It wasn’t much, but, hey, any silver lining in a head full of clouds.

Jack was probably on the sidewalk somewhere, or the street, watching me. I just stood there for a second thinking things through. I couldn’t talk to Terric until he got away from the crowds. Violet didn’t want to listen to me. Kevin said he’d talk to me later.

So who did that leave?

I could go try to find Victor or Maeve.

Or Shame. He had to be spitting mad about his mom.

Unless he’d been Closed and Bartholomew was just lying to me.

I started walking, my hands in my pockets. No, Terric would know if Shame had been Closed—they were tied tight both from being Soul Complements and whatever that crystal in Shame’s chest had done to bring them closer. Terric would sense it if Shame had had part of his memories removed.

So where was Zayvion during all this?

Maybe keeping Shame from trying to kill someone?

I pulled out my phone, dialed Zay’s number. It rang. No one picked up. That was odd, but not unheard of. I’d seen him turn his phone off before.

Okay, Shame. I dialed. It went straight to voice mail. So not helpful.

“Want a ride?” a familiar voice asked.

I looked over. Jack was leaning against the corner of the building.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“Wherever you are.”

He put his cell phone in his pocket and started walking up the street away from me. I caught up to him.

“So, how’d the meeting go?” he asked.

“We are not going to speak about it.”

“That so?”

“It’s confidential, Jack. The kind of confidential that costs lives.”

He smiled. “Still think we can’t handle your big problems, don’t you? There’s nothing you can get mixed up in that I haven’t seen, Beckstrom.”

“I’m just quirky that way,” I said. Let him think it wasn’t a big deal. So long as he didn’t get too involved in my business and the Authority, he might live long enough to keep that I’ve-seen-everything talk going.

His car was down a side street. We waited for a break in traffic to cross the road.

A flash of green caught my eye. At first I thought it was a reflection of traffic in the store window across the street, but then I saw it again, a little more to the left of the window.

A woman stood there. She was coughing, her arm curved over her mouth to keep from spreading germs. With each cough, sparks of green flecked around her, like maybe a dozen bees wove through the air.

And then I saw the hazy watercolor form of a Veiled pulling itself up and out of her, like someone trying to shed a tight coat. First the chest, then the head, then finally, the arms and legs, hands and feet. All the while the woman coughed.

When the Veiled stepped fully out of her, it seemed solid, or at least more solid than it should be. The woman clutched at her chest, and bent over, taking in huge deep breaths. The Veiled started walking down the street.

“Do you see that?” I asked.

Jack scanned the street. “What?”

“The . . . that . . . hells.” If he could have seen it, his reaction wouldn’t have been “what?”—it would have been “what the fuck?”

“Tell that woman”—I pointed—“I need to talk to her.”

I jogged across the street, headed for the Veiled. I managed not to get hit, though three cars laid on the horns and brakes.

The woman was going in the opposite direction from the Veiled. Even without Sight, I could see it—him—walking down the street. It moved a little faster than a normal walk, as if each step were on ice, gliding it forward more than a normal step would. He did not look back at me, did not seem bothered by the people around him.

I calmed my thoughts and set a Disbursement. I wanted to stop him, and find out if he was solid like the Veiled whom Leander had commanded, or if he was something else. Any kind of Veiled could be dangerous. I wasn’t going to take any chances of facing one down alone, nor was I going to let him walk the city and hurt someone.

I drew the glyph for Hold, easy, basic, should work, even at a distance, even on a Veiled. Then I drew the magic from beneath the ground. It was hot, painful, burning, licking. I gasped, froze in my tracks. My vision clouded, the edges buzzing with black, closing down. I couldn’t see the Veiled anymore. Couldn’t see the buildings around me.

Allie, my dad said. Don’t!

And then I was pretty sure I didn’t. Because I passed out.

I woke up staring at an elderly woman’s face. She had the most amazing manicure, with little bunnies painted onto the space of each peach-lacquered fingernail. Spring colors, I supposed, all wrapped around her tiny bright green cell phone. She was talking on the cell, answering a lot of yes and no questions, and giving a street address.

Strange.

“Oh, she’s awake now. Are you all right?” she asked.

What I was, was lying on the sidewalk, a handful of people gathered around looking down at me. There was something soft under my head that shushed like a nylon jacket when I nodded.

“I’m good. I’m fine.” I worked on sitting and all the faces blurred a bit, then settled back into focus.

“You really shouldn’t move,” the nice lady said.

