Davy’s ex-girlfriend, the cutter Hound. The one who had kicked the shit out of him. The one who was running with a rough crowd. The one who hated me.
“Hey, Tomi,” I said. “Are you okay?”
I think the question surprised her. I could hear her catch her breath, could hear the sound of traffic in the background as she paused.
“Tell Davy to leave me the hell alone or I’ll get a restraining order for him.”
“Have you told him that?”
“Yes. He won’t listen to me. It’s over. It’s so fucking over.”
I rubbed at my forehead. She sounded angry and sad and a little afraid. Hells, I hated breakups.
“He’s worried about you,” I said. “About who you’re with and that maybe you’re hurt. Tomi, if you are hurt, or if you’ve gotten in a bad situation, you know the Hounds are here to help you. I know some doctors, lawyers, who would help straighten things out for you if you needed it. I’d make sure they got paid, so you don’t have to worry about the money.”
She paused again, inhaled, held her breath. I could almost feel her thinking it over Finally: “Tell Davy to back off or they’ll kill him.”
And then she hung up.
I stood there with the dial tone buzzing in my ear while I tried to think this out. I could call Stotts, tell him Tomi was mixed up with someone who wanted to kill Davy. Of course, a lot of new boyfriends want to kill old boyfriends, so it might be an empty threat.
It hadn’t sounded like an empty threat. She sounded afraid.
But Tomi was a Hound, and Hounds did a lot of things to manage pain—drugs being one option. She might be high and hallucinating, for all I knew.
I hung up the phone. Stotts already knew I had scented her at the job yesterday. I assumed he was following up on that, so there was a good chance the MERC’s had their eyes on her.
Which meant what I should do was try to find Davy. I didn’t have his number or address.
Note to self: get phone numbers of Hounds.
But I could still make the meeting at 7:30 and see him there, or get his number from someone else.
Since my last attempt to walk the street had ended with me sporting a raft of new cuts and bruises, I called a cab, waited for it to drive up before I left my building, and took it down to Ankeny Square.
The driver dropped me off at a corner with a light. It was cold out but not yet raining. I put my head down and walked as quickly as I could, not looking right or left. Not looking at the buildings or the street. Not looking at the people who hustled through here, like winter ghosts waiting for this graveyard to come back to life in the spring, waiting for the courtyard to fill with booths and music, the smell of incense, handmade soap, and food from carts.
My heart was beating a little too quickly. Ankeny Square felt like death. Pike’s death.
I ducked into the building. Compared to the stark gray light outside, the light inside was burnished a warm yellow. Long mazes of halls and shops and doors that went nowhere pocketed light into corners, lost it in the rafters, and poured it against blank walls. The smell of grilled garlic, incense, and soap hit me so hard, I held my breath. The fragrances filling the building followed me all the way down the central stairs and into the barely finished basement.
Jack Quinn, thin and tough as leather, stood in the middle of the hallway, smoking.
“Morning,” I said.
He nodded. “Evening.” At my look, he added, “Night shift.”
I opened the door to the other unfinished hallway and practiced not freaking out in enclosed places while I strode past the spackled Sheetrock to the room at the end.
The door was open, and the room, which probably had been a Prohibition hidey-hole and gambling parlor in an earlier incarnation, stank of mold and old, wet building. There was one table—a sheet of wood propped on two sawhorses—in the middle of the room, and six folding chairs against the peeling, faded floral wallpaper and bare brick walls.
Hounds, about twenty of them, only six of whom I’d actually met, one of them being Davy, thank all that was holy, stood in the room. A mix of men and women, old and young, insane and even more insane, the Hounds all stood or sat in such a way as to not come into contact with their fellow human beings.
I scanned the faces of everyone gathered, letting the sudden silence at my entrance stretch out. I’d learned years ago that she who controlled the silence in a room, controlled the room.
So far, so good. Every eye was on me.
“Morning,” I said to everyone gathered. No one answered; they just stared.
Neat.
There was a chair at the table, the chair Pike used to sit in. I guess I was expected to go sit in that chair, but my feet would not move. The idea of taking his place, really taking his place, made me want to turn around and leave.
Pike was gone. And I could never replace him.
I stepped in and leaned against the wall on the left side of the doorway so Jack could walk in past me.
“So we need to go over a few things,” I began.
Davy flipped open a pad of paper on a clipboard and clicked his pen. What do you know? He really was going to be my secretary. I gave him an appreciative glance and tucked both my hands in my coat pockets, letting my body language say
relaxed
.
“Pike had a lot of hope for the Hounds. He was a smart man. He knew potential when he saw it.
“But I’m not Pike. I don’t know what he had planned for the Hounds, for us. So I’m going to tell you what I’m going to do.”
A few feet shuffled. But other than that, the only sound in the room was Davy’s pen moving across the paper.
Tough crowd.
“First, I’m moving our meeting place to somewhere that doesn’t stink.”
And doesn’t remind me of Pike’s death
, I thought.
“I know the guy who runs Get Mugged. There’s a warehouse right next to him that he’s thinking about buying. I’ll see if he’ll cut me a deal. I’ll set up a permanent meeting place with a couple couches available for Hounds who need to sleep.”
It was like a collective exhale. Body language changed from angry, tense, tight, to . . . well, to less of that.
“Who’s gonna pay for it?” a short, athletic man I’d never met asked.
“Me.”
“An’ what are we gonna owe you for it?”
