A Trace of Moonlight

by Allison Pang

  For all that incubi were oversexed and oversexualized, when it came down to what he looked like, he was often changed by the thoughts and desires of those around him . . . to become that which they most wanted.

  Nothing of me is mine . . .

  The words echoed through my memory, a mix of old hurt and a displacement of self I knew all too well. I took a closer look at his face, but he seemed much as I remembered him.

  “Are you stuck looking like that now?”

  “Does it displease you so much? Even when I gave you my essence, your dream self appears to have shaped me to that which you like best.” He cocked a brow. “I suppose I should be grateful I didn’t end up with pointed ears.”

  I scowled at him. “Low, Ion.”

  His shoulders rippled, a touch of his old arrogance lighting up his face. “You’ll forgive me for being a tad pissed off that you ran off and wed him after I went through all of this?”

  “It wasn’t as though I had much choice in the matter,” I snapped. “Time was running out. And that stupid—”

  “Geas. Yes, I know.” He laid the fork down, thrusting his fingers through his tousled ebony locks. “I just wish we’d been able to figure out some other way to get you out of there. This wasn’t exactly what I’d intended.”

  “And here I thought you were trying to become mortal to free me.”

  A scowl crept over his face. “Don’t be stupid. You didn’t have the geas when I found you in the Dreaming that night. It’s like I told the elf . . . we would have to be TouchStoned for you to pull me through, and I wasn’t sure you would be able to manage it.”

  He paused. “I thought by having you absorb my essence I could pull you into the Dreaming. For real.”

  In the past, I’d inadvertently pulled him from the Dreaming into the mortal realm without the use of the CrossRoads . . . but we’d been TouchStoned and making love at the time.

  I cocked my head. “And yet you still took the time to get me off,” I noted.

  His eyes darted away. “Yeah, well,” he muttered. “If it was the last time I was going to do it, why not at least enjoy, eh? Besides, I needed the extra power boost.”

  “So, I guess that begs the question. How do we reverse your transformation?” I stared down at the dregs of my teacup, unsure of my own motives. In some ways, his newfound mortality changed the game completely. And I wasn’t sure what to make of it. I’d always told him I never wanted to him change . . . not for me, not for anyone. He was what he was, and as much as it hurt sometimes, I’d come to accept that as part of the deal. But now?

  His fingers walked across the table to swirl over my wrist, brushing over my palm to linger between my knuckles. “Are you sure you’d want that?” Shadows upon shadows. “I don’t even know if it can be reversed, Abby. I can’t get to the Dreaming like I used to.”

  “But Sonja said you couldn’t . . .” I bit my lower lip as I realized what he meant. “No. She said you couldn’t get to my Dreaming Heart. But when you sleep you’re like everyone else?”

  “Yes,” he said hoarsely. “I have my own Dreaming Heart now.” The longing in his gaze shattered me to the core. Incubi had no Dreaming Hearts. They were born of it, spun from the stuff of dreams and nightmares by inadvertent Dreamers . . . but once born, they could never return.

  Which had led me to lending him mine. But having a metaphysical boarder in one’s dreams could be a bit odd, particularly when we split up. Although he had continued to protect me from my nightmares, even so.

  “And I’m not sure I want to give it up.” He let out a humorless chuckle. “It’s what I’ve always wanted, after all.”

  “Well, I suspect we’ll have some time to figure it out . . . assuming it even is a possibility. In the meantime, we might want to get you established as a ‘person.’ If you’re in this for the long haul, not being one would make things tough when it’s time to collect social security anyway.”

  He rolled his eyes at me and I laughed. “Just saying.”

  “Social security? Please. Tough is not being able to walk into the Spank Bank and pick out my own movies. At least you look human.” Phineas clambered onto one of the extra chairs, his nose quivering. “Think maybe you could ‘just say’ some more bacon my way?”

  I shoved the remaining slices in his direction, slumping against my own chair. “Why don’t you just use the Internet for your porn like everyone else?”

  The unicorn fixed me with a cool stare. “You really want to see my browser history pop up every time you go to check your e-mail?”

