Brush of Darkness

by Allison Pang

“How’s the baby?” I hadn’t seen it since the night of my escape. Or heard it, rather, but I suspected it had been bundled off rather quickly with Moira at the time.

  Her face lit up in a gentle smile. “Ah, the wee little thing is quite well. The Queen owes you a debt, you know.”

  “Not me,” I said brusquely, pulling away from her hand. “Brystion is the one that did it. He’s the one who rescued you.”

  She cocked a brow, her head tilting to one side. “Yes,” she nodded. “It’s true. The incubus is the one that came through the Doorway to find us. But who was it that set that in motion? Who was it that searched for me? Who stood in the face of quite a bit of prejudice?” Her gaze turned toward the door before fixating back on me. “I’m very well aware of what you had to go through to free me . . . and what you had to give up.”

  I stared at her. “Are you?”

  “I am,” she said coolly, all princess and Protectorate now. “And I want to offer you the chance to break the Contract.”

  “I did that poorly, huh?” I tried to roll over onto my side but winced at the pain and settled for just looking away.

  “I’m sorry for that, too,” she said, eyeing my stomach. “But no, that’s not why I’m offering it. In truth, it’s because I was not able to honor the terms of our agreement. If you wish to break with me, there are no repercussions to the act, save that you’ll get your freedom.” She held up a hand. “Though I’d imagine you’ll have several offers within the hour. My part of the bargain included making sure you were taken care of, that you were given correct information, that your word would be honored among my people. I have failed you in that regard, and therefore failed in my position.”

  “Well, you were kind of captured in a painting,” I pointed out dryly. “A bit difficult to rule the roost from there.”

  Moira’s hand rested on her slim belly. No new mama look for her, obviously. Somehow I doubted there would be stretch marks either. Bitch.

  “Aye. But even . . . before all that. I should have taught you more. I brought you in uneducated and threw you to the wolves.”

  “Trial by fire,” I said softly. “I’ve had a lot of that lately.” I paused, unsure of the next question, but the hell with it, really. I wanted to know. “Why did Maurice do it? And, um, what happened to him?”

  “Maurice and I were lovers. TouchStoned for a long time—several hundred years as you mortals reckon it.”

  “So, lovers,” I prodded, knowing this part. “And then, something happened?”

  She sucked in a deep breath, suddenly looking far more uncertain than I had ever seen her. “Yes. I don’t know. He changed, I guess. Or I did. Even for my kind, love is never sure, never eternal. He became power-hungry and angry. He wanted me to take him to Faery. To live.”

  “He wanted to become the Steward,” I mused. “A modern-day True Thomas. And you wouldn’t agree?”

  “It’s the Queen’s decision, and I am not yet Queen. Once accepted to the Faery Court, you become part of it. I wasn’t sure I wanted Maurice as a permanent fixture. So, I let him go. He left before I could terminate the Contract completely and tried to leave the city. The geas snapped into place before I could stop it. I was able to track him down later and break it properly, but by then it was too late.”

  She rubbed at her eyes with a weary hand. “And then you showed up, all Dreamer and Nightmares wrapped into one, so jaded and so strong. I had to take you, KeyStone and all.”

  “You could have at least told me what was going on,” I said, not bothering to keep the sullenness from my tone. “And you didn’t answer my question. Where’s Maurice?”

  “He’s being . . . taken care of,” she muttered grimly, looking away. “Needless to say, his ill-won youth will not gain him anything where he’s going. He has a lot to answer for, between the daemon assassins and the draining of the succubi.” Her lips twisted wryly. “Not to mention our imprisonment.”

  “What about Topher?”

  “That is for Sonja to decide. She was the one most wronged by him—and he was her TouchStone.”

  I struggled to sit up, my legs shifting to the side. She reached out a hand to steady me. I suppose I should have felt grateful, but I didn’t.

  “Knowledge is power, Abby. If I choose not to reveal certain things, it is my right to do so—but in this case it’s to protect you.” Her clear eyes became serious. “I know that sounds dubious, but the more involved you get, the more tangled the web. I’d like you to take a few days to think about my offer. See how you’re feeling. If you choose to go, there will be no hard feelings. If you choose to stay . . .” She shrugged, her mouth curving into a secret smile. “Well, I’ll do better by you this time.”

