A Sliver of Shadow

by Allison Pang

  Good times.

  Five

  You’d think this place would get some decent delivery service,” Phineas grumbled from his place on the counter. My iPod cheerfully chugged away next to him. It was on a B-52’s kick tonight, and the trend continued with a dance version of “Rock Lobster.”

  “You should have eaten earlier.” Though in light of all that had happened today, Katy postponed her party, so our original plans for a grander dinner had gone right down the crapper. And Phin was right—for all that the Marketplace seemed to do such a brisk business, even the metaphysical pizza places seemed to have trouble finding it.

  “Suck it up, buttercup,” I added anyway.

  The unicorn shot me a frosty look. “Keep it up and I’ll take a dump in your bed.”

  “The hell you will. Besides, if Talivar ever caught wind of that you’d be out of those free breakfasts you’re always moaning on about.”

  I frowned at my watch. It was just past midnight; Talivar was late.

  I hadn’t heard from the Faery prince except for a terse voice mail via pay phone saying he had caught Tresa and was bringing her to meet with Roweena. Given the lateness of the hour, we’d decided to have her confer at the Marketplace, rather than trek down to the Judgment Hall. Roweena had agreed, since she had to verify the accusations before any action could be taken.

  Before Phin could answer, Roweena DuMont stepped through the door in all her Faery glory, flanked by the angel brute squad. For some reason the Fae preferred Celestials for their muscle when in the mortal realm, and given the cannons on these guys I could see why. There was enough chiseled chin between the pair to make a sculptor weep.

  She arched a perfectly plucked silver brow, her gaze trailing around the store. Although markedly one of the oldest Fae I’d met thus far, Roweena still had the nearly ageless face of most of her race. Only a few hints of her years marked her mouth, but there was a coolness in her eyes that bespoke of exceptionally tempered steel. Something I could appreciate, having been on the receiving end of her disfavor more than once.

  The majority of the OtherFolk customers hadn’t shown up yet, so there was ample opportunity for her to take it all in without interruption. Her gimlet stare lingered on the lush hardwood and the rows of shelves spread out in a graceful chaos of potions and books, charms and fetishes. The witchlights danced along the ceiling like always, but that was a standard Faery trick so I didn’t think she’d be too impressed.

  “Interesting place Moira has set up.”

  “I just work here,” I said.

  A large leonine … something strode in, earning a blatant whistle of approval from the unicorn. She had the torso of a woman and the lower half of a big cat, and her rounded, furry ears poked out from a massive mane of golden hair. Whatever she was, she prowled through the aisles with a deadly grace, silent on enormous lion feet.

  Of course, the effect was somewhat ruined by the fluorescent green T-shirt stretching across a rack of truly monstrous proportions; the words FUCK YOUR FASCIST BEAUTY STANDARDS stretched across her chest in a childlike scrawl.

  “I think I’m in love.” Phineas sighed. “Just look at those … those haunches.”

  I stared at him. “I should think you’d be a little small for her.”

  “Well,” he retorted, waggling his beard, “you know what they say about size and what you do with it.”

  “You’re being obnoxious.”

  He shrugged, his own tail twitching. “The wombat porn on the Discovery Channel isn’t cutting it these days. I need to get out, be free.” His eyes narrowed as the lion-girl slipped out the door. “Get some pus—”

  I yanked on his beard so that he squealed. “Dude.”

  “Hmmph.”

  “Sorry about that,” I said to Roweena. “He’s not usually quite this bad.”

  “Oh, it’s quite charming,” she said dryly. “Definitely been an enlightening first visit.”

  “I thought you’d been here before.”

  “I stay out of Moira’s way. What she does here is her business, as long as it doesn’t encroach upon the sovereignty of the Faery court. That being said, I’m not sure the Queen would approve of the riffraff.” She shrugged. “But I have no wish to get between Her Majesty and her daughter on this particular subject, even though I have no doubt that most of this is highly illegal.”

