by Allison Pang
“How bad is it?” I whispered, my ears pricked for the sound of police. My neighbors tended to turn a blind eye to the odd goings-on around this place, but I wasn’t sure an explosion was going to go unnoticed unless someone had oh-so-politely Glamoured the living hell out of the area before firebombing it.
“I’ll live,” he said shortly, craning his head around the edge of the awning. Immediately, he jerked away as the swipe of a blade slammed inches away from where his head had been, Phin slipping from his arms. “Fuck.”
Ion gave me a shove backward as he ran into the fray, ignoring my swearing. The scent of sulfur stung my nose. Glamour or no, we were fighting daemons.
“You’re notoriously hard to kill, girl.” Maurice’s voice rippled from behind me, his mouth nearly at my ear. “It’s becoming vexing.”
I spun away from him. If anything happened to Mel’s violin, we were totally fucked. He had tried to take it from her before, but I’d always assumed that was to prevent her from rescuing me and Moira from the paintings.
But now I wasn’t so sure.
“And you’re looking old,” I snarled, pointing to the amulet at his neck. “I think you’ve got something of mine.”
“Finders keepers, dear. You didn’t really need it anymore, being dead and all.”
“You ever do your own dirty work or do you always rely on hirelings?” Behind me I heard a soft grunt and a thud. A body hitting the wall. Somehow I managed to disconnect myself from it, the knowledge that I could stop this thing right now reverberating through my entire being.
Subdue him. Or failing that, keep him here long enough for the cavalry to show up. Maurice cocked a brow at me. “I’m an old man, remember? Think I’ve earned that right.”
“You’ve earned nothing,” Phineas snorted from my ankles. “Except a quick death.”
“Why did you destroy the Tree?” I snapped.
His lip curled in a snarl but he didn’t answer, lunging for the hand that still held the violin.
I twisted away. “Not this time.”
“Odd to see the violin without the player. I do hope nothing’s happened to her.”
I didn’t bother to reward him with a reaction, retreating slightly. His gnarled hand snagged my shirt sleeve, the cloth tearing when I elbowed him in the gut. Not that I knew the first thing about fighting, but I wasn’t going to go down like a sheep this time. Maurice never played fair. He rushed me, kicking at my feet. Pain jogged through my bad knee when he grazed the kneecap.
“Shit.” My leg buckled and I tucked, rolling myself around the instrument. I felt it scrape along the brickwork. “Phin!”
The unicorn squealed with rage and dashed between Maurice’s legs, jumping up to bite the fucker on the ass. The old man’s eyes widened as he wheeled to bat Phineas away, but it was enough time for me to regain my footing . . . until my ankle rolled on a loose cobblestone. This time the violin slipped from my hand, flying through the air with a lamenting hum, straight into the outstretched arms of . . .
Nobu?
The daemon’s wings snapped open dramatically as he knelt on the ground to catch the violin in its descent.
Maurice had won his way free from Phineas, his jaw tightening when he saw the fallen angel. “Come to collect, have you?”
“Our master has lost patience. I’ve come here to settle the debt.” Nobu’s hair stuck out like a porcupine’s, all vibrant reds and blues, but a tight weariness etched the slanted edges of his eyes. Our gazes met, the anger in his voice tempered by a haunting sadness in his face. Whatever he knew about Melanie, it wasn’t good.
“You can try, you mean.” Maurice sneered, and snapped his fingers. I caught the movements of additional mercenaries, even as the necklace at his throat began to glow.
He was going to go through a Door. I didn’t have time to think, because at this moment, nothing else mattered except stopping him. He ducked beneath Nobu’s wing as the daemon rolled it around the violin protectively.
“Oh no you don’t.” I barreled toward him, knocking Maurice to the ground. My knee made a popping sound as it hit the dirt, but I was beyond caring. Somehow a piece of glass ended up in my hands, the edge slicing my palm. Hissing past the sting, I slashed down at him, something feral taking over my brain—the knowledge that this man was the source of all the pain my friends and I had suffered. I opened my mouth to scream at him, but the words died, lost in a guttural cry as blood spattered against my face.