  I snorted, reaching down to take a sip of water from the cup on the nightstand. It tasted as though it had been there a while and I quickly put it down, making a face. She chuckled and took the cup, swirling her fingers around the rim, a sprinkle of silver fluttering from her perfect nails.

  “There, now,” she murmured, “that should be better.” She handed me the glass with a little wink. “A little extra something to help you rest.”

  I sniffed it. “What is it?”

  “A sleeping draught, mixed with a painkiller.” She eyed my bandaged stomach cautiously. “I don’t want you pushing it.”

  “No, thanks.” I set the cup on the table and slumped back into the pillows. “I’ve been asleep long enough.”

  “As you wish.” She nodded, not seeming to take offense. Gathering up her skirts, she smiled again. “I truly am in your debt, Abby.”

  I grunted at her. “If I choose to stay on as your TouchStone . . . I’ll want a few changes.”

  She hesitated and then nodded. “Such as?”

  “Freedom.” Images of my mother’s manila envelope appeared in my mind, echoed by Maurice’s mad ravings. “I have some personal business I need to deal with, and I think I’ve earned the right to move outside the boundaries of Portsmyth, don’t you?”

  “Perhaps—I shall see what I can do.” A tapping at the door caught her attention. “But I have a few changes as well.” She opened the door, bowing slightly as a tall, muscular elvish man entered the room. No Armani suits for this one, judging by the blue Celtic tattoos scattered over the rough planes of his face. Definitely of the warrior caste then.

  “Prince,” she murmured.

  “Princess.” He nodded to Moira before turning to face me. A leather patch covered his left eye, but the right gleamed a silvery blue as it assessed my pallid form. Whatever decision he came to was hidden in the deep bow he gave me, a cluster of dark braids slapping lightly against his leather vest.

  “This is my brother, Talivar. He has agreed to protect you during your time with me.”

  I frowned suddenly. “A bodyguard? But I don’t think I really need—”

  “There are no arguments here, Abby. You are not required to be his TouchStone. In fact, Melanie has agreed to do so in your stead, but you have no choice in this if you want to continue your duties with me.”

  I glanced back at Talivar. He was certainly easy enough on the eyes, anyway, and I didn’t doubt the man could be lethal. But it seemed like just another complication, another level of complexity I wasn’t sure I wanted. Brystion’s dockside words haunted me still. To hell with it, then—a complication for a complication—maybe it would all even out. “Melanie?”

  “All things come with a price,” Moira said softly. “The price of her Healing was Talivar’s Contract.”

  I rubbed at my head. “All right,” I sighed as he nodded and retreated from my room. “But I don’t want him crashing on my couch long-term. I have limits, you know.”

  Her mouth quirked up as though she had expected nothing less. “I’ll leave you to your rest, then.”

  “One last thing.” A sudden wariness paused over her face. “Maurice wanted the baby. He said this wouldn’t have happened if you gave him the baby.”

  She drew herself up. “I know what he said. He
was hoping to use it as a bribe to get in to Faery, or to save his life.”

  “It was his, wasn’t it?” She ran her fingers down her bodice, but said nothing. My eyes narrowed as I watched her. Strange to see Moira dissemble like this. I cocked my head. “No?”

  “No.” She hesitated, letting out a rueful laugh. “I know you’ve probably wondered why I didn’t go to the Faery Court when all this trouble began.”

  “The thought had crossed my mind once or twice.”

  Her lips pursed. “How eager would you have been to run back home to your mother and tell her you’d gotten knocked up after an illicit affair?” I blinked. “Aye,” she snorted. “That’s about what I thought. There are other things at work here than just sheer elvish arrogance.”

  “Whose is it then?” I felt a flash of desperation, remembering Brystion’s initial eagerness to see her that first morning. But no, he’d been in love with Elizabeth, hadn’t he? He said he’d cheated though. I swallowed. Shit. But that wasn’t right either. He couldn’t make children that way.

