Brush of Darkness (36 page)

“I don’t know. How hard would it be to make a Door into a Shadow Realm? If we’re partially in the Dreaming, would Doors even work here?”

Making Doors is tricky . . . you need a focus of sorts, especially if you’ve never been there. Even if she had her violin, how would she know what to look for?

I glanced up sharply, trying to remember Moira’s painting. The creepy mirror. “She’ll have one,” I said grimly. “The mirror in Moira’s painting is real. It’s in the Pit. If Melanie uses that for her focus, she might be able to call one up that way. And then, if the paintings are connected somehow, maybe we could move between them.”

Someone strong in the Dreaming might—or a creature of
it. Hells, if it weren’t for the chains, I could do it. But even if I did, there’s no way out.

Her words rolled about my head. “I’m a Dreamer,” I said finally. “According to your brother, anyway. But I don’t know how to manipulate my own dreams, let alone a place like this.”

Bummer.

“I’m your TouchStone right? That means you can touch my dreams?”

Yes, but I already told you, the shields—

“Are no longer there,” I interrupted. I paced back and forth in the pearl, blood agitating around me. “I broke my TouchStone bond with Brystion, so we should be free and clear. Can you reach the Heart of my Dreaming?”

She paused.
Yes, I think I could, being that we are connected. But you’d have to be asleep for that. And to what end?

“If it were that simple you would have been able to escape when I was asleep before. And I don’t think it’s quite the same here.” I exhaled abruptly, bubbles whirling away in the darkness. “What if I could pull you through? To where I am, without the chains?”

Without the chains? Yes, I think I could slip into your Heart from here. But how?

“Brystion and I. We, uh, discovered that I could pull him out of the Dreaming when we were, uh, you know,” I added hastily.

She snorted.
That’s a bit different. High emotion, sexual energy—these things will often open a conduit. What did you have in mind? Planning on bedding me?
A hint of amusement crossed over and I frowned.

“If I have to. Although I’m not sure how I’d do that from here. No,” I sighed, “I’m going to have to find some other emotion to pull you through.”

What emotion is that?

I looked back through the pearl, the mere whisper of a shadow flicking by.

“Fear.”

I
t was quiet when I slipped out of the pearl, the heaviness of the sea bearing down upon my hapless form. I was going to have to embrace the mind-numbing terror, the inner coward that I had become. It was part of me, after all.

It was time to submerge myself in the aching realms of my nightmares and willingly seek all that I had shut out in the hopes it would be enough to free the succubus. If Sonja could get to the Heart of my Dreaming, she’d be able to leave, to escape to the CrossRoads.

That was the theory, anyway. I didn’t want to think what the reality might be.

You realize that once I leave here, the anchor will be gone and this Shadow Realm will drift? You could be lost forever.

“
You
realize you’re dying and we’re going to be stuck in that boat regardless,” I retorted. “At least this way, even if it doesn’t work, I’ll know I tried
something
. It’s the best chance we’ve got.”
Except for Brystion
, my mind reminded me. I told my mind to shut the hell up. “Are you ready?” I wasn’t even sure who I was asking, but I said it anyway.

Yes.

My heart pounded against my rib cage, and I swallowed hard, flicking my tail in rapid succession. Up and up and up. My lower half undulated out the rhythm and then the shadows loomed before me. Without giving myself time to think, I threw myself directly into the gaping maw of my inner madness, let the shining flash of serrated knives rend the flesh from my bones.

. . . my mother, her head cradled in my lap, blood pouring from her mouth, nothing but an empty husk. Her hair falling out, clumps of brown and pepper, scattering over my legs. Her mouth curled into a rictus of a grin, her front teeth broken and ragged. “Empty,” she whispered, her breath rattling in a singsong whistle . . .

. . . Me, standing on the stage, staggering. My knee giving out beneath me, bone splintering as the flash of spotlights sheared across my vision, the crowd gasping. The first row sitting there like zombies, waxen and unmoving, as my head hit the floor. My skull splitting, the metal dented open, and the maggots pouring out . . .

