Brush of Darkness (27 page)

“That’s something, I suppose.” A wave of light-headedness swept over me. “Ah, you know, I think I need to sit down again. How much longer are they giving us in here?” He led me back to the center chair, and I slumped. Brystion handed me my forgotten cup of water, his attention on the front doors, mouth curving.

“They didn’t say, but it sounds like they’re still arguing. We’ve got a little time, I think.”

“Time for what?” I sipped at the water.

He knelt between my thighs. “Nothing in particular,” he murmured, his hands sliding along the outsides of my calves. “Call it a short recess.”

“We shouldn’t,” I whispered hoarsely as he leaned toward me, his arms raised to frame either side of my head. His lips brushed mine lightly, dusted the skin of my cheek to move down my neck. I moaned, the wet slide of his tongue over my collarbone enough to make me tremble with longing. I arched my back, heedless of the way the back of the chair ground into my shoulders.

“No.”

His mouth curved into a wicked smile, teeth gleaming in the darkness as he glanced up. I swallowed, some secret part of me knowing this battle was lost and had been the moment he stepped into the bookstore four days ago.

The ridges of his abdomen pressed through his thin cotton shirt, the heat from his skin searing me with each ragged breath I took. My fingers traced the seamed edges of the cloth bunched up at the small of his back, clutching
at it in a futile attempt to remain calm.

“Moira said it wouldn’t be a good idea,” I said.

He blinked in surprise and pulled away, the golden nimbus of his eyes fading. “Moira actually told you not to sleep with me?”

I scowled. “Not you specifically, you pretentious ass. She just said I shouldn’t get . . . involved. You know, given that other thing with Jett.”

The incubus snorted, shoulders relaxing. “Well, then, I suppose there’s only one thing left to decide.”

“And what’s that? If I prefer asking permission to begging forgiveness?”

He gently pressed a finger to my lips, his voice smug and husky with desire. “Do you want me?”

Cheeky bastard.

“Yes.” I shivered as I stared into those dark eyes, watching as they flared with new light.

One brow arched in amusement. “Then we can argue about it later.”

“You’re assuming I’m even going to
want
to talk to you later,” I grumbled.

He chuckled and the sound rippled down my spine like liquid lust. “I never assume anything, Abby. Besides, it’s a little late to be arguing about it now, don’t you think?”

“Probably,” I muttered, sitting up. “But as enjoyable as this is, I’m not exactly one for public acts of ravishment.” My mouth quirked up at him. “The walk of shame afterward is a right bitch.”

He pulled back and then gently tugged me to my feet, but not before giving my ass a pinch. I wanted to hit him. I wanted to run away. I wanted to throw him on the floor and tear his clothes off. In the end, I did none of these, choosing instead to give him a sour smile.

“Come on,
incubus
.” I gestured at the door. “Let’s go.”

If he took offense at my words it didn’t show, but a flicker of amusement danced behind those golden eyes as he drifted past me.

“Later,” he promised.

T
he waning evening sun shone through the Judgment Hall, the sunlight watering down through slatted windows that spoke of arrow slits and protection from sieges. Oddly appropriate, given the circumstances, but not in a particularly comfortable way.

I winced at the glare, sucking in a deep breath to ward off the swimming feeling in my head. Brystion’s hand was at my elbow, a subtle guide and burning reminder of what was left unsaid.

Roweena slid gracefully toward us like a ghost. “I see you are awake. How are you feeling?” Her gaze moved to the cluster of feathers in my hand, giving rise to the question she really wanted answered.

“They’re his sister’s. I . . . um, seem to have TouchStoned her—during my seizure.”

“Troubling.” Her eyes searched my face, but I just held out the feathers to her. She frowned, chewing on her lower lip, but didn’t touch them. She looked strangely uncertain, and that wasn’t a good sign. The Fae were almost
always
certain.

Roweena’s expression became grave. “I don’t know if
Brystion told you, but the full Council has been contacted. I’ve tried to stave them off to give you some more time, but they cannot wait any longer. It will take them a while, however, to fully assemble, so I think you’ve got a day or two to find Moira. After that . . .”

