by C. E. Murphy
Her gaze found Janx, who watched Rebecca and Daisani with avarice, unfathomable calculations visible in his jade eyes. His expression was harder to look upon than theirs were. Margrit dragged her attention back to her mother, as much to escape Janx’s solitude as from morbid curiosity.
It was Rebecca who disengaged from Daisani’s grasp, gently, as if she suspected the man who held her might somehow shatter if treated shabbily. Tears stung Margrit’s eyes, and she choked on a breath when her mother turned to her.
Rebecca drew herself up and faced her with eyes still bright from anguish. A constricted squeak broke from Margrit’s throat and she stumbled forward to pull her into a hug. Rebecca drew in careful breaths, as if assessing her ability to do so. Margrit wanted to cry out with sympathy, but words caught in her throat. Even shared experience left a barrier between them, one that she couldn’t break.
Rebecca stroked her hair, strength returning to her breathing and her touch. “It’s all right, sweetheart. Everything’s all right now.” Then she put her hands on Margrit’s shoulders and smiled. “I’m glad to have seen you tonight, Margrit. I’ll tell your father you acquitted yourself well at the service, and I hope you’ll come out to see us next weekend as we’d planned.” She kissed her cheek, then walked away with quick, precise steps, leaving Margrit and the Old Races behind.
Margrit made a protest, her voice nothing more than a croak as her mother hurried away. It seemed impossible that she could do so, impossible that she wouldn’t stand and face Daisani, or even Margrit herself. Loneliness rose up again. Every hope of sharing the incredible world she’d discovered seemed to be swept away with her mother’s departure.
“Forgive me.” Daisani spoke from beside her, his approach too quick or too quiet for her to have noticed. “Forgive me, Margrit. I said I would protect her. I’d hoped danger wouldn’t come so close. Forgive me for my carelessness.”
“Why?” Margrit clenched her fists, turning miserable eyes on Daisani. Janx stood a few feet behind him, his own hands knotted loosely and his head turned to the side, gaze cast downward. Only the djinn, who’d fallen silent after his first shout of protest, looked pleased. “Why does she do that? Why does she leave without answers? Why—?”
Profound regret slid across Daisani’s thin face. “Because she prefers not to know them, my dear. You are very like your mother, but not in this regard. I like to imagine she refuses answers because she prefers the world to have mystery in it.”
“Not my mom. Not—”
“Shh.” Daisani echoed the gesture Rebecca had used with him, fingertips not quite touching Margrit’s lips. “Be so kind as to leave me my illusions, Margrit. Let me imagine that mysteries are sweeter unsolved, rather than know that I’m too fearsome to be investigated.”
Margrit swallowed, trying to make room for words in her throat. “So we do matter,” she said hoarsely. “I mean, I knew Vanessa did—of course she mattered. But the rest of us. We’re here and then gone again so quickly. I wondered if you even noticed, if you made friends, or mourned us when we’re gone. Do you have to decide who’s worth it and who isn’t in the space of an instant, because taking time to decide will waste all the years of our lives?” Her heart beat slowly and tears stung at the backs of her eyes, high emotion brought by the audacity of her questions and the weight of their answers. Humans wanted to live forever. Only in asking did she realize that immortality was a dangerously lonely business.
Daisani met her gaze evenly a long time, then lowered his eyes a moment before lifting them again with all the grace of age. Behind him, Janx looked toward her even more steadily. Unable to bear the answers in their silence, Margrit nodded jerkily and turned toward the djinn, making a rough, human gesture intended to bring the men back to the topic at hand.
The djinn spat as their attention turned back to him. “You can do nothing to me. I have no answers for you.”
“Perhaps not.” Alban’s voice cut across the nearly empty courtyard, stony with assurance. “But I think I do.”
THIRTY-THREE
“ALBAN!” MARGRIT RAN across the courtyard to him, aware as she crashed against him that his embrace was gentle, whereas hers used all the fragile strength she had to command. He coiled his arms around her and buried his nose in her hair, murmuring a sound of reassurance. After a few trembling seconds she loosened her grip enough to look up at him. “What’re you doing here?”
