A Trace of Moonlight

by Allison Pang

  My lips parted to capture his finger, halting his incessant movement. His breath hitched, as an incoherent sound escaped him.

  “Gods, this is real,” he said hoarsely. “You’re real. You’re fucking real.”

  “Yes?”

  He stared at me, but his eyes were dark, without a hint of gold.

  “I’m sorry, Abby. I’m so sorry.” He rolled away, draping his feet over the edge of the bed before moving to the window. I broke out in goose bumps as the warmth of his body disappeared and I draped the blanket around me in a shield of cotton.

  “What just happened here?”

  “I thought you were a dream. I have this dream . . . every night.”

  I cocked my head at him. “A dream? But I thought incubi didn’t dream.”

  Before he could answer, the bedroom door burst open and Talivar strode in, his face blackened with soot, Phineas trotting at his heels. The elf barely acknowledged Brystion, wrapping me in his arms.

  “Oh, Abby,” he murmured, with barely a tremor in his voice. But it was all there in his gaze, fear and relief and a terrible sorrow. “You’re alive, love. You disappeared through the Door and I thought . . .” He pushed the hair away from my forehead and planted a kiss there before capturing my mouth.

  “Helloooo awkward,” Phineas muttered from the doorway.

  I fidgeted under Talivar’s sudden scrutiny, his gaze darting between me and Brystion with a grim understanding. “So that’s how it is.”

  Phineas made a little “O” with his mouth, his gaze darting between the three of us. “Exit, stage right.” His hooves rapped on the floor as he bolted for the kitchen, leaving me to face my tangled responsibilities alone.

  I winced, trying not to glance at Brystion, who was carelessly throwing on his shirt. “A daemon pulled me through. One of the ones from before . . .”

  “I knew him,” the incubus said shortly. “When I worked for Maurice.”

  Of course. I tried not to flinch. When Sonja had gone missing, Brystion had agreed to work for Maurice to try to find where she’d gone. The price for that information had been me, even if Maurice had been pulling the strings all along.

  “Did you know he would be at the Tree?”

  Ion shook his head. “I just wanted to see you for myself. Sonja said you were at the Barras, so that’s where I went. But I got there too late. By the time I tracked you down to Eildon Tree, things were in chaos. When I saw him drag you off through the Door, I followed.” His upper lip curled, an echo of his normal confidence sparking over his face. “Of course, I also killed the fucker.”

  “You’ll forgive me if I don’t remember that part,” I said dryly. “Shapeshifting into a snake and puking my guts out sorta took most of my attention.”

  Talivar frowned. “How did you break the geas?”

  I gave the king a wry smile. “We pulled a ‘Tam Lin,’ I guess, though I’m not entirely sure how. I thought it had to be done during a solstice or something.”

  The elf’s frown deepened as he looked at Brystion. “That’s a rather interesting ability . . . for a daemon.”

  “The CrossRoads run thin at Eildon Tree,” was all Brystion said, and the following silence stretched out into something far more uncomfortable than I liked.

  I fidgeted with the blanket and turned toward Talivar. “The Tree? What happened to it? Where are the others?”

  A note of grief tinged his voice. “It’s damaged, almost beyond saving. Your father was injured, but he’ll survive.”

  “And what happens if the Tree dies?” I didn’t want to ask, but I had to.

  “I don’t know.” His nostrils flared wide. “The Tree is everything. Without it the CrossRoads will most likely collapse . . . I don’t know if the Paths will even be able to survive without it.”

  “I don’t understand. Why would anyone try to destroy it? And why now?”

  Talivar gave me a helpless shrug. “I wish I knew.”

  “So what do we do?”

  A hand dropped onto my shoulder. The bells in my hair chimed as Brystion tipped my chin toward him. “You don’t do anything.”

  “What are your intentions here, daemon?” Talivar edged beside me, the two men facing off with grim determination. “This doesn’t concern you.”

  “No,” Ion agreed, glancing down at me. “I told you before that I’d take you from Faerie to save your life. I failed you once and I will not do so again.”

