A Sliver of Shadow (16 page)

Without consent from my conscious, our fingers entwined as he stroked my wrist with his thumb. I ignored the shiver creeping down my spine, spurred on by a flood of memories. “I am sorry, Abby, but regardless of the situation I will not get involved this time.”

I withdrew my hand from his, disappointment aching in my breast. “You do what you think best, Ion. So will I.” Abruptly I turned and walked away. A jangle of bells sung out discordantly and I knew without looking that he was gone.

“Fuck love, anyway,” I snarled, slamming the door to my house hard enough to make my grandmother’s china rattle against the walls. Hastily I scratched out a message to Sonja with some details, hoping that she might take it upon herself to get the message out. Stomping through the living room, I grimaced at the sudden strength of the potpourri, thick with strawberries.

Mother.

“Not now,” I sighed at it. I taped the note to the outside of the gate; with luck, the succubus would find it.

“Your brother is an ass,” I said aloud to the paper, trying not to wince at the pain bubbling up behind the words.

What had I really expected? That he would just drop everything to help out his fellow OtherFolk? To help me?

Yes.

My hand drifted up to play with the amulet he’d put around my neck that last morning we’d spent together. In
all this time, I hadn’t bothered taking it off, though now it seemed like the physical reminder of a doomed memory. For a moment I was tempted to break the chain and toss it into the grass.

In the end, I let my fingers fall.

“Sentimental idiot.”

I glanced up at the dusk-purple sky, willing myself to wake up. And then I felt myself falling, tumbling into the brightness of the sunlight of a golden afternoon and the waiting sheets of my empty bed.

T
he Judgment Hall was an imposing sort of place at the best of times, but in the fading daylight, it took on an eerie “Night on Bald Mountain” vibe. It was Glamoured, of course, housed within the deep recesses of the run-down cemetery of Portsmyth.

Crumbling mounds of granite, cracked and gnarled with fading gray lichens, rendered this part of the cemetery ancient and untouchable, entrenched in a moldering loam of damp leaves and small prickly plants. Thankfully almost no one ever came here, save for the occasional art student or small-town historian.

But then, this particular Glamour seemed to work by making unaware mortals feel as though they’d stepped on an ant mound or a spider’s nest, a creepy crawly sensation of hundreds of little feet skittering across a hapless leg. Visitors never seemed to stay long.

I shuddered. Even knowing it was there, I could still feel a tickle when I pushed through its gossamer strands. In the center of the cemetery a decrepit mausoleum stood watch beneath the shadows of a rotting oak, flanked by angelic statues with great sweeping wings.

Or so they appeared. The angels nodded briefly as I approached, Talivar keeping pace behind me by a few steps. His own Glamour was restored so the scars were gone, the pointed ears hidden. I caught a glimpse of what appeared to be pixies crouched on top of a pillar, arrows nocked at the ready. Guess the OtherFolk weren’t taking any chances at potential invasion into one of their last remaining sanctuaries in the mortal realm.

I shifted my backpack, hearing a small grunt from inside. “Almost there,” I told the unicorn. To the angels, I gave a friendly sort of smile. “Roweena is expecting us.”

The angel on the left frowned, his aqua eyes darting between me and Talivar for a moment. He waved us in, the marble door shifting to let us through. The Glamour melted away as soon as we entered, leaving us standing in the long, stone corridor that led to the Council room.

Immediately my backpack started squirming and I set it down, releasing Phineas with a quick flick of the zipper. He snorted, shaking himself out. “Gods, I will never get used to being carried around like a lapdog. Humiliating.”

“Kind of hard to be humiliated when you have no shame,” I said.

“It’s a gift. Come on and let’s get this over with. I’ve got a date tonight.”

I exchanged a glance with Talivar. “Anyone I know?”

“Doubt it. Hedgehogs aren’t in your social circle.”

“Ah.” I paused, my mind trying to bend itself around
that
particular image. At least it wasn’t with the lion girl. “Yeah. Okay. Just, um, be careful. Quills and all that.”

