Hands of Flame n-3

by C. E. Mutphy

  Margrit glowered at the dragon. “Chelsea told me to ask about the bodies when I asked if Eliseo had any vulnerabilities. I’d think you’d be just a little bit interested in what the answer was. If you’re not, that’s fine. I won’t pursue it, but you’ll release me from this promise, no holds barred. I leave Daisani alone, he retains his empire, and you don’t go after Tony. I’m going to check on Chelsea. Come or don’t, but make your choice, dragonlord. I’m sick of this.”

  Janx said, “I liked it better when she was afraid of us,” to Alban, then bowed melodramatically to Margrit. “Very well. I’ll chase your wild goose.”

  Kate and Janx walked ahead, red-haired vanguards of a tiny army. Margrit itched to turn to Alban and plead for him to take her and take wing. They’d left the tunnels as close to Chelsea’s bookstore as any of them knew how, but the intervening blocks could have been swept away under a few beats of Alban’s wings. The idea of a few minutes of time alone in the sky with him was as appealing as making certain of Chelsea’s safety that much more quickly. But neither Janx nor Kate could transform as discreetly as Alban, and with Janx’s grudging agreement to join them, Margrit was reluctant to now leave him behind.

  “Did I do this?” Her voice sounded wrong to her own ears, too soft and high. Alban looked down, concern creasing his forehead, and she fluttered a hand at the pair in front of them; at the world. “Did I make your world this place where we’re all running around trying to stab each other in the back before someone else gets a chance?”

  “You had help,” Alban said with a ghost of humor.

  Margrit twisted a smile. “I feel so much better, then.”

  “Even my people have come to believe this is necessary, Margrit. Even I have. Not the politics and machinations, but a forcible entry into the modern age. Perhaps the one doesn’t come without the other. Everything has a price.”

  “I hope it’s worth it.” Margrit’s phone rang and she clapped a hand against her hip, then pulled the phone from her pocket to say, “Hello?”

  Kaimana Kaaiai’s easygoing voice came across the line, sounding, as usual, as though he had a smile in place. “Margrit Knight. Cara asked me to contact you. She seems to think you have another trick up your sleeve.”

  Margrit stopped walking and scowled at the sky, lips thinned as she considered what to say. After a moment she shrugged and chose the truth. “I had one. It fell out.”

  Some of the geniality fell out of the selkie lord’s voice. “Really. I was given to understand this trick would compensate us for a significant loss. I’m disappointed to hear it won’t be coming through. What, if I may ask, was it?”

  “Does it matter?” The brusque question was just better than the ill-advised suggestion to suck it up that Margrit was tempted to give. “I’m sorry to have bothered you, especially if you’re back in Hawaii. It must be about four in the morning.”

  “On the contrary, it’s seven in the evening. Nothing to worry about,” Kaimana assured her. “Will you be providing another form of recompense?”

  Margrit pulled the phone away from her ear and stared at it. It was a moment before she trusted herself enough to say, “I’m afraid not,” politely. “It was a gamble. You lost. It happens.”

  “It was your gamble, Ms. Knight.”

  “‘Ms.’ You people always pull out the honorifics when you’re annoyed with me. You know what, Kaimana? If you really want to destroy your own people and the rest of the Old Races by taking it to the mat with the djinn, be my guest. Go be offended that you’re not getting your big fat paycheck and take it out on whomever you want. I have done my goddamned best, and if that’s the game you want to play, I wash my hands of it.” She hung up the phone and spun around, arm lifted to fling it against the nearest wall. Only the fact that it belonged to Cameron stopped her, and after a few seconds, she lowered her hand with a curse.

  Alban’s quiet presence appeared behind her, more felt than heard. Margrit turned her profile to him, shoulders sagging. “Well, that was mature.”

  “Perhaps it was necessary.” His warm hands enveloped her shoulders, sending a wave of comfort through her. She relaxed a little, leaning against him, and felt him lower his head over hers. “You’ve been thrust into a world about which you knew nothing, and have stood fast for what you’ve believed to be right, even at a personal cost. Perhaps, having shaken us up, it is as necessary to let us condemn or save ourselves of our own accord. I do not believe Kaimana Kaaiai will guide his people into open warfare with another of the Old Races. But if he does…we reap what we sow. Isn’t that the phrase you use?”

