Magic in the Shadows - By Devon Monk Page 0,3

got it.” She strolled into my apartment, wheeling the suitcase behind her.

Out of habit, I looked up and down the hall. No one. Not even a shadow on the wall, watching us. I hoped. I wasn’t the only Hound in the city, and Hounds knew how to be quiet when they wanted to be.

I relocked the door.

“Allie,” she said, scanning my overcrowded bookshelves and my undercrowded everything else. “Have you even unpacked since you moved?”

“Pretty much,” I said. “This is all that’s left.” Or at least it was all I could stand having. Whoever broke into my old apartment had not only tossed everything I owned; he or she had left a scent on it. The stink of iron and minerals, like old vitamins, not only kicked up half-remembered pain, but was also a bitch to scrub out of the upholstery.

And underwear. Not that I tried for long. Some things aren’t worth saving.

Nola shook her head. “What am I going to do with you?” She gave me that sisterly smile that made her look ten years older than me, instead of my age. “How are you feeling? Are those bruises on your neck?”

“Good, and no. Not really. It’s . . .” I was going to say nothing, but Nola could see right through my lies. “Well, maybe not fine, but . . . you know.” I waved at her to sit on my ratty couch, which she did, and I sat on one of the chairs by the little round table at the window. “What are you doing here?” I asked again.

“You know I’m trying to get custody of Cody Miller?”

I laced my fingers together and rubbed my thumbs over the marks on my right and left hands. Marks put there in part, I was told, by Cody using me as a conduit for magic. A lot of magic.

“Is that his last name?” I asked.

“Yes. I’m running into a little bit of trouble getting him released. He was put in the state mental health hospital for criminal use of magic—forging signatures with magic.” She shook her head. “He must have been eighteen when that happened. They said he suffered a mental break during his trial and has never been the same. But now it’s been determined he needs to undergo more psychological exams.” She shook her head. “They’ve had him for two years; I don’t know what they haven’t tested by now.”

“Wait, Cody’s twenty?”

“Right.” Nola dug in her purse, pulled out a photo of a young man with delicate, almost fragile features. He was smiling, but his blue, blue eyes held the kind of simple intelligence I’d expect from a child.

“He’s twenty on the outside, but not mentally,” Nola said. “I decided I might be able to talk to some people personally, and find out why he hasn’t been released into my custody yet. I’m hoping to take him home with me in the next few days.”

“Want me to see if I can pull some strings for you?”

“Can you?”

I shrugged. “Maybe. I still haven’t talked much with my dad’s lawyers. But Violet basically told me the fate of Beckstrom Enterprises is mine to decide. And I’m sure Beckstrom Enterprises has string-pulling capabilities.” I grinned. “Power in the palm of my hand. Pretty cool, huh?”

“Mmm,” she agreed. “How are you doing with that?”

I opened my mouth to say I was fine, I could handle it, it was no big deal. But there was something about Nola that negated my bullshit ability. I’d never been able to lie to her, so I didn’t even try.

“I’m worried. I’m not sure what I should do. Violet has done a really good job running the business since his, uh . . . death. She’s still working on developing magic-technology integrations. She . . . she has reasons to keep things running.”

I didn’t tell her Violet was pregnant with the child of my powerful and not-nearly-dead-enough father. My one and only sibling. Violet said Dad didn’t know about the baby before he died. I didn’t know whether he’d hear me if I said it out loud. The idea of having to deal with his ghostly fit when he found out sounded like a joy I wanted to save for later.

The flutter started up in the back of my head and I rubbed my forehead until it stopped.

“Allie?” Nola asked.

“I’m fine. My head still feels weird after everything.”

“Pike?” she asked.

I nodded. And before her concern could turn to pity, I said, “I don’t have the training to