Brush of Darkness (5 page)

You Are Here
.

I looked at the red star and snorted. I certainly was. I ran my finger over the star, absently taking in the circular shape of the town, its narrow streets a remnant of an older time, with cobblestones and horse-drawn carriages, candled lanterns and muddy gutters. On impulse, I traced a path from the gallery to the Pit, pausing over the OtherFolk landmarks that I knew. They weren’t on the map, of course, but I’d found the hidden alley that led to the Hallows, the sunken garden of the Judgment Hall, and the Door at the base of
the church that stood on its little hill. I’d never been through it, but I knew Moira had used it regularly. I turned away abruptly, heading back to the main exhibit, humor gone in a wave of impotent despair. Had she used it when she left this last time?

I found myself drawn to the scarlet woman again. I stood there for a long while, trying to guess what she had been thinking when it was painted. Her face was a grim reminder that I was just as bound to this place as she appeared to be, even if my chains weren’t as solid.

“I knew she was kinky, but I never thought she’d willingly submit to chains,” Brystion muttered behind me. I hadn’t heard him arrive, but the smooth timbre of his voice was more than enough to give him away.

Another flare of jealousy stung me as I looked at the woman’s pale curves. “Ex-girlfriend?” I guessed, the words clipped and taut.

He let out a deep chuff. “I’m not quite that kinky either.” He paused. “She’s my sister.”

I
looked at Brystion and then back at the painting, the unease growing in my belly. “Your sister? Would that make her a succubus?”

“Of course.” His lip curled in derision. “Figured that out all by yourself, did you?”

I shrugged. “Not really. Melanie told me what you were—the rest was my own clever deduction. That’s what friendly people do, by the way—tell each other things. You know, as opposed to leering around dark corners all mysterious.”

“Your first mistake was assuming I was friendly,” he growled, pushing the dark fall of his hair from his forehead with a sharp tug.

I snorted, the alcohol making me careless. “If invading my mind and trying to fuck me senseless isn’t friendly, I’d hate to see what happens when you actually
like
someone.”

The light in his eyes emptied, leaving them dark and lifeless. I suddenly wished that I’d kept my mouth shut. The earlier masque of flirtation and faux self-deprecation melted away, leaving him cold. Untouchable. Other . . .

I shook myself. No matter how damned beautiful he was,
I had to remember that what I was dealing with was
not
human.

There was a hint of his sister about him, a pride I hadn’t seen before. His jaw tensed under my scrutiny. I reached out to touch his arm and then thought better of it. Which is really just a nice way of saying I wimped out, but there it is. “What is it?”

His mouth flattened, snaking into a tight line. “You. You’re so damned ignorant.”

I blinked. “Maybe so, but at least I’m not an arrogant prick. Or maybe I’m not quite as stupid as you think. Either way, you have a nice evening now.”

He caught my wrist as I turned to go and I took a swig of my champagne. He stroked the silver bracelet overhanging my palm. “And just what do you mean by that?” His face was as expressionless as the backside of a boulder.

I stepped back, rubbing my wrist against my skirt where his fingers had left a hot tingle.

He glared down at me, but I refused to look away, ignoring the sudden tremble in my knees. “Why, for the love of all that is holy, would Moira choose
you
as her representative here?”

“You’d have to ask her,” I said, the sting of shame burning my cheeks. “After all, I’m just a mere mortal.”

His nostrils flared. “I’m through playing games, Abby. Where is she?”

“You tell me. According to you I shouldn’t worry about it because ‘she already knows.’ Unless,” I said, slowly trying to piece it together, “she really
doesn’t
. Your funky little magic seduction thing didn’t work, did it?”

“Oh, it worked,” he muttered. “Maybe a little too well.”

I pushed a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Well, I’m not sure what you mean. I’m certainly not on my knees if that’s what you wanted. Or is that what’s got your panties all
in a bunch? Your mojo,” I said, fluttering my fingers at him, “didn’t work and now you’re all atwitter?”

He snatched my free hand with the uncompromising snap of a hawk’s talons. “Your stupidity is breathtaking. I’m surprised you’ve even managed to live this long.”