  “Me personally or humans in general?” Margrit turned in Alban’s arms to bury her face against his chest and let go an exhausted sigh. “I feel as if there’s no way out of this alive, Alban. Janx is playing it like a cat with a mouse. It’s all fun and games, all light and mocking, but if I don’t manage to completely ruin Eliseo somehow, he’s going to kill Tony.”

  A last vestige of hope was smothered with Alban’s nod. Dismay soured her laugh. “You were supposed to tell me that he wouldn’t really.”

  “But he will,” Alban said steadily. “Human lives mean little to Janx, and Detective Pulcella has humiliated him. Had Janx not been injured so badly at the House of Cards, I doubt Tony would have survived the night. He’s been fortunate.”

  “I’m not sure anybody involved with me is fortunate, right now. Russell’s dead, Tony’s under a death sentence, Daisani’s threatened to eat Cam more than once, my mother nearly had her heart pulled out…Jesus. If I thought leaving town would work, I’d do it.”

  Alban, carefully, said, “Sarah did.”

  Margrit shook her head. “Her situation was different, and you know it. I have to see this through. I’m not going to let Tony pay for my involvement with the Old Races.”

  “You’re a worthy adversary, Margrit Knight.” Alban tipped her chin up, his pale eyes serious as he studied her. “Regardless of how lacking in control you may feel, I assure you that no one amongst the Old Races thinks you are anything but worthy. As much trust as you put in Janx’s integrity, if you hadn’t earned his respect, he wouldn’t have honored the favors you’ve played against each other.”

  “Which is why I’ve got to hold up my end of the bargain. My own honor’s as much at stake as his is.” Margrit took a deep breath and released Alban, her whole body aching as the comfort of his presence withdrew. “I said humans were good at leveling the playing field. I have to keep trying to do that. This’ll end soon,” she added more softly. “Either I’ll succeed and this horrible mess will be over, or I’ll fail and I’ll be—”

  “You will not.” Alban’s voice dropped to a dangerous growl.

  “Janx’ll take Tony’s life over my dead body.”

  “Then we shall make very certain he has no reason.”

  “We?” A new spark of hope lit in Margrit, so unexpected it tightened her throat. “What’s this we, white man?”

  Alban blinked at her, nonplussed, and the flicker of hope turned into a shaking laugh. “Haven’t you ever heard—it’s a Lone Ranger joke. Haven’t you—Never mind. Never mind,” she repeated, and Alban chuckled, then cupped her jaw.

  “We, Margrit. I have no intention of allowing you to fall at Janx’s whim, and regardless of Chelsea’s dramatic questions, we can’t deal Eliseo such a crippling blow that he’ll never rise from it. His life is too long and his resources too great. We,” he said again, gently. “Your allies may be few, but they do exist. I am here.”

  “That makes me feel better.” The words scratched out through a still-tight throat. Margrit stepped into Alban’s arms for another fierce hug, then let him go again with fresh determination. “To hell with the selkies and the djinn and all of them. We’ll deal with Daisani and go from there.”

  “A wise plan. Now, come.” Alban offered his hand. “Kate and Janx have outpaced us. We should catch up.”

  Margrit glanced hopefully at the sky, and the gargoyle chuckled. “I was thinkin
g of something more prosaic. You are, after all, wearing your running shoes.”

  “Oh.” Margrit looked at her feet, then shot Alban an impish smile, the first time she’d really felt like smiling in what seemed like hours. “Race you.”

  She won, crashing against Janx to slow herself down as Alban came up from behind to plow past the dragons like a battering ram, too much weight to be denied. Janx staggered and clutched his kidney. Hot embarrassment flooded Margrit and she babbled an apology that went on until she saw a wicked glint in the dragonlord’s green eyes. “Yoooouuu…!”

  Janx smiled beatifically. “Aren’t I, though? The transformations help set things to right. I think I told you that. And I’ve had more cause and opportunity to change form these last few days than I have in…”

  “Decades?” Margrit ventured.

