Magic to the Bone Read Online Free PDF Page A

leaving for Harvard. My father is good at magic. Very good. It took me two years to shed the mind-numbing grip of Influence he had cast. Two years of attending the school he wanted me to attend, learning the skills he wanted me to learn, and becoming the thing he wanted me to become. Two years of being his puppet. And now I was going to stand up to him and tell him I wasn’t going to let him get away with hurting a little kid.
     
     
    ‘‘I’m just not interested right now, okay?’’
     
     
    The cab stopped at a light, gunned through the green, and jerked to a stop double-parked across the street from a high-rise. The building was forty-eight floors of rough, black stone and dark, reflective windows. Elaborate lines of iron and steel twisted like gothic vines to web the entire structure. At the very top of the building was a spire supporting a massive gold-tipped Beckstrom Storm Rod. There was absolutely no mistaking that the entire building was a harvesting station for the rare storms of wild magic that hit the city.
     
     
    ‘‘Leave the meter running,’’ I said. ‘‘I’ll be right back out to pay.’’ I pulled on the door handle, opened the door, and groaned. I felt like I’d just lost a fight with a bulldozer.
     
     
    The cold air felt good, then it felt too cold. Shivering made my entire body hurt. Still, I made it through the lead-lined glass front doors, across the cavernous lobby, sparsely decorated with wedges of black marble against white marble, and to the elevator without drawing much attention from the business-suited comers and goers within. Maybe my bruising wasn’t as bad as Zayvion said it was.
     
     
    My father’s office was, of course, the entire top floor of the building. And Zayvion, for no reason I could understand, followed me across the lobby to the elevator.
     
     
    ‘‘What part of not interested don’t you get, Zayvion?’’
     
     
    He held up a hand. ‘‘I have an appointment on the top floor. I also paid for the cab. You owe me ten bucks.’’
     
     
    ‘‘How thoughtful,’’ I drawled. ‘‘And the top floor? Isn’t that interesting?’’
     
     
    The elevator door opened on a polished wood interior—a warm contrast to the rest of the Art Deco marble and iron decor of the lobby. Zayvion put his hand out and held the door. He waited for me to enter the elevator.
     
     
    I hesitated. What if he was part of the hit on Boy? He didn’t smell of old magic, but right now, hurting and angry, my Hound instincts were seriously off. Even if he wasn’t part of the hit, getting in an empty elevator with someone who might turn out to be only an everyday sort of stalker, wasn’t exactly on my ‘‘good girl, you get to live’’ list of smart choices.
     
     
    Cripes. I could take him. Even sick. Even sore. Even in an elevator.
     
     
    I walked in and pressed the button for the top floor. Zayvion made a little ‘‘what a surprise’’ sound and stood on the other side of the elevator, his hands folded in front of him.
     
     
    The door slid closed and suddenly the elevator seemed way too small for the two of us. I took a good deep breath, trying not to think about the walls closing in, the ceiling pressing down, the floor mashing up, until there was no air, no space. My palms were wet with sweat.
     
     
    This was not working. Think of happy. Think of good. Coffee was good, even though I hadn’t had any yet today. Flowers were good—flowers in big open fields. Big open fields like Nola’s farm were good. It had been too long since I’d seen her. I’d only been to her big open farm with big open fields twice since her husband, John, died.
     
     
    Death was not good. My chest tightened. That wasn’t good either, so I went back to thinking about flowers and big open fields, and the coffee I wished I’d had this morning.
     
     
    I hated that I had to see my dad. It had been seven years since he and I had been in a room together. I wished it could be seven