A Sliver of Shadow (5 page)

As a living KeyStone I had the rare capability to Touch-Stone OtherFolk on contact, which could lead to a number of unfortunate situations. Without an actual Contract, the boundaries of such a bond were nebulous at best and dangerous at worst. I knew where Brandon was going with this; I actually got a vision of an OtherFolk’s inner personality upon creation of the bond—but that sort of thing took energy.
Plus it was damned creepy. Not something I was willing to put up with simply to make life easier for people who couldn’t even be bothered get to know each other first.

“Um, no. I don’t think that’s a good idea. For one thing, the more people I’m TouchStoned to, the more energy I end up expending. For another—”

“For another, Moira wouldn’t allow it.” Talivar drawled behind me, but there was an edge to his voice that I’d come to recognize very well. His fingers brushed lightly upon my arm, their heat marking me as surely as any brand. “And neither would I. Abby has enough on her plate without taking on another project, don’t you think?” His gaze flicked to where Katy cooed at the baby, Benjamin’s happy giggles ringing through the bar.

Brandon bared his teeth at the elf, ears flattening. “And maybe you should let her decide for herself, aye?”

I planted a hand on Talivar’s chest before he could reply. “Dudes, can we save the pissing match for another time? Moira’s not going to thank you if you start smiting the newly renovated dance club she just finished financing.”

The prince shrugged, sliding a steaming cup of coffee toward me, the scent promising something with cream and caramel. “The final choice, of course, is yours. As your bodyguard, I merely thought to make my opinion known.” He smiled at Brandon. “My apologies, lycanthrope.”

The werewolf snorted and then shook his head, but the ears had perked up. “Yeah, whatever.”

“Ah. The delicate male ego. So fragile. So infinitely pettable.” Ignoring the way they both blinked at me, I pointed over to the stage where Melanie was tweaking her amp. “Now go bother your own TouchStone for a bit. Find out how much planning is left for Katy’s party tonight. I’ll join you in a minute.”

Talivar grunted in assent, watching Benjamin for a moment
before heading past the bar and beelining for the stage. I watched the prince’s ass, simply because I could. There was something about that slim-hipped swagger that had my Lord of the Rings inner geek demanding some sort of fanservice. Preferably the mostly undressed sort.

Brandon yawned, leaning on the bar top. “I honestly had the feeling that you wouldn’t, but Katy thought it wouldn’t hurt to ask.”

I slipped into a high-backed barstool and took a sip of my coffee. “Well, even aside from Talivar’s input on the subject, it would have to go through Moira first. After all, she’s made a few allowances for me, but given the trouble we had before, I think the Faery Council would really have issues with it. I mean, they totally freaked out when they found out I was TouchStoned to … Brystion.”

I shivered. I’d been accused of attempting to overthrow the Protectorate in a misunderstanding of massive proportions and I had no wish to revisit the process. If I never saw the inside of a cell within the Judgment Hall again it would be too soon.

“I hadn’t even thought about that,” he admitted. “But, yeah, I guess I can understand.” He brightened, cocking his head at me. “Well, if not that, how about a ‘Dear Abby’ column in our newsletter, then? Maybe take some of the pressure off you having to answer all these.” He pulled up a new stack of variously shaped envelopes and I groaned.

“Seriously?” I fingered one that looked to be little more than a leaf stuffed in a conch shell. “Well, that one’s different, anyway. Snail mail,” I quipped, my lips curling at my own joke.

“They keep coming in. If we set you up with an actual column maybe people would understand it if you couldn’t get to them all.”

“Why me?”

“Why
not
you?” His gaze rested heavily on me. “You’re one of the first mortal KeyStones that’s shown up in a very long time. You nearly died to save the Protectorate.”

I scowled at him, slouching on my stool. “The bad guy still got away and my friends were hurt. Hell, your bar was completely trashed. I’m not sure I see anything overly heroic about that.” To be honest, I’d thought I’d been nothing more than a big coward for most of it, giving myself to the enemy like some kind of sacrificial lamb. “I should have acted faster than I did.”