The unicorn rolled his eyes at me. “Teach Grandma to suck eggs, why don’t you?”

“A date actually sounds like fun. Though it’s not really all that appropriate, under the circumstances.”

“A date?” Talivar started down the stone hall, footsteps echoing with a strangely familiar ring.

“Courtship,” Phineas sighed. “You’re expected to spend money on the object of your affection and maybe they’ll sleep with you in return.”

Talivar eyed me appraisingly. “That simple, eh?”

“You’ve been here long enough. You tell me if you really think things are that simple.” I arched a brow at him.

He let out a rolling chuckle. “They could be.”

We passed several long sets of doors, the burnished wood and copper handles gleaming in the witchlight. I knew what the inside of the cells looked like a little too well, having once been an occupant for several hours. Only one door had a guard out front, Robert’s familiar silhouette perched beside it, his wings tucked beneath a trench coat.

“Tresa inside?” I asked him, though I knew the answer.

“For the moment, though I half wonder if it might not be better for her to have an ‘accident.’” He grimaced at me. “She has a wicked tongue.”

“How’s my nephew?” Talivar’s posture suddenly went rigid.

The angel frowned at him. “Charlie’s watching him. He’s fine.”

“Keep in mind this is only a temporary solution,” the prince announced. “When we get things settled here, Abby and I will be taking him back.”

“Uh. No.” I caught Robert’s momentary look of anguish and stepped between them. “I think he’s fine where he is, Talivar.”

The prince drew himself up. “I’m Protectorate. And more than that, I’m the boy’s uncle. Robert can have no true claim on him.”

“Think you’re overstepping your bounds there,” Phineas
said, waggling his beard. “You haven’t become the Protectorate yet.”

“Babies should be left with those who can best take care of them. Right now, that’s with his father,” I said.

“But according to Faerie law—”

“We’re not
in
Faerie.” I rolled my eyes.

Robert coughed. “Technically, the Judgment Hall is considered to be under Faerie jurisdiction, Abby.”

“Whose side are you on, anyway?” I tugged on Talivar’s sleeve. “Look, I understand you’re his uncle and all, but let’s be realistic. You gonna haul a baby around while we try to track down a way to open the CrossRoads? With the diapers and the milk and all that?”

He shot me a puzzled look. “Of course not. That’s what you’re for.”

“I’m what?” My feet scuffed the marble as I stopped dead in my tracks.

“You’re a woman. That’s what women do,” he continued, sighing with a wistful hum. “Service their men, raise their babies, trail behind us when we go off to war …” I made a choking noise. “I jest,” he said dryly, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Besides, I’ve seen the way you cook. I’d starve if I were dependent upon you for my meals in the field.”

“That makes two of us, then,” I retorted, ignoring Robert’s snort of amusement. Roweena gestured at us from the main doorway. She looked better than she had before, though given Talivar’s earlier missive about physical flaws, I wondered if she was hiding her issues behind a Glamour as well.

I shrugged inwardly, not really one to judge. After all, I tried to hide the scar on my head often enough; I certainly had no room to point fingers. Behind me, the two men exchanged
some sort of verbal He-Man mutters, but I didn’t bother trying to listen in. “Contracts all drawn up?”

Roweena nodded, weary lines etched into her forehead. “Yes. Melanie is awaiting Talivar so that we may formally dissolve their Contract.” Long-term Contracts had never been Melanie’s thing. It spoke volumes to our friendship that she’d allowed herself to be shackled even this long.

I entered the hall, relieved to see it had a slightly more friendly appearance this time around. Of course, not being on trial for potentially murdering my friend certainly helped with that.

I spotted Melanie up at the dais, perched on the great stone table, her booted feet swinging aimlessly. “How’d it go with Sonja? Any luck?”

I shook my head as I approached, Roweena sliding beside me. “No. She wasn’t there. I left her a note—hopefully she’ll find it and be able to help us out.”

Melanie raised a brow. “And Ion?”

I sighed, peering at my ragged nails. “Not exactly. I mean, he was there, but …”

“But he wouldn’t help,” Melanie said softly.

