A Trace of Moonlight (23 page)

Charlie was one of my oldest friends, but our relationship had been strained the last year or so. In part because she’d been kidnapped by Maurice in an effort to get at me . . . and in part because of . . .

 . . . a high-pitched giggle echoed from behind Robert’s massive wings, a toddling Benjamin shuffling his way over to us. The result of an illicit love affair between Moira and Robert, Benjamin was a perfect tiny replica of his father, all stubborn mouth and stubby limbs.

“Who’s my little man?” I crouched to my knees, my arms open, wondering if he would even remember me. “Auntie’s missed you, you know.” He stared at me for a moment longer and then a smile broke out on his chubby face. I scooped him up and he clung to me, his fingers twiddling in my hair for a few minutes before he began to squirm in that way that babies and cats do when they didn’t want to be touched anymore.

His little wings beat frantically and I let Charlie take him, pleased to see how well they were bonding. I suspected things would get messy once Moira came back into the picture, but no sense in courting trouble about it now. Beside, I had enough crap on my plate.

“Well, this has been . . . heartwarming,” Roweena said dryly from her perch on the barstool. The elven liaison hadn’t bothered trying to insert herself into my personal space yet, but I detected a faint hint of amusement about her slanted eyes, even so. The elderly Fae
resembled a kindly grandmother—but the sharpness of her tongue could have doubled as battery acid.

“We could practically write Hallmark cards about it,” I agreed. “Seeing as there aren’t many ways to say ‘Happy you’re not dead’ nicely.”

“Indeed. But somehow it’s never that simple with you.”

“No. And as much as I’d love to continue with the greetings, we’ve got bigger issues. Again.” I paused for a moment, making sure I had everyone’s attention for the announcement. “Eildon Tree was attacked, by Maurice.”

My mouth went dry as Roweena’s face paled. “I don’t know what the full extent of the damage was, but Talivar says it’s possible the Tree won’t survive.” My gaze swept the tiny group of people, trying not to waver beneath the widened eyes and disbelieving stares.

“Also . . . Talivar is king now. Of the Unseelie Court.”

“Impossible!” Roweena whispered. “The Queen would never allow it . . .”

“The Queen no longer rules; Moira does—or she will soon enough.”

The elf sank into her seat with a look of dread.

“I’m guessing that news hasn’t been made public yet,” I said.

“No,” she snapped. “Nor should it until the monarchy has had a chance to make things official. Of all the times to see a change in command . . .”

I put my hand on her arm. “I know your loyalty is to the former Queen . . . but she was completely deranged while I was there—you read my letter.”

“I know. I just can’t believe she would do such a thing.”

“Believe it. She’s the one who prevented me from leaving once I . . . stopped being dead. And . . . uh . . . I’m sorta handfasted. To Talivar.”

Robert’s head snapped toward me. “But that would mean you’re—”

“No . . . I’m not his Queen. Not yet.” I interjected quickly. “It means nothing at the moment, except that I’ve got a few more responsibilities than I had before.”

He snorted. “If that’s what you believe, then you’re more naïve than I thought.”

“Abby’s always good for that,” Ion muttered, his hand squeezing mine. “But I admit I always found that rather charming. And irritating,” he added a moment later.

“Yeah, well, we can’t all be perfect.”

“So what do you intend to do?” Roweena gazed at me as though she expected me to disappear in a puff of smoke.

“Talivar asked me hold down the fort here while he assesses the damage to the Tree, and the two Courts decide if they’re going to work together.” The elf twitched at this statement and I stifled a sigh. Hundreds of years of prejudice weren’t going to be undone overnight, but at least she wasn’t openly rebelling at the thought.

“I’m going to need help.” I gave the braid with Ion’s bells a nervous yank. “Portsmyth needs a proper Protectorate to start with.”

