A Sliver of Shadow (12 page)

“Good. I was worried.” She sighed, thrusting her chin at Tresa. “What’s her deal?”

“This is her handiwork.” My fingers ground into my palms as the woman delicately strode between the fallen bodies.

“Where’s Roweena?” I demanded of her again.

She waved me off. “I left the old bat stuffed in a closet somewhere so I could finish the spell. Of course, I had to hit her a few times … you know, to make sure she wouldn’t follow.” She chuckled. “Those angels were a bit on the slow side, let me tell you.”

“One thing I’d like to know is how you did it,” Charlie interjected suddenly, breaking up a delightful vision of me beating the bitch senseless. “You said you linked it to Abby, but how?”

Tresa’s gaze dropped for a moment, something sly passing behind her eyes. “It was easy enough. I just needed a few small things. Hair, for example, snagged from the back of her shirt yesterday.”

A cold shiver ran down my spine. What was that old wives’ tale about keeping your nail clippings and the hair from your brush? I glared at her to cover up my agitation. “Well, it worked brilliantly. Now undo it.”

“I’m not sure I can. I no longer have the power of the CrossRoads to draw from … and I don’t have a TouchStone to augment the power needed.” Something triumphant lit up her face.

“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 …

A
bby? 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.