Brush of Darkness (9 page)

There were no customers this early in the morning, but Charlie was humming away, busy with a more mundane set of inventory boxes. UPS had come early. Charlie’s short, chestnut hair was cut into a pixie bob I’d never be able to pull off. It was cute and perky and perfectly framed her heart-shaped face. Her complexion was what they call “sun-kissed,” but not in the freckled mess I always seemed to get. Hers was just a gorgeous nut-brown smoothness. I cleared my throat to let her know I was there. She startled and then smiled broadly.

“You’re up early, Abby. I didn’t expect to see you for at least a few more hours.”

“I know.” I set my mug down on an empty shelf as I knelt beside her. “I couldn’t go back to sleep, so I thought I might come down and help you out with this. Should have done it yesterday, anyway.”

“More nightmares?”

“Not quite. Not unless you call being pawed by an incubus a bad thing.”

“Ah, yes.” She wiped her dusty hands on her jeans, her mouth a little O of distaste. “Melanie mentioned that you’d had a bit of a run-in with Brystion last night.”

“Does
everyone
know who this guy is except me?” I rolled my eyes at her. “The way he played hard to get, you’d think it was supposed to be some big secret.”

“Maybe he was just dicking with you. He’s been known to be a real prick sometimes, although since his last TouchStone left him it’s just gotten worse.”

“She left him?”

“That’s the rumor, anyway. She ran off with the drummer of Ion’s Folly, the way I heard it.”

“Ah.” I nodded wisely. “I guess that explains why they broke up.”

“Could be,” she drawled, pulling out a stack of books. “Wow. Who the hell chooses this crap? You or Moira?”

“That’s all Moira, I’m afraid. The most she lets me do is narrow down the genre choice. This month it was alien romance or western history.”

“God.” She held out a book as though it might shit on her. “
His Tentacled Love
? Are you kidding me?”

“Apparently not. How about
The Spawning
?” I waggled my fingers at her. “Like hentai for grown-ups.”

“Speaking of spawning, how’d it go with Brystion?”

“How did what go? He’s an ass.”

“But he showed up in your dreams last night?”

“Don’t be a perv. It was just a dream. At least, I hope it was. I don’t know. I get the feeling he’s kind of stalking me.” I dug out another stack of books, not really reading the titles. “I mean, I suppose he’s got good reason. His sister is missing, and he wants the Protectorate’s help to find her.”

“Well, surely Moira wouldn’t turn him down. What did she say?”

“She . . . uh . . . doesn’t know.”

Charlie’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean she doesn’t know? You didn’t tell her?”

“She’s been a little hard to get a hold of.” I studied the ceiling for a moment. By the tone of my friend’s voice, it was almost as if I’d been caught with my hand in the cookie jar. But in my case, the Oreos were likely to grow teeth and gnaw my fingers off. “Like not at all. I don’t know where she is.”

The confession rushed out of me with a whoosh. Instead of feeling relieved, though, the weight of the last few months pressed down on me even more. My throat clenched like a fist had been shoved down my gullet and my head started its telltale throb.

“Abby?” Charlie’s voice warbled at me from a distance,
rushing down the dark corridor of my consciousness. I couldn’t move, but I could sense her by my side, grasping my shoulders.

Only a little one . . .

Seconds, minutes, hours. I never really could tell how long I stayed out during an episode, but suddenly my eyes were open, exhaustion hitting me full in the face. Charlie had laid me out on the floor, my limbs heavy and dull.

“Hey, you okay?” Charlie’s face came into focus, her dark chocolate eyes wide.

“Yeah. Just . . . tired. Want to sleep.” My eyelids sank for a moment. “Seizures always make me drowsy,” I mumbled. “Least I didn’t piss myself this time. How long was I out for?”

“A few minutes. Jesus, Abby, I thought you were getting better.”

“Happens. I’m tired. Or maybe drained is a better way of describing it. But I get them more when I’m tired.”
And when you take your meds haphazardly,
a snide voice reminded me. “I just need to get more sleep.”