  “At least. There was Chicago, but—” Janx broke off as Chelsea’s bookstore came into sight. His nostrils flared and he glanced at Alban, whose eyebrows drew down as he took in the dragon’s expression, then grew darker as he, too, inhaled. Without speaking, they both broke into a run, leaving Margrit and Kate to double-take at one another, then follow.

  Janx, the lither of the two, reached the door first, and burst through with literal accuracy, glass shattering and erupting as he crashed into it. Margrit skidded in a step behind him, with Alban and Kate a few steps farther away.

  The always-crowded store was in a shambles, once-tall stacks of books knocked across it, their spines broken and torn. Shelving had been knocked over, dominoing up to the walls with their fallen volumes filling the spaces between them. Even Margrit recognized the too-familiar scent of blood.

  “Oh, God. Chelsea? Chelsea!” Easily the lightest of the four of them, Margrit crawled across broken-down shelves, scrambling for the bead curtain at the back of the shop. Alban, behind her, called her name as she lost her balance and reached to catch herself on the curtain.

  Beads raked through her hands, clattering to the floor and bouncing across it to stick in the crimson blood that spread out around Chelsea Huo’s lifeless body.

  CHAPTER 36

  “Impossible.” Janx was at Margrit’s side somehow, his transition from the foyer to Chelsea’s apartment gone unnoticed. “This is impossible.”

  Margrit backed away, rattling what was left of the curtain, and fell over toppled bookshelves on its other side. Tears she hadn’t noticed beginning to fall scalded her cheeks and blurred her vision as she climbed to her feet again. “Looks pretty fucking possible to me.” She didn’t recognize her own voice, strained with disbelief and pain. Swiping a hand across her eyes, she crawled back over the bookcases. “Get out of there, Janx. Don’t touch anything.”

  His shadow against the beads said he wasn’t listening, that he’d knelt by Chelsea’s body. Margrit could still hear his murmurs of denial, though unlike her, he seemed to have no rage, only bewilderment.

  Alban caught her as she stumbled over the last of the bookshelves. She made a fist and pounded it against his chest, silent, useless expression of misery, then ground her teeth against tears and took her cell phone from her pocket.

  “Who—?”

  Margrit lifted a finger, silencing the gargoyle, and whispered a tortured, “Cam,” when her housemate picked up the phone. “This is Margrit. Is Cole home?”

  “Yeah? Grit, are you okay? You sound—”

  “I need you to do something for me.” Margrit’s heart pounded hard enough to make her body sick. Tremors shot over her skin and her stomach twisted, heaves making her dizzy. Her vision had filmed again. She tried to blink tears away unsuccessfully: new ones rose to replace those that fell. “I need you to go get on a train to my parents’ house right now. If it’s too late for a train, take a taxi. I’ll pay you back. I just need you to do it right now, with no questions.”

  “What the hell—?”

  “Somebody’s dead who shouldn’t be, Cam, and I want to make sure you stay safe.” Margrit closed her eyes, tears burning her face. Cole would never get beyond this, never find a way to trust or accept the Old Races, not with a phone call like this in the middle of the night. “It’s the only way I can know you’re safe. Please, Cameron. This is really important.”

  Cam was silent a few long seconds. “How long are we staying?”

  “Until I call you again. Until tomorrow, at least. Do either of you work tomorrow?”

  “No. We were going to go birthday shopping for you.”

  “The best present you can possibly give me is to do this.” Margrit swallowed against nausea, then nearly laughed in relief as Cameron said, “All right. Okay, Grit. Are you going to tell us what’s going on later?”

  “Yes. It’s just more important to get you to Mom and Dad’s right now. I’ll call as soon as I can.” She hung up and found both Alban and Kate watching her with uncertainty. “Daisani is not going to go after my mother,” she said softly. “No matter what else happens, he’s not going after her. He cares about her too much. He won’t go after her and I seriously doubt he’ll go after anybody under her roof.”

  “Perhaps we should all take refuge there.” Janx, voice filled with cold fury, came across the fallen bookshelves as silently and gracefully as he’d done once before. He stalked past the trio in the ruined foyer and out the door, all rage and beauty as he disappeared down the street.

  Kate stared after him, then turned back to Margrit and Alban with an expression of uncertainty.