“No, I’m fine.” I touched the back of my head. It was bleeding. “Seizures,” I lied. “I’ll be fine.”

One of the men in the crowd suffered a sudden attack of chivalry and helped me up onto my feet. The lady on the phone told whoever was on the other line, 911 I’d guess, that I was fine, mobile, and didn’t need an ambulance.

Which was all good and well, but didn’t change the fact that I’d totally lost track of the Veiled. What had hit me?

Magic, Dad said. You channeled it, and it knocked you out.

Okay. That wasn’t good. What had I been pulling on magic for? I’d been following the Veiled, right? I looked around and didn’t see him. What I did see was magic— spells hung on the sides of buildings, personal spells clinging like ribbony spiderwebs around people. Soft neon-colored glyphs, jagged, flowing, pulsing with magic. Rigid Refresh spells in deep golds, silver, and copper attached to walls, street meters, cars, as if they were riveted there. I should not be able to see magic without casting Sight. I should not be seeing it right now at all.

Am I using magic? I asked my dad.

He did a strange sidestep thing in my head, paused for a moment, then said, No.

Can you see what I see? I asked.

A different sort of sidestep, and then I felt his presence next to me, as if he were standing over my shoulder and leaning down to say something in my ear.

I know that. Maybe a side effect from hitting my head? I tentatively probed the back of my head with my fingers. My hair felt like a bloody, tangled mess. There was a knuckle-sized lump there, and everything around it hurt. Yuck. I needed to have someone look at it. Maybe see a doctor. At least take a pain pill.

I think a doctor is a very good idea, Dad said in a calm, encouraging tone.

Why are you being so helpful? I asked.

True. But I didn’t want to see a doctor. I wanted to go find that Veiled, or maybe get a cab and go home and take a nap.

I looked around for Jack. He was striding my way, no spells clinging to him, though a sort of dark shadow surrounded him, like someone had outlined his entire body in charcoal.

“Come this way,” he said. And then he did something Hounds simply do not do. He touched me. He took my arm and led me away from the last few people who had lingered to see if I was okay, and walked with me briskly down the block and across the street.

“You okay?” he asked, still not letting go of my arm.

“Hit my head. It’s bleeding.”

We were across the street now and Jack’s car was there. “Get in.”

He let go of me and walked around to the driver’s side of the car. I pulled on the door handle and happened to glance at my arm. A black charcoal stain covered my arm in a handprint-sized area. The same charcoal that had been surrounding Jack.

I knew Hounds didn’t like touching people because Hounds didn’t like leaving their scent on someone to track them by. But this was more than scent. Wasn’t it?

I got in the car and sniffed my sleeve. It smelled like whiskey and smoke—Jack’s smells—but only faintly. I rubbed at my sleeve to see if I could wipe the charcoal mark off. No luck. But that mark didn’t cling to my fingertips or otherwise smear or travel.

It didn’t seem tangible. It seemed more like magic. Or the residue of magic that had been on his hands.

“Did you cast magic on me?” I asked. I looked over at Jack.

He was watching me like someone watches a wild animal. With extreme caution. “No. Let me see your head, all right?”

I turned my head and tucked my chin. “Right on the crown,” I said. “But you might want gloves. I think I’m still bleeding.”

I heard a click of a flashlight button depressing, and then he moved my hair out of the way with something that was not his fingers. A comb maybe.

“Looks to be just a lump and a cut. Not too deep. Not worth stitches, I don’t think. But it is not bleeding, it’s gushing.” The flashlight clicked again and Jack unzipped his jacket pocket. “Here, press this on it.”

I turned back around and took the clean dark blue handkerchief he offered me and pressed it to the back of my head.

“Where to next?” he asked. “Hospital?”

I thought about it. Bed sounded good. But I needed to find Shame. Terric had asked me to, and I didn’t know if that meant Shame was hurt or needed help.

“Let me call someone,” I said. I pulled out my phone, dialed.

“What?” Shame asked. Oh, he was not happy. Not happy at all.

“Where are you?”

“Home. Why, Bartholomew sending you out to drag me in?”

“No. I need to see you. For my own reasons.”

“Fine.” He hung up.

Well, he was in a cheery mood. “Can you take me out to Maeve Flynn’s inn?” I asked.

Jack started the car and pulled out into traffic. “You want to tell me why your head’s bleeding?”

“Did you find that woman?”

“Yes. But she refused to wait until my unconscious friend could talk to her.”

Nice. Sarcasm. The perfect side order with my headache. “Did you get her name?”

