by Allison Pang
She shook her head and pulled at her ears. “Wait,” she mouthed, pointing back at the stage. I looked back at Robert, but the angel had gone sulky, his brows furrowed.
And then the music started and I held my breath for a moment as the incubus took the microphone. The rest of the band was reduced to nothing more than silhouetted shadows behind him. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but the voice that poured out of him wasn’t it. The low, seductive sweep of notes pressed its way through the Hallows, echoed in the pulsing rhythm of my heart. My stomach was full of butterflies, hot and nervous, and I leaned forward despite myself. Around me, the subtle pull grew stronger. A quick glance showed the effect wasn’t solely on me. Even Charlie looked vaguely uncomfortable, shifting in her seat to recross her legs.
Brystion smirked as his gaze swept over the crowd, his fingers drifting over the mic.
“This bed is on fire with passionate love . . .”
I snorted. Leave it to an incubus to sing “Laid.” I blinked as our eyes met, watched the flare of gold ring around his pupils. The sounds dropped away and for a moment it was just the two of us in the dark. My arms wrapped around my shoulders instinctively, as if he could see my nakedness, wondering if the same longing was written on my face. My vision went smoky, hazy, blurring in the sudden rush of bodies as they swayed around me.
Blinking rapidly, I shook my head, wrenching my attention back to Charlie and Robert. “Is it even worth trying to discuss any more of this?” I leaned toward her, my words nearly lost in the din. My chair rocked and I ducked as a . . . Viking? No, a Valkyrie pranced by, her muscular frame shoveling me out of the way in her hurry to get to the dance floor.
“I’m not sure there’s much else to talk about.” Robert snapped out a wing, startling an elven waitress into nearly spilling her drink. “I’ll put out some feelers and see if Moira’s gone back to Faery. It could be as simple as Court politics.”
“Maybe.”
His eyes gleamed unpleasantly, and I knew we both suspected it wouldn’t be that easy. “In the meantime, I’d like you to report anything else untoward. I’m counting on you for this, Abby.”
Charlie coughed low in her throat, her gaze dipping toward the incubus onstage for a moment. “Yeah,” I muttered. I knew I could be dense, but Charlie was about as subtle as a brick through a window sometimes.
The tempo of the music had changed and I glanced behind me, watching as Brystion gyrated onstage to Led Zeppelin’s “The Lemon Song,” his hand cupping the microphone suggestively. I didn’t know why I didn’t want to talk to Robert about the incubus—it was stupid not to. And yet my mouth wouldn’t open. “I think I’m gonna go,” I said finally, ignoring Charlie’s stare.
My eyes met Brystion’s again, and I couldn’t help giving him a little nod. One dark brow rose in return, and the music changed again. It became darker, slower. The song beat at my brain, but not in words I could recognize.
I stood up, every heartbeat urging me to step toward him, make my way to the dance floor and submit to his will, to drown in the ocean of flesh writhing beneath his mien. I took a step and felt a cool grasp on my wrist. I looked down, trying to shake it off. It was Robert. He said something that sounded like my name, but it didn’t matter. All I wanted was . . . there. On the stage, all graceful limbs and muscled torso, gyrating to the beat of the drums. My hips swung wide in answer.
Yes . . .
“No,” I whispered, and moved toward the dance floor. I brushed by the other dancers, limbs moving in a remembered grace. If the crowd parted before me, I didn’t question it, no more than I questioned the way the incubus seemed to uncoil off the stage, oozing down the steps.
Melanie’s mouth quirked at me and then she shrugged, her head inclining toward the guitarist who immediately began an extended solo.
My hand drifted forward, an explosion of heat rocketing up my arm when Brystion captured it. And then I was spinning as he turned me out and drew me back, his golden eyes blazing. I pulled away, uncertain. Something didn’t seem quite right, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to stop. “What are you doing?” I murmured.
“Dancing.” Amusement flickered across his face as he pressed his hips tightly against mine.
“Well, yes, I can see that. But why?”
“Why not?” When I only stared at him, he shook his head and lowered his mouth to my ear. “Because you looked like you wanted to.”