“Indeed,” Janx said, far more dryly. “What are you doing here, Korund? I set you a task.”
“Malik is settled,” Alban replied without rancor. “What did you give him, Janx, to give to Kaimana?”
The dragonlord’s eyebrows drew into a dark line and he sent Margrit a glance that hovered between knowing and accusing. “Nothing. There’s no profit to me in sending a lackey to negotiate.”
“Then what,” Alban asked, “has Malik delivered to him that you would not want Kaimana, in turn, to give to Tony Pulcella?”
Margrit drew in a sharp, quiet breath. “Tony? Oh God.” She turned toward Janx in time to catch a snarl ripple over his face. “They took Al Capone down for tax evasion, Janx.”
“Don’t be concerned, glassmaker.” The djinn spat. “By the time the police arrive there’ll be nothing of yours left to claim. The selkies will have helped us take it all.”
“The selkies?” The astonishment in her own voice would have embarrassed Margrit had it not been echoed so wholeheartedly by the other three who stood outside the bloody circle. Then she found herself speaking, putting pieces together aloud.
“There are more of you than anybody else. More djinn, more selkies. But you’re enemies. Kaimana didn’t risk it all on the quorum, did he. He came to you first. He offered you something you wanted in exchange for your support. He offered you…” Her gaze flickered to Daisani and Janx, then back again, as she guessed, “Economic power, outside of your deserts? He told you there was strength in numbers and offered you—Oh, the smooth son of a bitch.” She turned away from the djinn, from all the Old Races, and pressed the heels of her hands against her forehead as she paced and spoke.
“He offered you a chance to get back at us, didn’t he. Us. Humans. For destroying your habitats, your peoples, for not knowing you were there. God, has he got Biali on his side, too?” She swung back around to face the djinn, suddenly moving with a predator’s confidence. A churchyard was nothing, and everything, like a courtroom, and she was fearless there, even as she turned guesswork into statements.
“And the best way to get back at us, in a really violent way, is through Janx’s organization. He’s already the underbelly. Daisani’s up there at the top, and besides, Kaimana’s already got money. If he wants to he can take Daisani on in the boardrooms. But somebody’s got to run the seedy underside, and I bet he sleeps better if it’s not him. So he offered it to you, didn’t he. Because nobody’d expect it, and your people have the greatest numbers after his. God, it’s a great idea. He’d hand Janx’s world over to you if you’d support his people within the Old Races.”
“And Malik’s place in this?” Janx hissed the question, sending hair-raised alarm over Margrit’s arms.
The djinn smiled, sharp and vicious, the kind of expression Margrit expected from Daisani, but rarely saw. “Remains to be seen. He declared rite of passage to stand at the quorum, claimed a challenge that has not yet been fulfilled.”
“Against Janx,” Margrit whispered.
The djinn folded his hands together, index fingers extended, to point first at Janx, then Daisani. “Blood-taker to glassmaker, old rivals, ready to fight. So easy to manipulate, so easy to sow dissent. A few of the glassmaker’s men, a few of the algul’s people, destabilizing and setting you at odds. Should one be defeated the other always moves along soon after. Yes.” His gaze, brown with irritation, landed on Margrit again. “Against the glassmaker. Should Malik win, his place in this is an investigator, a visionary. Should he lose, he will walk alone amonst the sands for a lifetime. It is, as you say, all or not
hing.”
“Everything is with you.” Margrit’s voice stayed low. “But someone went after him yesterday morning. Who?”
The djinn shrugged, fluid and airy despite his prison. “It was necessary. Including him as a target removed any hint of his complicity with our plans, and had he not survived, we would have known he was unworthy to be one of our leaders. As it is, he refused in the matter of your mother. Feared the algul who haunted her steps too much to make the attempt.”
“That,” Daisani murmured, “was wise.”
Coldness rose in Margrit like a tide. “So you thought you’d cap off the week by murdering her yourself? In front of us all?”
Anger flashed through his eyes as he glanced down. “We didn’t know an algul’s blood made cages.”
Margrit laughed, a crack of anger. “Wouldn’t have risked it if you’d known, would you?”