“Moot point, given that I’m rather ageless at the moment, so a howdy-do and fuck you too,” I drawled sweetly. A security guard eyed us from the front door but I waved him off, plastering a smile on my face. Getting arrested for a peace violation wasn’t going to win me any favors with Moira. Protocol of secrecy and all that. “Let. Go. Of. Me.”

Brystion’s eyes flashed gold but he did as I said. I grabbed his arm and shuffled him to a curtained alcove. There were a number of them scattered about the art gallery—comfortable little nooks of gleaming wood and bland silk, undoubtedly used to make artistic conversation over a cup of mocha pretentiousness. My gaze flicked toward him, something inside me aching as I studied his face. Whatever his issues were, they didn’t have as much to do with me as he was letting on.

Nearby, there was a bench and a little table with a pot of red dahlias on it. I set my drink on the table and wiped my damp fingers on my blouse. “No offense, but you’re pretty stupid yourself. You get caught manhandling the TouchStone of the Protectorate in a public place like this and someone is going to kick your ass.”

“You’re bluffing.”

“Try me.” I sat down, watching him take a glass of his own from a tuxedo-clad waiter. “I don’t make the rules, Brystion, but I do know that there are certain . . . protections that she has in place. She can’t afford to look weak, even if she’s not here. An attack on me is an attack on her. I may seem stupid to you, but even I know that much.” I took a dainty sip of my drink.

“And your point is?”

“I’m all you’ve got, at the moment. So be a big boy and try using your words this time.”

He tossed back the champagne like water, sliding down to sit beside me. I couldn’t help but watch the way his mouth lingered on the rim of the glass, condensation glinting down the stem. “You’re a fool.”

“You’re making this so hard for me. Do I sit here and bask in the glory of your ego or do I get up and walk out the door?” I drummed my fingers softly on the table. “Let me think.”

“You’re nowhere near as safe as you think you are.” He jabbed a finger at me. “Whatever ‘protection’ you think you’ve been afforded, don’t rely on it unless
you
have a way to back it up.”

“Duly noted.” I took another sip of champagne, letting it swirl around my mouth. “That’s pretty bold talk from someone who damn near assaulted me this afternoon. If you’re so concerned about my well-being there are better ways of showing it.”

He leaned forward so his face hovered within inches of mine. “And you’re pretty bold for someone who’s lying through her teeth.”

I froze. Shit. Did he know? I set the glass down carefully, smoothing out my skirt until I managed to compose my expression. “Perhaps you should tell me what the hell you’re really talking about.”

“My sister is missing.”

I exhaled slowly, my eyes darting toward the painting. “All right. That’s a good start. How does that concern me?”

“It doesn’t,” he snapped, drawing himself upright. “It
should
concern Moira, but as you said, she’s not here. So I’m stuck with you.”

“Listen, I’m sure your sister is a lovely . . . succubus, but I fail to see why Moira needs to be involved with—”

“Don’t patronize me, little TouchStone,” he said coldly. “You set this meeting up; I expect some answers.”

“I never set anything up. Certainly not knowingly, anyway.” I bit down on my thumb, chewing the nail. Clearly I had overstepped some OtherFolk protocol of which I was currently ignorant. Again.

“You made it fairly obvious this afternoon.” He eased back against the bench. “Why else would you have made sure I knew where you would be tonight? It’s open and public, and certainly busy enough,” he pointed out. “It makes sense.”

“I’m sorry.” I hissed between my teeth. “I had no such manipulations in mind. This is just something I was supposed to go to. I mean, I also said I needed to buy shoes—how did you manage to interpret that bit of information covertly? Plan on being my shadow over at Fashion Footwear?”

“If I’d needed to. But then . . .” His gaze dropped pointedly down to my feet. “You didn’t go.”

“You’ve been following me?”

“Of course.” He stroked the rim of his glass suggestively. “You’re hiding something.”