Roweena nodded, her usual businesslike efficiency popping into place like a mask upon her face. “Yes. If both Talivar and Moira are headed for rulership, they cannot fulfill their duties here.” Her expression became troubled. “However, we need the backing of the Faery Council to appoint a new one, so in the interim
you are still on the hook. Death or not, you are the TouchStone bound to the current Protectorate—at least on paper.”

“Figures.” Ion let my hand slip from his and I began to pace around the bar, my mind whirling as I tried to decide our best course of action. “I’m not sure Maurice realizes I’m still alive, but I would bet even money he’ll know soon enough.”

Robert nodded. “We’ll want to get you some protection for sure . . . at least around your apartment. Will you be reopening the bookstore or the Midnight Marketplace?”

Part of my previous duties for Moira had been to run the storefronts that she owned: a used bookstore she had made her mundane center of business—and a magical one, intended to be available only for OtherFolk travelers who might need to find more esoteric goods.

I bit down on my lower lip. I’d ransacked the magical shop trying to find something to trade with Kitsune for her help to find a cure for the Queen’s madness. If Moira knew about it, she hadn’t mentioned to me, but I owed it to her to at least clean up my mess. Slowly I nodded. “Yeah, but . . . I think I want to change the format of it. There’s going to be a lot change coming down the pipeline . . . not to mention the Tree issue. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to keep it open as a gathering place to share information. A safe haven for anyone unsure of what they’re supposed to do.”

Roweena nodded at this, satisfaction crossing over her face. “About time,” she murmured cryptically. “You’ll have my backing on this. I’ll make sure the Council is informed.”

Brandon disappeared behind the bar for a moment,
sliding a glass of Diet Coke my way a few minutes later. “You look like you could use it.”

“Mmmph.” I took a sip and sighed. “So . . . this leads me to the question of the day. Does anyone know where Melanie is or how we can get ahold of her?”

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence that stretched into something ridiculous and I finally set the now-empty glass onto the bar. “I know she left. But surely she still has her cell phone? Something?”

Charlie shook her head. “As far as we know, she just got on a bus one morning and disappeared.”

I raised a brow at them. “And not a single one of you thought to follow? To ask her what was wrong?” My gaze darted to Brystion and he flinched. That wasn’t really fair of me, and I knew it, but I also couldn’t believe she wouldn’t at least have left him some way of contacting her. They’d been through an awful lot in the past.

On the other hand, I knew damn well what it was like to be so wrapped up in despair it was easier to run away than face the reality of it all.

“She went to New York,” Brystion said abruptly.

The others stared at him. “Well, it might have been helpful to have known that at the beginning of this conversation,” Robert snarled.

The incubus didn’t look at me. “She was there looking for an alternate way to free Abby. She has a lot of connections, being what she is, and New York has a more . . . diverse population of OtherFolk.”

“OtherFolk more willing to do things they probably shouldn’t, you mean.” Charlie’s mouth compressed into a tight line. “Didn’t she know you and Talivar were working on a way to free Abby?”

Brystion snorted. “Of course she did. But that
didn’t mean she agreed with what we were doing—”

“But you know where she is, right?” I interrupted, trying to keep us on track. “Some way to leave her a message?”

He hesitated. “The last time I talked to her was to tell her you were dead, Abby. I haven’t heard from her since.”

I exhaled slowly. “I can’t believe there isn’t at least some record of a virtuoso street busker somewhere? She’s the goddamned Door Maker.”

“Most of us only know her when her power manifests itself . . . it’s the Wild Magic that draws us to her,” Brystion said. “Or used to, in my case.”

Robert nodded. “Call it an echo, maybe. The CrossRoads respond to it and we can feel it too.” His look became grim. “Her music has gone silent.”

“I don’t understand. I’ve never seen her go for more than a day without playing.”

I paused, something cold gripping my gut. “You think she’s dead?” My voice was small against the possibility, but even I had to admit something didn’t make sense here. “Or what if . . . what if she tried to make a deal with the . . . with someone?” I didn’t want to mention the Devil’s name aloud. I hadn’t had any dealings with him personally, but Melanie got skittish every time it had come up. No sense in attracting undue attention.

