Free Magic in the Shadows by Devon Monk Page A

. . no?”
    The waiter appeared like magic, took Zayvion’s credit card, and returned just as quickly.
    “So,” Zayvion said as we both stood and pulled on our coats. “That list of things you said about me earlier?”
    “Yes?”
    “You forgot determined .”
    He helped me with the sleeve I wasn’t having any luck getting into on my own. Damn. Too much wine. Especially now that I was standing, my head was a little muzzy. “And old-fashioned ,” I said, as he offered me his arm.
    “Old-fashioned?” He actually looked offended. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He placed his hand over mine on his arm and stepped closer to me. “May I have the honor of escorting you home, Ms. Beckstrom?”
    I giggled. Seriously. Giggled. Bad sign. “Maybe that wine was more than I thought I drank.” Smooth, Beckstrom.
    “Just try to relax when we walk out into the main flow of the restaurant.”
    I was going to ask him what he meant by that, but then we took two steps away from the table and I got my answer. Like a hammer. A great big answer hammer over the head.
    Magic pressed in around me, pushed up through my feet, sunk needle-deep into my skin. The spell that veiled our table had done more than offer us privacy from other diners. It had kept the thick crosscurrents of the restaurant’s long-standing and short-term spells from being so overwhelming. But now, out here, I was most certainly whelmed.
    Magic sparked within me, a fire rushing up my bones, urging me to release it, to cast, to use.
    I gritted my teeth and exhaled through my nose, resisting the urge to use magic. Not easy after a couple glasses of wine.
    “Zayvion?” I said. He must have caught the urgency in my voice.
    He didn’t talk, didn’t ask me if I was okay. He set a quick but not rushed pace and guided me out between the tables that roiled with clouds of magic, thick ribbons of it in jewel tones, so strong I could see it shifting like currents of rainbow oil through the air, even without drawing Sight.
    Magic prickled beneath my skin, grew hot, hotter, until my entire body was one big sunburn.
    I tried to concentrate. Sang a mantra to clear my head. Miss Mary Mack, Mack, Mack, all dressed in black, black, black . . .
    Magic swelled, pressed, begged to be used. And my mental hold on it slipped. Oh, hells.
    Mint washed over me, cool, sweet, soothing all the places where magic burned in me. Zayvion, my lightning rod, Grounding me.
    The restaurant was behind me now, glowing with so much magic, I could feel the heat of it like a bonfire at my back. We were in the parking lot, in the cold air, the wet air. I took a deep breath, let it out.
    My head was no longer muzzy. The magic, and Zayvion Grounding me, had the side effect of making me stone sober. And right now, I was really glad.
    “Better?” he asked.
    I nodded.
    He walked around in front of me, his hand sliding down my arm. “Wait here while I tell the valet to get our car.”
    I thought I said okay, but he bent a little to make eye contact. “Okay?” he asked.
    “I’m good,” I said. “Fine.”
    He didn’t look convinced, but turned and walked away.
    Absent his touch, magic pushed in me again. The ground swayed a little beneath my feet, and I decided pacing might help. Taking even breaths, I strolled down the brick pathway that lined the front of the restaurant. The cold air did some good keeping my head clear, and I recited a jingle to stay calm and to keep the magic in me easy.
    A movement in the landscaped flower bed to my left caught my attention. I stopped and peered into the brush and ferns. Two yellow eyes as big as my fist stared at me from the bushes. For a second, I thought it was alive, a dog, a cat, or—shudder—that thing from the alley, but the eyes were too large and too perfectly round. Then the wind shifted, brushing through the bushes. I caught a whiff of stone—just damp stone—and I knew what it was. A gargoyle statue.
    I leaned forward and pushed a branch