gaze with that calm, Zen look of his.
, I thought. “You have something to say?” I asked.
“No.”
“Good. Have some soup.” I wandered down the hall, stopping in the bathroom to take one or three painkillers. I listened to Nola and Zayvion’s pleasant greetings as I walked into my bedroom and dug for dry clothes.
What did one wear to the first class of secret magic training, anyway? Nonflammable jammies, perhaps?
I doubted it much mattered. So new jeans, a gray sweater, and black boots. I brushed my hair back and put a hat over most of it, then strolled out to the living room.
Zayvion sat at the table, in the same chair I’d been in just moments ago. He was slouched back a little, his long legs stretched out, smiling that shy-boy smile at Nola. He looked comfortable there, at my table, in my home. Sexy.
An electric tingle warmed my stomach. I liked seeing him here, at that table, my table. I like the idea of being with him. But with my dad in my head, Hounds to baby-sit, and secret magic classes to attend, it seemed like the chance for that, for us, was still a long way off.
“Hey.” I tried for bright and cheery, but it came out a little too soft. Like maybe I’d just realized I’d lost something.
