That wasn’t good.

“Are we going or not?” Davy asked.

“We’re going.” I pulled out into traffic and headed toward the hospital. Davy scowled out the window.

“Why aren’t I driving my own car?” he asked.

“You’re sick.”

“And you’re bleeding.”

I wiped at my forehead. The blood had slowed. “Okay, try this. Because I said so.”

He rolled his tongue around in his mouth and made a sour face. “Got any gum? Mints?”

“No. You going to hark again?”

He shook his head. “Mouth tastes like the bottom of my shoe.”

I didn’t ask him how he knew that particular flavor.

“Storm, huh?”

“What?” I merged across traffic, putting a little gas into it. Davy’s car had good response, and I remembered how much I liked driving. Maybe it was time to get my own car.

“You told Detective Stotts you think a wild storm is coming.”

“I thought you were puking.”

“Not with my ears,” he said. “So?”

“So what? I do. I think a wild storm might hit us. Just because they’re rare doesn’t mean they’re unheard of.”

“True,” he said. “But there’s a reason they’re called wild.”

“Right. Because the magic in them is wild, unpredictable.”

“No, because they hit without warning. Without any sort of hint, sometimes out of a clear blue sky.”

I glanced over at him. “Where did you hear that?”

“Everywhere. Everyone knows that.”

“Well, everyone is wrong. Wild storms can be quantified. Maybe not accurately predicted, but there are indicators. You learn this in college.” I gave him a hard look that didn’t work. I’d never asked him if he’d gone to college or, for that matter, if he was old enough to go to college. And honestly, even if he had, magic was not a required course. He could have a degree in Wiffle ball for all I knew.

“So you do storm quantifying in your spare time?” he asked.

“I don’t have to quantify them,” I said. “I have a gut feeling, like I also said back there. I know there’s a storm coming. I can feel it in my bones. Hounds are like that. We’re geared to sniff out things other people can’t sense.”

He shut up, and it took me a second to figure out why. Oh, right, he had been feeling the pain from other Hounds.

“Have you talked to your doctor?” I asked.

“About what?”

“About the aftereffects you’re still suffering from your injuries.”

We were almost at the hospital now, the winding twists up the hill between forest and jogging paths emptying out into a maze of twenty-story buildings and parking centers that gave off a little bit of vertigo, even though they were nestled back into the hill around them.

This late at night, the lights of Portland and the river below spread out between the trees like diamonds against velvet.

“It’s not like that,” he finally said. “Not a pain that medicine can fix.”

“And you know for sure it’s only when Hounds are hurt?”

He shrugged one shoulder.

“That’s not an answer.”

“Then what answer will make you get off my back?”

“The real one.”

“Fine. I know it’s only when Hounds are hurt.”

“Can you tell which Hound is hurting?”

“Usually. I just . . . I just know. It’s like their scent, their blood and pain, is imprinted in my head.” He rubbed his face with his left hand. “I can tell when you’re hurt too.”

“Really? Right now?”

“No. It fades. I felt it when you got hit by magic back there. I don’t feel it now. Are you still hurting?”

“Not much.” I eased the car into the underground parking structure. “Is it only pain brought on by magic?”

That gave him pause. “I don’t know. I haven’t told anyone else about it, to, like, test it.”

“Well, I’m not going to slam my hand in the door or anything.” I found a parking spot—there were plenty open this time of night—and turned off the engine. “Did you tell Stotts the truth about that spell? You weren’t just making it up?”

He exhaled a short breath. “That’s the last time I try to do you a favor. Yes, of course I told the officer of the law the truth. Whoever cast that spell deserves to get slapped with a ticket or get thrown back into casting basics 101. That was weird magic.”

“Just checking.”

“What? That I know how to do my job?”

“That you’re okay. Magic can do more than just mess with your body. It can mess with your head too.” I meant it to come out nice. No luck. It sounded condescending.

Great.

Davy opened the door and got out of the car. “You can go to hell.” He slammed the door shut.

I took a deep breath and rubbed at my eyes. That was stupid. But I didn’t know what else I could tell him without putting him in danger of losing his memories.

And frankly, magic did mess with your mind. It took away my memories. I was pretty sure it had changed Davy in some way. Blood magic, in particular, left scars. I knew that because I had them.

