the size of Portland isn’t easy. But I had a few things on my side for a change. One, I knew Davy, knew his scents. I also knew Tomi and her scents. It was a pretty good guess that she was the trouble he had gotten himself into. Where I found one, I’d find the other.
But unless they were using magic, I couldn’t track them by magical means. Or at least I couldn’t if I didn’t have something personal of Davy’s.
And I had the notebook he’d been writing in during the Hound meeting. Lucky for me, he’d also been in a state of higher emotion. That always left a better impression on the item, especially since it had so recently been in his hand.
Back in college we called this kind of tracking work swamp-walking. The impression left on an object gave a hint of where the person was, but the trail rarely held out long enough to actually lead to the person. Still, it was a point in the right direction.
I got in Zayvion’s car, locked the doors, and cleared my mind. I held the notebook in my left hand, added a little more pain onto that headache that was going to kick my ass in a couple days, and traced the glyph for a version of Sight that allowed a more subtle energy trace.
The notebook flickered with faint lines of energy—not like the hard-carved glyphs of magic; these lines were fading and fading fast.
The lines trailed off at the edges, reaching out as if they followed a slight wind, or magnetic pull, toward the north, toward St. Johns.
Good enough.
I let go of Sight, breaking the glyph. I hadn’t seen any of the Veiled when I used magic this time. Of course I hadn’t looked around for them either, and I was quick at swamp-walking.
I started the car and eased out into traffic, getting the feel of Zayvion’s car. It was strangely like him. Smooth, lots of power, and geared a little tight.
It took some time to get there, traffic being heavier than normal at this hour. We got a lot of rain in Portland, but when a really good downpour decided to open up over the city, sane drivers didn’t go faster than their windshield wipers could move.
I drove over the St. Johns Bridge and down into the lazy little broken-down neighborhood. I don’t know what it was about St. Johns. Every time I came here, my shoulders relaxed and my mind cleared. Coming back to St. Johns always felt like coming home.
Sure, the neglected neighborhood showed signs of wear. But there was an honesty to the place. No fancy magic spells to make a business look like it was made of marble and gold. No fancy magic spells to keep the flowers blooming out of season. St. Johns was unapologetic.
I loved that.
I didn’t know where Davy was, and I didn’t know what kind of trouble he was in. So I decided to stay out of Cathedral Park’s parking lot. I stopped the car behind a warehouse on North Brandford Street. Out of the way of curious eyes but still within running distance of the park.
I got out of the car, locked it, and made sure I had the keys in my pocket. Then I crossed the street to a soggy patch of trees on the edge of the park. Time to find Davy.
I cleared my mind, chanted a mantra, set my Disbursement. Drawing on magic here in the fifth quarter, on the other side of the railroad tracks, was difficult. But now that I carried magic within me, even in a dead zone, there was enough magic to power a dozen spells. Maybe more. I’d never really tested how much I could use magic without the constant refill from the city.
I hoped I wouldn’t have a reason to find that out any time soon.
I drew the glyphs for Sight, Smell, and Sound and poured magic into them.
St. Johns might not have magic going for it, but the few spells that were at work here stuck out like a sore thumb. Mostly, I saw spells wrapped around people who had bought cheap magical vanities that never lasted long, to try to improve the look of their cars, clothes, hair.
I ignored all those petty spells, my Hounding instincts drawn instead to the flicker of magic in the shadows beneath the bridge.
Indigos, bloodreds, burnt copper. All the colors I’d last seen bringing the Necromorph back to life shimmered under the gothic