Brush of Darkness

by Allison Pang

  The incubus propped himself on his elbows, his eyes suddenly lazy. I was naked, of course. In real life, people can actually walk around their bedroom without draping a sheet around them first. Didn’t stop the flush from creeping up my face as he watched me. Finally his lips pursed and he snorted softly. “Fucking late, eh? Who’s that?”

  I threw a towel at him, rolling my eyes. “Seriously. It’s afternoon. Why’d you let me sleep in?”

  “Didn’t mean to,” he grumbled, sliding out of bed. “I think you needed it though.” He bent over obligingly to drag Melanie’s duffel bag out from where he’d stowed it beneath my bed. I sighed, wondering just how bad it would be if I just threw all that responsibility to the wind and spent the rest of the day banging his brains out.

  “Duty calls,” I murmured, slipping past him to pull out a pair of Hello Kitty panties from the top drawer. I shook them slightly. At least these were mostly free of fur. I quickly threw on the rest of my clothes, a simple pair of jeans and a tank top. I splashed a little water on my face, and rimmed my eyes with kohl, spearing my hair into a bun. I glanced at myself in the mirror and snorted.

  Abby Sinclair, urban geisha. Bringing SexyBack to an OtherFolk apocalypse near you.

  “Good enough. You ready yet?”

  “I’ll do.” His T-shirt clung to his chest as he leaned against the doorframe. The openness of a few moments ago was gone; his eyes contained that familiar guardedness. Funny how two people can be so close and yet so far apart. A pang of sadness took root in my gut, and I couldn’t help but wonder if that was always going to be the case. His lips curled up, as if seeing my thoughts. He extended his hand to me, the smile lighting up his face like the sun. “No regrets,” he murmured.

  My fingers interlocked with his and I stared up at him. “No regrets.”

  Tension hung over the Hallows in a miasma of grim smiles and worried brows. I shrugged off the weight of the circumvented stares, a wave of eyes upon me as I approached the bar where Robert and Brandon held court among a group of angels and a contingent of elves in Armani. Court business, I supposed. I wetted my lips, trying not to notice the way my mouth suddenly went dry. Strange how quickly enemies become compatriots given a serious enough situation. The Paths didn’t like to mingle more than they had to, but the root of it was that no one wanted the Faery Court coming down on them.

  “Took you long enough.” A small hiccup burbled by my knee as I watched Brystion head toward the back of the club.

  “Be polite, Phin. It’s hard enough to see them all staring without feeling like I’m two years old.” He staggered slightly and I scooped him up. “And why the hell are you drunk?”

  “Sue me.” The unicorn cracked open one bloodshot eye. “It was a hell of a night, Abby. There were daemons everywhere—the mercenaries. I tried to get back to you, but they had me cornered for hours in the back ally of the Spank Bank.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, stricken.

  “You should be.” He buried his face in my shoulder. “I’m not meant for that.”

  My fingers drifted through the cirrus fluff of his mane and I shifted him on my hip. “Why the XXX movie theater?”

  “Unicorn,” he pointed out with a grumpy snort. “Figured it would be the last place they’d look.”

  “Clearly they know your tastes,” I muttered, spotting the PETA pixie approaching. She gave me a friendly wave and sat down next to me at the bar. “Hello?” I hesitated. “Why are you here? Not that I’m not grateful or anything, but I didn’t think this was your fight.”

  “That depends on who you ask, I guess.” She scooted her pet seal onto the counter. “Seabert didn’t think much of that daemon the other night.” When I didn’t respond she frowned at me. “Asshole broke my wand. I want him to pay for it.”

  “Ah . . . he’s kind of dead, already.”

  “Damn. Well, that’s all right. Daemons tend to breed a lot. I’m sure he’s got family who will step up to the plate. And if not, that’s why I brought the Cousins.” She gestured over her shoulder at the corner by the stage where two . . . somethings sat. Horses with flippered legs. And yet they had human torsos . . .

  I swallowed hard. “They don’t seem to have any skin.”

  “Why would they? They’re Nucklavee, after all.” Her mouth curled into a feral grin. “Nasty fuckers too.”

  “You’re pretty hard-core for being in PETA,” I said. “I thought you guys were all love the earth and shit like that. Unless I’ve misunderstood what the acronym stands for.”