  “Go,” Alban said after a moment. “Family is—”

  A too-familiar eruption shook the windows, the impact of air displacing as Janx transformed. Car alarms went off, and even Alban flinched before scooping Margrit into his arms and running for the door.

  “Put me down! Put me down!” Margrit pounded on his shoulder as he sped toward the closest alley. Kate sprinted past as Alban slowed, and launched herself into the air barely a few feet into the safety of the alley’s darkness. Air exploded more softly, her form vastly smaller than her father’s, and moments later a second sinuous dragon beat its way past rooftops and into the city sky.

  Alban rumbled in obvious frustration, then, to Margrit’s astonishment, cursed quietly and flung himself after Kate, transforming with a comparatively inaudible bamf as he strove for the rooftops.

  “Alban! I have to call the cops, I have to—”

  “You have a cell phone,” Alban said implacably. “Nothing is preventing you from calling.”

  They broke above the roofs to the sound of shouts from below, people swearing about car alarms and the shotlike explosions of air. Margrit twisted to see if anyone was looking up and nearly fell from Alban’s arms, his grip not intended to hold someone writhing around. They both shouted with panic, Alban tucking his wings in preparation to dive after her if necessary. The beat of falling instead of striving upward brought them dangerously close to the rooftops again. Margrit knotted her arms around Alban’s neck and bit back a scream as he swore a second time and glided over a break between buildings, catching the updraft to work his way higher into the air.

  Not until they were well above the skyline did he unclench his jaw enough to say, “Are you well?”

  “No.” Margrit muffled her answer against his shoulder, willing her heartbeat to slow from its panicked rush. “I’ve never heard you swear before. I didn’t know you could.”

  “Given sufficient cause, yes. There they are.”

  Margrit, clinging to him, turned to catch a glimpse of Kate’s slim serpentine form hundreds of yards ahead of them, and losing ground to Janx’s much larger shape. It took only a glance to know where they were going. Margrit buried her face against Alban’s shoulder again and whispered, “Daisani’s penthouse. Don’t let me fall.”

  “Never.”

  The promise, which had in the past been sensual, was now simply grim. Margrit had never heard the gargoyle sound so severe, and remembered abruptly that the only reason she knew Chelsea Huo was that Alban had sent her to the bookseller as a place of safety and refuge
for them to meet at. A burst of apology for asking him to stop, to not pursue Kate and Janx and the more distant Daisani, filled her. She hugged him hard, whispering, “Sorry,” into the lashing whiteness of his hair, then brought her phone back to her ear to call Tony.

  He picked up with a groggy, bewildered, “Cameron?”

  “No, sorry, this is Margrit. I’m borrowing Cam’s phone. Did I wake you up?”

  “Grit.” Tony cleared his throat, and she could all but envision him rubbing his eyes, sitting up, kicking his legs over the side of the bed to plant his feet on the floor and putting an elbow on his knees so he could lean into his hand as he woke up. She’d seen him do it often enough in the years they’d been together. “It’s the middle of the night. What’s going on? Where are you? Sounds like a wind tunnel.”

  “I’m…flying. Tony, Chelsea Huo is dead. Somebody needs to get over to her bookstore right away.”

  “Che—The one who owns Huo’s On First?” The detective woke up fast. “Are you there?”

  “I was.”

  “And now you’re…?”

  “On my way to Daisani’s apartment.”

  “Why? Did he—?”

  “I don’t know. I hope not. Can you get somebody to go to Chelsea’s bookstore? I’m sorry to call like this.”

  “Margrit, you…” Whatever he wanted to say was eaten by professionalism as he sighed. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll take care of it. Is there any point in telling you to be careful?”

  Margrit glanced toward the rapidly approaching apartment building. Daisani’s helicopter was knocked on its side and in flames, as though Janx had regarded it as a rival and dispatched it before entering the building. The fire showed that the rooftop access door hadn’t just been ripped off its hinges: the entire framework for it had been shattered, concrete blocks and steel lying in a shambles.

  Kate reached the roof as Margrit watched, flying too fast to come in for a graceful landing. She rolled nose over tail, tumbling in a long, wing-tucked line, and came out of it as a human woman running at full tilt. She disappeared through the ruined door, and Alban put on a burst of speed, wings straining to race through the night and catch up with the unfolding drama.