Brush of Darkness (24 page)

I waved her off with a sigh. Tensions were high all around. “A pee break would be nice. I get they need to keep me separate from the others, but the prisoner treatment is getting a bit old.”

“That’s Robert’s doing. I think he forgets we’re just humans.” She rolled her eyes. “But I wouldn’t be too hard on him. He’s pretty torn up. Here.” She thrust her purse at me. “I thought you might want to freshen up before they call you in.”

“It’s not a fashion show, Mel. They can take me or leave me.”

Her eyes narrowed and she shoved it back into my lap. “Take it, Abby. I
insist
.”

I clutched the purse on my lap, bewildered. “It’s not even my purse, Mel. Why the hell would I want—”

“Take the purse, doll.” The unicorn’s muffled voice sounded from the bag. Startled, I nearly threw it across the room. Opening the leather hobo, I snorted as Phineas poked
his head out. “’Bout time you figured it out,” he muttered. “She’s only been trying to get me in here for the last two hours.”

“At least you’ve had your freedom,” I said. “And the use of a bathroom.”

He shuddered, craning his head behind him. “You try having a stick of lip balm half up your ass for forty-five minutes and then we can compare notes.”

“Sounds like a personal problem.” I glanced up at Mel, but she was already disappearing through the doorway. I saw her shake her head at someone outside, but within moments she was gone, leaving us alone.

“It took a lot of guts for her to get me in here,” Phineas muttered. “Don’t fuck it up.”

“I wasn’t planning on it. Not that I know what’s expected of me.”

“It’s like she said.” The unicorn snorted, impatient with my ignorance. “You’re going to be interrogated. You can’t really blame them for that. The Faery Queen’s daughter is missing and
you
were likely the last person to see her. Just answer their questions and be honest. Unless, of course, you really did do something to her,” he amended hastily. “In which case, lie your fucking ass off.”

I shot him a look that would have melted an iceberg. “Remind me never to hire you as my defense.”

The doorknob turned with a slight screech, and I shoved Phineas back into the purse. He whickered in protest and then went quiet. I had no idea how having him here would be to my advantage, but I wasn’t about to turn down an ally.

The door swung open, revealing a sullen Celestial. He was a strapping sort of brute, with a spiked tangle of russet hair and a five o’clock shadow maybe three hours too late. I didn’t stand up. I’d had enough of being polite, and I’d be damned if I’d snap to just because of their say-so.
Unperturbed, he motioned at me to follow him, ignoring the sour smirk I gave him. Slinging the purse over my shoulder, I shuffled to my feet. I didn’t recognize him, but that didn’t mean anything. Any OtherFolk denizen could come and go as they pleased in the Judgment Hall, assuming they had reason to be there.

I glanced up at the dark, stained-glass windows as I trudged behind the winged angel, pretending not to notice the dread rooting down my spine, prickling over my skin like a death sentence. The Judgment Hall was impressively understated in stone and wood with a hint of the same bits of magic that filled the Marketplace, mostly in the form of witchlight sconces. An ancient air haunted the place, lurking in the shadowed corners like it had found its roots within the crumbled remains of some secret, pagan sanctuary.

I’d only been here once before, but that had been with Moira and under far different circumstances. I’d perched in a small seat beside her on the dais at the front of the room, like some kind of exotic pet. It had been awkward at first, but after a few curious glances I’d been mostly ignored as Moira went about listening to complaints. An execution had been scheduled that day, but thankfully it had been postponed. I had no desire to be
any
part of that. Not that the bloodstained and battered stone block to the left of the dais left any less of a sinister impression.

The angel stopped at the sculpted doorway that led into the main hall, gesturing me inside with a polite flourish. There were two main sets of seats, large and bulky, almost like ancient marble church pews. They were currently filled, one row after the other. OtherFolk. Mortals. Things I barely recognized as being sentient. I swallowed as they turned to face me.

“Go up to the front,” the angel commanded softly, his
hand hovering by my elbow.

“I know where it is.” I shouldered away from him before he could touch me. The last thing I needed was for that instant TouchStone thing to start working its mojo. Head held high, I strutted down the aisle, feeling like some kind of retro-virgin-sacrifice-slash-bride.