  One perfect brow cocked at me. “Yeah, well. It’s not called People for the Ethical Treatment of Assholes, now is it?” She flittered into the crowd, leaving me and the seal to stare at each other. It made a disparaging bark as I set Phineas next to it on the bar.

  My glance fell on a huddled form on the stage. Melanie. She cradled her splinted arm tightly against her chest, her eyes dull as she stared at the amp next to the mic stand. “Give me a sec, Phin?”

  I hurried to her side, climbing onto the stage with a little grunt. The skinless giants eyed me curiously, but I tried not to look at their thick yellow veins or the way they pulsed with black blood.

  Melanie blinked at me, the bags beneath her eyes dark and empty. “It’s okay,” I murmured as she stumbled forward. I hugged her hard, feeling her shudder against me. “We’ll get it back,” I promised her, but even I could hear the hollowness beneath the words. Despair lanced over her features.

  “I’ll die if we don’t.” Her eyes went blank. “I damn near lost my soul over that instrument—it’s a part of me now. If it’s broken, it won’t just be a matter of me not being able to open the CrossRoads again, but I think I’ll be . . . broken too.”

  “It just doesn’t make any sense,” I muttered. “You had a painting done by Topher, so clearly there’s still a connection there, but then why didn’t they just take you?”

  “The only one who’s going to be able to answer that is Topher,” she said savagely, wincing when her arm brushed my thigh. “And he’s got a lot to answer for.”

  “How bad are your fingers?” I’d been hedging on the question, not entirely sure I wanted to know the answer. I knew all too well what the loss of one’s limbs could do to one’s talent.

  “Bad.” She gestured up toward the bar. “Robert says he can get me in with one of the Royal Healers, as a favor to Moira.”

  “I’m surprised they haven’t already.” And I was. Usually the OtherFolk were fawning all over her.

  A grim snort escaped her. “I’m a marked woman now. No one wants to take the risk of helping me. Just like they won’t want to help you,” she added. “Fairweather friends. Be careful of that, Abby. Whatever they tell you, the OtherFolk only watch out for themselves.” Her shoulders sagged. “Though I’m not sure they know how to do anything else.”

  “I’m not sure they’ve got much of a choice,” I sighed. “But speaking of that, I suppose we ought to get this thing started. All I need now is a master plan.”

  “Got anything in mind?”

  “Sit back and wait for my new special power to show up? Seems to work that way in all the Faery tales, doesn’t it?” I crossed my arms. “What do you think? Will I be able to shoot fire out my ass or just control all the werewolves in the neighborhood through the awesomeness of my Sex-Fu?”

  The ghost of a smile crossed her face. “I’ll be sure to pick up a bag of marshmallows. I’d really dig an ass-fire s’more right about now.”

  “You and me both.” I gave Melanie’s good hand a gentle squeeze and left her there, heading back up toward the bar. Phineas appeared to be in a heated argument with the seal, but it looked rather one-sided. I cleared my throat to get everyone’s attention.

  Nothing.

  I frowned. “AHEM!”

  “Amateur,” Phineas grumbled, trotting to the center of the bar. His legs wobbled uncertainly, but he shook himself and then reared up a bit, letting out a belch that would have knocked over a sailor.

 
The elf next to us jumped, his silver eyes startled. One by one, the others turned toward us. A taint of fear rode the air, the stink of it on my tongue.

  “Ye’re on, babe,” the unicorn muttered. Brystion glanced my way from where he had been talking with Robert. He gave me a faint smile, his head tipping to indicate I should go on. Melanie still hadn’t moved from the stage.

  “I . . . uh . . . well.” My voice faltered and I shook myself. “Thank you all for coming,” I said.

  “What’s the plan, Abby?” Brandon wolf-grinned from behind the bar, canine teeth gleaming under the lights. He had Katy pressed tight against him, one hairy paw wrapped protectively about her waist.

  “This is what I know,” I continued, scooting behind the bar to use the special whiteboard. Carefully I drew out the timeline. “Here is when I signed Moira’s Contract and here”—I wrote the date two months later—“is when she disappeared. Somewhere in between that”—I gestured toward Brystion—“is when Sonja went missing. Before that, other succubi were also apparently disappearing.”