  She chuckled again, seeing my face, but there was no humor in it. “The incubus is yours, Abby. He always was, from the moment he touched you.”

  I made an inarticulate sound of protest, letting out a shuddering sob. Brystion would never be mine.

  “No,” she shook her head, reaching for the door. “The father of my child is Robert.”

  Two months later . . .

  I swept the last of the dust from the counter. The door chimed and I looked up with a weary smile. It was nearly 1:00 A.M., after all, and the Midnight Marketplace would be closing soon. The red-winged succubus strutted in, the motion of her movements so much like her brother’s I had to look away.

  “Dead in here tonight, huh?” Her voice had the same mocking lilt to it as Brystion’s too. A few months of not being trapped in a painting had done wonders for her. Her feathers had grown back, slick and fat and brilliant; the hollows of her cheeks were less pronounced; her eyes were dark and merry and full of seductive promise. I’d never had the courage to ask her just what had happened to Topher. Not because I didn’t want to know—I did—but not badly enough to dim the peace she’d apparently found. Somehow I doubted he’d ever made it to that beach.

  “It’s okay.” I shook the cloth out. “I don’t mind the quiet nights sometimes. Not that it matters, really. I’ll get to sleep in tomorrow—Katy’s working the Pit’s morning shift.”

  Sonja’s upper lip curled in amusement. “And here I’d thought she’d be in the Hallows twenty-four-seven.”

  “She’s there a lot of the time,” I admitted. “But she comes to help out now and then.” I snorted softly. “She and Brandon are working on some kind of TouchStone dating service.”

  “More power to them,” she muttered. “Kind of takes all the fun out of it, if you ask me.” She licked the corner of her mouth like a feral cat, eying one of the nearby shelves curiously. “Wow. There’s some really weird shit in here.”

  I shrugged. “I just work here.”

  “Of course you do.”

  Our eyes met, smiles cracking at nearly the same time. Just like that, the tension dissolved and we were merely friends, bound by more than survivalist instinct. We’d broken the TouchStone bond when I’d awakened, but it was still nice to see her.

  She primped her hair with a careless hand. “Have you thought of a costume yet?”

  “Ah. You know, costume parties really aren’t my thing. I might just skip it.”

  “It’s one of the biggest parties of the year,” she prodded. “And one of the four nights when the CrossRoads are open to all travelers. Halloween, Samhain, All Hallows’ Eve—whatever you call it, it really is quite the . . . experience. You’ve got an open invitation to the Hallows, don’t you? The guest list is going to be extensive and hard to get on.”

  “Well, that’s fine with me because I’m not going.” Sonja pouted prettily, but I held up a hand. “What can you do?” I bent down and grabbed my coat off the floor, gently nudging the snoozing unicorn from the sleeve. “Time to go, Phin,” I said, slipping the jacket on. It was warm and smelled like cinnamon and violets. He shot me a disgruntled look, but shook it off, yawning disdainfully.

  Ever my shadow, Talivar removed himself from his position beside the fireplace to pace three steps behind me. It had been creepy at first, given his mostly silent demeanor, but I’d learned to ignore it, even if he had been crashing on my couch every night.

  At least he didn’t snore.

  I turned out the light and the four of us walked to the door, slipping out into the chilly mid-October air. Goose bumps rippled down my back, but it was refreshing, full of rustling leaves and the scent of green things fading away.

  “Did you want to come upstairs for a bit?” I didn’t have much to offer company these days, but I suspected she wasn’t really here for purely social reasons. I tapped the silver doorknob three times, watching as the Door melted away into the stone wall. Moira had made some nice concessions for me in the last few weeks—a way to open and close the Marketplace on my own was one of them.

  “Nah, I’m hunting tonight. I just came by to see if you were ever planning to go after my brother.”

  I raised a brow, my hands jammed into my pockets. “I think he made his position pretty damn clear. Besides, I’d rather not have him kill me right now. I just finished healing a short while ago, you know?”

  “You say it so convincingly. And yet for all that, I suspect he’s been lurking about.”

