Brush of Darkness

by Allison Pang

  “Yes,” he said wanly. “Under the circumstances, I thought it might be a bit awkward to have the Protectorate’s TouchStone spill her brains out all over the counter. Bad form, you know.”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time,” I muttered, fighting the urge to touch my scar.

  Roweena stared at the three of us for several moments. “This is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” she finally exploded. “Which means you’re either all very good liars, or you’re all telling the truth.”

  The unicorn coughed. “Well, technically, I can’t lie, so that would mean—”

  “I know that,” she snapped, her arms crossing in frustration. “I’m sorry, Robert, but your charges of coup are unfounded. There is nothing I can do. While you may find the situation repugnant, that is not really your concern.” She gestured at us carelessly. “None of the parties involved appear to have any reservations from what I can see or a need to break the Contracts.” Her eagle eyes zoomed in on us. “Or lack thereof, as the case may be. Do they?”

  “No.” My legs trembled with sudden relief. “I’ve got it under control.”

  “But what about Charlie?” Robert pushed past us as though we hadn’t said a thing.

  “Use your head, angel. If Charlie were dead, would you be able to travel the CrossRoads as you have been?” Phineas stomped a hoof, fixing Robert with a withering stare. “My TouchStone may or may not be guilty of many things, but accessory to murder isn’t one of them.”

  “Shut up.” I nudged the unicorn with my knee, ignoring his indignant squeal, and looked at Robert. “I already told you everything I knew about Moira the other night. I mean, the Midnight Marketplace continued to open, so I just figured she’d be back later. That means she’s still alive, doesn’t it?”

  “There’s different levels of alive,” the angel said sourly. “And most of them aren’t very good.”

  Roweena winced at his words but shook herself. “We cannot allow ourselves to think in that fashion. If the Royal Court even remotely suspects she is . . . dead . . .” She shuddered. “Well, it certainly doesn’t bear thinking about.”

  “We’ve got bigger problems,” Brystion interjected brusquely, shifting in front of me. I absently noticed he’d found shoes somewhere as he tossed something onto the table. “This is the badge the daemons were wearing last night. I went back to the attack site this morning and found it on the body of the one I killed.”

  Roweena’s nose flared. “Disgusting things.” Gingerly, she turned it over, her face suddenly paling as she looked at Robert. “Is this right?”

  The angel exhaled sharply, tracing the mark branded into the leather.

  “What is it?” I glanced between them. “What does it say?”

  “Many of these sorts of mercenaries wear the mark of the one who purchased their services,” Robert said, the words appearing to choke him. “Daemon battles are often too fluid and fast to change sides. It makes them easier to identify between the fighting. Not that they seem to care much who they kill.”

  I asked the question even though I was pretty sure I wouldn’t like the answer. “And whose mark does that one bear?”

  He let the circle fall to the table, his icy gaze capturing mine. “One Maurice Delacroix. Former lover and ex-TouchStone of the Protectorate.”

  Maurice?” My voice sounded thin against the sudden explosion of murmurs in the room. I thought back to that little photo from Moira’s office, the way Maurice’s hand was entwined with hers. “But that makes no sense. I mean, you all said he disappeared, but . . .” I slumped back in the chair. “I guess if he sees me as a threat, then okay, but why attack Charlie?”

  “And more importantly, why is he actually still alive?” Roweena snapped. “He should have aged to death months ago.”

  Brystion frowned, sharing a glance with me. “Aged to death how? Abby and I found a picture of him from over a hundred years ago.”

  “It’s the Contract,” I said dully. “All that agelessness bullshit, all those little perks? They all go down the shitter if I leave Portsmyth. I’ll age a year for every minute I’m out there. Maurice had the same deal, I’m guessing.”

  “Yes,” Roweena said softly. “And he tried to leave. It wasn’t pretty.”

  My bullshit detector went off in about a thousand different directions at that particular statement, but I didn’t want to call her on it. Not that I thought she was lying exactly, but the Fae had a way of twisting words into a type of truth. But there was no way there wasn’t more to this story than she was saying.

  “And you say you took this off one of the daemons?” Roweena turned toward Brystion. He nodded.

