A Sliver of Shadow Page 9

  “So find someone else. Surely there’s some hapless groupie out there that’s more than willing to temporarily let you set up shop inside their soul long enough for you to break the damn thing.”

  “It would be easier with you.”

  “Actually,” Charlie said slowly, “I’m not sure Tresa can TouchStone you.”

  “And why the hells not?” the Fae snapped. “I TouchStone her, and become the de facto Protectorate, release the spell, and everyone goes on their merry way.”

  “Except that the CrossRoads will probably still be closed. You know, if you weren’t the cause. Besides, the spell apparently causes seizures in all of the beings Abby is TouchStoned to, right?” A smirk crept across Charlie’s soft face.

  Tresa paused, her mouth shutting abruptly.

  “Someone didn’t think her shit through,” I said in a singsong voice, snorting at myself. “But hey, let’s try that theory, shall we?”

  “Are you out of your mind?” Charlie took Benjamin hastily into her arms.

  “Well, we seem to be out of options,” I said, a plan suddenly springing to mind. With the CrossRoads closed I wasn’t sure if it would work, but a loophole was a loophole. As a living KeyStone I could circumvent the actual signing of any Contracts … and break it just as quickly. Distasteful in the extreme to think of bonding with the woman, but if got us off the hook without actually making her Protectorate? “I think it’s time we called her bluff.”

  Tresa looked at me, an expression like that of a cat suddenly finding herself in a room of wingless canaries crossing over her face. “I’ve never done this with a KeyStone. I hope it’s as good as they say.”

  “I hope you choke on it.” I snatched her hand and squeezed it hard. I didn’t have much time to experiment with the KeyStone aspect of my life, but I knew both parties had to be willing, even if that acceptance was on a subconscious level. I’d done it by accident a few times over the last few months, but for the most part no harm had been done—a couple of embarrassed smiles, a vision or two of some inner part of their essence, and an awkward parting.

  The moment her fingers slid into mine, I opened the channel. I could only liken it to surfing the radio, searching for the frequency that would let me tune in to whatever stuff was made into her inner being. Sometimes it was instant, like with Ion or Phin—whatever it was about them that made them who they were resonated in me, and the response in both cases was instant and tangible.

  This time, I wasn’t so sure. Tresa slid by me, something oily about her essence, and I realized there was very little that could be construed as “likable.” Certainly nothing I could sympathize with.

  “You’re going to need to open up a bit more if you want this to work,” I ground out, the vibration of the touch causing my teeth to ache.

  Her eyes closed, brow furrowed as though she were concentrating, and then suddenly I felt the bond snap into place … but it was dark. Furtive. Something about her hands …

  … her hands were entwined about me, wrapping around my throat, clinging, choking, ensnaring me in the darkness. The green leaves shone brilliantly, living emeralds of delicate silk veins, but they were hiding something. A thick stench of rot and decay burbled just below the surface, thrusting its way into my mouth, coating my belly, taking root in my center … I tried to scream, but my mouth was full of leaves, overflowing with vegetation …

  “No! No …” I lurched backward, slapping her hands as the vision invaded my mind. But the link still held, something black and hateful about it. “Break the spell. Fulfilled my part of the bargain.” The words gasped out of my throat, burning as though she actually had been strangling me.

  “Done,” she hissed, teeth gleaming far too whitely. I staggered down to my knees, every nerve crying out with the sheer wrongness of what was going on, too stunned to do much more than watch as Tresa spun away, hands twisting in an intricate weave. Her hips gave an odd little shake and there was an audible crack. The spell breaking?

  And then agony twisted through my limbs, melted the skin off my bones, sent me down into oblivion cursing the bitch’s name and the foolishness of my own pride in thinking I even had a chance of fixing this problem …

  Eight

  Abby? Can you hear me?” The voice wavered at me from a distance, like I was underwater. But it was a familiar voice, at least. Feminine. Soft. Trusted?

  Yes, I decided. This voice I could trust. Of course, I also wondered why I always seemed to end up on the floor after blacking out so conveniently, though this time it didn’t feel like a seizure. The voice asserted itself again, blending in with a cluster of others.