Before I could answer this, glass shattered as a bottle slammed on top of the bar. I blinked, realized we were standing alone in the center of the dance floor, with the music gone and Brystion’s arm paused mid-twirl.
What the hell? I glanced at him and then toward the bar, startled to see a snarling Brandon emerge toward us, his hackles raised.
“I’ll fucking kill him.” Robert’s voice came as though from a distance, muffled and heated. I inhaled slowly, risking a quick glance behind me. The angel pushed through the crowd, his wings outspread, even as Brystion slowly moved in front of me.
“Not in here,” the werewolf rumbled. “You know the rules. No fighting in my bar.” His canines gleamed in the reflection of the bottle in his hand. “The only one who gets to break heads around here is me.”
The angel and the incubus ignored him, circling slowly in a systematic sizing up. It was like watching dogs made of dynamite sniff each other’s backsides, and I could only wonder who was holding the match. Brystion’s eyes had gone dark again, his pose suddenly relaxed as though he knew something. Judging by Robert’s posture, the angel knew it too, the stiffness in his shoulders broadcasting his displeasure.
Brandon turned toward me, the unwritten message plain. His bar, yes, but this was Moira’s bodyguard and her domain. This needed to stop, and now. And apparently I had to do it. I tugged on the angel’s shirt. “Robert. It’s all right.”
“No, Abby,” he snarled back. “It’s really not. And this little shit knows it.”
Brystion snorted. “I’ve done nothing that isn’t within my rights. Run along now, angel, and see if you can’t find the head of a pin to dance on. I hear the jury is still out on just how many of you can do the Electric Slide without falling off.”
I choked back a laugh despite myself. Somehow I didn’t think Thomas Aquinas had meant his philosophical wonderings to be used as an ethnic slur, but there it was.
Robert slipped around the incubus as though searching for a weakness, but whatever it was, I couldn’t see it. Brystion leaned in and whispered something, his face mocking.
Robert stiffened, one hand drifting down to the longs-word at his hip. His fingers caressed the hilt in warning. “As Moira’s TouchStone, this is your call, Abby.” His tone clearly told me what he thought I should do, overriding the statement.
I was half inclined to agree with him. The only problem was that I had no clue what either of them was talking about. Clearly there was a larger game going on here and I didn’t know who all the players were. I sent a questioning glance toward Charlie. She gave a nearly imperceptible shake of her head. This one was on me.
Great. I stifled the urge to cover my face with my hands. I exhaled slowly. “I think you should let Brystion get back to his set and the rest of these fine people to their chosen entertainments.” I raised a brow at the two of them, praying that they’d both take the hint. “The incubus and I will discuss things afterward.”
Relief flashed in Brystion’s eyes, but it was gone nearly before I saw it. Robert’s jaw tightened, his teeth grinding together. “So be it.” He leaned forward to snarl something at the incubus. Brystion nodded shortly, his gaze flicking back toward me for a moment, but I couldn’t hear what they were saying. Robert’s thumb jabbed in my direction and his voice suddenly grew loud. “. . . and if you don’t, I’ll fucking kill you, you understand?” Brystion covered his mouth, stifling a yawn.
“This cloak-and-dagger bullshit is really starting to wear thin, Charlie.” I turned away from the two men with a weary sigh, making my way back to our table.
“I didn’t know this was going to happen,” she retorted tightly, tracking Robert as he returned to his seat, his wings snapping shut.
“What was that all about?” I rested my head on my arms, ignoring the rush of eyes on my back. My skin crawled beneath those hidden judgments, but I shook it off. “So much for not attracting attention to the situation.”
He ignored the jab, staring at his fingers as though imagining them wrapped around a certain daemon’s throat. Finally he looked up at me, blue eyes fiery. “Just remember that I was against this. When Moira comes back, we’re going to hash this out, you and I.”
“What are you talking about?”
The angel pointed toward the stage where Brystion and the band were tweaking the instruments to start back up again. “You chose him. Ask him what I’m talking about.” His upper lip curled into a sneer. “Good luck getting any answers from a freaking Dreameater.”
I chose him? I glanced out of the corner of my eye, confused. I hadn’t chosen anyone. All I wanted was to stop the bullshit, not get into a preternatural cockfight. “Fine,” I muttered. “Fuck you too.” I stood, draining what was left of my drink, my head spinning slightly.