“You acted. That’s more than a lot of mortals would have done.” His long furry fingers toyed with the edge of one of the letters. “The fact of the matter is you’re TouchStoned to one of each of us. Each of the Paths, I mean. There’s something sort of disturbing and comforting about that.”

“That’s me,” I retorted. “Like holding a .45 to your skull with one hand and offering you a lollipop with the other. And I’m not TouchStoned to all three Paths anymore.” I tried not to flinch as I said it, leaving my tone as matter-of-fact as I could.

“But you were.” He sighed. “That’s not what I meant. I’m sorry.”

I waved him off, shuffling the pile of letters together to shove them into the diaper bag. “Yeah, I know. And I’ll think about it.”

“All we can ask.”

It wasn’t entirely true, I didn’t think. The asking. I owed him a debt for being there when I needed him, and for him not blaming me when Katy was hurt. It was still on
my
shoulders.

Talivar had his back to me as I approached the stage. His voice was pitched low, his head beside Melanie’s. I hesitated. If they were in the middle of a serious conversation, I didn’t want to be caught up in it. I studied my best friend for
a moment, taking in the way her familiar curly red hair hung loosely over one shoulder, tangled in the hooks of her leather corset. Her eyes appeared troubled behind the purple teashade glasses.

The commonality of their forced TouchStone Contract was me, something I wasn’t overly comfortable with. The fact that Melanie had been required to do it to save her fingers wasn’t anything I was proud of, particularly given that I’d inadvertently put her in the situation that had injured her. As a virtuoso of unsurpassed skill, she was in high demand among the OtherFolk. Without the ability to play, she would have lost her livelihood for certain.

For the first time, I really looked at the two of them, wondering if they’d break the Contract, given the chance. There was a tenseness to Melanie whenever she looked at him, and the set of Talivar’s shoulders didn’t speak of anything calm. Melanie shrugged, her words increasing in volume.

“—but I don’t really think I’m the one you should be asking. Moira would probably be a better—oh hey, Abby.” Melanie’s smile suddenly became forced. Talivar turned to face me and I coughed.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Melanie said. “We were just discussing some of the details of Katy’s party tonight. The musical stuff.”

“Something like that,” Talivar muttered. I frowned at Melanie, not liking the lie, but I wasn’t going to press. As I’d discovered, TouchStone Contracts were terribly intimate, and given that this was the longest one Melanie had ever had, there was bound to be some friction.

“Well, okay then,” I said, a sudden perverseness making me want to call them on it. “What did you have in mind?”

The elven prince shifted uncomfortably, even as Melanie lifted her violin to her cheek. With a sonorous sigh, the
voice of the strings spun about us in harmony, the purity of the sound echoing through the Hallows. From somewhere behind us, Benjamin babbled in delight. I couldn’t help the smile creeping over my face, Talivar and I sharing a quick glance.

Uncertainly flickered in his eye. “Abby—”

“What a lovely couple you make. I can see why she chose you.” I froze, the tone of the words slicing through our moment with all the grace of a thrown bag of garbage. The music cut off, all three of us turning to face the newcomer. I did a double take, recognition sliding into place. It was the woman from the street corner.

Instinctively, I pulled away from Talivar, my gaze rocketing to where Katy still held Benjamin. I stepped in front of them, something about the woman making my hackles rise. “And you are?” I kept my voice polite, but firm. After all, this time I had friends at my back.

“Oh, that’s right. I’d forgotten.” Her teeth gleamed beneath rouged lips. She shook her head, and the Glamour melted away in a haze of sparkles, revealing her to be one of the elves, tall and pale, complete with the broom-up-the-ass arrogance so common to their race. Gone were the dowdy mom-jeans with their elastic waistband and her appliqué vest; her clothes became chic and silken to match the dark lustrous waves of her hair. There was nothing grandmotherly at all about the way her perfectly shadowed eyes gleamed hungrily as they fell on Benjamin. “I’m Tresa. The
new
Protectorate of Portsmyth.”