  I cracked an eye, blinking into some semblance of focus. I was still in the Hallows—and there seemed to be more people awake than I remembered from before. A very good sign.

  The ominous rumble in my belly was not.

  Without warning, I gagged and rolled onto my side. Someone thrust a bucket under my head, and I accepted it gratefully, empting out the contents of my stomach with gusto. The slick taste of oil and bile remained, coating my tongue.

  “Drink,” I managed. “Water.” I struggled to kneel, murmuring a stilted thanks to whoever placed a glass into my hands. “This is getting really fucking old.”

  Melanie crouched before me, pushing the hair from my face. “That wasn’t a seizure, I don’t think. It looks like you got caught up in the backlash of whatever … she … did to break the spell.”

  “Where is she now?” I swished the water in my mouth before spitting it in the bucket. “That’s about the worst thing I think I’ve ever been through. Almost,” I amended. Choking to death or not, I’d gladly take it a thousand times over having my mother die in my lap.

  Melanie wrinkled her nose. “Ah. Well. I kinda knocked her ass out when you started screaming. With an ashtray. Don’t think she’s going to wake up for a while.”

  “Good for you,” I said cheerily. “She deserved it. How about the others?”

  “Look around.” She took my now-empty cup and slouched on her heels. “Everyone seems to have come to.”

  I paused, suddenly aware of the low hum of voices. Rolling my neck so that it cracked, I peered around the room. The OtherFolk stood in small clusters, the Paths clinging to their own sense of familiarity. Daemon. Fae. Celestials. No chance of them working together yet, even bound to a common foe.

  “They blame me, don’t they?”

  “Not your fault,” Melanie grunted. “Blame the Fae bitch.”

  “The CrossRoads still closed?”

  “Yeah. I can’t even make a Door to anywhere,” she said glumly. “Guess the Wild Magic depends on the CrossRoads as a whole to work.”

  “So what you’re telling me is I’m stuck in a bar of OtherFolk who’ve just been gotten out of an extended set of seizures and now can’t even go home?”

  “That’s about the size of it.” Melanie nodded. “Charlie is watching Benjamin and Katy is with Brandon pouring everyone drinks. On the house,” she added.

  “Good idea.” I wondered at the wisdom of having an underage teen serving the alcohol, but on the list of things to worry about it rated pretty damn low. “Although I’m guessing Moira will be footing the bill for it later.”

  “Probably.” A ghost of a smile crossed over her face. “And Talivar called a little while ago. You should probably ping him back.” She tossed me her shiny new iPhone. “He’s got yours—he’s out with Robert looking for Roweena now.”

  I started to dial, my gaze finding an unconscious and bound Tresa, laying haphazardly upon the stage.

  Melanie’s eyes hardened. “I don’t think they’ve got anything particularly pleasant in mind for her when she wakes up.”

  “Watch me cry.” I got to my feet stiffly, ignoring the rush of vertigo. I breathed a sigh of relief when Talivar’s voice sounded at the other end of the line. “You okay?”

  “As good as I might expect,” he said dryly. “But we haven’t found Roweena yet.” He paused. “Did you see?”


  “See what? Dude, I saw the seizure, but don’t worry about it. Not like you haven’t seen me at my worst, right?”

  “I meant the scars, Abby.” There was a world of hurt in that statement, but it didn’t jive with the warrior mind-set of his. Hell, I’d always thought scars were signs of manhood, or some shit.

  “I don’t think they’re as bad as you think,” I said slowly.

  Maybe it depends on how he got them.

  “And maybe it’s none of my business,” I muttered under my breath. I heard a muffled grunt in return. I decided to change the subject. “How’s Phin?”

  “He’s fine.” A flutter of amusement tinged the prince’s voice. “I’ve got him in your backpack. He insisted on taking a pair of your panties as a security blanket.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Guess he’s earned it.” Although, how someone earned the right to roll around in my underwear I couldn’t say, but he’d been through quite a bit, so I figured I’d give him a pass. Just this once.