“No. But I could find her if I had to.”

Hounds. Loved their attention to detail.

“Your head?” he asked.

“I passed out.”

“Why?”

“I used magic and it kicked my butt.”

“Did you set a Disbursement?”

“Yes. I did everything the way I normally cast magic. And I blacked out.”

“What were you casting? Why were you casting it?”

“I could tell you it’s none of your business.”

“You could.” He didn’t say anything else.

“Do you see anything strange about the city?”

He chuckled. “You’re going to have to be a hell of a lot more specific.”

“Do you see magic?”

“The results, the effects, yes. Illusions, that sort of thing.”

“No. I mean, can you see the spells? Right now, without Sight, can you see . . .” I glanced at the road we were traveling down, noted a big fat Attraction spell hugging a storefront. “Can you see that Attraction over there? How it’s sort of gray blue with sparks of gold at the center?”

He looked. Looked at me, then looked back at the store. “No.”

I didn’t say anything. Then he said, “Can you?”

I nodded, which hurt my head, but didn’t change the fact that I could still see magic.

“Have you always seen magic like this?” he asked.

“Not without Sight.”

“Want to go back over what kind of magic you were casting before you hit your head and why?” he asked.

“Want to risk having my words pulled, painfully, out of your brain by people who don’t want you to know this stuff?”

“Those people in the car with us?”

“Not as far as I know.”

“Then talk,” he said.

“I was casting a Hold.”

“At who?”

“Do you believe in ghosts?”

“What, like Davy talking to Pike?”

“Sure,” I said, looking over at him and trying to get a read on whether he believed. “Like that.”

“Davy thinks he saw him,” Jack said. “Heard him. More than once. I wouldn’t believe in ghosts unless I saw them with my own eyes.”

“Then you won’t believe what I’m saying, but I saw a ghost step out of that woman I told you to follow.”

“Like in the alley with Davy?”

“Yes.”

He drove for a bit, silent.

“Why Hold?” he finally asked.

“I wanted to stop it so I could get a better look.”

“Does magic work on ghosts?”

“Not always. Sometimes.”

“And a ghost stepping out of someone is unusual behavior?” he asked.

See, this was what I liked about Hounds. They could take the impossible, the improbable, the outrageous, bend their minds enough to entertain an acceptance of the possibility, and then ask what the indicators, habits, and behaviors of the thing were—all necessary bits of information for having to track something down, or track a spell back to it.

“She was coughing,” I said. “And then the ghost stepped out of her and went walking down the street.”

“Why worry about a ghost?”

“I thought it might use magic.”

He laughed. “You really did hit your head.”

“I thought it might use magic before I hit my head.”

He glanced over at me with the smile still on his face. “You’re serious?”

“Very.”

He just shook his head and watched the road. “I knew you were crazy, Beckstrom, but I didn’t think you were certifiable.”

“I don’t care if you believe me, Jack,” I said closing my eyes. “As a matter of fact, I don’t recommend it. For your own good.”

“So ghosts can use magic,” he finally said.

“Some of them.”

Jack just made a hm sound, thinking about that.

I didn’t fall asleep during the drive. My head hurt too much for me to rest. But I kept my eyes closed. Seeing all the spells, seeing that much magic covering everything, running like leaves tiptoeing over power lines, snaking up buildings, wrapping like rope around people, plants, cars, made me a little sick to my stomach.

Well, that or the fact that I was very likely concussed.

Pretty soon I heard the hum of the tires over the bridge, and not long after that the access road and gravel of Maeve’s parking lot.

“Allie?”

I opened my eyes.

“Looks like the inn’s still closed,” he said.

“It probably is. But I’m here to see Maeve, not to get a cup of coffee. Thanks, Jack. See you.”

“Not letting you in there alone,” he said.

I dug in my pocket. I had two twenties and a ten on me. “Fifty bucks, and you stay out here instead of following me into my friend’s house and getting in the way of my personal conversation.”

He nodded and took the money. “Done.”

I got out of the car and winced at the pounding in my head. The wind felt a lot colder here by the water. I walked to the front door. It was strange to see the porch light off, and the sign turned to CLOSED. Next to the sign a piece of paper said the restaurant and inn was going through renovations and would be open in a month.

I guess renovations sounded better than saying that the Veiled tried to kill us here and we had to lock the place down so they couldn’t get to the magic well beneath the inn that no one knew about.