  “Hzule,” I said. “I recognized him from the Marketplace the other night.”

  “Then they’ve been targeting you longer than we thought,” Brystion said sharply, his jaw tightening.

  Roweena fixed me with suddenly defensive eyes. “We’re going to need to make sure you’re guarded at all times.”

  “I will see to it,” the incubus interrupted, with an even deeper chill to his voice. “Unlike some, I guard my TouchStones with my life.”

  “I’ll kill you for that.” Robert launched himself toward us, his wings snapping open like a crack of thunder.

  “Bring it,” Brystion sneered back, already moving into a protective stance.

  I looked askance at Roweena, pressing myself back against the chair as the angel steamrolled past. Phineas gave a sharp whinny and ducked behind the seat. “Aren’t you going to stop this?” I shouted at her, wincing at the sound of Robert’s fist against the incubus’s chin.

  Roweena returned her attention to her parchment, her expression bored.

  “Fine,” I muttered, realization shooting through me. She was waiting to see what we’d do. What I’d do. Another goddamned test. But what was I going to do? The other night, the two of them had responded to my anger and stopped, but that was before they’d come to blows. And now, Brystion straddled Robert, his dark eyes whirling with gold-tinted fury.

  I was at my own CrossRoads, I thought grimly. Fae. Incubus. Angel. Which Path would I choose? My eyes met the amused gaze of Roweena. Clearly she expected me to ask for help.

  Not this time, honey.

  My earlier words to Katy swept through my mind and I stood up, my hand resting on the cool marble. “I choose the Fourth Path. Humanity.”

  Roweena’s mouth gaped slightly, but I shoved past her, wedging myself between the two men. I didn’t have a bucket of water to toss on them, but I remembered my grandmother twisting my ear when I was a child and how goddamned much it hurt. I grabbed an ear from both and pulled, hard. “Both of you, knock it the fuck off.”

  An elbow cocked me upside the head. Pain lanced through my skull, and I swore, arms windmilling to catch my balance. The floor shot up to meet me despite my skilled flailing, and I rolled to catch the brunt of the impact on my shoulder. My breath pushed out in a gasp, and the telltale aura edged around my vision.

  Robert and Brystion both squatted over me, their lips moving. But there was only the ringing in my head and my own voice screaming silently at them. My body stiffened and I plunged into darkness.

  Silence. Darkness. Shadowed wings like midnight moths brushing against my face. Where was I? I tried to open my eyes, but I had no eyes to open, no mouth to speak through, no ears to hear with. Flat and empty, my skin stretched over the hollowed canvas. Inside, I was screaming, my mouth eternally open, eternally silent, each shallow breath like sucking in gasoline and linseed oil through cotton mesh, hot and unbearable.

  “Tell him . . .” A face . . . my face? Vacant doll’s eyes, burning in agony like crisping paper in a fireplace. “Tell him,” it whispered, the bond snapping into place between us.

  “Is she awake?” The voice was quietly grim. I heard soft footsteps. A door closing.

  “Imma wak.” My mouth felt like it was full of sand. A sweeping whisper pressed past my lips, echoing in an eerie nasal whistle. Something cool tickled over my
tongue and it took me a moment to recognize it as a plastic straw, dripping ice water into the abused reaches of my throat.

  “Sip it slowly, Abby.”

  I coughed, wincing at the burning scrape of air in my lungs. I swallowed, the chilled liquid leaking steadily until I’d had enough. I swatted at the straw, but my hands were swollen and clumsy. What the hell?

  I sat up. Correction. I tried to sit up. The resulting head spin promptly caused me to roll over on my side and dry-heave, sternum aching with each violent contraction. A dull pain throbbed on the side of my head. I reached up, tried to feel the scar. “What’s on my hands? Why can’t I see?”

  “We had to put gloves on your hands to keep you from scratching yourself.” Brystion’s words were low and soothing in my ear. He caressed my temple gently and I sighed, the warmth of his skin a welcome balm to the pain. “And as to why you can’t see . . .” The incubus chuckled. “Well, it would probably help if you opened your eyes.”