A crescent-shaped table stood at the front of the room, flanked by thirteen empty seats in quiet array, each normally filled by a Council member. The seats were supposed to be a matched set of the three paths—the rightmost side of the table was for the Light Path, the left for the Dark Path, the middle for the Fae. The center is where Moira sat, but then, that was the reason we were all here, wasn’t it?

The Petitioner’s Throne that the angel had directed me to was by itself, centered before the crescent. Made of gilded marble and solid stone, it reminded me of a medieval version of an electric chair. Certainly not one meant for comfort, anyway.

Murmurs rippled through the chamber as I made my way to the dais. I tried to keep my eyes straight ahead, but I couldn’t help the nervous slide of my vision, vibrating with the recognition of so many people. Brandon. Melanie. The Gypsy. The PETA pixie. The hag. Alisair. I blinked. Even Katy. Our gazes met and she gaped at me, her blue eyes wide and terrified.

“Be careful what you wish for,” I muttered, but there wasn’t much sympathy in my voice.

I spotted Robert at the corner of the crescent and swallowed my anger. “Charlie was my friend too,” I said to him as I approached. The electric blue of his eyes damn near lashed out with tiny lightning bolts, but he deliberately turned his back, wings shifting with a feathered shuffle. “Whatever.” I hugged the purse to my chest and slumped into the seat.

“Ahem.” I turned about until I spotted an elderly Fae striding toward me, purpose driving each precise, clicking step. A severe bun balanced perfectly upon her head, with nary a stray bang out of place. Shot with silver, the delicate shade of gold gleamed beneath the witchlights like the burnished edges of my grandmother’s old Christmas ornaments. It was unusual to see one of the Fae showing her age. In fact, I couldn’t recall a time when I’d ever caught one with more than a few wrinkles here or there—most of the time they wore a Glamour. Either she had dropped hers, or this woman was
really
old.

“Abby Sinclair?” Her voice was sonorous, lilting with the delicate accent that the more noble Fae often possessed.

“Yes,” I nodded, easing back into the chair in an attempt to seem relaxed. I probably failed miserably, but she was kind enough not to show it.

“Roweena DuMont.” She inclined her head gracefully, hand extended. Her fingers wrapped coolly around mine, as though the blood were sluggish in her veins. “I’m the Fae liaison for this case. It is of utmost importance that you answer all questions as truthfully as you can.” I almost laughed aloud. I’d never yet met a Faery that could give anyone a straight answer, and yet somehow I was expected to tell them everything I knew?

“Yeah, okay. What do you want to know?” I could be a good girl if I needed to be. I even did my best to keep the sarcastic twang from my voice.

Her face hardened into smooth marble. “Do you understand the seriousness of your situation, mortal?”

I shrugged, ignoring the grunt of warning from my lap. “I understand that one of my best friends is missing. I understand that Moira is missing. I understand that the succubi are disappearing. And,” I said softly, “I seem to be the common factor.”

“Moira is the Queen of Elfland’s daughter,” Roweena said, her lips pressed together tightly. “The gravity of that cannot be overlooked, regretful as your friend’s situation may be. Moira is the reason I am here.”

Robert tensed, his wings flaring in and out, feathers trembling. I knew he was hurting, and the better part of me wanted to go to him, but I quashed it. Displaying emotion would be seen as a weakness in this place.

“I know about Moira,” I said, “but this has to come as a package deal.
You
may be willing to overlook the rest of it, but I can’t. And I’m not going to. You want my help finding Moira, you’re going to need to compromise.”

Roweena’s eyes narrowed shrewdly. The Fae couldn’t resist a bargain and we both knew it. “What are they to you, these Dark Path succubi? The angel’s TouchStone I understand—such mortal bonds are rich in emotion.” Her hand waved at me carelessly. “But to care for those of the Dark Path? That seems a bit extreme, doesn’t it?”

“I gave my word to a friend,” I said stubbornly, ignoring Robert’s disbelieving snort. “And even if that wasn’t enough, I feel it’s my duty to try to help.”

“Your duty?”

“Moira’s not here,” I pointed out. “Brystion came to her for help. I think it’s what she would want me to do in her stead.”

“Ah, yes,” she said. “The incubus. Where
is
he? I would have thought he might be here, given the situation.”