“I would have thought he might at least be willing to try. After all our history together and all.” I swallowed down another wave of bitterness. “Self-absorbed prick.”

“He’s an incubus,” Roweena said. “There’s no point in hoping daemons will do anything but for their own reasons.” Her shoulders slumped. “I suppose we might as well move along with this and concentrate on finding another way.”

Footsteps from the doorway indicated Talivar’s presence. He stalwartly kept his head facing forward as he passed me by, but his good eye slid sideways, winking when he met my gaze.

“So soon?” Melanie’s mouth pursed.

“Not hardly,” I snarled. “And no, before you ask, I’m
not
sleeping with him.” If he heard me, he gave no heed of it. I bent down to scoop up a wriggling Phineas, who was making quite the ass out of himself with demands that he be allowed to see.

“All right, then,” Roweena said crisply, unfurling the first of the scrolls. “This is Melanie’s Contract with Talivar. Do you both agree the Contract has been fulfilled, in as much as can be?”

Talivar nodded curtly even as Melanie smiled. “Oh, yes.” She sighed, one hand running down the side of her violin case, her happiness at being released radiating from her in waves.

The elven liaison scratched out a few things on the parchment. “Both of you sign here … and here. And then I will stamp it with Moira’s seal.”

I debated pointing out that Moira wasn’t technically the Protectorate anymore, but since the alternative was hauling Tresa in here, I decided it wouldn’t really matter. Without the CrossRoads behind it, this was all just a matter of semantics anyway. The two of them quickly scrawled their signatures, Talivar’s in sweeping, broad strokes, Melanie’s in a surprisingly lovely script.

“Now, then,” Roweena said, rolling up the scroll. “I’ll put that one in the archives for later. In the meantime, I’ve gone over Abby’s original Contract with Moira, as well as the forged documents from Tresa. Although her actions are woefully misled, we can certainly use the wording to do the transfer.” She tapped her fingers on yet another scroll. “And I have done so. If you would care to look it over?”

I peered over the table, nearly butting heads with Talivar. He gave me a sheepish smile. I pushed back my bangs and resumed scanning. “None of the perks, it seems?”

Roweena shook her head. “Moira handled that side of things. I figured I would let Talivar decide what reward to
give you for your service. But I wouldn’t be too frivolous with the promises,” she admonished. “It’s unlikely any of them could be fulfilled until we get the CrossRoads open.”

I nodded. “There’s nothing I really want, anyway. Not at the moment.”

Talivar shrugged, his eye resting on me with a curious bent. “I’ll leave it open, for now, to be granted at a later date.”

“Good enough.” I took the quill from him, the callused edges of his fingers brushing mine. Exhaling softly, I signed my name. “Guess that’s it then.”

A little disappointing, really. When I’d signed Moira’s original Contract, I remembered a bit of a magical spark as we finished. But with the CrossRoads closed, there was no magic. Sort of took all the fun out of it, really.

I looked at Talivar, studying the curve of his cheek. “I’m still a KeyStone, you know. We could do this for real, if you think that would be better.”

The prince cocked his head at me, something unfamiliar passing over his face. “No,” he said at last. “It would not be right.”

Surprised, I withdrew my hand. “What’s to be right or wrong about it? I just thought it might lend better credence to the whole situation. Make it more legit. Whatever.”

“And that is appreciated,” he said firmly. “But not necessary. It would not be fair to the others if I took advantage of that when they could not. If things take a turn for the worse, I may be forced to take your offer, but until then I’ll stick with this.”

I nodded. To be honest, I was a bit relieved, even though the less rational side of me raged at being rejected for the second time that day. And not even for anything romantic. “Oh for two,” I muttered. “Fair enough. What’s next?”

“Research,” Roweena said, gesturing at several large tomes beside the scrolls. She stamped the new Contract
with the Royal seal. “There, now. New Protectorate, bound to a TouchStone. One small thing in order, anyway.” She picked up the first book, a solid, leather thing that probably weighed about twenty pounds. With a wan smile, she handed it to Talivar. “Your first duty.”