I stared down at my empty glass, the beads of sweat trickling down the sides. I didn’t want to even consider the possibility that my best friend might be gone.

“There’s always Nobu,” I pointed out. “They were TouchStoned once . . . and they’ve got a bond of some sort . . .” I hesitated, not sure if “bond” was the word
I was looking for. Close enough. “He obviously still cares for her.”

I knew the daemon still loved her—they’d been TouchStoned traveling musicians and lovers . . . until Melanie had attempted to outplay the Devil’s TouchStone and lost. She gained her violin, but only at the cost of Nobu, who’d given himself over to Hell to save her.

And Nobu was the daemon who’d given me the lethe water, twisting my words after I attempted to make a bargain with him to free her. On one hand, I totally sympathized with his position . . . but on the other? I couldn’t trust him at all. He’d already shown a rather key ruthlessness when it came to protecting Melanie and I couldn’t knowingly expose the OtherFolk in my charge to that sort of potential two-facedness.

Talivar’s charges,
I corrected myself. Though I might as well have been the Protectorate in truth.

The others looked at me curiously, but I was unsure of what to tell them. After all, this was really Melanie’s story to tell. If she hadn’t shared the details of how she’d gotten her violin with them, it probably wasn’t my place to reveal it either.

On the other hand, the shit was pretty much hitting the fan at this point, and the more people knew, the better off we’d probably be in the long run.

“What is it with you two and the bad boys?” Robert rolled his shoulders.

“You’re one to talk,” Ion snapped, bristling.

“That’s enough of that,” Roweena said mildly, weary resignation in her face. “We’re not going to get anything done here if you can’t manage to work together for at least five minutes.”

Robert scowled, but withdrew, hoisting Benjamin into his arms. “You do what you want, Abby—you’re going to anyway. I’ll support you, but promise me you won’t do anything as reckless as before.”

“I understand. We’ll leave Nobu out of this unless we don’t have any other choice. In the meantime, I’m going to start making phone calls. Someone has to have known where she went. Even if I have to start calling hospitals.” I shuddered at the thought. “I’ll be in the Marketplace if you need to find me. Don’t worry—I know what I’m doing.”

“Famous last words.” Our eyes met, the angel’s mouth twitching. And then he smiled.

W
hat hell happened to this place?” Brystion let out a low whistle as he strode around the aisles of the Midnight Marketplace, avoiding the shattered crockery and scattered books strewn over the hardwood floor.

A thin layer of dust lingered on the shelves, illuminated by the fading balls of multihued witchlight faintly pulsing above us.

“
I
happened to it,” I muttered, shaking out a pile of stuck-together parchment. “Jesus, what a mess.”

“Nepotism works wonders, you know,” Phineas observed over a slanting pile of books. “But even so, you’ll be lucky Moira doesn’t fire your ass.”

I shrugged. “I’ll take being fired over watching my friends get traded to daemons any day.”

“Point taken. Though I’m not sure who got the better deal,” he muttered.

“Yeah, well.” I glanced around at the shambles and sighed. If Katy were here, I knew she’d be more than willing to pitch in . . . and Melanie too. But then, she was sort of the reason I was here, wasn’t she?

“It’s too quiet in here,” I mumbled, digging the iPod from my back pocket. The dock and speakers on the counter were still in good shape and a moment later OneRepublic’s “Secrets” blared forth, filling the broken shadows with bittersweet memories.

I debated trying to shuffle it, but the device had a mind of its own. Undoubtedly I was in for a few hours of angst-ridden lyrics and emo melodies.

I eyed the fallen bookshelves in irritation. “I wonder if Moira would care if I turned this place into a café of some sort.”

“Progressive of you,” Ion said dryly. “Maybe you can give me a job as a barista.”

“Well, you
can
cook,” I said. “So we can serve coffee and bacon sandwiches. And shelve oodles of pervy romance. Which you can read aloud to the customers while wearing nothing but an apron.”