Brush of Darkness (25 page)

“Wish I’d known that sooner,” Brystion’s low voice rumbled behind me. “And saved myself the trouble of rescuing your ass last night.”

I started, dropping the purse to the floor. Phineas squealed and tumbled from the leather hobo with a baleful snort. Robert took a step toward the incubus, hatred stamped across his face.

“Stand down,” Roweena commanded, “or I’ll have you removed from this proceeding.” Robert glowered, and I had to turn away from the haunted ache reflected there. It was love that motivated him, and I could not fault him for that. The Fae stared down at me, one brow raised at the unicorn. “Something we should know?”

“Nice one.” The unicorn glared up at me before bowing slightly to Roweena. “Phineas,” he announced, “Abby’s personal adviser. And she is also my TouchStone.”

“Indeed.” She eyed me thoughtfully, a finger pressed to her lip. “This is more complicated than I thought,” she said, rubbing at her temples with a weary hand.

“Join the club,” I retorted. I shifted in my seat and exchanged a glance with Brystion. “So, do I TouchStone everyone I touch?” I tried to chuckle, but it stuck in my throat. “I mean, wouldn’t that make it hard to . . . I don’t know. Live?”

“It’s possible, but the actual act of becoming a TouchStone isn’t driven by mortals. You are merely the conduit. The OtherFolk must actually engage the process.”

“That would mean they would have to know what I was.”

“Yes, but you still have to allow it.” Her lips compressed in disapproval. Clearly daring to TouchStone anyone other than the Protectorate had been a major no-no. But I had known that, hadn’t I?

I gestured at the unicorn. “Phineas was unintentional on my part.” My eyes flicked back toward Brystion. “As was he.”

“And they were transcribed upon physical contact?”

“Yes. I was trying to capture Phineas when that one happened.”

“You were trying to
capture
a unicorn? I find it rather difficult to believe that a TouchStone of Moira’s would ever stoop to such a thing.”

“In truth, my Lady, it was more of a rescue,” Phineas interjected smoothly. “And of course, the TouchStoning was completely driven by me.”

She raised a brow at this. “You purposely TouchStoned a nonvirgin?”

“It was more a means of escape at the time. Better that than being daemon hors d’oeuvres.”

“Practical little thing.” Roweena’s mouth twitched. “And the incubus? What cause would you have had to touch him?”
Her eyes lit on Brystion with a dark glitter. “Or maybe I should ask, what cause would the incubus have had to touch you?”

Brystion’s shoulders slumped. “I needed to—”

“Seizures.” I stood up suddenly. “I have seizures. He came into the store to find Moira, and while we were talking, I had one.” My gaze drifted toward him, watched him school the flash of surprise on his face. “Brystion was able to catch me before I hit the floor.”

“Yes,” he said wanly. “Under the circumstances, I thought it might be a bit awkward to have the Protectorate’s TouchStone spill her brains out all over the counter. Bad form, you know.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” I muttered, fighting the urge to touch my scar.

Roweena stared at the three of us for several moments. “This is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” she finally exploded. “Which means you’re either all very good liars, or you’re all telling the truth.”

The unicorn coughed. “Well, technically, I can’t lie, so that would mean—”

“I
know
that,” she snapped, her arms crossing in frustration. “I’m sorry, Robert, but your charges of coup are unfounded. There is nothing I can do. While you may find the situation repugnant, that is not really your concern.” She gestured at us carelessly. “None of the parties involved appear to have any reservations from what I can see or a need to break the Contracts.” Her eagle eyes zoomed in on us. “Or lack thereof, as the case may be. Do they?”

“No.” My legs trembled with sudden relief. “I’ve got it under control.”

“But what about Charlie?” Robert pushed past us as though we hadn’t said a thing.

“Use your head, angel. If Charlie were dead, would you
be able to travel the CrossRoads as you have been?” Phineas stomped a hoof, fixing Robert with a withering stare. “My TouchStone may or may not be guilty of many things, but accessory to murder isn’t one of them.”

“Shut up.” I nudged the unicorn with my knee, ignoring his indignant squeal, and looked at Robert. “I already told you everything I knew about Moira the other night. I mean, the Midnight Marketplace continued to open, so I just figured she’d be back later. That means she’s still alive, doesn’t it?”

“There’s different levels of alive,” the angel said sourly. “And most of them aren’t very good.”

Roweena winced at his words but shook herself. “We cannot allow ourselves to think in that fashion. If the Royal Court even remotely suspects she is . . . dead . . .” She shuddered. “Well, it certainly doesn’t bear thinking about.”

“We’ve got bigger problems,” Brystion interjected brusquely, shifting in front of me. I absently noticed he’d found shoes somewhere as he tossed something onto the table. “This is the badge the daemons were wearing last night. I went back to the attack site this morning and found it on the body of the one I killed.”

Roweena’s nose flared. “Disgusting things.” Gingerly, she turned it over, her face suddenly paling as she looked at Robert. “Is this right?”

The angel exhaled sharply, tracing the mark branded into the leather.

“What is it?” I glanced between them. “What does it say?”

“Many of these sorts of mercenaries wear the mark of the one who purchased their services,” Robert said, the words appearing to choke him. “Daemon battles are often too fluid and fast to change sides. It makes them easier to identify between the fighting. Not that they seem to care much who
they kill.”

I asked the question even though I was pretty sure I wouldn’t like the answer. “And whose mark does that one bear?”

He let the circle fall to the table, his icy gaze capturing mine. “One Maurice Delacroix. Former lover and ex-TouchStone of the Protectorate.”