  I hesitated. In truth, I was sure he had been. I’d taken to visiting the Heart of my Dreaming most nights, and there were little signs of him everywhere. One night there were rose petals strewn up the stairs into the bedroom. Tiny little sugared things, pink and moist and beckoning. When I reached my bedroom, they disappeared, leaving me in darkness.

  Another night, I found the old stereo turned on, one of my mother’s Tom Jones albums spinning softly, the entire house filled with the soothing timbre of his voice. I hadn’t let it play for long. There was a fire in the fireplace, built up and crackling with warmth, golden light spilling over the soft blue woven rug on the hardwood floor. I had spent many evenings as a child like that. And yet, this was different. Slower. Seductive. Gently wooing, perhaps. I smiled inwardly, thinking of that long-ago request. Maybe Sonja was right.

  “What difference does it make to you?” I questioned.

  “It doesn’t really. I just don’t like to see him moping.”

  Something tightened in my chest. “You’ve actually seen him?”

  “Not exactly. I can just feel him poking around the corners of your dreams sometimes. Not that I visit there often,” she said hastily. “Once was enough, thanks. But he’s hurting, Abby.” Her eyes softened. “After everything he did to help free me, it seems the least I could do.”

  “Sounds like stalking to me.” I scowled.

  Her head tipped up at me, staring until I flushed. “You know better,” she said. “I think the two of you need to talk.”

  I gestured at the apartment and snapped my fingers angrily. “He knows where I live, Sonja. Ion can stop by whenever he likes—or even meet me at the Hallows if he prefers. I wouldn’t even know where to begin to find him.”

  “He’s a man. Men are stupid. He’ll admit he’s wrong, but you’ll have to pin him to the wall to get him to do it.”

  I shook my head. “Oh, no. I’m not playing that kind of game with him. Or with anyone, for that matter. What happened that night is between us, and I’ll thank you to stay out of it. It’s over,” I said firmly. “And I don’t want to hear anything melodramatic. No stories about how he’s dying, or how he’s trapped in my dreams or any of that type of bullshit. It’s not up to me to convince him of anything.” I chewed on my lower lip. “I don’t work that way.”

  “All right,” she said finally, a curious light drifting through the hollowed shadows of her eyes. “But what if you’re wrong?”

  “I’m not his savior,” I
retorted.

  “Did you ever think he might be yours?”

  I looked down at my feet and when I glanced back up, the words died in my mouth as I realized she was gone. “Damn it.”

  I turned to head up the stairs. Phineas tripped up the steps behind me, scooting under my feet as I slid the key home. “Maybe I should just install a cat door and save us both the trouble.” I glanced behind me and shook my head as Talivar followed us inside. He’d wait until I’d settled down for the night before taking care of himself. I’d told him not to worry about it, but on this point he was unmoving and I’d long since given up trying to convince him of anything else.

  “Hmmmph,” Phineas grunted, his hooves thumping through the kitchen. He was cranky whenever I had to wake him up like that, but he’d get over it. “She’s right, you know. He really was pretty good for you.” He looked mournfully up at the stove. “And he could cook too.” His sapphire eyes gleamed with hunger. “I could really go for a cheeseburger right now.”

  I shuddered. “Doesn’t that bother you?”

  “What?” He sat down in front of the fridge.

  “Eating meat like that. It’s kind of cannibalistic.”

  He shot me an unfriendly look. “I’ve yet to ask for a plate of unicorn flank, so calm down. We can’t all be so lucky as to live on saffron and violets.” He waggled his beard. “And you’re changing the subject.”

  “Whatever.” I was too tired to argue with him. “I’m going to bed.”

  “Suit yourself,” he said. “I think I’m going to play some World of Warcraft.”

  Strangely enough the unicorn had shown an amazing aptitude for computer games. I’d lost my taste for them after Brigadun’s death, but they utterly fascinated Phin. Of course, I hadn’t figured out how he managed to make the game work, what with him not having hands and all, but he was happy. It kept him quiet and out of my underwear drawer and those were really the only things that mattered. I gestured wearily at him and stumbled back to my bedroom.

  My answering machine light blinked from across the room. I played it back as I got undressed. A message from Melanie. Two from Charlie. Neither was an emergency and both were going to wait until I woke up eight hours from now.