“I don’t know.” I bit the inside of my cheek, not wanting to admit just why that was.

“So he just wandered off after taking you . . . home?” Robert sneered at me, the innuendo hanging there like a bad joke.

It was none of their business and easy enough to sidestep. I gestured toward Melanie. “Ask her. She saw him at my
apartment when she stopped by this morning.”

Robert’s mouth pressed together sharply as Melanie nodded. Her word would be hard to gainsay, especially given she had also been present during Katy’s rescue, not to mention she was notorious for never taking sides.

“My guard did not see anyone enter your premises last night,” Robert pointed out. “No Doors created or closed.”

“He didn’t come through the CrossRoads,” I said. Flushing at the memory of the night before, I allowed my gaze to drift to Roweena. Time to put up or shut up. “He came through me—I did it.”

The elven woman whipped toward me, her lips twitching like a hungry rabbit. “You did? How?”

“I pulled him through the Dreaming.”

“Preposterous,” Robert scoffed. His hand caressed the hilt of his sword, his face reddening.

“I’m his TouchStone,” I pointed out, ignoring the sudden intake of breath around the room. “But I don’t have a Contract to prove it. I’ve been told that changes things a bit.”

Roweena looked at the angel sharply. “I believe you neglected to mention that in the report, yes?” She retreated to the stone table to scratch out a note on a piece of parchment. “Just how many OtherFolk are you TouchStoned to in that manner? Without a Contract, that is.” There was a curious bent to her expression as she said it, a feral gleam in her smile as she leaned forward.

“Just two after Moira. That I know of,” I amended hastily. No need to accidentally get caught up in a lie. “I think.” I winced, sheepish. “How can I tell?”

Roweena’s gaze narrowed into that of a hawk. “You can’t. Therein lies the problem with KeyStones.”

“KeyStones?” The word was unfamiliar to me, and yet there was a pull to the syllables, a reverberation through my bones that had a terrible ring of truth.

“They’re very rare.” Her voice had dropped as she watched me and I fought the urge to squirm like a little kid who’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t. “Most of the time KeyStones are places—sacred groves, ancient monuments, that sort of thing. They are little pockets of time and space in the mortal world where OtherFolk might dwell without the need for a TouchStone. It’s not uncommon for us to build on top of or around such a place.” She cocked a brow at me. “The Hallows, for example, or even the Marketplace. And
sometimes
, KeyStones are people.”

I mulled over this new bit of information for a moment. It explained the unicorn and the incubus, so that was helpful. The idea of having a string of OtherFolk dependant on me for their movements between the worlds was not. “And that means what for me?”

“It means you’re going to have to be very careful. There’s a very good chance you’ll burn out if you’re too free with your charms, so to speak.” The quill scratched against the parchment again. “I wonder if Moira knew what you were. Who else are you TouchStoned to?”

A soft thud landed at my feet before I could answer. Bloodstained sheets. The crimson splatters still looked damp. I stepped back instinctively, not wanting to touch them. “Charlie?” I croaked out, the sight choking the words from my mouth.

Robert moved toward me like a freight train made of feathers. “These are her sheets.
Our
sheets. She was taken from our bed while she slept.” He loomed over me, the heat from his skin searing me. “I need to find her, Abby.”

“As you were,” Roweena snapped at the raging Celestial. “This is immaterial.”

“It is
not
!” He jabbed a finger at me. “And we are wasting time.”

Part of me wanted to point out that he hadn’t seemed
nearly as concerned when Katy was taken the day before, but that would have been unfair. Or at least dreadfully unwise, given his current state. I could be as snarky as anyone, but I had no desire to lose my head either.

“Is it any coincidence that Moira went missing at about the same time the succubi began disappearing? And then that damn incubus shows up, simple as you please, to seduce her into doing his bidding.” He leaned in close to me, his eyes maddened with grief. “I know you have something to do with it, Abby. You and that Dreameater you’re fucking.”

“I am
not
fucking him!” My voice echoed through the chamber, reverberating off the wall and sizzling with anger. Technically it was the truth. Dream sex, maybe, but I wasn’t going to apologize for what happened in my dreams. “And there was nothing simple about the way he showed up,” I argued. “It sure as hell hasn’t been a walk in the park. I’d rather it had never happened at all, if you must know.”