  My eyes? “I’m such a dumbass,” I complained, cracking one open at him. I squinted, preparing myself for harsh light, but I was only met with shadows.

  “But a cute dumbass.” His lips twitched and I frowned. They were upside down. Or I was upside down, really. I was lying on my back on the floor, my head cradled in his lap. “What happened?” My eyes darted to the sides but nothing was there. “Where are the others?”

  “We’re still at the Judgment Hall. You had a seizure.” His face darkened with thinly suppressed anger. “Silly, stupid girl. Whatever possessed you to step between a fighting angel and an incubus?”

  “I needed to stop you,” I sighed, closing my eyes again. “Roweena wasn’t going to do it, that’s for sure.”

  “No. Do you want to sit up?”

  I thought about it. I thought about it some more. “Not really.”

  “Fair enough,” he said. “Do you remember anything from during your seizure? Anything at all?” His voice remained calm but had an undercurrent of tension.

  “I’m not sure. Most of the time when I have a seizure it’s like I can see what’s going on around me, but I’m powerless to stop it, or to do anything. Like I’m watching it all happen from a distance. It makes me disconnected, I guess, but this time . . .” I shifted, my hip grinding into the floor. “I was trapped. I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. I don’t really know how to explain it.” I gazed up at him, taking in the stiff edge of his jaw. “That wasn’t just a random question, was it?”

  He shook his head grimly as he pressed something into my hand. “Look,” he said. There was something terrifying in his face the way he said it.

  I struggled to sit, and his arms came beneath me to raise me up. I glanced down at my wrapped fingers, unable to feel what he’d placed in them. “Feathers?” Large and scarlet, the pinions looking like spilled blood over the black leather of the gloves. “Where did they come from?”

  His eyes bored into mine, unblinking. “You tell me. You brought them from the Dreaming during your seizure.”

  Something clicked in the back of my mind. “They look like—”

  “Sonja’s.” He glanced away from me, but I saw the ache in his eyes. “I’m sure of it. Please, Abby, I must know. Did you see her? Did she say anything to you?”

  I twisted the feathers between my fingers, brushing their delicate softness across my unfeeling palm. “I don’t know what I saw,” I said finally. “Everything was frozen in place. I couldn’t move, no matter how much I struggled . . . wait.” I shivered. A dark voice, whispering into the shadows . . . Tell him . . . “Yes, she did. She just said, ‘Tell him.’” I swallowed hard as I looked at the feathers again. “Jesus, Ion. I think I TouchStoned her.”

  He froze. “How is that possible?”

  “You’re asking me? I mean, what other explanation could there be for the feathers?”

  “Did she say anything else? Anything at all?” His hands tightened on mine.

  I shrugged helplessly. “Not that I remember. I’m sorry.”

  Disappointment flickered in the depths of his eyes, but he contained it quickly. “It’s not your fault. It’s mine, really—all of it.”

  “What are you talking about? What’s your fault?”

  He waved me off. “Never mind. At least I’ve still got hope she’s alive. Do you think you’re feeling okay now? We really need to discuss this with Roweena and Robert.”

  “You two worked out your lover’s quarrel?”

  He flushed slightly. “Something like that,” he muttered. “Let’s just say we’re going to try to behave a bit better.”

  “Do tell,” I drawled. “What changed your mind?”

  “Watching you hit the floor when his elbow clocked your stubborn excuse for a head. Nothing like seeing your only connection with the missing Protectorate spill her brains out to make you realize how much of a fucktard you’re becoming.”

  “Is that all?” I snorted. “Robert’s going soft.”

  “It’s not all,” the incubus said softly, his hands sliding tighter against my waist. His lips brushed over my forehead. “Abby, you were completely out of control. And that scream . . .”

  “I don’t usually scream when I seize.” I frowned. “How long was I out for?”

  “Two hours, after you stopped moving. The feathers showed up toward the end of your seizure. One moment you were pounding the floor with your fists and the next you started scratching at your face, only the feathers were sticking out between your fingers.”

  “Crap.” I glanced down at my watch. “It’s five-thirty already. I’d forgotten how long they left me in that little room back there.”

