Free Magic on the Hunt by Devon Monk Page A

plants, and the sound of falling water filling the air. The walls were burnished soft red-black that reminded me of good, strong tea and were slightly curved to take the edges off the room. It felt like the room sprang up organically from the roots of the trees that covered the hill above us.
    The furniture leaned toward earthy wood and creams, with just enough accents of sapphire, red, and gold to bring to mind the sky and sun.
    Tasteful and rich without being overt about it. It reminded me of Zayvion’s apartment, but on a much grander and more luxurious scale.
    Victor stepped into the room, carrying what looked like a nice, nonreleased piece of tech that was mostly screen but folded down to the size of his palm when he snapped it shut.
    Next to him walked Maeve.
    “Glad you are both here safely,” he said, wasting no time. “Sit. There are drinks.” He motioned toward one of the tables by a set of couches and chairs. “We’ll need to get to this in short order.”
    “Have the others made it in?” Zayvion strolled toward the drinks, which looked to be water, ice tea, a pot of what might be hot tea water, and a carafe that might hold coffee. What I knew for sure was that none of it smelled alcoholic.
    “Not yet,” Maeve said. “How are you feeling?”
    “Sore and alive,” Zay said. He poured a cup of coffee and plucked up an ice tea, then walked over to me. “A little vengeful.” He gave me the coffee and sat on the couch, letting out an exhale when he settled into the plush leather.
    Maeve took a seat in a chair, her cane resting on the arm, and sighed. “Aren’t we all?”
    Victor went back to fiddling with that little tech device before choosing a chair to sit in. He pressed a button, and the wall behind the other couch went softly opaque. Then a satellite map of the Portland area that I swear looked like real time spread across the screen.
    This was a little like the map Stotts had of the city, only a much bigger, much better version.
    There were four glowing points on the map. One just on the Vancouver side of the river, one out east, up the gorge at Multnomah Falls, one southeast of downtown, and one west in the hills.
    The wells.
    There were other lines that glowed too, networks of the pipes and conduits that covered the entire city. The only place with no light was St. Johns, which looked small and neglected, nearly surrounded by the river, and cut as clean as a knife by the railroad where the network of magic ended.
    But there were other dark spots like little black holes, little St. Johns, scattered across the map. Most of those were in the heart of the city.
    “What are the black spots?” I asked.
    “The large area is St. Johns, where there is no magic,” Victor said. “You know the lines are the networks your father worked very hard to implement. And the black spots are where gates have appeared in the last six months.”
    “Is that a lot?”
    He looked away from the gadget in his hand. “If you had entered the Authority even two years ago, I would have been hard-pressed to show you a dozen recent gate openings.”
    I did a quick scan of the map. At least a couple hundred. More, probably, if the map were zoomed in closer.
    “There has been an inordinate amount of activity between the realms of life and death, the magics of light and dark,” he said. “It’s been . . . challenging.”
    “When did it start picking up?” I sat on the couch, Victor and Maeve to my right. Zay shifted and put his arm around me so I could lean on him. Nice.
    “Last September.”
    A lot of things happened last September. I’d been shot twice. Dad had been murdered, Mama’s youngest Boy had been hit by magic, I’d saved Cody’s life, met Zayvion, almost died in a wild-magic storm, fell into a coma. For starters.
    “Why?” he asked.
    I glanced over at him. Curiosity sharpened his gaze. I realized I’d zoned out long enough thinking about my personal September that the silence had become awkward.
    “I