  My gaze slid away from my enchanted iPod and I coughed. Mixing technology with magic was mostly forbidden, but I’d accidentally managed to magic up the MP3 player shortly after I’d taken the position of Moira’s TouchStone. The Protectorate had been amused enough to let me keep it, but I wasn’t under any illusions as to what would happen if it became common knowledge. I didn’t even know who supplied Moira with most of the inventory we received, but the really big-ticket stuff was in the back. I wasn’t even supposed to sell it without Moira’s express approval.

  Roweena cocked her head at me. “Do you have the Contracts?”

  I handed them to her, the parchment crisp between my fingers. “I don’t suppose you know anything about what’s going on. Moira didn’t say anything to Talivar yesterday when he visited the Court, as far as I know.”

  “Word has been rather sparse of late,” Roweena admitted. “Rumors of the Queen’s health have not improved communications and things have become complicated with the Maurice issue. We knew Moira was going to testify, but the Court has been fairly closemouthed about the details. Security reasons, you understand.” The elder Fae eyed the scroll with a hint of anger. “Just because they want to know how he did something doesn’t mean they want the way he did it blabbed to the CrossRoads at large.”

  “Makes sense. So what is the protocol for switching my TouchStone Contract to a new Protectorate, assuming any of this is legit?” I asked Roweena, rubbing my temples in an attempt to ward off an impending headache. “Because I have to tell you, if Tresa is the new Protectorate, I don’t think I’m interested in the job.” Given the circumstances, I doubted it was even a remote possibility, but the Fae were fickle. If word came down from on high that Tresa really was the new Protectorate, there wouldn’t be much I could do, even if her management style sucked. On the other hand, a lot of the Fae were nuts. For all I knew, kidnapping babies was actually how positions of power changed hands.

  Roweena frowned. “That depends on if you were Contracted to Moira personally or to the position. Normally I would assume it was to the position. If so, transferring your Contract to the new Protectorate would be little more than a signing of new papers.” Her mouth twisted. “And yet somehow I suspect things will not be so easy with you.”

  “Never are.” I sighed. The door chimes rang again and I stiffened, feeling an immediate tension cutting through the room. “Ahh, the woman of the hour.”

  Tresa staggered through the doorway with Talivar looming behind her. Her dress hung from her thin frame, torn and filthy. The bite wound from Brandon lay gaping open in a clotted, weeping mess. Her eyes were dark and spiteful, swollen with rage. Nothing cowed about this one.

  Talivar’s gaze remained cold as he steered her further inside and shut the door. Judging by the scratches on his forearms and the abrasion to the right of his mouth, it was pretty clear she hadn’t been easy to subdue.

  The Celestials immediately took up a position on either side of Tresa, blocking any chance of escape. “She bites,” Talivar warned them, shoving past her to reach my side. “All is well with my nephew, I trust?”

  “A few minor cuts, but he’s in good hands.” I wondered if it would overstep my bounds to hand him a tissue so he could wipe his face. His jaw tensed beneath my observation and I decided against it, reaching out to gently squeeze his arm. “I promise.”

  Roweena made a questioning sound in her throat and I nodded at her to continue. I was more than ready to have this day over with. “Roweena DuMont,” she said to Tresa. “I understand you have some news? Important enough to skip past all protocol and delve straight into the attempted kidnapping of the
Queen’s grandson?”

  Anger flickered over Tresa’s face and she bowed mockingly. “I’m sorry, milady. I know I was supposed to come to you first to relay the orders, but I was under a lot of pressure to secure the whereabouts of the Protectorate’s TouchStone.”

  I let out a snort. The Fae couldn’t lie, but I suspected Tresa was skirting awfully close to it. “If you’re so sure of that, why were you so eager to try to TouchStone me directly?”

  Roweena held up a hand. “Please, allow me to ask the questions, Abby. Court law demands it.” She looked at Tresa the way one might stare at a wriggling insect. “Is this true?”

  Tresa had the grace to look slightly abashed. “It is. Perhaps I was a bit too … eager to stake my claim.”

  Eyes narrowed, Roweena stared at the other woman until Tresa dropped her chin. The liaison unrolled one of the scrolls I’d given her. “What are the terms? Surely even you know the transfer of power cannot be done without the Court’s sanction. Assuming what you say is fact.”