I tried the door. It didn’t open. So I rang the doorbell. Nothing for a bit. Jack was still in his car, the engine idling. I folded my arms over my chest, and really wished I’d asked Jack if he had an aspirin, or maybe a few cc’s of morphine stashed in his glove box.

Finally, I heard the muted tread of footsteps approaching the door.

I did not expect to see Hayden looking through the high glass.

The locks clacked, and I got a whiff of the fresh-cut-grass smell of a Ward being canceled. Then he opened the door.

“Allie.”

Hayden was tall, a good six or more inches over my six feet. He was also wide-shouldered and had that Northwestern lumberjack look. Magic flickered black and red around him, in thick bands that crisscrossed his chest, then split to wrap down his arms like bracers, and finally pooled in his hands.

He’d come down from Alaska to help the Authority after my dad died, and had rekindled a relationship with Shame’s mom, Maeve.

“Hey. Is Shame here?”

He looked out past me at Jack’s car.

“The Hounds won’t let me go anywhere alone,” I said. “I paid him to sit out here so I could have some privacy.”

“Anyone else with you?”

“No. Well, you know, my dad.” I lifted my hand and pointed at my head.

His eyes narrowed suddenly. “Come on in,” he said. He stepped aside and I stepped in. It was only when I lowered my hand that I realized my fingers were covered in blood.

“Where are you hurt?” he asked.

“I passed out and hit the back of my head. It’s just a bump and a cut. And a headache and a dizzy.”

“I’ll get Maeve.” He started across the room to the side of the inn that led to her home.

“No, that’s okay. I just came to check on Shame.”

“Not listening,” Hayden said. “Have a seat. Pour yourself a drink.”

And then the door closed behind him and all the polite yelling in the world wouldn’t have done me any good.

I looked around the room. It didn’t appear that we’d had a life-or-death magic battle here. The burnt walls and ceiling were repaired, the tables all solid, each with a folded white tablecloth in the center of it, chairs pulled up tight as if any minute Maeve’s employees would come in and set things up for hungry patrons.

But even though the room looked normal, the smells that I associated with the place were gone. No deep, buttery scents of bread and pastries, no heavy onion and meat and herb aromas, no sweet pies, coffee, wines. The inn felt like a hollow shell of itself, as if it too were a ghost of what it had once been.

“What are you doing here?”

I turned. Shame was standing in the hallway opposite to where Hayden had exited. I knew that behind Shame were meeting rooms, rooms I had trained in when I was first learning the different disciplines of magic, and stairs that led up to lodging where Zayvion had recovered from his coma, and down those same stairs eventually, to the Blood magic well.

Shame was a slice of darkness against the shadows behind him, only his pale, pale face catching any light. Magic surrounded him, just like it surrounded the door, and, now I noticed, faintly strung across the doorway he stood within.

The magic around Shame wasn’t a charcoal outline like it was around Jack or black and red bands like around Hayden. It was moving, a constantly drifting stream, like sunset-colored smoke lifting up off things—off living things: the plant in the corner, and farther away, off the plants outside the windows, streaming a faded fire into him, into the crystal embedded in his chest.

But that crystal wasn’t just sucking in life energy. It was also consuming Shame. I could see it radiating outward, a soft pink glow, chewing away at the hard, clean blackness of him, leaving behind nothing but his bones.

Holy shit. The crystal was eating him alive. No wonder he’d been so frail since Mikhail had possessed him. Whatever Mikhail had cast on that crystal to allow him to use Shame’s body must have changed it.

I suddenly realized Shame was dying.

“I’m . . . Shame . . . God. I really need to talk to you.” It came out stilted, breathy. I felt like someone had just knocked all the air out of my lungs. I didn’t want Shame to die. I was losing everyone. Everyone I loved. But all I could do was stand there, frozen, as everyone died around me.

Shame tipped his head down, his bangs falling to cover his eyes. “What?”

I shook my head. “I don’t want to lose you.”

Shame held his breath and was very, very still. “Who sent you?”

“No one. Nobody. Well, Terric . . .”

“Fuck him. Did he tell you to take me back to him? Like a dog to beg for Bartholomew’s favor?”

“What? No. He was worried—”

“Turn around and leave, Allie. And when you and Terric and Bartholomew all get together to decide just how to put me down, tell them I will be more than happy to show them just how good of a Death magic user I really am.”

Okay, something about this conversation had gone terribly wrong. Between the head wound and the emotional shock of knowing Maeve had been Closed, Victor had been Closed, Violet was in danger, and Davy and Shame might both be dying, I just could not track why Shame was so angry at me.