  Brystion nodded grimly, moving up to the bar with Robert, the two men peering at the whiteboard. “I was attacked two nights ago. Or really, they mistakenly took Katy for me.” I put another dot on the timeline. “And then Charlie.” My gaze darted sharply toward the angel. I flinched as his eyes went cold.

  “I don’t understand,” the pixie said, leaning on the bar to interrupt. “How does the succubus fit into this?”

  “The paintings.” Some of the stares went blank. “Topher Fitzroy did a series of paintings of TouchStones several weeks after Moira . . . left—one of me, Charlie, and Melanie. But there were portraits of others as well. One of them is of Sonja.” I didn’t look over at the incubus, but I could sense him tense as I said it.“One of them was Moira. And last night we discovered the three paintings of the dead succubi.”

  Robert pulled up the sheeted remains of one of the paintings. I braced myself as he uncovered it, the brighter lights of the bar making it seem obscene. The angel did not react, as though it were nothing more than disrobing a corpse in a morgue for identification. The unfortunate Lintane had not changed her position behind the canvas, her naked form still arched in terror.

  The elf beside me blanched and I finally looked away. Robert covered it back up and laid it gently on the floor where it sat like the pink elephant in the room, everyone’s eyes continually drawn to what was hidden beneath.

  “No wonder the little shit hasn’t shown up here,” Brandon snarled, tongue idly running over a sharpened canine.

  “No.” I gave them the rest of the information from the night before, skirting over Brigadun’s betrayal. I glanced back at the painting, unable to continue. Phineas nudged my arm and took up the tale as best he could, ending with the theft of Melanie’s violin.

  “Guess that kills the option of just making a Door into the Gallery,” Brandon sighed. “Assuming that’s where we would find him.”

  “The bigger thing is finding Maurice.” Robert fiddled with one of the markers. He eyed the elves with a sour smile.

  “It begs the question though,” Phineas said. “Just who was Sonja’s TouchStone when she disappeared? Assuming she had one?”

  Brystion shook his head helplessly. “If I’d known that I would have started there.”

  “I believe I can answer that,” a low voice came from the doorway. I turned, my mouth gaping as I saw Topher standing there, his face gaunt and eyes bright and bloodshot. He raised his hands in a “no harm” fashion, fingers splayed. “I was.”

  I could only stare at him, my knees beginning to wobble. “Well, isn’t that a perfect bitch,” I said aloud, the warning voice in my head sending out a five-alarm bell.

  And then all hell broke loose.

  Daemons poured in the front door, leaping around the hunched figure of the artist. I had no idea how to react to the panic around me, but Brystion had no such handicap. Swearing, he flew over the bar and grabbed my hand, leading me toward the stage. Melanie had pressed herself behind one of the curtains, her face paling.

  “We have to get out of here,” Ion shouted.

  “Tell me something I don’t know,” I muttered, shuddering as Robert’s maddened cackle echoed through the room. I spared a glance toward the Celestial. His wings were spread in a formidable rage, his long sword glowing as he cut a swath through the daemons. Blood splattered over the floor and walls like a daemonic carwash. If daemons washed their cars in their own blood, that is.

  I tripped, biting hard on my lip as I kicked a severed daemon head out of my path. I slipped on the wet hardwood as a high-pitched whinny sounded. I turned to see Phin rearing on the bar, his horn jabbing madly at a cluster of grinning daemons. “Phineas!” I shrieked, watching in horror as one of the daemons snatched him up by the tail. He let out a squeal of fury, teeth bared as he kicked out with sharp hooves.

  Ignoring Brystion’s shout of warning, I lurched toward the daemons, crying out as I slammed into a table. I fell to the floor, rolling off Katy’s prone form. I shook her but she didn’t move, and then a clawed hand gripped my shoulder, hauling me to my feet. “Ion—” Another hand covered my mouth, pinching my nose hard as I attempted to bite it.

  “Quiet there,” said a guttural voice, the daemon’s lips pulled back. I kicked out and down, trying to remember what soft bit you were supposed to target when you were attacked. Ah. Eyes! My free hand was still free and flailing, but I shoved it back, driving with the sharp nail of my thumb into the fleshy mass between the eyelids. There was an audible pop, viscous fluid burning over my skin as my attacker screamed and released me.

