“Enough,” Al muttered darkly, and I winced. I had a growing feeling that we weren’t out here for me but for Al. I hadn’t seen him jump the lines since he burned his synapses while trapping Hodin. Practicing along with me might be the only way for his pride to take it. “Your opinion on what is possible is not why you were asked to join us, Treble.”
“Gally, if you would let me—” the old gargoyle said, her voice a pleading rasp.
“No.” Al turned, one thick hand on the back of the bench as he glared up at her. “Take a break. Both of you. Go catch bats and do whatever you do when you aren’t bothering us.”
“Stupid hoary fart.” With a downward thrust of her leathery wings, Treble launched herself into the air. The streetlight cracked and went out, and I flinched until I was sure nothing was coming down. When I next looked, she was high in the air, her huge, angled wings looking demonic against the city-lit clouds.
Shoulders shifting, Al put his elbows on his knees, his chin dropping into a cupped hand.
Bis sidestepped along the top of the bench to me, his craggy talons spaced so as not to leave a scratch. “Call me if you need me,” he said, and I touched the foot he set on my shoulder.
I smiled, but inside, I was unsure. Our once indelible mental link was all but destroyed from Bis’s prolonged connection to the baku. He would likely hear my mental call if he was listening, but if he was busy or asleep? It was chancy at best, and I was to blame.
“Rachel, you are alive,” Bis said as he saw my heartache, and Al straightened, his own sour musings seeming to hesitate. “I’d make that same choice again. We will figure this out.”
And then Bis was gone, his small shape vanishing over the yellow leaves still clinging to the trees. Embarrassed, I slumped on the bench, arms over my chest.
“I’d make that same choice again, too,” Al said, a gleam in his goat-slitted, red eyes.
“Al.”
“No,” he said, a hand raising to stop my words. Behind us, a couple hurriedly coaxed their dog into their car and drove off amid a tense conversation. They hadn’t been here for more than five minutes, and I wondered if we were being recognized.
“I’ll get better at this,” I said, instead of what I really wanted. Talk to me. Are you afraid your skills won’t return? “I just need practice.” Reaching a thought out, I tapped into the ley line, my jaw clenching at the mild discomfort. I’d been pushing too hard, and now I was singed.
“Practice, yes,” he said, his thoughts clearly somewhere else as he fingered his cane.
The small group at the center of the grassy field was growing, and I frowned as an argument began to take shape, two sides clearly forming. Weres? I wondered, not sure how far I could push Al to get him to open up. If Treble was over four thousand years old, Al was far older. He’d lived countless lives: that of a wanderer, warlord, slave, magician, clever trickster, vengeful punisher, outcast, teacher. I wasn’t sure what he was now. Perhaps Al didn’t, either. Maybe that was the problem.
“The baku damage Bis suffered will mend,” I said hesitantly. “Will you?”
Al stiffened. “Not your concern.”
“Al.” I shifted to face him square on. Two more cars had gone, leaving the park to us and the growing knot of people in the field. “I think it is. Why shouldn’t I worry about you?” I don’t have anything else to do. Other than keep the vampires in line, the witches off my case, and the demons from reverting to their old ways of dominating everything they coveted, which was a lot. The elves still wanted to take over the world despite being on the endangered species list, and the humans simply wanted to survive after the Turn had reduced their numbers to a thin fraction. Plague by way of tomato. Even forty years later, they grieved.
For the moment, everyone was behaving—hence me having the time for some practice. But Halloween was next week and the moon was waxing. . . .
Al’s eye twitched as he scanned the milling, increasingly noisy mob at the center of the field. “I have been singed deeper than this before.”
“When?” I countered, and his attention went to his hands, clasped and at rest.
“Not your concern,” he said again.
“How long until you can tap a ley line?” I insisted.
“Not. Your. Concern,” he practically growled.
“I think it is. If you aren’t up to . . .” My voice trailed off as his eyes narrowed on me. I closed my mouth, turning to sit shoulder to shoulder instead of aggressively staring him down.
But the guilt remained, guilt that he had paid for my risky choice. He had protected me and suffered for it, burned his synapses as I captured his brother first in a ley line, then a mental construct that Hodin could never break even if magic should fail again. The smut we thought would protect Al hadn’t been enough. He could still do earth magic, but demons were all about flash and bang—and though incredibly strong, earth magic wasn’t it.
“It was my choice,” Al said, softening as he recognized my mood. “And my task,” he added. “I had much to atone for concerning Hodin. And you, perhaps.”
My throat was tight, and I nodded, my attention flicking to the field when someone howled. It was a Were pack, and they were going to fur by the look of it. Weres could shift any day of the year, but they generally didn’t do it in a city park two weeks from a full moon.
“Perhaps it is better this way,” Al said lightly, but I could tell he was worried. “I’m not tempted to do anything demonic. Try to match your aura to my line again,” he added, chin lifting. “I’m not helpless, but you are. You should be able to jump somewhere in case someone circles you.”
“Sure,” I said, voice a whisper.
But it was getting harder to focus as an aggressive howling became obvious. My nose wrinkled at the scent of wolfsbane, and I wondered if Bis and Treble were watching this. I doubted that the pack had gotten a permit to Were in public outside of the traditional three days around a full moon, and I was beginning to think that they, not Al and me, had emptied the park.
Al, too, squinted at them with an increased interest. “Your Were, David? Is he here?”
“I doubt it.” I glanced at my shoulder bag and wondered if I should phone him. No one liked calling the I.S. on some loud weekday fun, but it was becoming obvious that this wasn’t a companionable, laid-back get-together. There were three factions now, taunting one another as they slowly closed ranks while more shifted to fur. A territorial spat? I wondered. More than unusual.
Everyone in Cincy knew where they were in the grand scheme of things. Tattoos showed pack affiliation, and clothes and shades of tidiness did the rest. Graffiti marked territories, but everyone could freely go wherever they wanted. This show of aggression was downright odd, and my lips parted when, with a harsh bark and a yelp, two Weres rolled on the grass, snapping at ears and tails.