  “Melanie told me what happened. Are you okay?” A hint of reproach lingered in the question, and I couldn’t quite keep a flush of shame from burning up my face.

  “Yeah. I think so. I’m sorry. I had no other choice. She said she didn’t have the power to break the spell otherwise. I’ll end the bond as soon as she wakes up.”

  Silence met my words for a moment and then a soft sigh. “I know. I just wish there were some other way.” His voice hardened with distaste.

  I yawned, head spinning slightly. “We’d better figure out what we’re doing fast, because I’m not sure how long I’m going to last.” The energy it took to be a TouchStone was usually offset somewhat by the power of the CrossRoads, but without that particular safeguard, Tresa was going to drain me into the ground—and that wasn’t even counting my bond to Phineas.

  “Get rid of her. I’ll come down there and kill her myself if you don’t.”

  I glanced at the stage where the others stood guard. “Think you might have to get in line. But I see your point. All right, what next?”

  “I think I can answer that,” Roweena said from behind me. I lowered the phone, trying not to gasp. The liaison hobbled up to the bar, a frailty taking hold of her bones that had nothing to do with old age. She took the first drink Brandon offered, swallowing it in a single gulp before continuing, the alcohol dribbling out of one side of her mouth. The left side of her face drooped with an earthy haggardness about her features that hadn’t been there before.

  A stroke? A faint bruising shone beneath the translucent skin below the eye socket.

  “Tresa has a lot to answer for,” she said, her speech somewhat slurred. “Heard from the Court before the CrossRoads were closed.” A chuff of disgust emanated from her chest. Her hand shook as she gestured at the room. “None of this … farce”—she spat the word—“is sanctified. A new Protectorate was dispatched … but not Tresa.”

  The others looked at each other for a moment and then back at the unconscious Fae, the curtest of nods ghosting over Brandon’s face. Whatever the outcome, Tresa’s fate had just been sealed, it seemed. And something told me there probably wasn’t going to be much of her left to bury.

  Funny thing, that. For all that the Fae seemed to easily betray us, or trick their fellows into submission, apparently fucking with the only way out of the mortal realm was a massive no-no. I would have to remember that.

  “So, what is the word?” Melanie asked, crossing her legs from her perch on top of the bar. “Surely there’s something that can be done? The Queen can’t keep the CrossRoads shut forever. Can she?”

  “Technically, she can.” Rowena gave a one-armed shrug and dug into her pocket for a crumpled scroll. Pity rocked me to the core, watching the once proud woman try to unroll it. It was on the tip of my tongue to offer her help, but Brandon met my gaze, a warning in his eyes. So I waited, letting the ancient Faery woman struggle her way through the remainder of her dignity, merely holding down the far corner of the parchment as she opened it, fingers brushing over the words.

  I peered at the scroll, squinting at the fine spiderweb script, blinking as the words blurred and formed into something akin to English. “Nice trick.” I assumed it was the same sort of magic that was used in the Marketplace to allow me to talk to everyone. Scanning the scroll, I read it aloud, a coldness taking root in my gut.

  Upon order of Her Highness, Queen of Elfland, Mistress of the Seelie Courts, Keeper of the Middle Path, all those found harboring the traitor Tresa ce Drindal will be imprisoned and tried in the Highest Judgment Hall and condemned to death.

  “I can hardly wait to find out what this means for me. After all,” I said dryly, “I’m her TouchStone now.”

  Roweena stared at me, her right nostril flaring. “I will be forced to take you into custody. But with the CrossRoads shut down, the point is moot.”

  “Well, sure. But what else I was supposed to do? Let you all sit there in a coma forever?”

  “And it’s not like any of us knew,” Melanie said. “We went on the information we had.”

  A sound of outraged agreement blared out from her cell phone. Startled, I looked down at my hand, cursing myself for being an idiot. I’d forgotten Talivar was still on the line. I jerked it up to my ear, wincing at the steady stream of profanities.

  “—coming down there right now, Abby. Do not do anything until I get there.” He’d hung up with a savage click before I could say anything.