. . . Me, alone in the Heart of my Dreaming. The house is empty and dark. I call out someone’s name, but there is no answer. Something moves. “Brystion?” His golden eyes flicker over me with contempt, his upper lip curled. “Your dreams are dead,” he mutters. “And so are you.” He turns away, fading as he walks behind the house, the silver glitter of the CrossRoads taking him. “Don’t leave me,” I sob. “Please don’t leave me alone . . .”

A flash of light burst through my head, gold and bronze and scarlet, like sharp needles behind my eyes. The clink of iron falling away to the floor. A beating of tattered wings buffeted my face, something warm in my arms. Sonja’s dark gaze was grave as she leaned forward. Her mouth brushed
over mine, the barest hint of tongue on my lips, and then she was gone in a haze of feathers, the water around me bleeding with them.

I sank, slipping away from the circling sharks, my bones hanging from their mouths. I was being devoured, my life shredded, my dreams disintegrated. Raw and exposed beneath their attack, I no longer cared.

“Moira,” I called out softly as the sharks pressed me back down toward the pearl. “I’m done.” If she stirred at all, I didn’t notice. I just let the soft blue of the pearl envelop me. My eyes closed as I listened to the lullaby of the ocean. The Shadow Realm was adrift now, set free by my own hand. I wondered dimly if I was aging. Had I violated my contract with Moira by traveling beyond the boundaries of Portsmyth? The thought of aging to death in a matter of hours or days made me laugh. A little late to worry about it now, wasn’t it? Maybe mermaids were immortal and it didn’t matter.

Maybe this was my ticket out of this whole thing. What had Brystion asked me? Would I be willing to give it all up for a chance at normalcy? My fingers trembled and I hunched my shoulders, my hands folded to hug my arms.

“Maybe . . .” I whispered. I could feel the scales from my tail flaking off and drifting away on the tide. The empty places burned and itched, but there was nothing I could do. Rolling over, I let the darkness overcome me, slipping away into a welcoming oblivion.

“Hello, pretty.”

I blinked, consciousness dragging to the forefront of my brain. I slid over to the fishbowled canvas, pressing my face against the surface. Dark clouds floated across my vision, making everything blurry. A man stood outside my painting. He seemed vaguely familiar, but . . .

Fuck. It was Maurice. But a young Maurice—robust and straight-backed. Gone was the thinning hair and sinking jowls, the wrinkled lips and sagging brows. Everything was new and handsome, but his eyes burned horribly cold and hard. He stroked the canvas and I recoiled, even though I knew he couldn’t touch me.

“See what you and your lover have given me?” he murmured. “I sucked the incubus dry, and in return I’m supposed to let you go free. But honestly, my dear, I don’t think you’re going to last too much longer. Seems almost a pity to let you suffer, doesn’t it?”

He leaned in close, his voice low; I could almost smell his fetid breath. “Besides, I rather like the idea of Moira watching you die, knowing it’s her fault. And bargain or not, I don’t mind breaking my word for the sake of revenge.” His eyes lingered on Moira’s portrait. “She spurned me, you know. I, who was never anything but utterly loyal to her, refused to lift that pathetic geas. The Stewardship should be
mine
.” He pursed his lips sensuously and I started, the movement so much like Brystion’s as to be a mirror image.

Maurice turned away. “Did you want to see him, usurper? Your poor little daemon? He’s quite different now than how you remember. I stripped all that lovely Glamour away—or almost all of it. Pathetic creature is still trying to hold on to his mortal appearance.” He motioned down by his feet, and I turned to see . . . something. It was dark skinned and hairy one moment, naked and flesh colored the next, its skin rippling as though something was trying to escape. It was also unconscious.

My mind reeled. “Ion?”

There was a flash of a movement as Maurice turned to look at Sonja’s painting. He stood in silence, but the back of his neck flooded red. Furious, he whipped around. “Where is she? Where did that winged bitch go?”

“Like I’d tell you,” I sneered, even though he couldn’t hear me. With a cry of rage, he leaped toward me and the world turned on its side. He had knocked the painting down. An awful ripping sound filled my ears, and I shrieked as my body stretched out, my skin splitting beneath the force.

