A Trace of Moonlight (24 page)

Phineas rolled his eyes, trotting to the rear of the store. “Well, you have to have goals.”

Ion scowled at him. “I probably
will
need a job if I’m stuck in this form.”

“You can still sing, can’t you?” I blew the dust off the cash register, wiping the glass counter with a rag. “I mean, I’d think you would have the same talents as before.”

“I suppose. It’s just . . . different.”

“Little harder to throw yourself out there without that smexy magic to back you up?”

“Could be.” He paused. “Have you given any more thought to what you’ll do if you can’t find Melanie?”

“I’ve been trying not to, honestly. I can’t bear to really imagine her as gone . . . and if we don’t find her, I think we’re all pretty fucked. If the Tree dies completely, I don’t think we’re going to
want
to know what
happens next.” I stared blankly at the door. “I suppose the mortal world will still exist, but we’ll have lost something,” I said softly. “As much of a pain in the ass as you OtherFolk have been, I still have to admit my life is richer for knowing you all.”

I glanced down at my crippled knee. “I don’t know where I’d be right now if I hadn’t stumbled my way into town. Probably dead.”

Melanie had invited me to Portsmyth after the accident that had destroyed my previous existence, introducing me to a world far larger than I knew existed. It may not have replaced my old life . . . but it sure as hell had given me a new one.

“You’re stronger than that.”

“Maybe now. Not so much then.” Everything had been so raw in the beginning. I came out of my coma to discover my mother was dead and I was nothing more than a cripple with a seizure disorder. I could barely stand to be touched or talked to. I’d withdrawn from all of my dancer friends, bitter and jealous they retained the capabilities I no longer possessed. I waved him off since this wasn’t really a road I wanted to head down. The point was that I had come here and I had made a Contract with Moira. The rest was history, I supposed.

My mouth made a line that was supposed to be a smile. “At least I know what awaits me on the other side.”

He stiffened. “Don’t even go there, Abby. It’s not remotely funny.”

I flushed. “I know. The most I can do right now is help out here as best I can.” I shrugged at him. “I’m fairly useless at the moment otherwise. No special powers, anyway.” I waggled my dust rag at him. “Except maybe cleaning. And even that’s pretty suspect.”
I glanced down at the cell phone in my pocket. “Cleaning poorly, and making phone calls.”

Which led to the next thing I had to do. I’d already tried every phone number I had for Melanie—all were now listed as disconnected or unavailable—which left her parents. I’d only met them once, during Melanie’s short stint at school. It hadn’t been long enough to get much more than a perception of serial stage-mommy syndrome.

Well, that and the few minutes I’d had with her mother after Melanie had left the school altogether. I’d known she was having issues, but I hadn’t realized how deep or involved they’d been, particularly with her family life. Her mother had grilled me for ten straight minutes as to the whereabouts of her daughter, but as distraught as she was, I had gotten the feeling it was less over the fact that Melanie was missing than the fact they’d lost a commodity.

And possibly tuition money they’d already paid.

But in the end, I had no answers to give them. Melanie had met me for coffee and a bagel one morning, said good-bye . . . and that was it.

Or was it? I frowned, searching my memories. Had there been a guy involved? She could have been with Nobu at the time, but I honestly couldn’t recall seeing him. On the other hand, OtherFolk had Glamours up the ass, so he could have damn well looked like anyone.

But still. Nobu might have better insight into where she might have gone, but I’d promised he would be a last resort, so it was back to phone sleuthing.

With glass clinking as Ion swept up broken bottles, it took me only a few minutes to dig up Melanie’s parents’ listing. I knew vaguely where they lived based
on comments from Melanie about her hometown, so I ran through the online white pages until I found the most promising number, and started with that one.

It picked up after two rings.

“Hello?” The voice was smooth, with a brittle sophistication that could only be her mother’s. Would she remember who I was?

“Uh . . . hi. I’m looking for Melanie. Melanie St. James? I’m a friend of hers.” I paused. “This is Abby Sinclair. We went to Juilliard together.”

My words were met with silence but I thought I detected the briefest flare of breath, as though the woman were trying not to sniff at me.

“I’m sorry, but there is no one here by that name.”

Well, shit. “Okay, but do you have any idea where she might be? She’s been gone for a few weeks at least and her friends are very worried about her.”

Another long pause. “I remember asking you the same question, a long time ago, Abby Sinclair. I do not know where she is. And I do not care.”

Dangerous ground here . . .

“But she’s your daughter. Don’t you want to know she’s safe?”

“I’m sorry, there’s no one here by that name.” The connection cut off abruptly and I was left to stare at my phone with a frown.

“Well, now I know why she didn’t go home,” I muttered, something uneasy taking root in my gut. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but . . .

“She never talked about them much on the road, but they sounded like gits of the highest order.” Ion shoved another set of books onto the shelves without bothering to look at the titles.

“I get the feeling there’s a lot Melanie doesn’t really
talk about.” I sighed. “Well, unless we drive to their house, we may be out of options.” I tapped the counter in irritation. “Although, there’s nothing that says we can’t send a . . . messenger of sorts, right?”

“Like a pixie or something? They’re flighty. But might not be a bad idea.”

“Of course, that begs the question of how to get ahold of one,” I said sourly. “My connections are somewhat limited at the moment.”