I fell to my side, something hard slamming into my head. Dimly, I was aware of Maurice scrambling to his feet, the last flare of blue illuminating my retinas as he disappeared, my vision fading with it.
My eyes burned as I sat up, the sting in my hand throbbing up my wrist. My face prickled with gravel. Apparently I’d been left where I’d fallen, but I didn’t think I’d been out long. Phineas limped over to me to nuzzle my hand.
“Get up, Abby. We need you to pull it together.”
The seriousness of his tone slid through my consciousness, despite the ache in my skull. It was dimly reminiscent of a seizure, without the low thrum pulsing in my ears to indicate it as such.
An eerie silence filled my ears. “What’s going on, Phin?”
“We’ve got company.”
“More? The police?”
“Not yet. Talivar placed a Glamour over the courtyard, though, so we should be okay when they do show up.”
He disappeared around the corner, indicating I should follow with a nod of his head. Rolling to my feet, I staggered after him, the world freezing up as I took in the scene before me.
Blood and glass sprinkled over the ground like crimson flowers, the scent of smoke still wafting on the air from my apartment. Bodies of daemon mercenaries lay in a heap in one corner, Talivar cleaning the blood from his sword with a vicious efficiency. Beside him, Nobu stared across the courtyard at the Door, increasingly agitated. I recognized the look all too well. He had a decision to make and I could probably guess what it was, but undoubtedly my opinion wouldn’t be welcome.
Some things you just have to come to by yourself.
A deeper hue of red moved beside the door where the Marketplace usually opened up and my heart stopped.
Moira knelt there, Brystion’s head in her lap, his dark hair sticky and matted, the flesh on one side of his face scraped raw. Uttering a low cry, I rushed to his side, my hands trembling as I grabbed the incubus’s wrist to check for a pulse.
Moira shook her head. “He’ll be okay. It’s mostly superficial—he’s been knocked unconscious, but he’s otherwise unharmed.” My sister gave me a wan smile. “Apparently he attempted a bit more than his mortal form allowed.”
I frowned at her, my worry for Ion warring with curiosity at her rather convenient appearance.
Talivar crouched beside us, one hand on my shoulder. “We need to get moving—we nearly had Maurice.”
“This is beyond Maurice,” Moira said quietly. “We must find the Door Maker—the Wild Music is our only chance now.”
“And there’s no one else who can tap into that? In all of CrossRoads?” I found it rather difficult to believe with all the magic the OtherFolk possessed, none of them could tap the Wild Magic directly.
“The magic that keeps the CrossRoads alive is dying with the Tree,” Moira said. “The CrossRoads are getting harder to travel . . . parts of it are disappearing.”
“I don’t understand.”
“The Tree is the heart of the CrossRoads, Abby.” Phin sighed. “It’s protecting itself as long as it can—sort of like a human body. All the blood rushes to the heart and brain—the limbs are considered unnecessary for survival.”
“And what happens when it can’t even do that much?” My mouth went dry at the thought.
“Let’s hope we never find out.” The unicorn shuddered.
“Our father is currently attempting to sustain the Tree as best he might,” Moira said. “But he cannot play forever. At this point it’s like using a cotton ball to plug a hole i
n the bottom of a ship.” She glanced at the violin. “And he does not have the tools required to fix it.”
And that was the rub, wasn’t it? Melanie’s ability to play the Wild Music was amplified by the violin . . . which Maurice had attempted to take. Again.
“Maurice’s destruction of the Tree was no accident,” I said. “It can’t be. If the violin . . . if Melanie is needed to heal it, why else would he be going after it like this? He’s already got the Key to the CrossRoads—he doesn’t need her as a method of travel. And the violin is useless for anyone else but her.”
“He doesn’t want the Tree to be healed,” Moira said, her face full of sad confusion.
Nobu’s nostrils flared. “If he cannot get the violin, what will stop him from trying to take care of things on the . . . other side?”
“So what do we do?” Ion winced as he rubbed the side of his head, shifting to sit up. He waved us off, his jaw cracking as he popped it back into place.