  “Of course.” Tresa shifted uneasily, rubbing around the sore spot on her leg. “That one signifies the shift of the Protectorate’s responsibilities to me, including all assets. At least on a temporary basis.”

  “Which means what exactly?” It hadn’t actually occurred to me that I’d have to give up my apartment if I left the job, but the thought of having to live anywhere near this woman was abhorrent to the extreme.

  “I get the bookstore, the Marketplace, a seat at the Judgment Hall … and you, of course.” Her smile became sly.

  “I’m not a piece of property,” I snapped.

  “Indeed.” Roweena rolled up the scrolls with a precise hand. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to review this in more detail … and with the full backing of the Council.”

  Tresa’s face fell. “But I thought the documents would be enough.”

  “Documents can be forged, seals can be broken,” Roweena said sharply. “And given the recent history here, you’ll forgive me if I choose to take the side of caution. Regardless of the situation, your methods leave a lot to be desired. Abby seems to be holding up well enough here on her own for the moment.” The elf’s eyes flicked toward me, a warning written in their depths. “And if I find you’ve played us false there will be terms.”

  “Yeah,” I muttered. “Got all my bits and pieces lined up.” A hint of smugness crept into my voice. “I guess you’ll have to come back at a later date? Like, oh, never.”

  Tresa snarled. “I was told I should not wait. There is a vacuum here and we cannot afford to let it remain.”

  “I’m confused. If Moira is only supposed to be gone for a few weeks, why all the need for a change in power? After all, she is coming back.”

  “No,” Tresa said softly. “Actually, she’s not.”

  “Bullshit.” Talivar’s fingers coiled around the edge of the counter and I laid my hand on top of his as I spoke. “You’re telling me she left here without her baby? Not a chance in hell.”

  “Why do you think I was following you today?” Tresa rolled her neck, ignoring my words. “Though I notice he’s not with you now. Find a convenient hillside to leave him on? A hollow log, perhaps?”

  “None of your goddamned business.” The ache in my head pulsed, beating at my brain like a butterfly made of flames. “Enough.” I closed my eyes against a sudden wave of dizziness.

  “Abby?” Talivar’s voice echoed from far away, fuzzy like he was shouting at me through a jar.

  Well, fuck.

  I didn’t have much time to think about what had suddenly triggered my first seizure in two months, trusting only in the prince’s arms as he caught me. And here I’d been doing so well.

  The edges of the counter filled my wavering vision, the darkness sweeping over me in a pressing wave.

  My legs and arms refused to move for what felt like hours, and then I was gasping, only aware of the floor against my cheek. Some kind soul had turned my head to the side in case I vomited and I mentally thanked him as I swallowed hard.

  Something warm and wet slithered between my legs.

  Jesus. I’d pissed myself.

  I rolled over sluggishly, ignoring the way my jeans suddenly stuck to my thighs. Humiliation burned my cheeks as Phin nudged my face. “Get away.” My limbs were anchors, pinning me to the floor. “All of you.”

  “Abby, I …”

  “Go away, Phin.”

  “Is that a normal thing for you?” Tresa frowned, twirling a loose curl around a pointed ear. “Because if it is, I might want to rethink taking you on. Find someone a bit more stable. Nothing personal. I’m sure you understand.”

  She started choking, the last few words nothing more than a gagging noise. I blinked, realizing Talivar had his hand wrapped around her throat.

  “I think you might want to rethink it too,” he said pleasantly, his voice taking on a dangerous edge. “Nothing personal. I’m sure you understand.”

  “Let her go, Prince,” Roweena snapped.

  “Why?” He purred the word. “Seems to me a lot of our problems would disappear if she hit her head on something hard. Repeatedly.”

  “Because we need to investigate what’s going on with the Court, sire.” Roweena glared at him. “If she is what she claims and you kill her, you could potentially cause a political backlash that cannot be undone. Especially with your history.”

  He grunted something under his breath, leaning down to Tresa’s face. “Piss me off again and I won’t care what Roweena says. And neither will you. Crippled Prince or no, I am still of the blood and you will obey me. Abby is Moira’s TouchStone. Not yours.”

  My inner voice let out a little montage of cheers, but the urge to get the hell out of here and into a shower overrode any attempts at would-be snark. “All right,” I said, wincing at the way my words slurred together. “I think we’re done here.”