“Abby . . .” Charlie reached out for me, but I shook my arm away.
“Don’t.” She looked as though she might cry. “Don’t,” I repeated softly. “This isn’t your choice to make.” I set my mug on the table and headed for the door, pushing past a gaggle of nymphs. They had fins and scales, so I guessed that made them undines. “Excuse me,” I said politely, working my way around them.
“Bitch.”
I rolled my eyes. “Yes, yes, of course I am. Thanks for pointing that out. Now if you wouldn’t mind, I’ve got some forks to stab into my skull.”
“He’ll use you like a dirty tissue,” one of them sniffed. “All you’re worth anyway.”
“I weep for it.” I elbowed past them. I’d nearly passed the bar when Brystion’s voice boomed through the speakers again, rich and dark, as he asked for silence.
“I’m sorry for my . . . indiscretion,” he said, his fingers stroking the mic stand curiously, his face a strange mix of seduction and amusement. “It was not my intent to start any trouble. As some of you know, I’ve been away for a bit and not entirely myself, but that’s all changed now.”
His eyes flared gold and went half-lidded, his words a lazy drawl. “I owe someone a very sincere apology. I’m not very good with that sort of thing, so I’m going to do it with a song.”
He leaned over and said something to Melanie. A bemused expression crossed her features. I couldn’t hear her, but it looked like her mouth moved to say “Are you sure?” At his nod, she shrugged and raised the violin to her chin, bow poised as she waited for his signal. I rolled my eyes and turned toward the door. I’d had enough of cryptic words, unspoken threats, and hidden magics. I was going home, goddammit, and crashing for a few hours if it killed me.
My fingers brushed the knob and then I stopped. Turned. The music had started, its familiar beat causing my hands to tremble as I raised them to my lips. Brystion grinned as the chords swelled, finger pointed at me.
A giggle escaped me, and then another, and then great gasps of hysterical laughter erupted as I stumbled back to the bar. Tom Jones. The dickhead was playing Tom frigging Jones. For me.
I half sat on a stool, my knees shaky, as I watched the dance floor fill back up. Up on stage, Brystion tipped his head toward me, his mouth curved in hidden promise, hips gyrating in a blatant one.
“Sex bomb, sex bomb. . .”
His hand motioned me forward, pulling me toward him again, but I only shook my head. There didn’t seem to be anything other than simple music this time, but I’d had my share of fun for one night.
One dark brow rose when I didn’t move, and I gave him an apologetic shrug. The song wrapped up with a flourish and the stage went dark, the bar filled with shouts and whistles.
I slipped Brandon another ten-spot in thanks and adjusted my shirt, slipping out the door without looking back.
The streetlights flickered dimly in the overhanging fog, the waterfront lost in a comfortable shadow. It was dark and intimate and solitary and that suited me just fine. I’d had my fill of sweaty bodies and alcohol-stained breath for one evening. I’d had my fill of drama too.
I leaned over the edge of the dock to listen to the slap of the tide. The way the water gently lapped at the boats always soothed me, the taut hitch of the ropes rising and falling with each small swell. A light breeze tinged with the scent of brine and tar blew gently off the water; it laughed its way through the tangle of my hair, lifting it off my forehead in blessed relief.
Brystion emerged from the darkness to loom against the railing beside me. We didn’t touch. I found a strange contentment in sharing the night sea with him, although he had his back to the bay. After a while he looked down, his arms crossed. “What are you thinking about?”
I stared at the distant lights far across the bay and shrugged. “Have you ever seen a mermaid?”
He made a bemused sound. “No,” he admitted after a moment. “But they exist . . . probably not as you imagine though.” His boots scuffed across the wooden boards, and he rested his arms on the edge of the pier. His duster made a ruffling flap in the wind as I watched his profile gleam beneath the watery street lamps. He was so damn beautiful it made my chest hurt to look at him.
“Nothing is ever how I imagined it would be.” A wry smile tugged at my lips. “Did you want to talk about what just happened in there?”
The incubus paused, and I knew immediately that it had been the wrong thing to say. His face shuttered, those dangerous eyes becoming blank and careful. “No.”