  Shaking off the egg-white chunks from my hand, I fled toward the bar. Bodies were everywhere, but how many were dead versus injured I wasn’t sure. It wasn’t like I’d ever been in a battle before.

  “Shit.” Something squishy wobbled beneath my foot. I glanced away quickly. One of the Armani-clad elves hadn’t been quite fast enough.

  The pixie swooped above me, displaying some extraordinarily pointy teeth. Whatever she’d said about a broken wand, she must have had a spare since she was going all Harry Potter with a Barbie-pink monstrosity, flashes of silver sparkles raining down on another daemon. Her “Cousins” were . . . well, they were eating someone. One of them had a nasty cut on his equine flank, ebony blood dripping onto the hardwood as he gleefully ripped into the unfortunate victim’s chest.

  I ducked behind the bar, struggling to avoid a cluster of claws. A furry and growling mass bounded past me, tail slapping me upside the face. Spitting fur, I crouched against the wall. “Brandon,” I gasped. “Katy’s out there—” The wolf bared his teeth at me and disappeared into the fray. There was no sign of Phineas except for a pile of white hair and a few choice blood splatters.

  “Abby, come with me.” Hard fingers curled above my upper arm.

  “Topher?” I shot him an incredulous look. “This is madness. You have to stop it.”

  He shrugged with weary acceptance. “I cannot, but if you leave with me, the rest will retreat.”

  I hesitated, watching in horror as the tattered remains of my friends were encircled by the daemons. Brystion and Robert were back-to-back, Robert still swinging his sword and Brystion slamming the business end of a mic stand like a club, an unconscious Phineas cradled in one arm. For a moment they were frozen in time, and I marveled—two sides of the same coin, each an exact opposite on the Paths. Topher nudged me again. “They’re outnumbered. Come with me and they’ll survive. He’ll survive.”

  “How do I know this isn’t a trap?”

  “Don’t be stupid,” he murmured. “Of course it’s a trap.” His mouth curved into a lopsided smile, all the more painful for remembering it bestowed upon me in friendship. Or so I’d thought.

  “Fine.” I spat the words between gritted teeth. “Call them off.”

  “Good girl.” He raised his head, some tiny gesture fluttered at his side, and the fighting stilled. The daemons retreated a pace, weapons rais
ed to the defensive. They surrounded Topher and me, their backs to us as though flanking us like flower petals made of blades. Questioning glances spiked toward us, echoed by sighs and groans and a sobbing gurgle from the floor.

  A throbbing began beating at my temples. I swallowed and turned away from the carnage. The pixie huddled in the corner, one gossamer wing bent defiantly. A golden spill of hair was cradled in Brandon’s lap, the werewolf’s eyes haunted and sorrowful. It lanced me to the core, the accusatory anguish nestled there, but I’d already done what I could. Still, it smacked of betrayal, even to myself. Topher’s fingers dug into my shoulder, and I spoke. “Brystion, Robert—put your weapons down.”

  The two men stared at us, neither lowering their guard. Topher cleared his throat, his smile broadening. “Everyone ease up. She’s coming along quietly.”

  “Abby, no!” Brystion’s eyes widened, his face disbelieving. “You cannot go with him.” He took a step toward the bar, ignoring the daemons’ weapons as they pressed tight against his chest.

  Topher’s mouth tightened. “You’re TouchStoned to him, aren’t you?”

  I hesitated, my gaze meeting Brystion’s for half a second. He snarled, but nodded once.

  “That won’t do,” Topher mumbled to himself. “Goddamned KeyStones.” He jabbed something sharp against my throat. My eyes pressed down, catching sight of the jeweled pommel of an elaborate dagger. “Maurice will not be pleased at your insubordination, incubus.”

  The world froze, chilling me in the depths of my bones. My focus found Brystion’s midnight gaze, but the flash of admission had already come and gone. The last piece of the puzzle slammed into place. Beside him, Robert growled a heated promise of death.

  Bile choked my throat and I retched, swallowing back the urge to vomit. “No,” I whispered, my knees starting to buckle, images of this morning playing through my head. My skin twitched in response, recoiling.