E
xcuse me?” I frowned at her, eyeing her Jimmy Choos with a hint of envy. “And here I thought the Devil was supposed to wear Prada?”

Talivar shifted to stand closer, angling his body so that it was in front of mine. Brandon perked up, sliding from behind the bar with a look that was more than a little unfriendly. His eyes flicked toward Katy, who was clinging to a suddenly silent Benjamin.

“I think you heard me,” Tresa said coolly, her brow raised. “I was led to believe you were Moira’s TouchStone. Are you not?”

“She isn’t required to answer you.” The shadowed lilt of Talivar’s voice made me shiver beneath the weight of his words, as though he’d wrapped a cloak of regality about him. Not a bodyguard now, but a prince of the Fae, staring hard at one of his subjects.

Unfazed, Tresa shook her head, a sneer tearing its way across her flawless mouth. “I already told you. I’m the new Protectorate. And I don’t take orders from the Crippled Prince.”

Ignoring Talivar’s black look, she dug into her satchel
and pulled out a scroll. She shoved it in my face. “This is the new Contract. I’d like you to look it over. If you agree with the terms, we can go ahead and get you signed up, hmm?” Her eyes glittered as she spoke and her pretentious questioning hum had me about ready to elbow her in the throat.

My hand didn’t move from my side. “I’m not signing anything.” TouchStone Contracts were tricky even at the best of times, but I couldn’t remotely fathom signing one on some woman’s random say-so.

She paused, something flickering across her face. Annoyance? Anger? I couldn’t tell. Her smile widened into something feral and toothy, but I brushed it off. “And what about Moira?”

“Ah. She’s rather indisposed, at the moment. Taking care of the Queen, I believe, the poor thing.” Tresa looped her fingers through her hair, a smile playing about her lips. Beside me, Talivar made a strangled sound, his jaw cracking.

Self-righteous fury heated my cheeks. “Bullshit. There’s no way she would have left her baby with me indefinitely.”

“Not to mention Moira said no such thing to me when I saw her,” Talivar growled.
“Yesterday.”

Tresa’s eyes narrowed. “Indeed.” Her mouth hardened as she turned to where Katy stood. A flash of fur from the bar caught my attention. Brandon stalked past us, moving with a deliberate swagger. A wolf on the prowl, but not panicked. Not yet.

“Enough of this,” I said. “I’m not doing anything until I get confirmation from a third party.” Benjamin squirmed in Katy’s arms. I moved away from Tresa, my head doing a couple of quick calculations. “I don’t suppose this is something you can determine?” I gave Talivar a tight smile.

He blinked at me. “I’m hardly going to be objective. As liaison, Roweena would be the best choice. No one would
question her word,” he added with an odd touch of bitterness.

I nodded. Roweena DuMont was the liaison between the Faery Court proper and the Protectorate’s Council. Usually all official court business would come through her, although sometimes wires did cross.

“All right, let’s see if she can’t give us the scoop. I think our friend here is neglecting to tell us all the details.” Tresa’s eagerness to have me sign over the Contract had set off a series of small alarm bells. I might still be a bit wet behind the ears when it came to the OtherFolk, but as TouchStone to the Protectorate, I wasn’t going to just roll over on this chick’s assurance.

Talivar didn’t answer, suddenly reaching out to push me behind him. The ghosted presence of a hand snatched at the back of my head. I rolled to my knees, his low-throated growl of disapproval echoed in Brandon’s snarl. Melanie pulled me to my feet, her violin balanced in the other hand. “What was that about?” I snapped, peering around the bulk of his shoulder as a whimper of pain sounded.

“She was trying to TouchStone you,” he replied pleasantly, tightening his grip on Tresa’s wrist until she sank to the floor. “Weren’t you, Tresa?”

She winced, but whether that was because of the thunderstorm in his voice or the fact that he was quite clearly grinding her bones together I wasn’t going to guess. “Was not,” she gasped. “Just wanted to give her the paperwork.”

“By touching her?”

Tresa looked away, her mouth firmly compressed. Any sympathy I might have had for her dropped out the window like a sack of bricks. Hopefully attached to her head.