“What’s the matter? Afraid to admit you might actually be attracted to me?”
“Purely business,” he said shortly.
“Ah, and what a wondrous job you’re doing of that,” I said. “My dreams haven’t been this full of overblown flesh and angst since I was a teenager.” I tapped my fingers on my forehead. “It’s been like a brothel of the damned in there, but without the payoff. Or is that the general idea? Get me all hot and bothered and then just walk away? Hope I’ll beg you for a magical orgasm in return for some information?”
He sneered, but I still caught the flicker of chagrin that chased its way across his face. I chuckled softly when he stiffened. “You don’t have to do that, you know.” I rubbed my hands up and down my elbows to ward off the chill tingling its way across my skin.
“Do what? Ask you for help?” He snorted, but there was a hint of despair in it. “That’s a laugh, isn’t it? You can barely help yourself. How the hell do you think you’d be able to help me do anything?”
“Well, for starters, if you actually considered just treating me like a person, I tend to respond to that pretty well.” I hunched my shoulders as the breeze picked up. “You can even drop the walking sex-god act. You don’t need to impress me. And to be honest, it’s getting rather irritating.”
“It’s not an act.” He turned away for a moment and then abruptly took off his coat. “Here.” He thrust it at me.
“What?”
“You’re cold,” he growled.
“Good observation skills too, I see.”
“Just. Take. The. Fucking. Thing.” Brystion fixed his eyes on me, the pupils flaring gold, staring me down until I finally conceded. I draped it around my shoulders. It was heavy and warm and smelled of old leather and something else. Like cinnamon and honey, but darker. More primitive.
“Thank you,” I murmured, nestling into it. The tension drained away from his shoulders. “So are you planning on telling me what this is really all about? I mean, I’d hate to think I just stood up to Robert for nothing.”
“Why?”
“Why what? Seems pretty straightforward to me. I don’t know about you, but I don’t particularly care for having my ass beat down.”
“Not you.” His hand waved dismissively at me. “I meant why did you
stand up to him for me?”
It was a good question. I didn’t know. I said as much, shrugging beneath the leather.
He closed his eyes. “You’re a liar, just like me. Just like the rest of them.”
I stared at him. Whatever this was, it was about more than just me. It had to be. Charlie’s words came back to me. “. . . ran off with the drummer . . .” Someone had hurt him, badly. I reached out and gripped his wrist. His skin was warm, almost burning, but I didn’t know if that was an incubus trait or just because my hands were cold.
“Sometimes,” I agreed. “But usually only to myself.”
His eyes snapped open. “Why?”
I retreated, wrapping the coat around me a little tighter. The irony of that little move struck me as funny, but I couldn’t laugh. Instead, I started to walk, indicating he should follow me with a tilt of my head. The story never got any easier to tell, but I found it somewhat bearable if I was pacing. “I used to be a dancer.” I started slowly, my feet marching in time to my words. I focused on the cadence, my voice mechanical. “I danced all through elementary school, high school. I did plays, musicals, fine art workshops, you name it. I was good. Damn good,” I amended. “I won scholarships, awards, whatever. I even made it to Juilliard for a few semesters.” My stride quickened. “I actually met Melanie there, but she didn’t stay long. It wasn’t really her style.”
“No,” he agreed. “She plays the Wild Magic. There’s no way to trap that within walls, let alone capture it within the regulations of a classroom.”
I gazed at him in surprise. “Wild Magic?”
“It’s part of what allows her to open Doors. But you’re changing the subject.”
“Right. Anyway, I went to Juilliard for a while before becoming a principal for the American Ballet Theatre.”
“And then?” The words were soft and dark, gently prodding. I took a shuddering breath.
“And then. And then my mother came to pick me up one evening for dinner. It was lovely, she was lovely, the evening was all perfectly lovely.” My voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. “The drunk asshole who plowed his truck into my mother’s Ford Focus? Not so fucking lovely.” I stopped walking, stopped talking, and for a moment all I could see was the blurring streak of headlights against the windshield and the squalling wrench as the side of the car was pushed forward, punching through the passenger side door, metal and bone ravaged beyond repair, beyond help, beyond the tremulous sighs of my breath in my ears.