  Brystion and I both shuddered. “No! But that doesn’t mean I want to be tripping over loose copies of Donkey Dongs 2 whenever I’m trying to use the DVD player.”

  “Duly noted. And for the record, I had no idea what that was when I rented it.” Phineas flashed his still-chewing teeth at me in a grotesque leer. “I thought it was a documentary.”

  “Mmm.”

  We fell silent then, and I pushed the last few bits of my toast around my plate, trying to think of what else to say. Best to leave that one alone, my inner voice noted.

  Which left the other topics I’d been avoiding.

  If I’d thought things couldn’t get any more messed up after the events of last year, I’d sorely underestimated the fickleness of the gods. I coughed awkwardly and turned toward Brystion. “So how have things been since I . . . left?”

  “About the same. Once the Queen reopened the CrossRoads, most of the remaining OtherFolk bolted back to their respective realms, at least for a while. I don’t think any of them wanted to take the chance they might get trapped again.” His mouth tightened. “We had a lot of funerals for those who didn’t make it.” A guilty wave flushed through me. In an effort to protect Moira, the Queen had shut down the CrossRoads, cutting the OtherFolk off from the magic they needed to survive. One more thing I was indirectly responsible for.

  I winced. “I have the feeling I need to call a whole bunch of people.” I’d left without saying good-bye, except for a handwritten note detailing my plans. As farewells went, it probably sucked, but I didn’t have much time, and I couldn’t risk my friends talking me out of what needed to be done.

  “Probably would be a good idea. Without an actual Protectorate here, you’re about the next best thing.”

  “Why do I get the feeling you’d like to see that change?” I nudged him under the table with my foot.

  “It doesn’t really matter what I’d like. You will do what you will do. It’s part of your nature, apparently. Not that it’s a bad thing,” he admitted. “But yes, I would have you give all this up.”

  “And where would I go, Ion? I can’t leave my family in the lurch. Not with the Tree and the Tithe bullshit.”

  “I know.” A smile of wry resignation crossed his face. “Just don’t leave me behind.”

  “Is that what this is about? Me leaving you behind?”

  He waved me away as he stood up and gathered the dishes to put them into the sink.

  I decided to let it go for now. I knew him well enough by this point to realize he wasn’t going to answer until he was ready . . . if then. The incubus had a tendency to play his cards so close to his vest that half the time I didn’t think even he knew what he was about.

  “I stood up, brushing the crumbs off my lap. “So. Game plan?”

  “Go ahead and get your things together. I’ll call the others and tell them to meet us at the Hallows.” He didn’t turn around, his shoulders rigid as he scrubbed at one of the plates.

  Inwardly I sighed, but I left him to it. We had bigger things to worry about, as usual.

  “Meet me at the CrossRoads,” I intoned softly at the door to the Hallows.

  The pass phrase did absolutely nothing.

  “I forgot. Brandon changed the code a little while ago. Things got hairy during the funeral wakes—we had several groups stopping by to take out their anger here.” He grimaced. “He got tired of cleaning up the mess.”

  It wasn’t surpri
sing to hear. The alley leading to the OtherFolk bar was hidden by a Glamour that did a lot to prevent hapless humans from wandering within range, but even magic wouldn’t be able to hide a protracted mob of angry Fae or Daemons forever.

  “So what’s the new pass code?”

  “Speak, friend, and enter,” he muttered, not blinking as the door lit up in a haze of silver.

  “Because that’s original.”

  “I hear the classics are best.” He gave me a gentle shove through the door. I blinked as we entered the dimly lit bar, the familiar scent of stale beer lingering in my nose.

  As bars went, it was typical in most ways—dance floor, stage, barmaids and drinks and big-screen TVs—but it was the patrons who normally made it stand out. Each night was a mishmash of pointed ears, feathered wings, sharp fangs, and the Glamoured beauty of the OtherFolk nightlife.

  But at three in the afternoon, it was a tad early in the day for much of a crowd. The bar was empty except for the subdued gathering before me.

  Brandon. Roweena. Robert. Charlie. Benjamin.

