seats again.
“Well, see, I may not have morals, but I do have a conscience.” Shamus pulled his plate back in place and took a bite of mashed potatoes. “And I know when to speak my mind. Not at all like you, Jones. Silent. Shifty. Temperamental. Sullen. Morbid.”
“How long have you two known each other?” I asked.
Zayvion shook his head. “Exactly one hour too long.”
Shamus made a rude noise. “You said that three hours ago.”
Zayvion lifted his beer and flashed me a quick smile before taking a drink. “Several years,” he said. “Long, painful years.”
“Grew up together,” Shamus added around a mouthful of chicken.
I took a drink of my beer. During the hubbub I’d managed to get through half my burger and made a serious dent in the pile of fries. The food did a decent job of clearing my head and settling my mood.
I was feeling a lot better. “Well, then, I’m sorry for you both.”
Shamus coughed and laughed, and Zayvion’s faint smile spread out into a grin. He looked good when he smiled. Looked like someone should be kissing him for it.
I guess some of my thoughts showed in my expression. Zayvion raised one eyebrow and pushed my knee with his knee, swiveling my stool toward him. I was now mostly facing him.
“How was class?” And even though he was relaxed, a hint of a smile still playing on his lips, he spoke a little more quietly, privately, and somehow that made it easy to hear him, only him, over all the other voices and people in the room.
He was concerned about me.
How sweet was that?
“I learned a lot. There’s um, still some question about my dad.”
He nodded. “She say anything about that?”
“She wants someone else to look into it. I think Jingo Jingo?”
Zay’s smile faded away.
“What? Is that bad?”
“No. No, not bad. He’s very good at what he does.”
“He’s a freak is what he is.” Shamus finished off his beer and tapped the counter for a refill.
“Shame,” Zayvion said.
“Sure, you go ahead and deny it. You know it’s true.”
“What does he do?” I asked.
“It’s not what he does.”
Shamus snorted, and Zayvion gave him a silencing look, then leaned in a little closer to me so he could lower his voice.
“Death magic. He is Liddy’s second, and deals hands-on with the dead. It makes sense Maeve wants him to see . . . what your father may have done.” He pulled back, his gaze searching my face for understanding.
And I was absolutely positive he didn’t find a single stitch of it.
“What the hell?” I asked. At his look, I lowered my voice and leaned closer to him. “Death magic? I’m not letting anyone use death magic on me. Besides, it’s illegal.”
“Just because the law doesn’t know how to use something doesn’t make it illegal.”
Wow. There was a concept I didn’t want to think about.
“Isn’t that the magic Frank used on me, on the kidnapped girls in the warehouse?” I couldn’t remember much of what happened there, but I knew my dad’s corpse had been there, that was where he had possessed me, and that was where the girls had been tied down and killed.
“He abused it, twisted it. Used more than just death magic. He used dark magic. Forbidden. Jingo Jingo is one of the Authority. Sworn to use magic in the ancient ways.”
“Frank wasn’t part of the Authority?”
“He was. A faction. Part of the splitting off, the breaking that has been going on. But he wasn’t even near the same level of ability or responsibility as Jingo Jingo.”
“Is that your comforting speech? Because I am not feeling the comfort,” I said.
Zay rested his palm, warm and heavy, on my thigh. “Jingo is the best person to deal with this. I’ll be there with you, if you want.”
I suddenly wanted that very much. “I’d like that.” I slipped my fingers between his.
Two glasses of beer descended slowly between us, held with the tips of fingers wrapped to the second knuckle in black fingerless gloves.
Shamus, standing next to us, held drinks in both outstretched hands. “More drinking, less flirting,” he said. “Or so help me God, I’ll throw ice at you.”
Zayvion gave Shamus a withering glare. “You just don’t know when to keep your mouth shut, do you?”
“Nope,” he said cheerfully. “A toast.”
I took one of the beers, and Zayvion leaned back, let go of my hand, and took the other beer.
“To what?” Zay asked.
“To the only thing worth drinking to. Love.”
“That’s not what you said last week,” Zayvion said.