  “Talivar’s coming with Robert,” I said, ignoring Roweena’s grunt. “Look, you and I both know that I did it to save everyone, so if I have to throw myself on the mercy of the Court for that, I will. But if you think for one moment that I’m going to let myself be executed for her, then you’ve got another thing coming.”

  “You cannot leave,” Roweena said, staring at me with an iron will. “Not yet. Not until … she wakes up.”

  “Fine. I grok. You need a hostage, and since I’m now connected to the bad guy, I suppose it would be stupid of you to let me go.”

  Like they did everyone else …

  I supposed the thought was uncharitable, but it still pissed me the hell off when I thought about how Topher had played everyone. And shit, as far as I was concerned, Maurice should have been damn near executed on the spot, but the Fae had decided he was worth more to them alive. At least until he told them how he managed to extract the life force out of the succubi.

  And what happened if the Fae discovered that for themselves? I cringed inwardly. And if they figured it out and managed to use that knowledge to … do what? Torture daemons? Invade Heaven? I sighed. Just my luck to have been involved in the instrumentation of a potential metaphysical cold war.

  Melanie pursed her lips as she slid off the bar. “Tell you what, how about I go wait for Talivar out front?” Our eyes met. “Might not hurt to try to calm him down some, anyway.”

  I nodded as Charlie approached us, Benjamin on her hip. Relief seared into my heart when he fluttered his eyes at me. For a moment. And then his mouth sprawled into a gaping tunnel, the first cry of outrage resounding through the room.

  The cluster of OtherFolk glanced over at us, and not all of them in a particularly friendly way. Now that the immediate danger seemed to be over, the usual personalities of the Paths were starting to wend their way to the fore. Although I would have liked to think none of them would have hurt the child of their former Protectorate, I was also pretty sure that some of those daemonic types actually enjoyed eating babies.

  … and now there is no Protectorate here. Not really.

  No. Once the novelty of having Tresa tied up had worn off and the actual realization dawned that they weren’t going to be able to leave set in, this was going to be a very ugly situation.

  A grim calmness swept over me.

  Focus on what you can change, Abby.

  “I really think you should take him home, Charlie. He’ll be safer with you there than in a bar.” I gestured at the stage with my head. “Besides, the natives
are getting restless. Without their Glamours to get them out of here, they’re going to be a bit pissy.”

  “I think you’re right,” she said softly, holding Benjamin closer. He gripped her shoulder with tiny fingers. “I left all his things at home anyway.” She turned toward Melanie. “I’ll wait with you so Robert can walk me home.” She said it casually, but a current of fear floated beneath the words. Ever since Maurice had taken us captive, she’d had a lot of difficulty going anywhere alone. I could hardly blame her for that.

  Melanie nodded, shifting the violin case on her shoulder. “Think I’ll take this along, just in case you pull a miracle out of your ass and the Doors are reopened in the next few minutes.”

  “I’ll be sure to get cracking on that.” It was better this way anyhow. Robert could be hotheaded at the best of times, and Charlie’s agitation would only serve to stir him further. Better if he fussed over his son in private for a bit.

  Roweena grunted in what sounded like a solid agreement as we watched their retreating forms. I gazed at the proclamation scroll. “Why did the Queen close down the CrossRoads?”

  Her lips slapped wetly and she wiped at the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand, a grimace of distaste following behind. “Moira also fell … ill. The Seers were able to divine the nature of Tresa’s treachery, although not the result. The Queen sent this last missive to me to inform us of her decision.” She sagged, leaning against the bar. “More troubling is that she left no additional direction.”

  “Maybe she was busy getting her nails done.” I slumped against the bar. “Seems awfully quick to jump from a possible crisis to just slamming the CrossRoads shut without even trying to find out why. I mean, hell, it was what, ten minutes after the seizures happened?”

  “Our Queen is not one for trivial frivolities.” She drew herself up stiffly, a semblance of her former self echoed in the motion. “Closing the CrossRoads would not have been an option if the reason behind it were not of utmost severity. It requires a terrible price.” Her lips smacked shut. “But what that is I do not know, and that terrifies me,” she said, swirling her glass of brandy.