He thinks you’re working for Bartholomew, Dad said, being helpful again. He thinks you’re here to haul him in to Bartholomew. Which probably means he is not on speaking terms with Bartholomew, or that he is not doing what Bartholomew wants him to be doing.

“Shame, listen. I don’t give a damn what Bartholomew wants. I don’t think I like him and I’m damn sure I don’t like how he’s running the Authority right now. I came here to see if you’re okay, to see if your mom’s okay. And to get a bandage for my head.”

I walked over to the nearest chair and sat down because my legs were starting to shake. Yes, my back was toward the door, but right now I wasn’t going to be much good in a fight if a fight came through that door. Right now I needed an aspirin. Or maybe just a nice skip down Unconsciousness Lane.

Shame walked out of the shadows and into the room.

Boy was too damn thin. The black peacoat Terric had loaned him looked too big on him, and his cheekbones cut a hard line, his cheeks hollowed into shadows. His eyes were green, rimmed by black.

He moved like he wasn’t in pain—I couldn’t tell whether that was true—but even that small acknowledgment of health made me feel better.

“What did you do to your head?” he asked.

“I was Hounding a Veiled and I passed out and hit my head on the sidewalk.” I felt like I’d said that story so many times that the reality of that statement didn’t even bother me anymore.

“That’s not like you.” He had stopped across the table, and rested his hands, in black fingerless gloves, on top of the chair back. He wasn’t coming closer to me. He wasn’t sitting down. Shame was being cautious. Distrustful.

Well, he was always those things. He was just being more so than usual.

“Magic isn’t working right for me, Shame,” I said. “Every time I use it, I get sick. Or pass out.”

He studied me a second. “Have you seen Bartholomew?”

“Just that once when he had Melissa work those Truth spells. Well, and today in the meeting where he reassigned the Authority Voice positions.”

“Did he now? How efficient of him.” Shame smiled. I’d never see so much hatred.

I suddenly wondered if maybe I should be doing a little judicious mistrusting myself. Shame was not acting like Shame.

“Do tell,” he said sweetly.

“Sit down,” I said. “I’m tired of looking up at you. The lights are killing me.”

“Did you really hit your head?”

I held up my bloody hand. “Yes.”

“For Christ’s sake, Allie, why didn’t you say you were bleeding?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because I hit my head?”

That got a tight smile out of him. “You take any meds?”

“No. Jack gave me this.” I put the bloody cloth on the table. “I swear, if this room doesn’t stop spinning, I’m going to puke.”

I pressed my right hand—then thought better of it since it was hot and painful and pressed my left hand against my forehead. At least my left hand was cool. I shifted so that my fingers were over my eyes. And just sat there for a minute, eyes closed, no magic to see, no spinning room to see, no dying angry Shame to see.

“Here, love,” Shame said from right next to me. “A drink will do you good.”

“Can’t.”

“It’s water.”

I opened my eyes, squinted against the light. Shame sat in the chair next to me. I hadn’t even heard him move. Had I fallen asleep? “I don’t remember you moving,” I said.

“You hit your head. Mum’s on the way. I was being a dick. Now you’re all caught up. Here’s the water. Here’s the pain pills. Shut up and take both.”

I took the water, sipped. Cool, clean. I felt like I hadn’t drunk anything in days. Shame dropped the pain pills, two, in my hand. I did what I always did when I was hurting and someone gave me medicine. I took a good hard look at it.

“Codeine,” Shame said. “I thought about giving you the ones Dr. Fisher usually prescribes for magical injuries, but you hit your head—even the most unmag-ical idiot can do that—and you told me magic was making you sick.” He leaned back in his chair. “Those are straight up chemicals with no magical contamination.”

I hadn’t even thought about that. If magic was making me sick and I took a pill laced with magic, I wasn’t going to be doing myself much good. “At least one of us is still thinking,” I mumbled.

Shame just gave me a catlike stare through half-lidded eyes.

I took the pills and drank the rest of the water.

“Room still spinning?” he asked.

“Not so much.”

“That’s good. So Terric told you to come get me?”

“Find you. He was worried. Angry. And he couldn’t get away.”

Shame’s hands clenched into fists. It was the only outward indication that what I said bothered him. Still was looking at me with catlike boredom.

“Why couldn’t Terric get away?” he asked.

“Because everyone was congratulating him.” I gave Shame a steady gaze. “Bartholomew named him the Voice of Faith magic, Shame. He took Victor’s position.”