He grimaced. “I’ll try to work on that.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Oh, children, shush the hell up,” Phineas snorted from my feet, the nubbed horn poking through the top of his forelock in an obscene gesture. “You’re mortal. He’s mortal. Get over it and use your damned cell phone to call in a few favors. There’s not an OtherFolk being this side of the CrossRoads that wouldn’t bend over backward to help Melanie in some fashion . . . if only to put her in their debt.”

Ion and I shared a chastened smile. “Aye, aye,” I murmured, pulling the phone out again.

A few hours and a pizza delivery later, Didi the PETA pixie strolled through the door. The little blonde was dressed in baby blue instead of her usual Barbie pink, but otherwise, she was unchanged from the last time I’d seen her.

She eyed the carnage with a raised brow before trotting over to me, gossamer wings fluttering. “I’d say I like what you’ve done to the place, but . . . uh . . .”

“It’s not intentional, I assure you. Once we get things back in order, I’ll be reopening for business. But in the meantime, I could use your help.”

“Lame.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’m not much good at cleaning.”

“That’s not what I meant.” I shook my head. “I need you to go to New York.”

She blinked. “What?”

“New York. Melanie is . . . missing. I want you to see if you can find a hint as to where she might have gone.”

A scowl fluttered over her face. “Anyone ever tell you it sucks being your friend? Everyone seems to die or disappear around you.”

“I take no credit for this one. I was dead at the time.” I snagged another slice of pizza.

Brystion scratched out something on a piece of paper and handed it to her. “There’s a werewolf there you should look up. Marcus. He’s a guitar player—Melanie used to travel with him back in the day. It might not be a bad idea to check in with him.”

“You’re assuming I’ll even agree to this.” Didi pouted at me. “Every time I try to help you, something wonky happens.”

“You know what kind of wonky shit is going to happen if you don’t help me this time? Eildon Tree is going to
die,
and then what will you do?”

Her face bled white. “Well, when you put it that way. What do you want me to do, exactly?”

“Check out the music clubs, the OtherFolk hot spots. It doesn’t make any sense to me that she’d completely disappear . . . not for this long and definitely not without music of some form.”

“Why do I get the feeling I’m going to be stuck looking at every street busker in the subway?”

“You know her . . . just look for the redhead with the purple sunglasses. Probably playing death metal Mozart in Times Square.”

Didi gave me a dubious look and then nodded. “I’ll see what I can find out.” She waved and flitted out the door. Convenient, anyway. I realized I hadn’t asked her if she’d needed a TouchStone, but if she’d had issues, she hadn’t seen fit to bring them up.

“Well, that’s that, I suppose.” I brushed my hands on the pockets my jeans, still marveling at the fact I wasn’t wearing a gown. And that I had real underwear on. It was the small things.

As I stood there musing over another shelf of dried herbs, the iPod switched songs into Eric Hutchinson’s “You Don’t Have to Believe Me.” I found myself tapping my foot, and when I felt the smooth glide of a hand upon my shoulder, I smiled.

“Care to dance?” Ion asked it mildly, and if there was no flash of gold lingering in the dark of his eyes, I recognized that inner hunger quite well.

I pursed my lips at him. “Lead on.”

Something satisfied flickered over his face as he pulled me into his arms. There wasn’t enough room to really get going, but we swayed up and down the aisles, narrowly avoiding the shelves and the other debris. Phin stoutly ignored us, which was fine with me, although I caught his tail sweeping gently to the rhythm anyway.

Once again, I felt a pang for Melanie’s absence. With her here, it would have been a proper moment between friends, but I’d take what I could get. Brystion wasn’t doing anything fancy as far as footwork went. Just an arm around my waist and our hands clasped and his not-so-subtle way of steering us toward the rear of the store.

“Any particular reason for this impromptu bout of two-step?” I murmured.

“Overtaken by your shy beauty. Plus I wanted to touch you.”

“Honest, anyway.”

“Have I ever been anything but?” He tipped my head up and we both snorted at the lie, but didn’t pause in our movements. “Besides, I’ve missed this.” He spun me out. “I’ve missed
you
.”

Even though it had only seemed like a few days or weeks to me, for my friends it had been so much longer. Months. I’d gone through my own “there and back again,” though, so it wasn’t like any of us had gotten out of the deal unscathed.

He pulled me closer and I dropped my head to rest on his shoulder. Strange to feel the absence of burning heat when I touched him, but it wasn’t a bad thing. The soft exhalation of his breath ruffled over my hair, his chin resting on top of my head, and I couldn’t help the shiver from sliding down my spine.

For all that he’d been inside my dreams for so long, for all that we’d already done so much together, this quiet dance was the most intimate moment we’d ever had. Simply because it was so . . . simple. No magical powers to draw us together. No required sexual feedings. No . . . nothing.

We’d talked about it before. Wondering if our attraction to each other simply stemmed from his being an incubus and my possessing Dreaming powers. It’s a hard thing to have to question, particularly when it feels so goddamned good to give in.

And yet here he was. And here I was. Dancing in the tattered remains of the Midnight Marketplace with only our own skins to shield us.

When he kissed me, I let my eyes drift shut, losing myself in the feel of him. The taste of him. No hidden
tricks of emotional lust or my own mind turning him into something else based on my desires. And then I stopped thinking altogether, as his hands cupped my face, holding us in that moment until we trembled with it.