Talivar stared down at him. “Nothing.” His gaze flicked to my cut palm. “Abby struck Maurice hard enough to make him bleed. It’s enough.”
“Enough?”
“For the Wild Hunt,” he told me gently. “Scents can be hidden behind Glamours, as can appearance, but blood will tell.” His fingers crept down to stroke a curved horn at his belt. It was black and twisted, shimmering with the same black light as the crown Kitsune had given him. “Blood always tells, and we will have our vengeance in the end, if nothing else.” He nodded toward Nobu. “Can you find her?”
The daemon shifted the violin in his arms. “Forsworn or not, I have no choice, it would seem. It’s the lesser of two evils, even for the Master.”
I suppressed a shiver. The casual way he spoke of the Devil was a tad unnerving. I was pretty damn sure I didn’t want to be anywhere close to meeting the fucker. “Do you know where she is?” My voice came out in a raspy croak. “Even if we find her, what if she’s too weak . . .”
The daemon’s mouth sneered. “Oh, I know. It was the last thing her mother told me before I swallowed the sin of her envy.”
I blinked. “Envy?”
“Of course. The woman never could stand that her daughter shone so bright.” His eyes slid sideways at me. “Why do you think she tried so damn hard to snuff it out?”
“She . . . never told me.”
“She should have told those fuckers off years ago, not run home to them over . . . you.” One brow cocked up at me.
“Oh, sure, blame me,” I snapped. “You were the one who had to get all tricksy with the lethe.”
Beside me, Ion let out a rattling cough. “Uh, Abby? Maybe we can get a move on here.”
A hot flush of guilt rushed over my face as I turned toward him, an idea clicking in my head. “You know,” I said casually, “if Mel’s in the hospital, you might be our ticket there. ERs suck, but I think you’re gonna come up short in the healing-via-dream department.”
His lips curved into a self-deprecating smirk, wincing as his face tightened. “That’s me. I’m a helper.”
“Out of the question.” Nobu’s nostrils flared. “I don’t need you.”
“Then why come here at all? Why not just go get her first?” My eyes narrowed.
“For the violin, you half-wit.” The fallen angel’s wings cracked open as he paced away, the violin still in his hands.
Brystion pushed off the ground with a wince. “We’re coming too. You owe me, Peacock.”
I raised a brow at the nickname. It fit him well enough. I’d forgotten the two daemons had known each other . . . before.
“It’s our right,” Ion said savagely, one hand resting heavy on my shoulder. A tremor ran through his wrist and I had to admit Nobu was probably right. But agreeing to that made it more real than I wanted to admit, so I clamped my hand over his, glaring at the winged daemon.
“We’ve earned it. And Melanie trusts us.” I left the insinuation hanging there and he scowled.
“So be it. But I will not slow down. For either of you.” Nobu clutched the violin tighter, his gaze meeting mine. “We’ll have to be as quick as we can. There aren’t any Doors directly into the hospital where she’s being kept, so we’ll have to be cautious.”
I caught Talivar staring at us with an odd smile and I reached forward to take his hand, my heart breaking for what he was about to do. There was no time for this. No time at all.
“Are you sure you want to do this? Isn’t there another way?”
“We don’t always get what we want, Abby. I thought you would have figured that out by now.” He bent to lay a soft kiss upon my lips, and another on my palm, something sad passing over his mien, but he said nothing. A moment later, he had picked up the piece of glass I’d stabbed Maurice with.
Moira’s face had gone very pale, but she remained as steadfast as ever. Always with her it was duty before all else. I admired her for it, but it made for an extremely lonely life.
“Be thou safe, brother,” she said formally. “Hunt the CrossRoads and may your quarry be found.”
He raised the ebony horn to his lips, a single pealing note escaping from the funnel. It was harmonious for the briefest of moments before spiraling down into a discordant murmur. My ears vibrated and I had to shut my eyes as the Door flared to life before us, and what appeared to be a herd of coal black horses emerged, each with its own rider.
“One ring to rule them all,” Phin muttered, “and in the darkness bind them.”