“I guess my character witnesses weren’t that good,” I sighed.

“On the contrary,” she said, “most of them were excellent, but there’s no denying the Queen. She will stop at nothing to get her daughter back.”

“Then why isn’t she here now?” I challenged. “Why wait almost four months before coming to look for her? Why isn’t the Council here already?”

“Time travels differently on the CrossRoads. You know that,” Roweena explained. “And I do not speak for the Queen. She makes her own decisions.”

“What about Maurice? Wouldn’t he be the obvious one to track?”

“He is an unfortunate presence,” the Fae agreed. “I am waiting on the Council’s word on that, as well.”

I thought back to the note Moira left me, with its hastily scrawled message. If she had been kidnapped by Maurice—or anyone for that matter—why would she leave a note? Something about her oddly phrased words churned in the back of my mind. “Even that phrase from the note she left.” I turned around slowly, twisting the feathers. “Hold
back
the fort instead of hold down.” Such a simple mistake, but Moira had never been that sloppy before. It had to be intentional.

“She was likely in a rush,” Brystion observed. “Surely it’s a common error.”

“Even if that were true, why wouldn’t she have at least told Robert?” I eyed the angel. “You said it yourself—she would never go anywhere long-term like that without telling you.”

Phineas sidled up to us, rearing on his hind legs to sniff at the feathers. “What if Maurice was already there?”

“I didn’t see her leave,” I admitted. “And it wasn’t uncommon for her to keep weird hours. But if he forced her to write the note, why would it be so sloppy?” I shook my head; the answer suddenly snapped hard. “Fort! That’s it. The wording
wasn’t
a mistake.” I caught the liaison’s eyes. “She doesn’t want the Queen to come.”

Roweena blinked slowly. “It is true that Faery hills are sometimes known as forts,” she said. “If this is the case, there is a much larger game being played.” I nearly choked on the obviousness of that particular observation.

A sudden weariness swept over me. I was tired of not having answers, and every way I turned only made things less clear. Phineas brushed his horn against my leg. “Come on, Abby. Let’s take a walk.”

Leaving the others to continue their conversation, the unicorn and I paced the outer perimeters of the hall.

He paused by the edge of a shadowed alcove, his hooves echoing on the marble. “You don’t have to do this all alone, you know. Faery tales aside, there’s no particular grace in being the solitary hero.”

“I’ve hardly done anything that counts as heroic,” I said wryly, crouching down beside him.

“Bah,” he snorted. “The concept is nothing more than a word for stubbornness. You’ve got that in droves. The only real trick is using what’s at your disposal.”

Puzzled, I followed his gaze back to where the others were standing. They weren’t all there, of course. The Gypsy, in particular, was missing, but Melanie and Robert were still there, of course . . . and Katy. I guess she wasn’t that tired after all. “Looks like Katy made herself comfortable, eh?” The young blonde was leaning up against the wall, her face animated in that way only the truly innocent
have. Then again, it may have had more to do with the way Brandon was protecting her, his eyes burning with a hunger that had very little to do with grandmothers or woodsmen.

Phineas waggled his beard at the odd pair. “The better to eat her with,” he chortled.

“Ah, well, Brandon is a good sort. I don’t think he’ll lead her too far astray.” I paused, looking at the little group. “You really think they’ll help?”

“Abby, they’re just as scared as you are.
No one
wants the Faery Queen here. We’ve all got lives too, you know.” I thought for a moment, hesitating.

I approached them cautiously, catching Mel’s wry smile with my own. “Are you all right, Abby?” She hugged me unexpectedly, and I returned the embrace.

“Guess I scared you more than I thought.”

“I’ve seen some weird shit over the last few years, but . . . well, let’s just say I’d rather not see another seizure of that caliber again, and leave it at that.”

“You and me both,” I agreed, turning the feathers over in my hands.