Which made me worry about the other things magic might be doing to him, and doing to me. That flare of magic in the park had left me feeling a little shaky inside.

If magic was acting strange, something both Davy and I had felt on the way to the park, and if magic was draining the wells, then what did that mean for me? I carried magic inside me. How much magic was going to get sucked out of me?

I didn’t know. But what I did know was I had been stupid to talk to Davy like that. And I needed to mop up the mess I’d made of our friendship.

I got out, locked the doors, and dialed Zay again while heading after Davy. I wanted to tell Zayvion a gate had been opened, and that I’d caught a whiff of Greyson at the park.

Davy stormed toward the elevators in the middle of the parking structure. There was no way I’d get in that tiny tin can on pulleys.

The phone rang in my ear, but Zay still didn’t pick up.

Yes, that was beginning to worry me.

“Davy. Wait.” I picked it up to a jog, and was happy to feel my body respond. After too many months of magic kicking my ass, all the workouts and training were finally giving me my strength back.

Davy did not wait. He punched the elevator button, his back to me.

The doors opened just as I reached him. I hung up the phone.

One look inside that wooden interior and all I could think of was nails in a lid. My palms broke out in a sweat and my stomach clenched. I couldn’t stop myself from taking a step back.

Davy walked in, turned around, and gave me a flat stare.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. It was a stupid thing to say. See you inside.” It came out in one big nervous rush. Just looking at the elevator, with the added bonus of the parking structure’s ceiling feeling like it was pressing down on my shoulders, was giving me the willies.

He didn’t say anything. The doors closed and I shook my hands out, trying not to give in to the urge to shriek a little.

The faster I got into the hospital, the faster I got out of this crowded space.

I strode down the concrete ramp, and back up again, taking the route a car would take to get out of the parking deck. That put me on ground level pretty quickly. I saw a bus coming from farther up the hill, and made it across the street to the glass entry doors of the hospital. Unfortunately, the magic-trauma unit was on the thirteenth floor. I might be able to avoid the elevators in the parkade, but walking up thirteen flights of stairs seemed ridiculous, even to me. I knew I’d have to take the elevators. I hated that.

Davy was probably already on the skywalk four floors above me. Probably almost at reception to find out which room they’d put Bea in.

I wiped my sleeve over my face, dabbing away any blood that might be there. The cut had stopped bleeding, which was something at least, but my face still felt tight.

I made my way down the tile hallway, and past a few unmanned desks, carpeted waiting areas to my right and left edging the tile like manicured lawns, flat-screen TVs showing parks, waterfalls, and wildlife.

It was quiet tonight. I passed only two people, a man in scrubs and a woman with a backpack who looked like she hadn’t slept for a few weeks.

I turned the corner to the elevators and pushed the button. While I waited for my own personal hell to creak to a stop, I recited my mantra to calm my mind. I took several deep breaths. Pretty soon, the floor swung a little under my feet. Right, hyperventilating did not equal calming breaths.

The bell pinged and the elevator door slid open. I could do this. I could step into that tiny space that didn’t feel big enough for my legs, my chest, my lungs. I could duck down and not have the ceiling hit me, hold my breath, and squeeze in there between the walls, scraping my shoulders on either side.

Sweet hells, I hated this. I bit my bottom lip, and forced—and I mean literally forced—my foot to take a step forward. That got me two steps; then I closed my eyes, held my breath, and took the third.

I turned around, punched the button for floor thirteen, and positioned myself in the exact center of the elevator. I stretched my arms out to either side, so I could hold back the walls when they started closing in.

They started closing in on the seventh floor. Good thing the elevator was fast.

I was sweating by the time the bell dinged again. It felt like an eternity before the doors slid open. And I was there, pressed up against them, my hands out in front of me. As soon as the door started to open, I stuck my hands in it, pushing it wider, and stepped out, escaping.

I hated elevators.

I took a right and strode down the hall, not knowing where I was going, but needing to be a hell of a long way away from that damn elevator. I took the hall as far as it would go, until a set of double doors that were marked AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY showed up in front of me.

I stood there, breathing hard and sweating. Okay, I needed to pull myself together. It was just a (shudder) elevator. I could handle it. I could kick that elevator’s gears into next year, if I had to.