Shadows clung to the horses, their flanks gleaming with sweat. Smoke steamed from flared nostrils, and a flicker of flame sparked with each prancing hoof upon the cobblestones. One of them whinnied and the sound nearly dropped me to my knees. I could hear it then, the whispered promise of an eternity of terror; the riders’ myriad voices echoed about us, wrapping me in a singsong plea to . . .
. . . Run, little rabbit. Run and run and run and bleed and run some more . . .
“Snap out of it, Abby.” Talivar’s hand on my shoulder brought me back to myself. I choked on a nervous laugh.
“You’re going to ride with them?”
“With them? No.” Talivar gave me a pained smile as he took the bridle of the one riderless horse. Besides him, a cluster of hounds wove about his legs, bone pale and red eared, long tongues lolling mockingly.
“Lead them to save my people? Yes.” He held out the bloodied piece of glass to the hounds, standing still as they swarmed over him, noses picking up the scent.
Immediately they began to bay, hurtling through the Door. Tipping his head to us, Talivar mounted quickly and pointed at the other riders, taking the lead as the last dog disappeared, the horses’ hooves clattering on the cobblestones.
A moment later they were gone, and the air hung with an odd stillness. Moira stared after the place where her brother had been, anguish on her face. She dropped her head as she turned to me.
“This is not how things should be,” she murmured. “He takes on too much . . . and yes, it is the only thing to be done now.”
“What will you do?” The words came out more challenging than I’d wanted, but I couldn’t help the bitterness from sweeping through the tone. I pushed it away. What was the point? The princess would do as she would. As she always did.
She embraced me suddenly, the slimness of her form feeling alien against me. I hadn’t quite realized how damn tiny she actually was.
“This is such a mess. But somehow, with you at our side, I feel as though we might see it through. And if not . . . well, it has been my honor to claim kinship to you.”
Nobu rolled his eyes. “You know what the problem with the Fae is? You’re all a bunch of fucking drama llamas.” He touched his palm to his forehead. “Oh, la, I might actually have to do something instead of just sitting around looking pretty.”
Ion made a strangled noise, but I couldn’t decide if he was laughing or not. Hurt flashed over Moira’s face.
“That’s enough,” I said, pushing between them. “If we’re going to work togeth
er, then let’s do it. Enough with the posturing.” I looked up at my apartment. “Give me a sec.”
I retreated up the stairs and stared at the shattered window pane. No time to clean it up, but I couldn’t leave it like this either. I snagged my cell phone and my backpack. No telling what we might need, but the staples always seemed to work best.
A quick phone call to Robert to give him a rundown on what happened. Knowing is half the battle and all that.
Plus, we really needed someone to dispose of the daemon bodies before they began to stink any more than they already did. They tended to be flammable at the best of times, and as Moira’s former bodyguard, Robert would have an excellent handle on that sort of thing—not to mention running interference with any potential law enforcement that might show up.
On impulse I grabbed a towel and filled it with ice, tossing it to Brystion when I rejoined the others. “Can’t let that pretty face mar too much.”
“I hear the ladies like the scars.”
Nobu snapped his fingers, impatience rolling out of him. Without another word, he strode toward the Door, beckoning at the rest of us to follow.
Washed out and faded, the hospital looked as though it had long ago given up whatever ghost it had. If it had ever truly been a place of healing, there was no sign of it now. It made me tired simply to walk through it.
We’d emerged from the CrossRoads a few blocks away and immediately made a beeline for the ER, but one look at the hungry, desperate eyes of those in the waiting room changed my mind about trying that particular route. Bad enough to take the time away from someone who actually needed help, let alone subject Ion to it.
“Christ, I wouldn’t want to wake up if this was where I’d end up either,” I muttered. Nobu’s Glamour shielded us in the meantime but it felt weak, as though he was too distracted to set it properly. Ion limped beside me, scanning the hallways.
“What are we looking for?”
Nobu frowned, cradling the violin in his arms. “One of those wards . . . the ones they put you in when they’re afraid you’ll hurt yourself.”