Brush of Darkness (37 page)

“It’s locked in the chest behind the door,” Sonja said, her wings folded behind her. Robert pulled the chest away from the wall. It was small, a bit larger than a standard violin case, but the wood seemed to shiver with an unearthly light. Magic, for sure. “Topher never got a chance to push it into its painting.”

Maurice snarled at her. “We had problems with inanimate objects going through the process,” he admitted. “I didn’t want to risk it just yet, though I suspect the soul trapped inside the thing would have been enough. Not that it makes any difference,” he said softly. “It can’t be unlocked by mortal means. Not even
I
have the key to open it.”

“Somehow I doubt that,” Robert retorted.

Melanie glanced up from where she’d been staring at her own painting, a rapt sense of horror and curiosity written
across her face. “Shut up a second, all of you.” Tracing a finger over the painted mouth of her face, her brow furrowed. “The key,” she said slowly. “G-A-G. I thought this was just a joke that Topher played on me . . .”

She stepped back and hummed. An eerie vibration hovered through the room, my bones trembling with it. Maurice paled, his face draining of blood. “That fucking painter!” Melanie’s mouth split into a wide smile, the humming becoming a soft croon.

From the corner of the room, the chest shook like some sort of medieval pager, grinding against the floor. Robert smirked over at Maurice. “Seems you had a key, after all.”

And there it was, golden and lovely, the heavy gilt of the handle appearing in the lock with a flurry of sparkles.

“Mortal means are my specialty,” Melanie said softly, kneeling beside the chest to turn the lock. “There you are,” she murmured, pulling out the violin. She held it in the crook of her arm, her fingers caressing the neck tenderly.

“They were notes,” Sonja said wonderingly, her eyes brightening. “Can you do it? Can you open the Door?”

Melanie wiggled her fingers. “They’re stiff, but they should be able to make it work. They’ll tire easily, though, so I don’t know how long I’ll be able to keep it up.” Her shoulders rose apologetically. “The elvish Healer couldn’t quite fix it all in such a short time.” She ran the bow over the strings, creating a mournful sigh of harmony. One eye cocked open at Maurice. “Tie him up or gag him or something. I’d rather not have him breaking my concentration.”

“Easy enough,” Robert muttered, slamming Maurice upside the face with a broad fist. Maurice slumped to the floor, putting up no resistance as the angel trussed him quickly.

“All right.” Robert moved in front of Moira’s painting, bowing slightly. “Mistress, we’re going to get you out.”

Melanie shut her eyes in concentration. A faint glow
crossed the reflection of the mirror, a silver nimbus etched against the dark wood.

“Moira first,” Phineas reiterated, “and then Charlie. And then—”

“And then Abby,” Brystion said firmly. He knelt down before me. “Nearly there, sweetheart,” he murmured. “It’s going to hurt when they pull the knife, but I need you to fight, Abby.” His finger stroked my cheek. “I’ll meet you on the other side. Now, Mel. Open the Door.”

Melanie nodded silently and the tune changed.

Phineas whinnied, bugling a challenge. “The mirror in the painting,” he shouted. “It’s glowing. Go, Ion!”

Brystion wheeled, throwing himself headlong into the real mirror without hesitation. It didn’t shatter, but then, I didn’t really expect it to. I craned my head to try to see more, but there was only gray, the fishbowl effect growing worse.
So cold . . .
My fingers twitched, numb and icy, but the moment the incubus set foot through the mirror I felt an answering tingle in my blood.

A ripping sound. A grunting wail of pain. Moira crying out. The wavering squall of a newborn baby. Muffled voices raised in anger, wavering at me as though my ears were stuffed with cotton. Shit.

“. . . going back in . . . there’s a Door into Charlie’s . . .” The remainder of the words faded away. The darkness was closing around me and my breath was slowing. I felt like a goldfish on the floor of a bathroom, each laboring exhalation slamming into my lungs, or maybe gills. Either way, it was sucking majorly.

There was another shredding of canvas, followed by Robert’s cry of relief. Sobbing, choking noises—Charlie. And then there was silence, the world tilting on its edge again. Phin’s voice came from nearby, low and even. “Your turn, Abby. Brystion’s gone through to get you.”

“He’s going to look a little . . . different,” Sonja’s voice interjected. “But don’t let it alarm you. “She paused. “I’m going to pull the knife out. We need you to swim up to the ship. That’s where he’ll be.” I made a small sound of alarm and she sighed as though she’d heard me. “The sharks are yours, Abby. They only have as much power over you as you allow.”

She took a deep breath. “Three. Two. One.”

The knife blade slid out and my body burned in agony.

W
ater rushed to fill the empty space left behind by the blade, warmth pouring from me in a flurry of red. Instinctively, I clamped my hand across my belly, my life leaking between my fingers.

“Swim!”

Phin’s voice pulled me out of my stupor. Dimly I thought of the story of The Little Mermaid. The original one, where every step was like stepping on knives. Little girl currently had
nothing
on me at the moment. I would gladly have traded fins for feet as opposed to the exquisite gut wound I was now sporting.

I pushed myself through the water, each movement stretching across broken muscle and fiery skin. I wondered if the asshole had stabbed anything really vital. Stupid thing to wonder, given the situation, but calculating how long it was going to take me to get to the surface was at least somewhat safer to think about than . . . them.

The shadows still swarmed above me, but they looked larger and sated. And why wouldn’t they be, really? Hadn’t they nearly devoured me before? The darkness stretched out, an eternal road of black. I was definitely swimming slower
now, but my veins were thrumming, my blood pulsing in an easy cadence. Brystion was above me—he had come for me, was
waiting
for me.