“Everyone’s hiding something.” I stood up abruptly and set my drink on the table, apprehension lancing down my spine. “You know what? I’m done trying to figure out what you’re talking about . . .
Brystion
. If that even is your real name. If you need help, ask for it. If you want to keep being all tragic and broody and mysterious, than save it until Moira comes back, because I sure as hell don’t have the patience to deal with it now.” I hesitated, hating to admit my weakness. “And you’re right. I don’t know what I’m doing, but I’m trying the best I can. I don’t know what you want, but whatever it is, you must be pretty desperate.”

He uncoiled from the chair, eyes narrowed. “Explain yourself.”

“What’s to explain?” I snorted. “You braved the CrossRoads at noon—without a TouchStone. That smacks of desperation to me. Even on top of that, you could have formally requested the Protectorate’s help and I’d be honor-bound to help you. But you haven’t, have you?” His face became stony and I knew I’d hit a nerve. “You didn’t want anyone to know what you were doing,” I continued, my heart skating along the edges of my own special brand of recklessness. “Not many OtherFolk around at noon to see you dropping by . . .”

“I’ll give you that much, perhaps.” He carelessly pushed his hair away from his face.

“And you appear to have snagged a TouchStone simply to what? Stalk me? What kind of a Contract could you have made in such a short time?”

“None of your business.”

“Fair enough.” I took a final sip of my champagne. I would have to ask Charlie what was involved in an incubus Contract; visions of something deliciously dark and sordid pressed the edges of my mind. Not that it mattered anyway. Multiple Contracts were frowned upon, but hey, a girl can dream, right? Too bad the personality didn’t seem to match the package.

He said nothing for a moment and then his hand lightly tripped up my back as he pressed hard against me. His eyes bored into mine, capturing me with the heat of a thousand suns. “You’re a Dreamer, Abby. I could drink your dreams like milk.” He inhaled as though taking in my scent. “I could make you hotter than you’ve ever been. Make you boneless and wet and utterly sated, so that every breath you take is pleasure.”

“Haven’t we done this before?” I swallowed weakly. “What do you want from me?”

His nose nuzzled my cheek, lips brushing over my ear.
“Tell me what I need to know, and I’ll make it happen. Every night, for the rest of your life.”

“At which point you kill me. No, thanks.” I pressed my hands against his chest. “I don’t bargain with OtherFolk, Brystion. Not without a Contract. We pathetic mortals almost always get the shaft with your magic crap. Besides,” I noted dryly, “your TouchStone will get jealous.”

He slumped back into his seat. “Somehow I think she won’t mind,” he sighed. I almost felt sorry for him.
Almost
. It didn’t change the fact that I couldn’t help him if he didn’t tell me what was going on. It also didn’t change that he’d just tried to mojo his way past my defenses for the second time that day. I should have been utterly furious, but I wasn’t. Just weary.

“When was the last time Moira held Court?”

“Ah . . . a while ago,” I said, not wanting to admit just how long it had been. Four or five months at least, but she’d had one informal Hearing right before she left. “She’s been rather busy lately and I don’t think—”

He captured my hand, holding my wrist gently. “Don’t lie. I’ll kill you if you lie to me.”

I opened my mouth, words of denial fading away beneath the gunmetal hardness in the words. He meant it.

“All right,” I said hoarsely. I stood there, perched between fight or flight as every pallid heartbeat rushed through my ears. His nostrils flared. Perhaps he sensed my weakness. Tell me. Trust me. He stroked his thumb downward, the tremble of his flesh on mine filling me with the tumultuous urge to spill all that I held sacred. Moira’s disappearance, my inability to sleep, the rotting edge of jaded appreciation that I seemed to trip over in my everyday life, the fact that I was completely and utterly in over my head . . .

“Who are you?” I wondered aloud.

He flinched. “No one,” he said, his gaze drawn to the
other end of the gallery with a resigned sort of anger.

“Ah, there you are, Abby!” Blinking stupidly, I glanced up to see a beaming Topher sliding through the crowd. Although he was impeccably dressed, even the slickness of an Armani suit couldn’t hide the gauntness of his face or the shine of his balding pate. Dark circles ringed his eyes, and his cheekbones were hollow and hungry.