Allie Beckstrom 09 - Magic for a Price by Devon Monk Read Free Book Online

didn’t think I could handle all these lives in my hands again.
    You are strong, Allison.
Dad’s voice was as comforting and confident as I’d ever heard.
    I have no battle experience…
    …You have done nothing but fight since I died,
he said.
    I don’t know how to coordinate a city full of people. Thousands, Dad. Thousands of people could die, are dying right now. I don’t know enough to make everything turn out right.
    They’re not looking to you to make everything right, Allison. They are looking to you to stand and be their strength. To make the hard decisions they know must be made. To lead them when they are lost. Each person willmake their own choices, will live and die by their own actions. Your place, a leader’s place, is to make them believe they can win this war. And if not win, then survive.
    Even if they can’t?
I asked.
    Is that what you believe?
    I thought about it. I didn’t know what to believe. Things had been changing so quickly. Magic had changed. My friends had changed. Hell, even I had changed.
    I’d killed a man.
    I swallowed hard, trying to push away the memory of Bartholomew’s death that always hovered just below my conscious thought.
    I’d managed to handle whatever had been thrown my way, but could I handle this?
    It’s a war,
I said.
We’re talking about waging a magical battle against Seattle, Leander and Isabelle, and all the people they are going to send against us. We fought Jingo Jingo—one man—and almost died. He wasn’t nearly as strong as Leander and Isabelle—he wasn’t even a Soul Complement. They are. I don’t know how we can take on someone more powerful than him.
    You are a Soul Complement, Allison. Do not think that is without advantage.
    I can’t even cast magic without puking.
    Dad sighed, which is sort of weird since he couldn’t breathe.
You simply refuse to admit your power. It has always been a vexing and disappointing flaw in your character.
    “Disappointing? From a dead guy? You have no right to judge me.”
    It is not a judgment if it is the truth. Why must you turn every conversation into an argument?
    “I’m not arguing. I’m being logical and you’re talking crazy!”
    Someone coughed.
    That’s when I realized I wasn’t just thinking to my dad. I was talking. Out loud. On stage. While everyone across that floor stared at me, silent.
    Oh, just so classy.
    You have their attention now,
Dad said.
Be their strength, even if you are uncertain. Give them a reason to refute their fears even if you can not refute yours. They need hope. They need you.
    I tipped my chin up a little and swallowed. “Well, I heard about half of what Zayvion said.”
    “Mic!” someone from the back yelled. It was Jack Quinn, one of my Hounds. I knew he could hear me. Hounds had good ears. But he was probably right that other people might need me to speak up.
    I brushed my fingers above my ears again, trying to tuck too-short hair. Yes, it was a nervous habit. I had a lot to be nervous about.
    Spotlight, for one thing.
    End of the world, for another.
    I strolled over to Zayvion, fixing him with a glare. He held one hand out for me, and I took it, very aware of all the eyes on us.
    I wondered, for a moment, how they saw us. A man and a woman? An ex-guardian of the gate and a Hound? A poor boy and rich girl? Black and white?
    Or maybe, did they see more? See us as we really were: lovers, companions, friends. Magic users. Survivors. Warriors. Soul Complements.
    From the slight snap of saltiness in the air, I knew at least a few people were casting Sight to see what, exactly, we looked like through magic.
    I don’t want to do this,
I thought, not to Dad, but to Zayvion.
    You won’t do it alone.
Zay rubbed his thumb over the side of my hand.
    I’d rather have him at my side than anyone else in the world.
    I pulled my shoulders back, let go of his hand, and faced the microphone. “Hi,” I said a little too close, causing the feedback to buzz.
    “For those of you who