living room. Everything seemed to be exactly as I had left it. I walked in, glanced over the half wall to the kitchen. Nothing in there moved, but that didn’t mean something wasn’t crouched down in the dark.
Davy glided behind me, damn quiet for someone who showed no sign of shutting up just a minute ago. He had that kind of wolflike grace, his young face set in a calm but fierce determination, his body language aware but not tense.
I pointed at the kitchen and Davy walked into it, leaving the lights out.
I snuck into the living room as well as I could. I was beginning to feel more than a little dizzy. I checked the couch, the corners, and down the hall. Nothing. No one out of the ordinary. No Nola on the couch. I wondered if she’d gone into the bedroom.
I switched the light on in the bathroom. Nothing but bathroom. Then I knocked gently on the bedroom door, which would tell whoever was in there that I was out here, but barging in on Nola, spells a-blazin’, didn’t make any sense either. And if something was in there, I didn’t think I had the element of surprise on my side anyway.
Davy came up behind me, a yellow-haired shadow, and put one hand on my shoulder.
Pain rushed through me, hot enough I could hear my blood pounding in my ears.
Holy shit, that hurt. I pressed my lips together and tried not to make a sound. That, apparently, was the shoulder the creature had bitten. Good of Davy to bring that particular pain back to my attention.
But he wasn’t just poking at my wounds. He moved closer so I would have to step out of the way and let him go first.
I glared at him, and he glared right back and held up his right hand. The tips of his thumb and ring finger were touching, the end point of the Hold glyph he’d probably traced. Since I wasn’t pulling magic into my sense of sight, I didn’t actually see the glyph he held.
Right. I’d told him he’d have to take point on this. Best to get out of the kid’s way and try not to faint when the Proxy hit me.
Davy opened the door.
“Nola?” I said quietly.
Someone behind the door put something heavy down. It sounded like the bat I kept under my bed.
“Allie?” Nola pulled the door the rest of the way open and turned on the light while standing in the doorway.
Wearing a rumpled cow T-shirt and a pair of sweats, it was obvious she had just crawled out of bed. Her hair was unbraided, and falling in messy waves around her face.
Her confusion turned into anger at seeing Davy in front of her.
“Sorry,” I said from behind Davy. I was pretty sure I was still behind him anyway. Everything was getting jumpy, the whole room skittering side to side with each pound of my pulse. Just to make sure my head wasn’t going to fall off my shoulders, I leaned it against the wall. The Sheetrock felt cool beneath my cheek. I closed my eyes, and had to fight to open them again.
Did it too. Go, me.
“Thought there might be something. . one. . breaking in.” It came out almost all slur, and I hoped they’d gotten the gist of it because I sure as hell wasn’t going to say it again.
“Nola Robbins,” I heard her say in the brisk matter-of-fact way that made her sound like my mom instead of like my friend who was the same age as me.
“Davy Silvers,” he said. “She got jumped on the street.”
There was some moving around going on, the room switching from the slide step to a bouncy little cha- cha.
“I got you,” Nola said. “Take another step for me, honey. Good.”
That was when I realized that she was talking to me. And it wasn’t the house jumping around, it was me walking, or more likely, being dragged somewhere.
I opened my eyes. When had I closed them?
“Can you get her boots?” Nola asked.
“Yup.” That was Davy.
“Wait,” I said, except it came out all air and nothing else.
“We got you, honey. Now you’re going to lie down.”
I swear the woman shoved me. Nice job, Nola. That push made the whole damn room circle the drain, and I was caught in the vortex.
“The thing,” I tried to say. The beast. The murderer. The gargoyle. The bite on my shoulder. The blood on my chest. The dad in my brain. The disk in the throat. The Veiled. The leeches. The magic not being magic. But none of it came out.
In the distance, Nola and Davy discussed hot water, stitches, and butterflies, all of which seemed strange.
I tried to listen, but their voices faded into the ocean thrum of my heartbeat, and soon that was all I could hear, all I could feel, until silence finally found me.
Chapter Eleven
I didn’t dream of my father. I didn’t dream at all. One second I was falling into a static darkness; the next my eyes were open.
It happened so fast, my heart tripped in my chest and stuttered hard before it caught up again.
“Morning, Sunshine.” Zayvion Jones, that dark Adonis, leaned down above me, his usually calm expression warmed by a smile.
“Mmm,” I managed. My tongue was stuck to the roof of my mouth. There wasn’t any spit left in me. I tried to swallow, felt like I hadn’t drunk in years. And tasted mint. Lots and lots of mint.
I knew the taste of that mint. Zayvion was Grounding the hell outta me. Which must mean I was using magic. While sleeping?
He drew his hand up my bare leg, cupping the back of my calf, up the smooth, warm inner arc of my knee, then over the lean muscle of my thigh, his thumb trailing the inside of my thigh, until he reached, much too soon, the fold of blanket draped over my hips, stomach, and chest.
He pulled the blanket down over my exposed leg, and looked me straight in the eye as he tucked me in, proper as a priest.
“Water?” he asked.
I nodded, which shook my headache loose. I groaned a little.
“Aspirin?” I asked. It came out sounding a lot like
, but Zayvion seemed fluent in mumbleze.
He handed me water and a pill from my bedside table.
I elbowed up (elbows working, check; stomach muscles working, check; heart and lungs still on duty, check; head hurting like a three-day bender, check) and sat against the headboard. My shoulder still hurt like hell. I closed my eyes and took a second to breathe. Zayvion rested his free hand on my thigh and warm, soothing mint washed over me like a blanket of morphine.
Yums. Even though I wasn’t using magic, I felt burned inside, raw. And the Grounding helped.
“Okay.” I opened my eyes, got lost for a soul’s breath in the deep brown and gold of Zayvion’s gaze before he gently let me free by breaking eye contact.
“Water,” he reminded.
I took the water this time and looked at the pill in my palm. Not the white aspirin that I kept in my medicine cabinet. This pill was blue and had a tiny little glyph carved into it. Magic medicine? How did that work? Did they put glass and lead in the pill to contain the magic?
“What is it?” I asked.
“Painkiller. Prescription.”
“The glyph?” I asked.