With a rumble Brystion lifted off the floor, fingers like claws darting toward Maurice. I opened my mouth to shout, but the words died into silence as Maurice punctured the edges of the canvas with something sharp and shiny. Pain seared through my gut. I recoiled, catching the merest glance of the daemon at the corner of my vision.

“Brystion,” I muttered, as a burbling, wet noise gurgled nearby. No—not nearby. From
me.
I wriggled, my tail burning as I tried to pull away. I slumped against the surface, the inside of the canvas, whatever the fuck it was.

“What did you do?” The words jangled in my ears. Brystion’s voice—harsh, raspy, terrified, furious.

Maurice’s high-pitched laughter cackled past me. “Ah, well. Took steps, I suppose you’d say. Remove the blade and she’ll be dead within minutes. Of course,” he shrugged, “she’s going to die anyway, but now the decision is yours. Free her and kill her, or keep her imprisoned and watch her slowly bleed out.” He whirled on Moira’s painting. “All this could have been avoided if that stupid bitch had just given me the child.”

Brystion snorted, one clawed hand snagging the madman. “I’m going to eat your soul now,” he said pleasantly. I shivered, thinking how the daemon assassin had said the same thing to me. Horrified, I watched as Brystion lowered his mouth to Maurice’s, his eyes still dark and cold. He would take no pleasure from the act. Their lips touched, and Maurice made a strangled sound, grappling at the incubus’s shoulder.

The door banged open behind them, followed by a shriek.

Sonja. But the succubus wasn’t alone. Robert and Phineas poured in past her, Roweena close behind. The Faery woman gestured curtly, fingers snapping. The angel launched himself at the two men, solid arms struggling to pull Brystion away. The incubus roared in anger, muscles taut in Robert’s meaty grip.

Melanie slid in behind them, her hand surprisingly whole. “I’ll be taking my violin now,” she said coldly.

“It’s destroyed,” Maurice spat, wiping the blood from his mouth.

“I’d know if it was, but nice try.” She lifted her head, meeting Maurice’s gaze with a secret strength. “Shall we make a bargain? Give me my violin and I’ll open a Doorway to wherever you want. I’ll let you escape.”

“There’s no need for this,” Brystion intoned grimly. “I’ll kill him before he makes it past the CrossRoads. He’s a dead man.”

Phineas stepped between them. “This isn’t your vengeance to take,” he said. “It’s Moira’s.”

“Look at what he’s done to Abby!” Brystion snarled, pointing at me.

“Is she dead yet?” the unicorn asked bluntly, his nose quivering. His horn glowed faintly blue in warning.

“No.”

“Then quit wasting time with petty revenge and let’s see if we can save her.” His eyes flicked toward the other paintings. “Save them all.” He looked past Brystion, eyes focusing on something else. “Where’s the mirror?”

There was a grunt of assent and then Brandon carried Moira’s mirror into view. “You’re sure this is going to work?” the unicorn muttered to Sonja.

She shrugged. “It’s the best Abby and I could come up with. We think the paintings are connected in the Shadow Realm. If Melanie can conjure up a Door between them, I
think we can pull everyone out.”

“Whatever you do, do it fast,” I muttered, as pain shot through my midsection. I was openly bleeding now, and the shadows were scraping past the outer membrane of the pearl. “And really, it’s not like Charlie has a damn knife in her gut, is it?” Uncharitable maybe, but I was past caring. I shifted, trying to breathe carefully.

Brystion’s eyes flicked toward my painting. “I can swim.”

“So can I,” Robert snarled.

Roweena rolled her eyes. “I’ll sign Melanie’s Contract to create the Door. We’ll get Moira out first and then Charlie. And then, if we can pull the knife out, that should free Abby enough to try to get to the surface.”

Phineas took a closer look at the blade, his face close enough that it nearly touched mine. “She’s still got plenty of energy.” His eyes narrowed at Maurice. “Spitting mad at you though.”

“Enough,” Brystion snapped. “How do we get the violin, Maurice?”