Magic at the Gate by Devon Monk

cell phone or police walkie-talkie or whatever it was, in his other hand. He didn’t look as wet as I felt. “Ambulance is more like it. You’re burning up.”
    He was wrong. I was freezing. And an ambulance wasn’t what I needed. I had to get Stone to Zayvion in less than a half hour. Dad had said I had only that much time before Stone wouldn’t be able to carry Zay’s soul.
    I wondered if Dad was still in my head, but I couldn’t clear my mind enough to find out.
    “No. Please,” I said. “I have to get Stone—the pet, to Vancouver. It’s a magic spell. In less than half an hour. Or Zay dies.”
    Stotts frowned. Closed his cell. He hadn’t talked to anyone. Hadn’t gotten through to 911, or at least I didn’t think he had.
    “What’s going on?”
    “Zay’s in a coma. His soul—it’s in Stone. Magic. I found him. Just found him. Don’t let me lose him.”
    He glanced over at Stone and squinted. “It’s going to be okay. Stay there and rest. I’ll take care of you.” He stood.
    I could tell by his tone of voice he thought I was delusional.
    “Listen to me,” I said clearly. “There is more magic going on in this city than even you know about. And that”—I pointed at Stone—“is a part of the magic. Someone bound Zayvion’s soul to it, and if I don’t get it back to Zayvion’s living body, he will die.”
    He didn’t look convinced. “Where have you been for the past week?”
    Week? Holy shit.
    “Looking for that.” It came out almost all growl. “Help me get Zay’s soul back to him, or I swear I will knock you out and steal your car.”
    “Can you even walk?” He looked back down at me. Didn’t offer a hand. He was making a point.
    Screw that.
    I’d walk through death and back—again—to save Zayvion. One know-it-all detective wasn’t going to stand in my way now.
    I pushed up onto my knees and then somehow, out of sheer grit and stubbornness, stood.
    Stotts’ eyebrows notched up.
    “You either help me, Detective Stotts, or get the hell out of my way.” I took a step toward Stone. Just that one step made me want to weep in exhaustion. But I didn’t stop.
    “Come on, Stone. Let’s find a cab.”
    Stotts breathed a curse. I smelled the ashy afterburn of a spell—probably Sight. He’d gotten a look at Stone through magical eyes. Using a spell like that made it obvious that magic fueled him.
    Stotts took the time to rattle off a few more swear words. I didn’t think they were in English.
    My ears were ringing now. The magic in my soul was gone, but the magic that flowed beneath the city could still follow the lines and paths Cody had painted in my bones, my blood, my body. Since I was in St. Johns where there was no natural magic, I wasn’t suffering from overload yet. As soon as we passed the railroad tracks out of town, I’d be screwed.
    Stone was under my hand again, the subtle textures of his head like fur beneath my fingers. He supported me in life as he had supported me in death, which was good. I was pretty sure I was about to pass out.
    An arm wrapped around my waist, strong, warm, and I moaned a little. I wanted him to hold me, so I would know skin-to-skin and heartbeat-to-heartbeat that I was alive.
    My logical mind knew that need for contact had to be a reaction to being dead. To being so devoid of sensation. I was starving for touch. Any kind of touch.
    “Think you can make it to the car?” he asked.
    I pressed my lips together, glanced across the park. The parking lot was maybe a block away. I could do that. I hoped. I took another step.
    Stone grumbled like a bag of rocks, then cooed louder, like he had just figured out how to make that sound. He swiveled his head to look up at Stotts and me, and pulled his lips back from his fangs.
    “Is it dangerous?” Stotts asked.
    “No.”
    “It’s not alive?”
    “It’s magic.”
    “No magic I’ve ever seen.”
    That was a problem. Stone was one of those things that the Authority didn’t like common magic