I took a minute to calm the race between my heart and my head, then walked back the way I came, looking for the signs that would take me to the magical-trauma area.

Past the elevators, the only sound on this floor was my boots on tile, and the squeaky wheel of a custodian pushing a cleaning cart toward the elevators. It was a little weird that I hadn’t run into Davy yet. I guess he made good time. I just hoped he hadn’t passed out on the way up here. Anger aside, he hadn’t been looking all that good.

I spotted a sign, and took another right. This hallway was beige and tea brown, the textures in the paint subtle glyphs, mostly blocking and guarding spells that would activate with a flick of magic. Also a lot of glyphs set up for absorption. It made sense, I guess, to cover all the bases on what kinds of problems could happen here. After all, all the patients in this section either came in with a wound inflicted by magic or still had the magic clinging to them.

Down at the end of this hall, with a decent view of the window and roof of the building below us, was a reception desk. A tiny elderly woman sat behind it. She wore a hat that looked like someone had gutted a Muppet, then used it to knit a cap. Way too many blue feathers, and I’m talking neon and fuzzy, with a big pink flower appliqué over one ear.

“Hello,” she said. “May I help you, dear?”

I couldn’t help it. I smiled. “I’m here to see Beatrice Lufkin? I think she was brought in an hour or so ago?”

“Let me see, now. Beatrice, you say?”

“I say,” I agreed.

She tipped her head and looked down her nose, even through she wasn’t wearing glasses.

“Oh, it’s good you made it just in time.”

“Just in time? Are they doing something to her?” Maybe Bea was worse off than Stotts had said.

“No, dear. She’ll be going home soon. Her friend, a Mr. Quinn, is here to take her home.”

“Can I see her?”

“It would be better if you waited. She’ll be out soon. Go ahead, now, have a seat.”

I tasted the slightest hint of honey on her words and suddenly wanted to sit down. Influence. Not strong, just enough to make me want to calm down. Even an old gal like her used magic.

It wasn’t a strong push, so I just paced next to the chairs instead and dialed Zayvion.

I didn’t have time to wait for him to pick up the phone. The doors clicked and I turned to see Jack Quinn pushing Bea, who was in a wheelchair. Jack looked like he always looked. A little like leather that had been left out to dry.

Bea, however, looked like she’d been rolled by a tank. She had a bruise over both eyes, and her lips were swollen. Her normally perky smile was gone, though her lips twitched up at the corner when she saw me.

“Hey.” I closed the distance between us. “How are you doing?”

“Peachy.” It came out a little slurred and I raised my eyebrows. I also found out the eyebrow on the left hurt.

“Pain meds,” Jack said. “The good stuff.”

Bea nodded, her eyes not quite tracking. “Nice to see you, Al,” she said. “I miss a meeting?”

“No, you were out in the park tonight.”

“Yeah?” she said.

“Do you remember that?”

“Not really. Downtown?”

“Yes. What happened?”

She licked her swollen bottom lip and lifted her hand to push back her wild curls, the wristband ID bracelet catching her hair. She didn’t seem to notice. “I got a job. Last-minute contact. Was supposed to meet him there to get the specifics.”

She paused. No more than that—she looked like that was all she was going to say.

“Did he show up?”

She frowned. “I don’t remember.”

Jack just gave me a look that said this was pretty much all he’d been able to get out of her.

“Did you cast magic?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Do you remember any other spell being cast?”

She shook her head.

“Do you remember being hurt?”

Again with the headshake. “I just—I don’t know, Allie. I was there, and now I’m here. And all bruised up, you know?”

“Are you sure the doctors said you can go home?”

She held up a piece of paper. “Right here. I just want a shower and sleep. I think . . . Jack, are you taking me home?”

“Brought my car. Unless you want me to try to strong-arm the ambulance into a little door-to-door service.”

She tried to smile, but didn’t quite make it.

“You got any other questions, Detective Beckstrom?” Jack asked.

“Lots. Have the police talked to her yet?”

“No. But all her contact information is on her file. If they want to find her, they will.”

We started toward the elevators. “You going to stay with her?”

“Thought I should. Unless you want me to call someone else?”

“No, it’s fine. If you want to use the warehouse, it’s open.”

“I got that, thanks.”