The wave of anger that rolled off Shame was palpable. And with my screwed-up vision, it was also visible. A white-hot wave, like the shock ahead of a blast. The crystal, the magic coming into him, all snuffed out under the force of his anger.

“He didn’t want it,” I said. “You know that.”

“Do I?”

I glared at him. “Yes. You do. Be angry at him for something else, Shame. Terric didn’t tell Bartholomew to give him Victor’s job. He was just as mad about it as you are.”

He blinked, slowly, and the anger went down a notch, that white-hot wave thinning, though it was not gone. “So he’s celebrating now.”

“No. He’s pretty much trapped by a crowd of well-wishers, and then he and the other Voices have to go to a meeting with Bartholomew. They’re probably there now.”

“Who are the other Voices? Who did Wray set up in our places?” he asked.

The door across the room opened, and I heard the three-step rhythm of Maeve walking in with her cane. She still hadn’t recovered from the magical battle in St. Johns during the wild magic storm. Hells, none of us had recovered since then. And some of us had gotten worse.

“Allie,” Maeve said. “It’s good to see you. Hayden says you hit your head?”

“Fell,” I said.

Magic made Maeve look taller and filled her with a silver-green light that reminded me of frost on spring blooms. It certainly made her look stronger than her current physical condition.

I wasn’t sure what to say to her now that I knew she’d been Closed. I was usually the person in the room with missing memories. It was odd to wonder how much of me she remembered, how much of the things we had done together, been through together she would know.

“Mum,” Shame mumbled. “Want a seat?”

“I’ve got it.” She tugged on one of the empty chairs and dragged it over next to mine. “So, I hear you’ve had a hard time of it lately,” she said.

Hayden set a first-aid kit down on the table and just gave me a steady look.

“It’s been interesting,” I said. “How are you doing?”

“Well, I can’t remember much of what happened.” She opened the first-aid kit and pulled out packages of clean gauze, scissors, and wipes.

“Since the wild magic storm,” Hayden said.

“Yes,” she agreed. “And I’m not at all happy that I’ve been relieved of my position in the Authority. But it’s very nice of Bartholomew to let us keep our home and business here.”

Shame swore, and pushed up to his feet. “Nice? That bastard took everything we had—everything you have worked hard years for, Mum. He took—”

“Shame,” Hayden cut in. “Enough. Your mother’s tired. Don’t make this miserable for us all.”

Okay, so I could guess she didn’t know she had been Closed. So we what? Tried not to point out the things she didn’t know?

There was no chance in hell I would be able to keep track of all that. Especially not with a hit to the head.

“Maeve?” I said.

“Yes, dear?”

“Do you know they Closed you?”

Shame threw both hands in the air and started swearing again, pacing, and digging in his pocket for a cigarette.

Hayden just sighed. “I should report you for that, Beckstrom,” he said.

“Are you going to?”

He lowered himself into the remaining chair and rubbed his palm over his forehead, eyes, then beard. He laced his fingers together and leaned his arms on the table. “Not yet.”

Maeve was still unpacking supplies. “I’d wondered.” She gave me a wan smile. “Can’t be in this business without wondering not if but when you’ll be Closed. Was there a strong reason why?”

“Bartholomew thought it was a good idea,” I said.

“Do any of you agree?” She looked from my face to Hayden’s haggard expression, to the back of Shame, because he was still pacing and smoking. Maeve didn’t even tell him to take the smoking outside.

After none of us responded, she raised her eyebrows. “I see. How long ago?”

“Today,” I said.

Hayden nodded. “I’m not keen on what Wray has been doing,” he said, “but there isn’t a lot of recourse to fight him at this point. We could take it up with the Ward.”

“No, Closing members is a local problem, and falls squarely on Wray’s shoulders to solve,” she said. “I’ve known many people who have been Closed and have continued on comfortably with that knowledge. I knew what I was in for when I accepted the job.”

“Now, enough brooding. Allie,” she said in her brisk, motherly tone. “I want to see your head. Shamus, for the love of heaven, smoke outside if you must smoke. Hayden, if you’d bring up the lights a bit?”

Hayden left the table to do so, and Shame followed his mother’s request by walking to the other end of the room and crushing his cigarette out in the bar sink there.

“Turn so I can see your head,” Maeve instructed. I did. She put on a pair of gloves and then gently probed the area, eventually employing wet wipes. “You did a number on yourself. Quite the lump. But the cut isn’t too deep. I don’t think you need stitches. Are you nauseous?”