  “Abby belongs with me, with her family.” Talivar’s upper lip curled in a snarl.

  The incubus snorted. “Does she? Have you asked her what she wants—would you even listen to her if she told you?” He shook his head. “I’ve tasted her dreams, elf . . . I know her far better than the rest of you.”

  “Nobu put you up to this, didn’t he?” Talivar growled. “What little balance we had with the daemons is gone now.”

  “Nobu had nothing to do with this.” Brystion arched a brow at him. “And I don’t recall you being quite that concerned about that possibility before. A little bit more distasteful now that you wear the crown, isn’t it?” he drawled.

  Talivar stiffened. “That was different.”

  “Different because you could blame it on me.” Ion’s mouth kicked up into a crooked half smile. “I wouldn’t worry about the blame. After all, I claim the Fourth Path now.”

  The blood drained from my face. “But that would mean you’re . . .”

  “Human. Mortal.” He nodded, raising his head at Talivar. “And therefore not under the jurisdiction of your claims. Not at Eildon Tree. Not here.”

  “But—”

  Talivar’s eye narrowed. “Human?”

  Brystion’s mouth twitched as he lifted my hand to place a gentle kiss upon the palm. “Our Abby has talents she hasn’t even begun to tap yet. She’s a Dreamer. I am a creature of the Dreaming. Even without her memories, she was somehow able to Dream me into mortality . . . and that’s no small feat.” His fingers twined in my hair to find his bells. “Not that this was my original intention.”

  “Do you want them back?” I still hadn’t quite grasped the implication of whatever he thought I’d done . . . but the pieces fell into place rather quickly. If he was no longer an incubus, then he couldn’t reach the Dreaming the way he had before.

  He shook his head, withdrawing his hand regretfully. “They belong to you . . . That part of my life is over.”

  “Why would you do this? That wasn’t even remotely close to the plan.” Talivar’s brow drew down, the soot making him appear even more disturbed.

  “It wasn’t my first choice,” Ion admitted. “But when I finally managed to break through Abby’s memory issues in the Dreaming, I realized I would not be able to pull her out of Faerie.” His gaze shifted toward me. “The mechanics . . . are rather specific and would have required us to be TouchStoned on top of everything else. And I would not force that upon her.”

  “I dislike what you’re insinuating, dream-eater,” Talivar said darkly. “I assure you, all I have done is for Abby’s sake.”

  “As have I,” Ion murmured.

  I moved away from both of them. “What difference does it make? We’re here now and this is what we’re stuck with, so maybe we could wait for the man-pain explanations until later?”

  Sucking in a deep breath, I sank onto the bed. “I know I’ve fucked up here on so many levels . . . and we’re going to need to work this out. I know this. But there are bigger things at stake here than us. I love you both . . . in different ways. And that’s a cop-out—and I realize it—but I don’t know what to do about it. So until we can sit down and have a powwow to discuss our feelings, I think we need to accept it and move forward.”

  Was there such a thing as Faerie marriage counseling? I suspected not, given the way so many of the stories went. I rewarded them with a wan smile. “Considering I’ve lost my memory and my life and my freedom in a matter of weeks, I’d like to think I’ve earned a temporary pass on my romantic entanglements.”

 
Talivar exchanged a look with Brystion and rubbed a soot-smeared hand through the bramble of his hair. “Obviously we know Maurice was behind the attack, though beyond that? I cannot imagine why he would have chosen to attack the Tree directly. He’s always wanted power, but without the Tree, there won’t be anything left to rule.”

  “Maybe it was a mistake? What if he didn’t know we were going to be there? Maybe things just got out of hand.” I chewed on a thumbnail.

  “Who can say why he does anything?” Brystion paced around the room like a caged thing. “For all we know he just did it to knock us all off balance so he can sneak in and do whatever he had planned to begin with.”

  “That Key around his neck isn’t going to help matters much,” I pointed out. “He could show up anywhere . . . at any time.”

  Talivar exhaled slowly, musing over my words. “True enough, though all of the Paths are involved now . . . not even the powers that be can ignore what he’s done this time. Stirring up mischief between the Paths is one thing, but to obliterate that which is most sacred? Even Hell will be howling for his blood.”