We made it to the elevator. Another question was scratching at the back of my head. “Jack, what were you doing in the park?”

“Didn’t say I was in the park.”

“So how’d you hook up with Bea?”

“Was downtown. On my own time, not a job. Saw the magic flare. Got curious.”

“You saw what happened?”

“Not really. Saw a magic fire. Thought I’d check it out. Then there was Bea all banged up on the ground. Called 911. Got ahold of the ambulance and cops.”

I studied his expression. Did I trust Jack? As much as I trusted any Hound. Which meant I expected him to have a highly developed sense of self-preservation and a somewhat stunted sense of morals and charitable leanings. Still, it seemed like he and Bea might have become friends over the last couple months. And who knew? Maybe they were more than friends.

But there was always the possibility that Jack hadn’t just been innocently downtown doing nothing at the same time as Bea was hurt.

“Is that it?” I asked.

“You have a suspicious mind, Beckstrom,” Jack said. “That look on your face. Anyone tell you that?”

“Daily.”

“I don’t want to rain on your neurosis or anything, but it was chance that had me in the same area as her. And if it’d been another Hound down, I’d be right here, doing the same damn thing. So stop trying to shove the black hat on my head, right?”

The elevator pinged and Bea jerked. “Oh,” she said. “Scared the crap out of me.”

Jack guided her chair into the elevator, pivoting it so that she was facing the doors.

“I’ll call later to check in on her,” I said.

“You’re not her mother, Beckstrom. Get over yourself.”

The door closed and the last thing I saw was Bea’s eyes, a little too wide, her mouth open as if she’d just remembered something to be frightened about, and Jack’s hard glare, his hand caught tightly on her shoulder.

Shit.

Why did I suddenly think I’d just handed Bea over to the wolves?

No, that was just me being jumpy. Jack had worked for Stotts once or twice in the past, and he’d shadowed several Hounds, and no one had complained. I was just overreacting, too keyed up. Bea would be fine.

And I’d call in an hour or two just to make sure, or maybe I’d send someone else over to her place to make sure everything really was on the up-and-up. What I couldn’t figure out was where Davy had gone.

“Excuse me,” I said to the receptionist.

Muppet-skin-hat-magic lady smiled. “Yes?”

“Have you seen anyone else come in? A young man, blondish hair, T-shirt, jean jacket.”

“No. No one at all.”

“Thank you.”

So no Davy. That meant either he was passed out somewhere, or he’d ditched me.

“Do you need to see a doctor?” she asked.

“What? No. I’m fine.”

She was still smiling, but pointedly gazed at the burnt half of my face.

That. Right. I walked to one of the windows and checked my foggy reflection. Still had all my hair. My skin was a little darker on the left—the burn—but I’d done a pretty good job blotting the blood off my face. It hurt, but no more than a sunburn.

And yet, I looked just dandy.

I pulled out my cell and called Davy. After eight rings he still hadn’t answered.

What was it with my phone tonight?

Okay, there were other ways to find people in this town. The easy way would be to cast a searching spell and see if I couldn’t Hound him down. But the hospital had a sign placed every five feet down the hall stating magic was not allowed inside the hospital.

Yeah, tell that to Muppet granny.

I didn’t want to be responsible for screwing up someone’s life-support system, or clashing with a surgery, so I’d just take it outside.

Magic. Kind of like smoking. Only in the approved areas.

“Are there stairs?” I asked as I pocketed my cell.

“All the way down the hall, to the left and to the left again. But the elevators are much faster.”

“That’s okay. I need the walk.”

I took the hall fast, not jogging, but putting my legs to good use. Left and left. I straight-armed the door leading down and got ready for my thighs to start burning.

Three flights down and still going strong, my phone rang.

Finally.

“Yes?”

“Allie, where are you?” It was Zay, and he sounded worried.

“At the hospital. Bea was hurt. I Hounded for Stotts. Davy was with me. Didn’t Shame tell you any of this?”

“Is Davy still with you?”

“No. Why?”

“You’re alone?”

“Yes.”

“Can you get around people, a crowd?”

“Zay, it’s midnight at the hospital. There is no crowd. Especially not in the stairwell. What’s wrong?”

“Get somewhere public. Get off at the next floor and tell me where you are.”

“That bad?”

“Greyson is gone.”