Magic on the Storm (Allie Beckstrom #4)

A corner of his mouth quirked up. “I play pool. Shoot hoops sometimes too. Any other sport you’re curious about?”

“Hockey? Polo?”

“Simultaneously. Trick is to keep the horses on their skates.

Did you refuse to be tested to see if you and he were Soul Complements because you were afraid you might want sex with him?”

Yes, I am tactful that way.

Don’t be an idiot,” Terric said. “You were unconscious less than ten minutes ago.”

“And you were a dick. One of us got better.

Fucking fuck fuck of a fuck.” Shame dug in his pocket for his cigarettes and lighter. His hands shook as he lit up.

“Eloquence, thy name is Flynn,” Terric said

Fucking hell.” He sighed dramatically. “I hate you, Beckstrom.”

“Hold on to that,” I said. “You know, because anger will get you there.

Greyson is gone.”

A high-pitched ringing started in my ears.

“Dead?” I asked, not at all ashamed at the tiny bit of hope that leaked into my voice.

“No. Escaped. He’ll be hunting you.”

With that as the option, I liked dead better.

He rolled his tongue around in his mouth and made a sour face. “Got any gum? Mints?”
“No. You going to hark again?” He shook his head. “Mouth tastes like the bottom of my shoe.” I didn’t ask him how he knew that particular flavor.

He shoved at me, tried to take control, but I was nothing if not made of stubborn.

Hold up. I’m bait?

How does the Authority usually handle storms like this?”

“Not well.

I don’t know how to explain it.”

“Try words. If that doesn’t work, we’ll move on to interpretive dance.

I doubt she likes the idea of seeing him put back in a cage.” “Maybe not,” he said. “But she knows that the Authority are the only people who might be able to help him.” “Or kill him,” I said. “That too. What is life without risk?” “Long?” Terric laughed, a sort of high whooping that made me—and Zayvion, much to my surprise—smile. Contagious. For all he had a serious exterior, Terric was the guy you’d want to sit next to at a funny movie, just to hear him laugh.

I relaxed my grip. “Say I win.”

“I win,” he managed.

Is there a particular way you'd like to end up on the floor this time?" he asked as he shifted his stance and waited for me to attack. "Or do you just want me to surprise you?"
"Gee, if I get a choice, how about if I end up on top this time?

I was about to meditate like no one had ever meditated before.

I was now officially Beckstrom the storm rod. And I hated it.

Keep digging, Flynn. Six feet makes a grave.

magic was not a required course. He could have a degree in Wiffle ball for all I knew.

Meditate, he’d said. Jingo Jingo was such a joker.

Rock, meet stubborn place.

Shamus Flynn stood at the door halfway across the room, a bucket of ice tucked between his arm and chest, and a grin on his face.
"Thank God I got here in time." He tossed another volley our way. "You might have gone up in sex at any minute.

She had that motherly no-bullshit way of using her hands as a second communication device and I always fell for it.

So if my ability to meditate was what was going to save the world, or at least save Portland, then I was pretty sure we should all think about moving to Seattle.

Sunny, whose demeanor was the exact opposite of her name;

The three women laughing over there? Dark wavy hair, coffee skin, and beautiful matching sets of big, lovely—”

I slapped him on the arm.

“Hey. Eyes. I was going to say eyes. What were you thinking?

We’re a lot alike that way. You know I never back down from a challenge.” He reached over, brushed my hair back, and tucked it behind my ear. “Not the safest way to go through life.”

“Maybe not. But it’s my way.

You coming in here?” I asked.

“Afraid I’ll gnaw on your stepmother?

You’re a good kid. If you’d work on your pain-in-the-ass tendencies, you’d be real nice.”

“Too bad that isn’t going to happen anytime soon,” he muttered. “Real nice doesn’t get you very far.”

“Real nice can keep you from getting beat up,” I said.

He smiled. “Right. Maybe we should both work on it, then.

You told Detective Stotts you think a wild storm is coming.” “I thought you were puking.” “Not with my ears,” he said.

Zay shrugged one shoulder. “I wouldn’t say it was entirely innocent. All that warm, wet water touching us everywhere. And the soap definitely had ulterior motives.”

I wrapped the towel around me, tucking it tight at the top. “That career in comedy? Walk away now, Jones.