Free Magic on the Line by Devon Monk Page A

tiger lilies.
    Very slick and stylish.
    I suddenly felt completely underdressed.
    “Afternoon,” Terric said, catching up.
    “Hey,” I said.
    Shame grunted. But I could tell from the ease of his shoulders, from the subtle relaxing of his gait and posture, that Terric being near him seemed to lessen the pain, or at least give him some strength. He even took a nice deep breath, which was good to see since all he’d been doing was breathing off the top of his lungs.
    “How’d it go today?” I asked Terric.
    “What do you mean?”
    “With Bartholomew.”
    Terric made a sour face. “I don’t know that his objectives and mine are in alignment.”
    Shame snorted.
    “What are his objectives?” I asked.
    “To reorganize the entire Portland Authority.”
    “What?” Shame said. “Why in God’s balls is he talking to you about that? You don’t even live here.”
    “That’s why.”
    We rounded a bend in the path. The grave was clearly marked by the small crowd of people who surrounded it.
    “He can kiss my ass,” Shame said quietly, “if he thinks he’s going to tell me what to do and who to follow.”
    Terric pulled a pair of sunglasses out of his pocket and nodded toward the grave. “Later, Flynn. Let’s handle one tragedy at a time.”
    The people gathered were all members of the Authority. I recognized most of them, though I was surprised to see at least a dozen unfamiliar faces.
    “Who are the extras?” I asked.
    Shame finally stopped glaring at Terric and looked around. “Lots of people from the business side of things, civilian interface jobs.”
    I frowned.
    “Teachers, doctors, accountants, plumbers,” Terric provided. “Just because you run around with people who get into magical fights all the time doesn’t mean that the majority of the Authority is on the defense side of the organization.”
    “Oh.” I hadn’t thought about that, but it made sense. The Authority was more than just a handful of people who chased down creatures that slipped through gates or took people’s memories away. The Authority was the defining and far-reaching mediator between the unknown magics and the average magic-using citizen.
    I suddenly realized it was a lot larger organization than I’d been thinking.
    We walked toward the grave, still out of hearing range. “How many people are under the Authority’s employ ?” I asked.
    “In the Portland area?” Terric asked. “I don’t know. Shame?”
    “Maybe a hundred thousand.”
    Correction. I had vastly underestimated how large the organization was.
    I scanned the faces, doing what I could to remember them. Dad, who was still in my head and still active, though the binding Shame and Victor had cast on him made him less likely to take over my body, had been quiet for days now. I didn’t know if he was exhausted from fighting Leander and Isabelle, or if he was secretly planning to take over the world.
    Probably the latter.
    Even here, seeing people he must have known, people he must have liked or disliked, he said nothing. It was, frankly, not like him to leave me alone, but I had to admit I liked it.
    The people I knew were Shame’s mom, Maeve; the Closer and her boyfriend, Hayden; Zayvion’s mentor, Victor; the goth-punk Blood magic user Sunny; the twins, Carl and La. Joshua had gone back to his family in Seattle, and Nick also wasn’t here. I didn’t see Bartholomew, Melissa, or the goons. That was nice. I preferred this to be a private affair with people I didn’t have a reason to hate.
    Chase’s gravestone was classic, pretty even: a lovely white marble with a blue ribbon running beneath her name, set in the ground. Beneath her name and birth and death dates was carved FRIEND, WARRIOR, LOVER.
    Zayvion walked over to stand near the head of her grave, and the people who had gathered moved aside to give him room. He stared down at the headstone, the daffodils forgotten in his hand. The soft May breeze stirred across the grounds and a robin sang out