I let the rest of the memories, the pain, and the nightmares go. All of it washed away like mud down a river, eddying and pooling in places, but loosening the tension, setting me free. I pressed onward. The sharks parted for me, fins lazy, eyes dull and dead. One of them still had a mouthful of flesh hanging from its teeth.

It snapped toward me and then away. I cleared my mind of everything but
him
. My body was sluggish, despite the way the cool chill of the water dulled my pain.

Hurry, hurry, hurry. The words drummed again and again until at last I saw it—moonlight through waves, white light filtering down.

The current had taken on a stronger pull than before, the last twenty feet or so in particular. I could feel the swells pushing by me in deep pulses. The waves would be awful up above and for a moment I hovered on uncertainty.

Hurry, hurry, hurry . . .

The ship was heaving wildly, the sky purple and dark. There, wavering on the prow, skin shone in the moonlight, a hand outstretched.

Sonja had said he would look different, but his face was masked in darkness, the wind whipping his image into a frenzy of salt spray. I didn’t care. I just wanted to be wrapped up in his arms again, out of the water, out of the shadows. I wanted to be in my own bed with a hot toddy after a warm shower, wrapped in sheets and sex. My mouth trembled with desire, tasting it, longing for it.

I burst through the waves, calling out, a strange warble vibrating from my throat—the delicate song of the siren. Brystion’s golden eyes sparked from the shadows; they were brighter than I remembered, vivid and glowing. Another
wave swept me up, slamming me into the side of the ship. I clung to the barnacled wood, my fingers slicing open on shellfish and crustaceans. “Traitors,” I muttered. So much for the romantic image of the mermaid arising to the edge of the ship on a graceful wave.

“Throw me a goddamned rope!” I wasn’t sure if he could hear me, given the howl of the wind, but he signaled my words with a shrug.

“I tried to bring one, but it couldn’t come through the mirror.” His voice was husky, a midnight fury laced with the metallic edge of bullets. He paused. “Hold on! I’ve got something here, but it won’t be quite long enough, so you’re going to have to time it with the waves.”

“You’d better not be talking about your dick. I mean, you’re well hung and all, but it’s a Shadow Realm, not Fantasyland,” I snorted, trying not to laugh. The painful burble in my lungs spoke of something worse happening.

“Just take it,” he snapped, “and don’t ask questions.” He turned away, his back showing broad and black. There was the glitter of something white and pointed sweeping up from his head. Horns? Antlers?

“Whatever,” I muttered. I’d figure it out once I was safe. Daemonic or not, he could have been farting fire at that point and I wouldn’t have cared. Something long and narrow curled over the rail, a frayed handle at the end. I clung to the ship, my head turning to see when the next wave would hit, feeling the ocean gather beneath me, the hull start to descend. I ducked down a bit, releasing the wood. I was going to need a little more
oomph
.

Nervously, I sank a few feet below, gathering my strength. The sharks were nowhere to be seen and inwardly I relaxed. One last hurdle, then. If my nightmares hadn’t completely subsided, maybe that last act had put them to rest for a while. I could only hope.

The surge crested and I shot upward, ignoring the pain. The last rush of blood flew from my belly, my tail pumping—quick, quick, quick—matching the beat of my heart. I rode the crest for as long as I dared, airborne as I reached the peak, water falling like rain over my back. Arms outstretched, my fingers brushed the end of the line, clawed at it, yanked on it.

Above, I heard Brystion cry out, felt the rope twist and twitch in my hands. “Oh damn—it’s your
tail
.” It was soft and slick with the wet, the furry tuft at the end as black as ebony. “Sorry!”

He grunted something I couldn’t quite hear, a strained growl echoing past me. He shifted, and slowly I dragged up the last few feet. My fingers curled over the ship’s edge, the last of my strength giving way in a rush of relief and pain. Clawed hands grasped my wrist, nails pricking my already lacerated skin, but I hardly felt it. My vision blurred and I blinked against it, trying to focus on his face. “Brystion.”

“Shhhh,” he murmured, pulling me forward so my upper half was resting on the deck. “I’ve got you, Abby.”

“I hope so,” I croaked. “I’d really like to get out of here, if you don’t min—”

“Oh, shit!” I caught a flash of hooves and fur, and then there was a horrible shriek, high-pitched and ugly. Was the boat cracking beneath us? No, it was me.
I
was the one screaming. The boat wasn’t pitching, I was sliding down the side, some enormous weight pulling me down. Dimly, I craned my neck, dully noting the massive shark tearing into my tail.

“Help me,” I whispered, the last of my voice dying as I sank into the darkness of the sea, into the waiting gullet of the Great White. There was a flash of gold above me, ebony skin and hair falling, arms entwined around my shoulders, and then I was gone.

. . . he was pressing me down into the dirt, sharp hooves cutting into my flesh as he kneed my thighs apart. One clawed hand clenched around my neck, the other trailed over my ass, slicing delicately at my tender flesh. He bent down, teeth long and pointed. “You’re filthy. A filthy whore, Abby Sinclair.” His breath was grass, soft and tender, and all the more wretched for the pain.

I squirmed, my legs kicking feebly. “None of that, now,” he murmured. “I’m going to make you come, you know. You’re going to come and come and come, and when I’m finished with you, you’ll never come again. How does that sound? And then, I’ll eat your soul.” He paused, nipping at my ear. “You taste so delicious, Abby.”

“Why are you doing this?” My voice was a whimper, pathetic and sad.

“Isn’t this what you expected all along?” He chuckled. “Begging me for it? Just dying to see my true form? Well, here it is, Abby. I
do
hope you aren’t disappointed.” Thick hair rubbed over my ass, his erection sliding obscenely over the curved ridge of my spine. “Everything you hoped it would be, hmmmm?” He lipped my cheek, curving down to lick my neck.