“Hey, Abby!” Katy waved me over. I moved to where she and Brandon were standing. Melanie drifted in my wake. “We, uh, that is, Brandon thought we might be able to help track Moira down?”

I pursed my mouth at Phineas. “I’m listening.”

“We can offer you a base of operations,” Brandon explained. “And we can help you search, or at least set up some kind of watch list. You know, interview the rest of the populace, so to speak? Find out if anyone knows something.”

I nodded slowly. “It’s not a bad idea, actually.” As a bartender, Brandon had to know a lot of people. And
everyone
rambles at a bartender at some point. “I don’t suppose you’ve actually got any information about any of
this already?”

He shook his head regretfully. “Wasn’t really paying attention before. But I’ll see what I can find out.”

“And as far as a base of operations goes . . .” I chewed on my thumb. It tasted of leather and something else. Wet feathers? Suppressing a shudder I turned back toward him. “I had thought that maybe the bookstore would work. But now . . .”

“Nah. Use the Hallows.” The werewolf shrugged, winking at me. “It’s well stocked and centrally located.”

Roweena perked up and nodded at this. “I think that’s an excellent idea. When the Council convenes it would be good to have a collaborative show of effort.”

I snorted. “Covering our asses, I guess.”

“Just so,” she agreed sagely, her face a study in blankness. “And the Hollows would be better defended, as well. After all, don’t you live above the bookstore?”

The thought of having all those nymphs and satyrs partying below me made me cringe. God knows what would be banging on my door at any given hour. “I see your point,” I said.

“So, what is it that we need to do first?” Katy’s face quivered with anticipation.

“Consolidate information, I guess. I’m assuming you guys put together a timeline while I was out?” My gaze flicked toward Robert.

“It’s got some gaps, but yes. Just help me find them,” he said quietly, his burning edge of judgment fading into a sad resignation. “My Charlie and Moira. That’s all I want.”

“I will. We need to start by finding out how those paintings fit in. If we can track down Topher too, that will speed things up, but his assistant said he wasn’t in town. So, I guess we could take a look through some of the books in the Marketplace. We might find something there about magical paintings.” I yawned, rubbing at the back of my head. “And
to be honest I really need something to eat and some rest.” Time may have been of the essence, but I wouldn’t do anyone any good if I had another seizure because I was strung out. I was TouchStoned to four OtherFolk now. I didn’t know what my limit was, but I could definitely tell I was tiring because of it.

Melanie dug into her purse. “I’ve got a granola bar.” She tossed it at me.

I unwrapped it dubiously. “It looks healthy.”

“You never know,” she retorted, “but then, I’d hate to see you die from eating something without bacon in it.”

“One does one’s best,” I agreed, taking a bite.

“Shit,” she sighed as her phone started ringing. “Give me a sec.” She flipped open the purple RAZR.
“Moshi-moshi,”
she quipped, her face shadowing within seconds. “Ah, yes, just a moment.” She held out the phone to me. “Speak of the devil, it’s Topher. He said you weren’t answering your cell.”

“I didn’t have time to grab my phone this morning.” I held it to my ear. It smelled faintly of cinnamon lip gloss. “Hello?”

“Abby? I need to talk to you.” Topher’s voice was low and furtive.

“I tried to stop by the Gallery yesterday, but your . . .
assistant
wasn’t all that helpful.”

“She told me,” he said gruffly. “But I’ve been kind of indisposed.”

“That’s fine, but Christ, Topher, things are getting serious. There’s something wrong with those paint—”

“Hush. Listen to me, Abby, and listen very carefully. Stop poking around. You’re going to get into some seriously bad shit if you don’t.”

“You know something.” My voice was quiet, surprised.

The line went dead for a moment and I would have thought he had hung up if not for the heavy breath rattling
through the earpiece. “Can you meet me tonight? Somewhere safe?”

I glanced over my shoulder, waving everyone into silence. “Okay,” I said, “Come by the Marketplace. It’s as safe as anything else, and I’ve got research to do.”