  “I’m sorry for that too. I shouldn’t have left you.”

  “But you discovered the mercenary mark,” I pointed out. “That has to count for something.”

  He shook his head. “No. Roweena was right. We cannot leave you alone now. As long as you’re alive, Moira still has a connection to Portsmyth and the CrossRoads. We lose that and the Fae are going to swarm all over this place like hornets on a caffeine buzz.”

  “Now there’s an image I could live without. What’s Roweena going to tell them?”

  “She’s going to try to give you a few days to recover, but she’s got no choice other than the truth at this point.”

  “What are they going to do with me?” I rolled over onto my side, adjusting my head to rest more comfortably on his knees. “I doubt they’re just going to let me break her Contract.”

  “Not a bloody chance in hell, Abby.” His gaze drifted toward the closed door. “I don’t know what to do. Are you sure you can’t leave town? Some loophole, maybe?”

  I shook my head wearily. “No. It’s an ironclad deal, and I signed it. Eyes wide shut and everything. Besides, whatever else I am, oathbreaker isn’t it.”

  “No, you’re not. Cranky, maybe.” He grinned slightly. “But I’d say that’s understandable under the circumstances.”

  “Yeah, well, I’d rather not be in these circumstances, no offense.” I sipped at the water. “I’ve got this envelope back in my apartment with all the information regarding my mother’s estate. I’m supposed to go back home and meet with the attorney to finalize things, but I can’t. How the hell am I supposed to tell him that I’m bound by a magical geas set by a damned faery?” I let my voice go nasal, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I’m sorry, Mr. Jefferies, I’d love to come by the office and finish that paperwork today, but I’ll be dead by the time I get there. Or at least horribly old.” A sigh escaped me. “It doesn’t really matter, though, does it? This is just the way it has to be. I was stupid and scared and desperate and I signed.”

  “And you’ll be free at the end of the Contract?”

  “That’s the theory. But honestly, I did some reading up on this Faery Contract stuff, and I don’t think I’m going to like the end of the road.” I shuddered, thinking of the Devil’s tithe. “I know Moira’s old school, but I hope like hell she’s not that old school. I’d rather avoid being a human s
acrifice, you know?”

  “One step at a time,” he said, his voice becoming thoughtful. He reached out so that his fingers rubbed the back of my neck. “Let’s just get the others back, and then we can check the specifics of your Contract.”

  “I know what the specifics are. And I’m not interested in breaking it.” My lips turned up in a sad attempt at joviality. “Besides, if I break it, I don’t get my wish.”

  His hand paused, lingering at the collar of my shirt. “Wish?”

  “Yeah. That’s the door prize. I put up with all this bullshit for seven years and, at the end of it, I get a wish.” I held up my hand. “And please, I really don’t want to hear how I was probably tricked, or that things never work out the way you want them to. It’s about the only thing I’ve got left going for me.”

  “I won’t.” He started a gentle massage at the base of my skull. If he had any other thoughts on the matter, he didn’t voice them, but his eyes grew distant.

  The skin tingled where he touched it, the waves of longing rolling down my spine. “You’re going to have to stop that,” I said wryly. “It’s going to be hard enough to try to figure out what’s going on without constantly wanting to throw myself on the bed for your pleasure.”

  “I prefer up against the wall, myself.”

  I snorted. His hand stroked downward to the small of my back and remained there, the heat searing across my flesh. “Brystion,” I warned, fighting the urge to rub myself against him. There were things that needed to be said. “Listen. I wanted to thank you for the other night. For saving me and Katy, I mean.”

  Something sad flickered over his face. “What choice did I have?” His lip curved as he gently removed the gloves from my hands. He raised one to his mouth and kissed my fingertips with a hint of mischief. “When this is over, I’ll show you the Dreaming properly.”

  “Sounds heavenly,” I said, my voice dreamy. My head still felt like it was stuffed with cotton, my words stilted and woolly on my tongue. “Just you and me and no Faery politics. And lots of sex,” I added hopefully. “The kind where there isn’t any pain or expectations. Normal stuff.”