“That could be,” she agreed, “but being a TouchStone expends energy. And you’re not just a normal TouchStone, Abby—you’re the TouchStone of the Protectorate, which is a lot more intense. Most mortals can only handle short-term Contracts, and certainly not more than one.”

“If you say so.” I rubbed at my head, ignoring her eye roll.

“Ever wonder why so many brilliant musicians and artists seem to die at such a young age?”

I blinked stupidly at her, my muddled thoughts tripping over themselves. “Too many Contracts?”

“Absolutely. OtherFolk are drawn to anyone with major talent, particularly the Fae. Sometimes they’re not overly
careful about how much energy they take.”

Brystion’s words echoed in my mind for a moment, something suddenly becoming uncomfortably clear.

You’re a Dreamer, Abby. I could drink your dreams like milk.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. The whole rainbow connection thing—the poets, the dreamers, and me. Moot point since I’m not any of those things. Not anymore. And I’m certainly not interesting enough for anyone else to want to Contract with me. Except Fuckfang.” I struggled to sit, letting Charlie pull me upright. The world tilted sideways for a moment and then straightened as I leaned against one of the stacks. I tipped my head back. “And he only thought . . . well, never mind what he thought.” I frowned. “Doesn’t matter anyway.”

I met her liquid eyes with a sour smile. “So where does this leave me? Moira’s missing. A succubus has disappeared and her horny incubus brother seems bent on trying to invade my mind.”
And a unicorn is upstairs getting busy in my underwear drawer,
I added silently, wondering if I should tell her I’d TouchStoned to him. I glanced at her worried face. I’d shelve it for now.

“You’re going to have to talk to Robert about this,” Charlie pointed out.

My heart tripped over itself trying to launch its way out of my throat. Robert was Moira’s personal bodyguard and her first lieutenant. Charlie was his TouchStone, but how they had come to that particular Contract I didn’t know. What I
did
know was that Robert swore like a sailor, drank like a fish, and still dropped his
r
s with a good dose of Boston pride. He had a wicked temper and guarded Moira’s interests like a hawk. For being the living embodiment of such a bundle of clichés, he also seemed to intensely dislike me, though damned if I’d ever figured out why.

“Are you sure? I didn’t think it was worth getting him involved.”

“Are you kidding me?” Her eyes grew wild for a moment. “Robert’s been in a foul mood lately, and I didn’t know why. I mean, I knew he was worried when she didn’t answer his calls, but he didn’t want to make a fuss because . . . well . . . she’s Fae, and they’re just weird. Besides, you’ve been sitting here acting as though everything was fine. He thought you’d let him know if there was something wrong.” She turned toward me, shaking her head. “Abby, why didn’t you come to us?”

I gave the other woman a helpless shrug. “She left a note. I mean, she said she’d be back. How was I supposed to know? Christ, for all the contact Robert’s had with me, they could have both taken off and I wouldn’t have known.”

“I’ve forgotten how new you are to all this,” she said. “All kidding aside, you’re in a bad position, Abby. What do you think the rest of the OtherFolk are going to do when they realize Moira isn’t here?”

“Nothing good, I’m guessing,” I said grimly.

She patted my hand thoughtfully. “I think you should take the rest of the day off. Go on upstairs and rest, but come to the Hallows tonight. I’ll make sure Robert’s there, and you two can try to figure out what the best course of action is. It wouldn’t hurt for you to be seen either. After all, if there’s something untoward going on, showing them that you’re not rattled by it couldn’t hurt.”

“Unless I get killed for it.” My lips curved into a self-mocking smile. “But I’ll be there.”

H
ot stuff, Abby.” The bartender grinned broadly at me, his teeth gleaming in the amber light of the nightclub. This would have been slightly more reassuring if it weren’t for the distinctly wolfish snout pressing out from his face. His tongue lolled between sharp canines as he laughed at my expression, one hairy paw taking the ten-dollar bill I handed him. “You look damn good enough to eat, darlin’. All you need is a little red hood.”