  “Yes.” Roweena tapped the scrolls on her thigh. “I will contact you shortly as to the veracity of these documents as well as requiring formal word from the Court. Surely a better replacement could have been found.” She sniffed, the hair in her tightly wrapped bun looking even more severe than usual.

  Tresa stumbled, rubbing her throat. “This is a mistake,” she hissed at Roweena.

  “I agree,” Talivar said. “Yours.” He crouched down to help me to my feet, head tilted toward the angels. “I want her taken into custody.”

  Roweena’s mouth pursed as she weighed his words. “I’m sorry, Prince, but you know the law here. If she is Moira’s actual replacement, then by detaining her we violate her right of rule. On the other hand,” she added darkly, her gaze snapping to Tresa, “it would not be amiss if she would accompany me to the Judgment Hall. For her safety, of course.”

  Tresa’s upper lip curled but she nodded.

  “Until the morrow, then.” Roweena bowed and gestured at the angels to follow her out the door, Tresa in tow. Phineas let out an aggrieved whinny and trotted off in the same direction. I hesitated, aching to call him back, but the words choked in my mouth, shame biting at my belly.

  “When was the last time you ate?” Talivar steadied me by holding my elbow.

  I struggled with the urge to throw him off. “A crappy grilled cheese a few hours ago? I don’t know. It’s been a bit busy today, if you haven’t noticed.” I rubbed my arm, not quite able to meet his eye. “I need to get out of here and take a shower. And I need you to take the crib to Robert’s. It’s late enough as it is.”

  Talivar frowned. “You took Benjamin to Robert?”

  I nodded, my eyes drooping. “Seemed like the best thing to do.”

  “Fine,” the prince said after a moment of tense silence. He tipped my chin up so that I was forced to meet his gaze. I caught a hint of sympathy and something else, but it was gone before I could identify it. “But we’re going to talk about that later. And you are going to eat.”

  “Whatever.” I waved him off as he attempted to escort me outside. It was a slow night at the Mark
etplace and I wasn’t inclined to linger, so I simply turned the lock, watching the door flare into a silver nimbus and then disappear. Gotta love a storefront that can be closed via an interdimensional gateway. Cuts down on thieves, anyway.

  Shivering, I hastened up the creaking wooden steps with a wrinkle of disgust at my weakness. Talivar’s presence shadowed me from behind, but I refused to acknowledge it. There was an argument brewing between us—but damned if I was going to get into it before I got cleaned up.

  The water sluiced over me, hard and fast and hot. The steamed tiles slid beneath my palms as I pushed against the wall, trying to drown the biting sting of shame. Inwardly I knew I had no control over the seizures, no control over their effects—not even the pills could guarantee me that. But still … of all the fucking times to lose it, why did it have to be in front of the potential enemy? Or future boss, I thought snidely.

  My hands fisted against the wall, nails biting into my palms as Tresa’s face loomed before me, the arrogant way her nose tipped up, the sneering pout of her lips. I wasn’t even sure why I gave a shit about her, honestly—or any of the OtherFolk, for that matter. After all, I was 100 percent human and except for my KeyStone ability, I doubted any of them gave two shakes about who I was or what I could do, regardless of what Brandon had told me.

  I shut the water off with a jerk, the pipes banging in heated protest, and stepped out of the tub. I had a new bruise on my knee from when I’d fallen and I couldn’t quite help growling at it. After I’d first gotten out of the hospital two years ago, the seizures had been a more frequent occurrence, as were the injuries. Not counting the metal plate in my skull, I’d probably sprained both ankles and a wrist from falling because of the vertigo. It was a rare week when I didn’t get to show off the battle scars from losing a fight with the floor.

  Maybe that was the whole problem? Hanging out with the OtherFolk as much as I did, maybe I’d forgotten I was human and fragile comparatively. I sighed and combed through the tangled snarls of my hair, pushing the blue and pink streaked bangs out of my eyes. The mirror remained steamed up, but I still ran my fingertips over the scar above my left ear. I always did. It was a perverse little habit, but not one I seemed able to break.