The djinn snarled again, but Daisani brushed off his anger with a gesture. “The blood is drying.”
Margrit’s gaze, like everyone’s, went to the smeared circle around the djinn’s feet. Daisani continued, his voice soft and deliberate. “If you’re still within the circle when the last drop has dried, you’ll be trapped. A djinn in a bottle, bound to my desire. Does it constrict? Do you feel the blood eating up the air, binding you bit by bit to human form? Jailing you in that shape, freed only at my command?”
The djinn exploded into a storm of sand, of air, all caught within the confines of the blood circle. An instant later he coalesced, panting with rage, amber gaze locked on Daisani.
“Let him go.” Margrit’s voice scraped. “Let him go, Eliseo.”
“I made you a promise, Margrit.” A light, unnerving note came into Daisani’s voice, a hint of dangerous intent. “I promised your mother’s safety. And now I hold it in the palm of my hand.”
“You don’t.” Margrit wet her lips. “You’ve got one djinn, and there are hundreds. Thousands. Putting one in chains doesn’t alleviate the risk, and it’s morally repugnant. I’m not going to have the cost of Mom’s life be someone else’s freedom.”
“So sentimental of you. Would you have said the same thing if he still stood with his hand wrapped around Rebecca’s heart?”
“I don’t know.” Her answer was charged with uncertainty. “It doesn’t matter. We’re not talking about Mom now. We’re talking about slavery. I’ll deal with the consequences later, but I won’t have anybody turned into a belonging on my watch. Let him go, or every deal we’ve made is void.”
The vampire locked eyes with her for a long, drawn-out silence. “You’re very bold, Miss Knight.”
“You’ve gone to one hell of a lot of trouble to keep me on your team, Mr. Daisani. Be a shame to blow it all now, wouldn’t it?” To her own surprise, she felt no fear. Whether she’d moved beyond it or whether she trusted Daisani more than she liked to think, Margrit found herself able to meet his eyes without flinching, without her heartbeat racing. “Your choice.”
Daisani’s lip curled, and then a handful of dirt broke the blood circle, absorbing liquid, smearing it across flagstones. Margrit drew in a sharp breath, searching for Daisani, but nothing was left of him but a fading breeze. The djinn remained frozen within the broken ring for a few long seconds, his expression blank with disbelief before he said, “You’re a fool.”
“Leave my family alone and I can live with that.”
“You should have made that bargain before you set me free.”
“It wouldn’t have meant anything if I’d coerced you.”
“It might have meant your mother’s life.” Then, like Daisani, the djinn was gone in a gust of wind, leaving Margrit to sag against Alban and stare at the ruined circle at her feet.
“I thought you said the gargoyles were the only Old Race to have ever been enslaved.” Her voice came from a far distance, as if disbelief or weariness had made an unbreachable wall around her.
“I didn’t know.” Alban slipped his arms about her, offering strength and support. Margrit groaned and turned against him, feeling distance melt away into comfort. “Perhaps it’s somewhere in the memories, buried in mountain roots. I’ve never studied the djinn histories that closely.”
“Maybe you should. Maybe it’s all a lot more complex than we think.” Margrit let the slow steady beat of Alban’s heart drown out the world for a moment. Then she lifted her head, a sense of unease sliding through her. “Alban…”
“Yes?”
“Where’s Janx?”
As if her question triggered it, her phone rang, the William Tell Overture out of place in the churchyard. Margrit swore and dug it out of her pocket, muttering, “I can’t believe I didn’t turn that off before the service. God. Yeah, hello?”
“Margrit, why didn’t you tell me you were going after Janx?”
Margrit stepped away from Alban, trying to control the surprise that popped through her. “Tony?”
“All of this makes more sense now,” Tony went on. “Even the job for Daisani. Is that real, or are you looking for a connection between the two of them? They obviously know each other. I saw them at the ice rink. Why couldn’t you tell me? I might’ve been able to help, Grit.”
“You—what? Tony?” Margrit pressed fingertips to her hairline, as if doing so would help her order her thoughts.
“Kaaiai gave me the documents half an hour ago, Grit. You could’ve told me.”