  Werewolf bartender. Faery liaison. Angel bodyguard. Human ghost whisperer. Kid Icarus.

  You must gather your party before venturing forth.

  My brain superimposed their images as though I were in some sort of computer game—like I might be able add up their stats and come away with a rowdy band of adventurers, off to seek fame and glory.

  But not this time.

  Of Melanie there was no sign, and her absence made the room seem that much more stark to me.

  I had only a moment to realize Katy wasn’t there either before Brandon launched himself at me with a whoop, his furry arms snatching me up and spinning me around.

  “Don’t ever do that to us again!” he snarled, the tone made all the odder by the dancing delight flickering in his golden eyes.

  I couldn’t stop the pathetic grin from spreading across my face in return, my breath coming in a laughing sob. “Put me down, you sad excuse for a carpet. You’re making me dizzy.”

  His muzzle leaned in close to my ear, a pink swipe of tongue darting over the lobe as he growled something profane.

  “I missed you too,” I said and hugged him tight against a sudden rush of tears. He dropped me gently to my feet, one clawed hand ruffling through my hair. “If you ever pull a stunt like that again, I’ll—”

  “—be getting in line behind me,” Robert said dryly, his wings flaring out with an audible crack for emphasis. “Of all the stupid, pigheaded things to do . . .”

  “Yeah, well, I died for it, so let’s call it even, okay?” Not that I didn’t deserve to be called out, but I didn’t have to like it.

  Robert cocked a brow at me. “Aw, Sparky.”

  The angel was built like Superman on steroids with a jaw so square it could have been used to lay tile, complete with dark hair and laser blue eyes. He used to intimidate the hell out of me, but he’d mellowed out considerably since becoming a father.

  I glanced over at Brandon, trying to change the subject. “Where’s Katy?”

  The werewolf shrugged. “College. We’re doing the long-distance thing at the moment, but I’ve been toying around with maybe moving out West to be with her.”

  I did a double take. “You’d shut this place down?”

  He grinned wolfishly. “Oh, I’m sure I could find someone to take it over, but . . . yeah. I miss her,” he said, his tone suddenly mournful. For a moment I thought he might actually start howling, but he flicked his ears. “Though she says it’s ‘good for us’ and she wants her ‘independence,’ or something like that.”

  “Well, she is still awfully young. Maybe she just needs some time to figure out who she is?” My gaze darted to where Brystion stood, still lingering in the doorway as though he wasn’t entirely sure of his welcome.

  The others saw where I was looking, and Robert coughed uncomfortably. Before anyone could say anything, Phin trotted forward from where he stood at Ion’s feet, shaking his mane. “I know you’re all speechless at my beauty, but let’s not be rude, children.”

  “Your . . . horn . . .” Brandon said weakly.

  “Alas, given up in noble self-sacrifice to save the woman of the hour.” The unicorn waggled his beard hopefully. “Think that deserves at least a bowl of rum, don’t you?”

  “Indeed.” The werewolf and I exchanged a look and I shrugged, walking to where Brystion stood before taking his hand firmly into mine and pulling him back to the others.

  It was unlike him to be so cautious and I wondered how much of that was because he was human now. I was used to the OtherFolk perception that mortality was weak—most of them tended to treat me like crap. It didn’t take much to understand their discomfort to see one of their own changed so severely, regardless of the Path he walked. I hadn’t been around to see how the dynamic had changed, but it was obvious Ion disturbed the others terribly.

  Charlie was the first to step forward, her mouth twisted in a tight smile. “Thank you for bringing her home,” she said softly.

  Ion nodded, but bitterness lurked behind his eyes.

  Charlie was one of my oldest friends, but our relationship had been strained the last year or so. In part because she’d been kidnapped by Maurice in an effort to get at me . . . and in part because of . . .

  . . . a high-pitched giggle echoed from behind Robert’s massive wings, a toddling Benjamin shuffling his way over to us. The result of an illicit love affair between Moira and Robert, Benjamin was a perfect tiny replica of his father, all stubborn mouth and stubby limbs.