M
aurice?” My voice sounded thin against the sudden explosion of murmurs in the room. I thought back to that little photo from Moira’s office, the way Maurice’s hand was entwined with hers. “But that makes no sense. I mean, you all said he disappeared, but . . .” I slumped back in the chair. “I guess if he sees me as a threat, then okay, but why attack Charlie?”

“And more importantly, why is he actually still alive?” Roweena snapped. “He should have aged to death months ago.”

Brystion frowned, sharing a glance with me. “Aged to death how? Abby and I found a picture of him from over a hundred years ago.”

“It’s the Contract,” I said dully. “All that agelessness bullshit, all those little perks? They all go down the shitter if I leave Portsmyth. I’ll age a year for every minute I’m out there. Maurice had the same deal, I’m guessing.”

“Yes,” Roweena said softly. “And he tried to leave. It wasn’t pretty.”

My bullshit detector went off in about a thousand different directions at
that
particular statement, but I didn’t want
to call her on it. Not that I thought she was lying exactly, but the Fae had a way of twisting words into a type of truth. But there was no way there wasn’t more to this story than she was saying.

“And you say you took this off one of the daemons?” Roweena turned toward Brystion. He nodded.

“Hzule,” I said. “I recognized him from the Marketplace the other night.”

“Then they’ve been targeting you longer than we thought,” Brystion said sharply, his jaw tightening.

Roweena fixed me with suddenly defensive eyes. “We’re going to need to make sure you’re guarded at all times.”

“I will see to it,” the incubus interrupted, with an even deeper chill to his voice. “Unlike some, I guard my TouchStones with my life.”

“I’ll kill you for that.” Robert launched himself toward us, his wings snapping open like a crack of thunder.

“Bring it,” Brystion sneered back, already moving into a protective stance.

I looked askance at Roweena, pressing myself back against the chair as the angel steamrolled past. Phineas gave a sharp whinny and ducked behind the seat. “Aren’t you going to stop this?” I shouted at her, wincing at the sound of Robert’s fist against the incubus’s chin.

Roweena returned her attention to her parchment, her expression bored.

“Fine,” I muttered, realization shooting through me. She was waiting to see what we’d do. What
I’d
do. Another goddamned test. But what was I going to do? The other night, the two of them had responded to my anger and stopped, but that was before they’d come to blows. And now, Brystion straddled Robert, his dark eyes whirling with gold-tinted fury.

I was at my own CrossRoads, I thought grimly. Fae.
Incubus. Angel. Which Path would I choose? My eyes met the amused gaze of Roweena. Clearly she expected me to ask for help.

Not this time, honey.

My earlier words to Katy swept through my mind and I stood up, my hand resting on the cool marble. “I choose the Fourth Path. Humanity.”

Roweena’s mouth gaped slightly, but I shoved past her, wedging myself between the two men. I didn’t have a bucket of water to toss on them, but I remembered my grandmother twisting my ear when I was a child and how goddamned much it hurt. I grabbed an ear from both and pulled, hard. “Both of you, knock it the fuck off.”

An elbow cocked me upside the head. Pain lanced through my skull, and I swore, arms windmilling to catch my balance. The floor shot up to meet me despite my skilled flailing, and I rolled to catch the brunt of the impact on my shoulder. My breath pushed out in a gasp, and the telltale aura edged around my vision.

Robert and Brystion both squatted over me, their lips moving. But there was only the ringing in my head and my own voice screaming silently at them. My body stiffened and I plunged into darkness.

Silence. Darkness. Shadowed wings like midnight moths brushing against my face. Where was I? I tried to open my eyes, but I had no eyes to open, no mouth to speak through, no ears to hear with. Flat and empty, my skin stretched over the hollowed canvas. Inside, I was screaming, my mouth eternally open, eternally silent, each shallow breath like sucking in gasoline and linseed oil through cotton mesh, hot and unbearable.

“Tell him . . .” A face . . . my face? Vacant doll’s eyes, burning in agony like crisping paper in a fireplace. “Tell
him,” it whispered, the bond snapping into place between us.

“Is she awake?” The voice was quietly grim. I heard soft footsteps. A door closing.

“Imma wak.” My mouth felt like it was full of sand. A sweeping whisper pressed past my lips, echoing in an eerie nasal whistle. Something cool tickled over my tongue and it took me a moment to recognize it as a plastic straw, dripping ice water into the abused reaches of my throat.

“Sip it slowly, Abby.”

I coughed, wincing at the burning scrape of air in my lungs. I swallowed, the chilled liquid leaking steadily until I’d had enough. I swatted at the straw, but my hands were swollen and clumsy. What the hell?

I sat up. Correction. I
tried
to sit up. The resulting head spin promptly caused me to roll over on my side and dry-heave, sternum aching with each violent contraction. A dull pain throbbed on the side of my head. I reached up, tried to feel the scar. “What’s on my hands? Why can’t I see?”

“We had to put gloves on your hands to keep you from scratching yourself.” Brystion’s words were low and soothing in my ear. He caressed my temple gently and I sighed, the warmth of his skin a welcome balm to the pain. “And as to why you can’t see . . .” The incubus chuckled. “Well, it would probably help if you opened your eyes.”

My eyes? “I’m such a dumbass,” I complained, cracking one open at him. I squinted, preparing myself for harsh light, but I was only met with shadows.

“But a cute dumbass.” His lips twitched and I frowned. They were upside down. Or I was upside down, really. I was lying on my back on the floor, my head cradled in his lap. “What happened?” My eyes darted to the sides but nothing was there. “Where are the others?”