A Sliver of Shadow (13 page)

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.

“And what happens to you now? To the rest of the OtherFolk trapped here?”

“We survive … for a time. Eventually we will fade.”

“All of you?”

“Those of us who are not TouchStoned. If we have a mortal soul on which to anchor, we can use that power to sustain us, but even that will only take us so far. Without the power of the CrossRoads to foster it, the Contracts mean nothing.” Her mouth twisted, chin shaking; a guttering burble escaped the wrinkled depths and I realized she was laughing. “Unless we had a living KeyStone, of course.”

“Gee. Don’t let me stop you.” KeyStones were normally sacred places where OtherFolk could gather without the need for TouchStones—the Marketplace was one, the Judgment Hall, the Hallows … but how long would they last?

Tresa stirred on the stage, her body shuddering beneath the ropes. I wandered in her direction, but kept my distance. Her eyelids fluttered, her head wrenching violently to the side as she began to gag. I felt a momentary flicker of satisfaction. The crowd of OtherFolk parted before me, but I
pretended not to notice. I wasn’t Moses and this sure as hell wasn’t the Red Sea. I glanced down at the floor.
Yet.

“What have you done to me?” Tresa croaked.

“Well, Melanie hit you over the head with an ashtray … and judging from the bruises around your neck, it would appear someone tried to strangle you after that. Not that I would have known,” I added pleasantly. “Being that I was rather indisposed myself. You remember, don’t you?”

“I am the Protectorate,” she snarled. “You have no right …”

“They had
every
right,” Talivar’s voice crackled from the doorway, a bedraggled Phineas at his heels. Melanie hung behind him, her face unreadable. The anger burned from the prince like a firestorm and for a moment the room seemed to darken. He’d restored his Glamour apparently, the tattoos on his face stark against the unblemished skin. He stalked into the room, his limp suddenly terribly obvious. “And you
will
step down. The position was not yours to take.”

“And yet, here I am,” Tresa spat, wriggling precariously on the edge of the stage. She would roll onto the floor in a moment, but no one made a move to restrain her.

I met Talivar halfway and shook my head. “It’s okay,” I murmured. “We’re all okay for now.” He stared at me for a moment, his hair falling forward to hide the eye patch.

“I’m sorry,” he said, taking my hand. “I should have guarded you better.”

“Buck up,” Phineas nickered, prodding me in the leg. “And stop wasting time making eyes at each other. We’ve got decisions to make. Or really, you do.”

“It’s like having Yoda for a personal assistant,” I grumbled, letting Talivar’s hand slip from mine. “And I’m not sure my opinion holds any weight here right now. After all, I’m sort of supposed to be arrested. Again. Consorting with the enemy and all that.”

The unicorn stomped a hoof. “Bah. You’re going to have to break that Contract.”

“She can’t do that.” Tresa grinned. “I put a clause into it that ends in her death if she does so.”

“And where are the scrolls?” He bugled in challenge. “When did Abby sign them?”

“I didn’t, actually. How’s that for a loophole?” I smirked, waggling my finger at her. “We did the KeyStone thing.”

“Then any concept of a written Contract makes no difference in this case. Abby didn’t sign it … therefore it is not binding,” Roweena agreed, her eyes resting on me. “You may break it at will, without repercussion.”

Tresa’s eyes bulged. “No! You can’t do that! I worked the spell to only be released when we TouchStoned.”

“We did,” I said shortly. “Just not the way you were hoping.” The connection between us fluttered like a trapped butterfly. “I release you,” I intoned, the ritual words stiff on my tongue. I twitched at the snapping of it, sighing when the essence of “her” drained away.

“Lying bastard,” she spat. “He told me if I did this it would set him free.”

The hairs on the back of my neck rose. “He who?”

“Who do you think?” Contempt rolled off of her in bitter waves. “Maurice, you stupid bitch.”

I
stared at Tresa, blinking stupidly. “Maurice? But I thought he was … being taken care of.” Or at least that was what I’d been led to believe. Though why I expected anything resembling the truth from the Fae was beyond me

“They’re taking care of him, all right.” Tresa laughed. The sound was without humor, but a shivering edge of desperation rippled beneath it. An echo of darkness seemed to shimmer between us.

“He has a hold on you,” I said sharply. “What is it?”

“He holds the key to my undoing,” the elf woman said bitterly. “More than that I will not say. Only that by freeing him, I might have a chance at escape.”

Talivar stepped closer to her, his gaze flat and dark. “You chose to align yourself with a known traitor.”

“You know nothing. From where I stand, the Queen is the traitor.” Her eyes burned with madness.

“Now I know you’re crazy,” I muttered, rubbing at the side of my temples. “Guess we just need to get the CrossRoads reopened and we’re good to go.”

Roweena let out a weary sigh. “As per this latest Court mandate, Moira was removed from her position as Protectorate,
but you still remain her TouchStone. However, with the CrossRoads locked down, we need to chose another Protectorate, if only to preserve what little order is left to us. Tresa is obviously unsuitable.”

I shuddered at the thought of having to bond to yet
another
Fae. “What difference does it make? I mean, without the power of the CrossRoads, it’s not like a Protectorate could really do anything anyway, right?” I frowned at her. “I would have thought you’d want the job. After all, you seem to be the next Fae in position to do so.”

“If I must,” she said after a moment of hesitation, “but as the Court Liaison, there may be a conflict of interest. I’m here to protect the interest of the Court above all else. I shouldn’t even be thinking of undoing what the Queen has wrought.”

“Oh, the humanity of it all.” I sighed. “Surely the Council would want a say in it?” The local Council was made up of nine members of all three Paths and overseen by the Protectorate. They were supposed to provide balance and make sure each group was fairly represented.

“Assuming we could even find all of them in time?” Roweena shook her head. “The choosing of the Protectorate is a Faery matter only and should stay that way.”

“Then what about Talivar? Honestly, doesn’t he make the most sense? Related to Moira? Royalty? Fae? Hell, he’s even already got a TouchStone.” Melanie’s brow wrinkled at my words. “We could just modify that Contract, couldn’t we?”

There was an uncomfortable silence, the two elves not looking at each other. “I’m afraid that’s out of the question, Abby.” Roweena murmured. “Talivar is not … suitable.”

“Fuck suitable,” I snapped. “
None
of this is suitable.” I turned toward Talivar. “Do you want it? As … whatever I am … I’m offering you the shot.”