  “Who’s my little man?” I crouched to my knees, my arms open, wondering if he would even remember me. “Auntie’s missed you, you know.” He stared at me for a moment longer and then a smile broke out on his chubby face. I scooped him up and he clung to me, his fingers twiddling in my hair for a few minutes before he began to squirm in that way that babies and cats do when they didn’t want to be touched anymore.

  His little wings beat frantically and I let Charlie take him, pleased to see how well they were bonding. I suspected things would get messy once Moira came back into the picture, but no sense in courting trouble about it now. Beside, I had enough crap on my plate.

  “Well, this has been . . . heartwarming,” Roweena said dryly from her perch on the barstool. The elven liaison hadn’t bothered trying to insert herself into my personal space yet, but I detected a faint hint of amusement about her slanted eyes, even so. The elderly Fae resembled a kindly grandmother—but the sharpness of her tongue could have doubled as battery acid.

  “We could practically write Hallmark cards about it,” I agreed. “Seeing as there aren’t many ways to say ‘Happy you’re not dead’ nicely.”

  “Indeed. But somehow it’s never that simple with you.”

  “No. And as much as I’d love to continue with the greetings, we’ve got bigger issues. Again.” I paused for a moment, making sure I had everyone’s attention for the announcement. “Eildon Tree was attacked, by Maurice.”

  My mouth went dry as Roweena’s face paled. “I don’t know what the full extent of the damage was, but Talivar says it’s possible the Tree won’t survive.” My gaze swept the tiny group of people, trying not to waver beneath the widened eyes and disbelieving stares.

  “Also . . . Talivar is king now. Of the Unseelie Court.”

  “Impossible!” Roweena whispered. “The Queen would never allow it . . .”

  “The Queen no longer rules; Moira does—or she will soon enough.”

  The elf sank into her seat with a look of dread.

  “I’m guessing that news hasn’t been made public yet,” I said.

  “No,” she snapped. “Nor should it until the monarchy has had a chance to make things official. Of all the times to see a change in command . . .”

  I put my hand on her arm. “I know your loyalty is to the former Queen . . . but she was completely deranged while I was there—you read my letter.”

  “I know. I just can’t believe she wou
ld do such a thing.”

  “Believe it. She’s the one who prevented me from leaving once I . . . stopped being dead. And . . . uh . . . I’m sorta handfasted. To Talivar.”

  Robert’s head snapped toward me. “But that would mean you’re—”

  “No . . . I’m not his Queen. Not yet.” I interjected quickly. “It means nothing at the moment, except that I’ve got a few more responsibilities than I had before.”

  He snorted. “If that’s what you believe, then you’re more naïve than I thought.”

  “Abby’s always good for that,” Ion muttered, his hand squeezing mine. “But I admit I always found that rather charming. And irritating,” he added a moment later.

  “Yeah, well, we can’t all be perfect.”

  “So what do you intend to do?” Roweena gazed at me as though she expected me to disappear in a puff of smoke.

  “Talivar asked me hold down the fort here while he assesses the damage to the Tree, and the two Courts decide if they’re going to work together.” The elf twitched at this statement and I stifled a sigh. Hundreds of years of prejudice weren’t going to be undone overnight, but at least she wasn’t openly rebelling at the thought.

  “I’m going to need help.” I gave the braid with Ion’s bells a nervous yank. “Portsmyth needs a proper Protectorate to start with.”

  Roweena nodded, her usual businesslike efficiency popping into place like a mask upon her face. “Yes. If both Talivar and Moira are headed for rulership, they cannot fulfill their duties here.” Her expression became troubled. “However, we need the backing of the Faery Council to appoint a new one, so in the interim you are still on the hook. Death or not, you are the TouchStone bound to the current Protectorate—at least on paper.”

  “Figures.” Ion let my hand slip from his and I began to pace around the bar, my mind whirling as I tried to decide our best course of action. “I’m not sure Maurice realizes I’m still alive, but I would bet even money he’ll know soon enough.”

  Robert nodded. “We’ll want to get you some protection for sure . . . at least around your apartment. Will you be reopening the bookstore or the Midnight Marketplace?”