“The room was spinning when I first came in, but I’d been walking. Also, I’m having weird visual distortions.”

“Distortions?”

“I can see magic. Even without casting Sight.”

Hayden whistled low. “That’s a new one.”

“That,” Maeve said, “sounds like symptoms severe enough to call in a doctor. Hayden, would you see if Dr. Fisher is available to come out here, or for us to bring Allie to her office?”

“Be right back.” The big man got up and walked off down the hall a bit and pulled a cell out of his pocket. He dialed a number and paced slowly as he waited for someone on the other end to pick up.

“Have you taken any pain medication?” she asked as she picked up a chemical ice pack and shook it to activate the cooling properties.

“Shame gave me a couple codeine. I think they’re starting to kick in.”

“Good.”

“Can I . . . can I help you, Maeve?” I asked. “I know—well, I understand what it’s like to lose memories, bits of yourself, your life.”

“I’m not sure if it’s memories they’ve taken or my abilities and understanding of magic. And”—she handed me the ice pack—“I’m not ready to deal with any of that just yet. Shamus?” she called. “Come back here now and join us.”

Maeve wasn’t looking at him, but I was. He was leaning against the bar, his arms crossed over his chest, staring at the floor, dark, hot, angry. I didn’t think he’d do what his mother said, but then he tipped his head up. His eyes through the heavy fall of his bangs were green, bright, and feral.

He untucked his arms and walked over to us, silent, hands in fists at his sides, looking like someone who was about to wade into the middle of a fight.

She looked up as he stood next to the table. “Are you all right then?” she asked.

Shame sniffed. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I’m asking if you’ve been Closed too.”

“No.” He looked over at me, raised an eyebrow. “Have I?”

“Not that I know of, not that Bartholomew said.”

Maeve just leaned back in her chair and chuckled. “I never thought I’d see the day where I was considered more of a risk to the Authority than you, Shamus.”

Shame opened his mouth and scoffed. “How can you say something like that to your only son?”

But he smiled, probably the first real, Shame-like smile I’d seen on him since I came in the room.

“I’ll want both of you to be as clear and honest with me as you can be,” she said. “I know I’m missing things, but I’m not senile. If I don’t understand something you’re saying, and if you don’t think it will cross Bartholomew’s boundaries of what he doesn’t want me knowing, I’d appreciate it if you’d fill in the details.”

“Bartholomew Wray can fuck off for all I care,” Shame said.

“Shamus,” she said sternly, “like it or not, he is the Watch of this region. He is your superior. You will do as he tells you to.”

“Of course I will,” he said.

“Shamus,” she warned.

“Promise and cross my heart.”

They glared at each other for a moment but Shame was not backing down. Maeve finally sighed. “Where did I go so wrong with you?”

“You didn’t,” Shame said. “You went right with me. I went wrong all by myself.”

“Well,” Hayden said, walking back to us. “Dr. Fisher will not be making house visits any longer. Neither will she be treating anyone in the Authority in emergency situations.”

“What?” Maeve frowned. “Why ever not? She’s been doing that for the past fifteen years.”

“Wray’s orders,” Hayden said.

We were all silent for a moment. Maybe it was just sinking in how total, how complete, his rule was going to be.

“Fucker,” Shame muttered.

“I want you seen by someone, Allie,” Maeve said, undeterred. “A doctor who knows the ways of the Authority.”

I thought about it. “I know a guy,” I said. “He seems to be up on the magical tech/medical interface. And he used to be a part of the Authority, I think.”

“What’s his name?” Hayden asked.

“Eli Collins.”

“Collins the Cutter?” Shame asked.

“What?” I said, startled.

“He was a brilliant up-and-coming surgeon on the Authority’s rosters,” Hayden said. “Did one too many unapproved experimental procedures and got Closed, and Closed hard. I thought the best he’d be able to do with his future was relearn to tie his shoelaces.”

“How did you come across him?” Maeve asked.

“He, uh, knew my dad.”

They all stared at me.

“Was he working for your dad?” Maeve asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe. Yes.”

“Huh,” Hayden said. “Maybe he had more connections in the Authority than I’ve given him credit for. Fell into the Beckstrom safety net.”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Did he hurt anyone with his experiments?”

“Oh, most definitely,” Shame said. “Wicked bugger. Hurt a lot of people.”

“When he was practicing magic,” I said. “But he’s a medical expert, right?”

“As much as any torturer is,” Shame said.

“Enough, Shamus,” Maeve said. “Why do you think he’d help us now?”