  “You can’t possibly think of putting Abby into the middle of this,” Brystion snapped.

  “No. Not this time.” Talivar pressed a finger to my lips. “He’s right. The Courts are in chaos. We still have the Tithe to think of—at least if you’re here, you can’t be considered for that. And I need . . . time to regroup without—”

  I snorted. “Distraction, I get it. I’m a liability now.” I couldn’t stop the bitterness from slipping into my words. If I’d actually become his Queen instead of merely a consort, would things be any different?

  And would I want that sort of responsibility anyway?

  “You will be safer here, Abby.” Talivar cupped my cheek. The warmth of his hand seeped into my flesh, but coldness gripped my gut. A flicker of emotion danced over his features, but neither of us gave voice to it. “I would have you stay here and out of the worst of it for now. If we have need of your . . . services, then I will call upon you. But here . . . you could be my liaison to the OtherFolk in this realm. Help me retain order here.”

  The prince paused, “Eildon Tree is dying. We’re going to need someone who can tap into the Wild Magic.”

  Melanie. Her unspoken name vibrated silently among the three of us, along with the implications of who would most likely be tasked with finding her.

  “Unbelievable.” Brystion turned away, his hands clenching into fists. “You fuckers continue to use her until the end.”

  “Ion—”

  “And you—you let them!” He whirled on me. “Time and again, you give and you give and you give. What happens when you have nothing left?” There was a mad sort of anguish in his face and I knew the words were half directed at himself.

  I really looked at him then, seeing what I hadn’t before.

  However easily he claimed I’d removed his daemonic nature, it was clear the effort hadn’t been kind to him . . . with the light flickering over his face, I could see the stress lines on his brow and dark circles beneath his eyes. Even his physique seemed lessened, the cheeks gaunt and a wired tension flexing beneath his shirt.

  “I don’t know,” I said finally. “I don’t know. But I know I’m here and I’m alive and the people I care for are all okay and I’ll take it.” I grabbed his hand, ignoring the way he flinched. “For now, I’ll take it.”

  “Not that you have any choice,” he muttered, but his fingers twined with mine, knuckles clamping hard enough to bruise, the slightest of tremors running through him. The incubus—former incubus—was barely holding on.

  I tugged on Talivar’s sleeve. “I’ll do what I can. Are you still Protectorate here? I’ve been out of the loop.”

  He gave me a pained look. “Yes, but I’ll need to find a replacement.”

  I didn’t really want to do deal with any of the Protectorate bullshit at this point, but I would worry about that later. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  The elf hesitated, kissing me briefly before pushing something into my hand. I glanced down at it, though its familiar beveled edges made it easy to tell what it was.

  “My iPod?”

  “You left it behind in . . . our . . . tent. I thought you might like to have it.” He gave Brystion a faint smile. “Take care of my wife. I’ll be coming back for her.”

  Brystion’s fingers pinched tight enough that my knuckles popped, but he made a noncommittal grunt that I could only take to mean yes.

  And then Talivar was gone, the door shutting behind him with a click of finality that felt like the shattering of everything I knew.

  Eleven

  Ion and I sat on opposite sides of the room, looking everywhere but directly at each other. Each time I glanced up, his eyes darted away. When I could no longer stand it, I slid off the bed and into the bathroom, the blanket still around my shoulders.

  After spending so much time in Faerie, where everything was done for me, it was a relief to do things at my own pace—and that included taking a piss in my own toilet. I’d take running water over the rustic charms of a chamber pot any day of the week.

  I shut my eyes for a moment and breathed in the still-damp scent of lavender shampoo.

  Home.

  I was home.

  A thick lump had worked its way into my throat and I swiftly shut the door. I wanted privacy for this. The lock had barely turned before the first tears spilled forth. I wiped them away and let the blanket drop to the floor.

  I moved toward the sink, forcing myself to look at my reflection. I don’t know why it was suddenly so important but I needed to make sure I was still myself.