“Not that hot, Brandon.” I stifled a groan at his words. My fingers curled around the Mudslide he pushed across the bar, smearing the condensation on the frosted mug. I let my lips drift over the straw, the heady sweetness of chocolate and Bailey’s flooding my mouth. My gaze flicked to the mirror behind the counter. No harm in checking myself out, right?

I was as dressed up as I get, in wedge-heeled, sling-back sandals and denim capris. My shirt was a cut-off, leaving my belly slightly exposed. I hadn’t worked out in ages, but years of
pliés
and
pas de chat
had left my abs with more than a hint of tautness. Maybe not as muscular as before, but I didn’t mind.

I’d pulled my hair into something more stylishly tousled, and I even brushed on a little eye shadow. Not too much though. Funny how tossing a little glitter on your eyelids suddenly looks garish when you’re standing next to a gorgeous fox-woman or an ethereal nixie. Of course, there were some real ugly creatures that hung around this place too. Not that it really mattered. Glamour or not, beautiful or hideous, the OtherFolk all had an aura of otherworldliness that the
rest of us couldn’t touch.

The woman at the other end of the bar was certainly doing her damnedest though. She had hair the color of ripe chestnuts and golden skin, her dark-smudged eyes and green velvet dress giving her a sort of absinthe-Faery-meets-streetwalker vibe. She was holding court among a gaggle of vampires. They were drooling all over her, but I couldn’t tell if that was because she was an artist of some sort, or just because of the 38DD implants bolted to her chest. I shuddered.

I turned back to the werewolf and snorted. “She seems like your type, Brandon. How come you’re not trying to talk her into being your TouchStone?”

“She’s just a groupie,” he declared, licking his chops. “She’d be lovely for a few nights, I’m sure, but I’m looking for something a bit more permanent.”

“And you thought an underage girl would be the best choice?”

He winced, and his wolf ears flattened sheepishly. “I know, I know,” he sighed. “But Katy seems so . . .
right
. And she found this place on her own. That has to count for something, doesn’t it? Besides, she’s awfully sweet. I miss that sometimes.”

I nodded and let my gaze travel to the door. The Glamour draped like a veil at the entrance of the alley leading to the Hallows reminded me of swimming through spiderwebs of boredom and ennui. Mortals that weren’t TouchStones—or who hadn’t had their eyes opened to the OtherWorld—tended to walk on by, glances sliding away as if it didn’t exist. Inside, it was like any other bar. Smoky. Hazy. Hot and sweaty with dancers and drinkers, wingmen and fat chicks. Normal. Well, except for the pointed ears and fanged smiles, that is.

Up on the stage Melanie played “Last of the Wilds” by Nightwish, her hand rocking over the strings of her violin, its
wood a burnished silver color beneath the lights. She twirled about like a gothic pixie, all black corset and Doc Martens.

Elves crowded the stage, whirling in a flurry of impossible colors, cheering her on with hungry eyes. For all that the OtherFolk acted so high-and-mighty around us, they certainly lapped it up when one of us shone.

Melanie was one of the brightest.

A sudden handwave caught my attention as Charlie gestured me over to her table. I held up my drink in assent and grabbed my purse. “I’ll see you around, Brandon.” His ears flicked toward me curiously as he wiped off the glass-topped bar.

“You’ll help me out then?”

“It’s the fourth one this month, dude. Maybe you should try something different.”

“Just this last time, I promise.” He blinked winsomely at me. “I really think she’s the one.”

I laughed despite myself. “Spare me the puppy-dog eyes, wolf-boy. I’ll see what I can do.”

“It’s nice to see you here again, Abby,” he said, his grin playful now. “You should stop by more often.”

“Probably.” I rewarded him with a genuine smile. Brandon was a nice sort. A little hairy for my taste, but given some of the OtherFolk quirks I’d seen, I probably could have lived with it.

I slipped through the swarm of dancers, narrowly avoiding an elbow to the jaw from a satyr dancing a rather obscene version of the Electric Slide. “Watch it,” I shouted above the hum of the music, but he simply gave me a once-over and turned away. Ouch. Rejected by a smelly goat-man. Somehow I thought I’d live, though an inopportune glance at his groin told me
someone
had certainly been eating his Wheaties.