“Because I hired him. To help a friend of mine, a Hound, Davy. Who was . . . hurt.”

“Hurt how?” Shame asked.

“He was bit, but I think he was bit by a Veiled.”

Maeve frowned. “Has that been a problem lately?”

I couldn’t help it; I laughed. “No. Or I don’t think so. Yesterday was the first time I’ve seen it happen. Though I think—” I shook my head and regretted it. “Ow,” I said. “I think I’ve seen more Veiled on the street. And, um . . . inside people.”

“Ick,” Shame said.

Maeve just took a deep breath and let it out. “I didn’t realize how very annoying it would be to have gaps in my memories. I don’t know how you put up with it, Allie. So tell me what Mr. Collins is doing with your friend.”

“He’s trying to treat the infection the bite caused. With what appears to be normal medical intervention, and also with magic, and magic tech.”

“And,” she said, “you think he’d be willing to look at your head, and maybe hazard a guess as to why you are seeing magic. Were you bit by a Veiled?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Take off your clothes,” Shame said.

“What? No.”

“If there’s a bite, we’d see it. You saw the bite on Davy, didn’t you?”

I couldn’t help but notice that he was trying very hard to hold back a smile.

“Yes, I saw the bite.”

“So we’d be able to see yours.”

“I am not taking off my clothes.”

“Do you remember being bit?” Maeve asked.

“No. I passed out the last time I used magic. But a lot of people were around. I think someone would have noticed if I were being bit.”

“Without my memories of the full situation, I don’t feel comfortable giving you advice, Allie,” she said. “But you should have your head looked at by a doctor, and you should have a doctor see if your vision problem is of a physical or magical nature.”

“I’ll go see Collins.” I figured I needed to check in on Davy anyway.

“If you think that’s right,” Maeve said.

“I, for one,” Shame said, “still think you should take your clothes off.”

“Not a chance, Flynn.”

“Fine. Then let me drive you,” he said.

“I have a ride. Jack Quinn’s out there.”

“I’ll take you anyway.”

I didn’t know why he was being so insistent about it, but was too tired to fight him. “Fine.” I turned to Maeve. “Thanks for the medicine and for everything.”

“Ah, now,” she said. “This isn’t the last of things. Just because I’m not a Voice of Blood magic doesn’t mean I’m done with the Authority. Despite what Bartholomew may or may not do, this is my home. And the Authority has always stood as the protector for all those who use magic. I’ll fight for that cause until the day my bones are cold.”

I stood. The room stayed in its current un-spinny mode, so I risked leaning down and giving Maeve a hug.

She hugged me back. Strong and warm and reassuring as if nothing at all had happened since the day I’d first met her.

I wanted to tell her that everything was going to be okay. That I was going to try to find a way to save Shame, to bring her memories back, to keep Bartholomew from making all the stupidest, most hurtful decisions possible.

But instead I just smiled and started toward the door.

Shame drifted up beside me, quiet, but burning hot.

“You going to tell me why you didn’t want me to go to the den with Jack?” I asked as I opened the door.

“I don’t have ulterior motives,” he said. “But if we want to talk, really talk, we’ll have the best chance in the car.”

“Why couldn’t we really talk back there?”

He pulled out a pack of cigarettes, tapped out a cig and lit it in his cupped hands. He exhaled smoke and tipped his chin toward the inn. “Do you really trust him?”

“Him who?” Yes, I’m an idiot. I turned around to see who he might be talking about.

Hayden was at the door, behind the glass, locking it behind us.

“Hayden?” I asked. “Oh, come on, Shame. Hayden’s in love with your mother. And he’s fought right along side us every step of the way. Why wouldn’t I trust him?”

“He wasn’t Closed.”

“Neither were you,” I said.

“Does that make sense?” he asked.

“Nothing Bartholomew is doing makes sense to me. Maybe he just doesn’t see you as a threat.”

Shame smiled. “Wouldn’t that be grand?”

We were at his car now. I just waved at Jack, who didn’t respond. Not that I’d expected him to. All I expected was that he’d follow us.

I got in Shame’s car, and practically groaned at the soft seat and headrest. Shame threw his cigarette into the gravel, scanned the parking lot, then got in the car too. He made it look like he wasn’t hurting, but the scent of pain on him told me otherwise.

“So are you?” I asked Shame.

“Am I what?” he said.

“A threat.”

He started the car and drove down the access road. “He hurt my mother. I’m not a threat. I’m a promise.”