“The courtesy of not burning the place down, or doing illegal crap while you’re there. If you can’t follow those two rules, the door will be locked next time you come calling.
“I’m also setting up a medical fund. Not just for disasters, but for regular doctor visits, pain-management counseling, legal drugs, rehab. That kind of stuff.”
I can say one thing for Hounds. When they have something to say, they are not shy about speaking up. I leaned back against the wall, letting them bitch and grumble until someone actually asked a question.
“You think you can throw money at us and we’ll follow you like dogs, Beckstrom?”
“Listen,” I said with more calm than I felt.“I promised Pike I’d try to do good for the Hounds in the city because
he
cared about you. You don’t want my help, then don’t show up.”
That went over well. There’s nothing like a couple dozen Hounds with stares set on hate.
Yeah, well, they could bite me for all I cared.
Bea, the bubbly Hound who worked the morgues, came bustling in the door, pulling the wide hood of her jacket away from her mop of curly hair.
“What did I miss?”she asked with a grin.
I swear, I had never seen that woman in a bad mood.
Jack, an unlit cigarette in his mouth, leaned toward her conspiratorially. “Beckstrom’s kicking the hive.”
“Really?” Bea looked around, spotted me. “I always knew you’d be trouble.” She sounded excited about it. “So, what’s the buzz?”
I opened my mouth to answer, but Jack cut me off. “She’s aiming for health care, free bunks, that sort of shit.”
Bea’s eyebrows hitched up until they got lost in her bangs. “Really?”
I spoke before Jack could. “Yes. And now I want to know who’s working a job. And I want cell numbers so I can call you to let you know where the next meeting will be held.”
It took maybe an hour to record where and what everyone was working, and to get non-Hounding volunteers to buddy up and keep an eye on the job and be willing to call 911 if something went bad for the Hound.
Davy handed me the notepad he’d been using, and I worked on memorizing Hound names and gigs. Between schools, retailers, hospitals, personal hires, and nonprofits, the Hounds in this room covered all corners of the city, and even some of the other nearby towns.
Strange to think there were that many people who believed magic was being used illegally against them.
Maybe stranger to think that they were probably right.
The meeting broke up a lot like the last one I’d attended. People simply filed out the door when they were done talking. Soon the only people left were Bea, Jack, Davy, and me.
“Anyone have the time?” I asked.
Jack glanced at his watch. “It’s five after nine.”
Which meant Zayvion was probably on the corner of the street outside my apartment, waiting to take me to Maeve’s.
“I have an appointment.” I walked over to the door. “Who has the key to lock up?”
Jack held up his hand.
“Good. I’ll see you all next week. Davy, can I talk to you a minute?”
He had already started walking down the hallway, but stopped and waited while I caught up with him.
“Tomi called me this morning,” I said as we kept walking, a little more slowly. “She said you’ve been bothering her.”
“She’s really fucked up,” he said.
And what he didn’t say, but what was obvious on his face, was that he still cared for her, maybe even still loved her, but he was helpless to keep her from screwing up her life.
Love sucks.
“I told her if she’s in trouble we would help. She knows there are other options out there for her. But you need to give her some space.”
“Space?” He turned on me and I took a step back, wondering if I’d have to block a punch. Instead, he leaned against the wall and swallowed hard, his hands in fists at his side.
The light hit his face so I could see his bruised eyes were puffy and red. It looked like he hadn’t shaved for a couple of days. His sweat and breath smelled of beer and cheap whiskey.
Kid was in a world of hurt. His girlfriend dumped him; the man he looked up to, Pike, had been murdered. He was beat, inside and out.
“She’s not going to make it,” he said, so quietly I wondered if he was talking to me or himself. “She’s slipping away. And she won’t listen. . . . Won’t let me help . . . You know how crazy that is?”
I felt a strange twinge in my chest, sorrow for him. I knew what it was like to lose everything. If we were somewhere alone, I might even talk to him about that, give him a sisterly pat on the shoulder or something. Instead I placed my hand on his upper arm.
He couldn’t have looked more shocked if I’d hit him with a Taser.
Have I mentioned Hounds don’t do contact?
“If she won’t take our help, then we’ll get her pointed in the right direction to help herself.”
“Like that’s going to work,” he muttered.
“Maybe not. Lots of Hounds fuck up and die. But Tomi’s pretty smart. And she’s strong. A survivor.”
He nodded, watching me, and not doing a very good job of hiding how miserable he was and how much he really wanted to believe there was some hope left for her.
“Do you know who she’s with?” I asked. “That guy you said she was working for, cutting for?”
“She calls him Jingo.”
“What?”
He shrugged one shoulder. “Mr. Jingo. I looked. There isn’t anyone in Portland by that name. I figure it’s just what he’s told her.”
Bea and Jack came strolling down the corridor. “One side,” Jack said as they neared. Then, “After you, Beatrice.”
Bea smiled and walked past us. “See you later, Allie, Davy,” she said.
Jack just gave us a short nod, and then both of them were out the door into the building proper.
Jingo. Not nearly a common enough a name for it not to be Jingo Jingo. But what would a member of the Authority, a teacher of Death magic, want with a Hound? Maybe he wanted what anyone wanted from a Hound—someone to track magic. Or maybe he had taken her on as a student, like Maeve had taken me on.
“Have you ever met him?”
“No.”
“Okay. Let me look into it. I’ll see if I can track him down. You just stay away from her for a little while.”
He glared at me.
“She said she’ll get a restraining order on you if you don’t.”