  I looked like a ghost, my face paler among the freckles than I remembered. My auburn hair hung limp past my shoulders; my usual pink and blue streaked bangs were washed out. On instinct, I found the bare patch from my accident, the place where the hair never grew quite right. Beneath that scar lay a metal plate and the seat of my seizures, the reason why I was here.

  I let my hair fall back over it, my fingers drifting over my forehead to the yellowing bruises at my temple and jaw, the faded marks around my throat. I hesitated when I reached the empty place at my neck, somehow still expecting to find the amulet there.

  Guilt washed over me. If only I’d been faster. Or smarter. Or stronger.

  A shuddering sigh escaped me as I swallowed past the ache and the little voice in my head insisting that all of this was my fault.

  “No, it’s not,” I told the mirror before giving a cursory examination of the rest of my body. The silver scar at my belly where Maurice had stabbed me was still there, and my knee still bent too far. Otherwise, I was just a mix of scrapes and bruises from the last several days . . . and time would heal those.

  As for the rest of it? I stared at my hair for about twenty seconds, chewing on the inside of my cheek. So many things I needed to do. So many people depending on me again.

  And yet . . .

  “Fuck it.”

  I opened the cabinet beneath my sink and pulled out the familiar brushes and the jars of Manic Panic hair dye. Like a warrior girding herself for battle, there were things I needed to do. Armor wasn’t always made of metal—and I’d be damned if I met my destiny with my roots showing.

  Phineas eyed me critically when I emerged a few hours later, freshly showered, newly dyed, and slightly made-up, my eyes smudged with kohl. I’d put my hair up in its usual bun, twisting a set of pencils through it. Ion’s bells hung loose from a lone braid over my right shoulder.

  “Not exactly Joan of Arc, but it’ll do.”

  “Always appreciate your vote of confidence, Phin. Stay out of my underwear.”

  “I would never.”

  I breezed past him to my dresser, searching for something to wear. “That would be more convincing if there weren’t already hoof prints up here.”

  He hmmmphed at me, but I only spared him a quick glance before searching out Brystion. He was still slouched in the chair where I’d left him
, his legs sprawled out in haphazard fashion. Something like a smile flickered over his face when he saw my hair.

  “I wondered what was taking you so long.”

  “We mortals don’t have Glamours to change our appearance.” I tugged on a strand of brilliant pink. “And sometimes doing things the old-fashioned way works best.”

  His lips pursed, a humorous gleam lighting up his eyes. “So I’ve noticed.”

  “Well, hopefully you’ve noticed that I’d like to get dressed too?” I arched a brow at him, wrapping the towel tighter around my chest. “Not that you haven’t seen me naked before or anything, but a little privacy would be nice. And that goes for you too, Phin.”

  “Spoilsport.”

  “Out.” I pointed toward the kitchen and gave Brystion a hopeful look as my stomach rumbled aloud. “I know we have a lot to do, but I think some food might be in order?”

  One corner of his mouth kicked up in amusement. “Some things never change.”

  “No,” I said ruefully. “They don’t.”

  I scraped the last few bites of the omelet into my mouth, savoring the melted cheese with a sigh. “You have no idea how I’ve missed this.”

  He smirked, shoveling down his own forkful. “At least I didn’t lose this ability.”

  “Mmmph. How exactly does that work, anyway? You’re human . . . but . . .”

  “But nothing. I’m fully mortal, from what I can tell. I have to sleep. To eat. I’ve got more limitations than I’ve ever had before.”

  Phin snorted, lapping up his own plate of eggs. “Little harder to get into the ladies’ pants these days?”

  Brystion gave the unicorn a sour look. “Nice horn. And no. Not that I’ve exactly been trying,” he said dryly. “Funny thing about being human? It puts a damper on the whole dream-eating gig.” His gaze became intense as he looked at me. “I don’t have to do it anymore, Abby. I can be . . . me.”

  I swallowed a sip of tea. The rawness of his expression twisted my heart. He’d always hated that part of himself, that innermost loathing at what he needed to do to survive, even as he’d accepted it as what he was.