Margrit let out a slow breath. “I couldn’t have. It’s…” She’d done so well earlier, putting together Kaimana’s association with the djinn. Following Tony’s logic shouldn’t befuddle her now. “I couldn’t have,” she repeated. “How do you—why do you think it’s me?”
“Oh, come on. The way you’ve been acting, and the way you’ve been working those two? Why else would somebody like Kaaiai get Janx’s tax records? You really think you can get Daisani, too?”
Margrit laughed unhappily. For a moment, as she grasped Tony’s interpretation of events, she wished he was right, that the twists and turns of her life over the last months had been part of a sting intended to bring down one of New York’s crimelords, and maybe even one of its business moguls. He was right twice: in that light, her behavior had a certain logic to it. It looked like a pursuit of justice above all else.
Agreeing to the fallacy made her stomach churn with distress, but the truth was even more difficult to explain. Dizziness wrapped her as she pushed herself to lies of omission. “Probably not. Daisani’s too big a target, unless Janx comes in willing to talk, which doesn’t seem likely. I didn’t mean to be in a position where I knew both of them, Tony. It just happened.”
“Because of me.” He made the accusation she refused to.
“Maybe, yeah. Because I met Janx because of you, maybe. Everything’s happened fast, and I had no idea where it would end up.” She laughed again, this time out of frustration at the magnitude of her understatement. “I didn’t talk to you about it because…” Because there’d been no plan in place, but admitting that left her with nothing more than honesty, both unpalatable and improbable.
“Because we were having problems anyway.” Tony filled in the silence again. Margrit knotted her hand in her coat pocket as the cop sighed. “I wish you’d told me, Grit. I might not’ve said some of the things I did.”
“There’s a lot of regret under the bridge. It’s okay.”
“I hated seeing you at that ball with him,” Tony admitted.
Margrit turned to look at Alban, a little of the tension running out of her. He met her eyes without challenge or concern, nothing but trust and support in his gaze.
“I know,” she said quietly. “But I’m seeing him now. Right now nothing you and I said or did would change that. The best I can do is be sorry that I’ve hurt you, but I’ve got to try this.”
“And if it doesn’t work?” Tony’s voice was low.
“I can’t think about that right now, either. You broke up with me. Not that you were wrong to, but don’t stay up nights waiting for me, not after
that. You earned the Janx sting. That’s not about me, or you and me. It’s you.”
“First a black-tie job with Kaimana, now a takedown that any cop in the city would envy. What are you, Grit? My good luck charm with a catch?”
“He giveth and He taketh away.” Margrit gave a lopsided smile, looking at Alban again. “I’m glad to talk to you, Tony. I—”
“Don’t. I’m not ready for that yet.”
Margrit swallowed. “Ready for what?”
“I know you pretty well, Grit. That was about to turn into an ‘I hope we can still be friends’ speech, and I’m not up for that. Breaking up and then finding out you’ve been acting so weird because of this sting is bad enough, and knowing you’re dating that guy is worse. So don’t do the wouldn’t-it-be-great thing. Not now and maybe not ever. Sorry.” He said the word without meaning it; Margrit was all but able to hear the stiff shrug accompanying the apology. “I’m not that big a guy.”
“I think you probably are.” She took a deep breath, unable to hide the shakiness in it. “But okay. I won’t. Just—well, I was going to say let me know how it goes, but I guess I’ll read about it in the papers sometime in the next couple months.”
“No.” Tony’s voice roughened. “With any luck you’ll read about it in the papers tomorrow. We’re going in tonight.”
Alban caught Margrit in his arms, propelling her toward the shadows and then leaping skyward before she had time to protest. None of the usual sensuality filled the movement of his body against hers as he pumped his wings, climbing higher. Urgency, yes; she’d known that in his body before, but not with this sort of purpose, words and thought for once left behind in the name of action. The “What?” that burst from her lips was as much directed at the gargoyle as Tony.
“No choice, Grit. I know Janx owns people on the force. We gotta move in before he’s tipped off. If we’re lucky we’ll nab him coming home from that service with no fuss. Look, I have to go. We’re moving out.”