Hands of Flame (34 page)

“I've been dead once. Isn't that enough?” Margrit passed her own question off with a wave she recognized as having been adopted from the Old Races; from Janx, specifically, she thought. “You could call the playing field even,” she said more quietly and more seriously. “You're in a position to do that.”

Janx tipped his head, small motion that still managed to be a warning. Margrit fought off a grimace, briefly exasperated with the ancient battle of one-upmanship the two elders had. “I wish you would,” she went on. “Walk away from New York. Let this lifetime go. You've got plenty more ahead of you.”

“You're not answering the question, Miss Knight.”

Margrit made her hands into fists. “Tariq's happy to backstab you now over a decision you made months ago, a decision that doesn't have anything to do with him or his people or any deal you made with them. He's playing my survival off as being a betrayal of your agreeing to my death, and he's…” She trailed off, finally fully realizing what Daisani had said. “My
mother
double-crossed a djinn?”

“Really, Margrit, how many times have I told you that your mother is a remarkable woman? I'm sure she doesn't think of it as double-crossing. I'm sure she considers it to be…survival of the fittest. If she could lie bold-faced to one of the Old Races, then turn around and ask another of us for help, I would say she's most certainly fit to survive.”

Pride rose up in Margrit as a blush, heating her cheeks and bringing a foolish smile to her face. “Go, Mom. Wow. The best I've done is mislead you.”

“Which is fairly remarkable in itself,” Daisani said dryly. “Once more, you've failed to answer the question.”

Still riding on a wave of pride, Margrit let the truth out unvarnished. “You should break the deal with the djinn and let me live. At least I was up front about trying to take you down. I'm an honest enemy, if I've got to be one.”

“An honest enemy. One who will report to work Monday morning as expected?”

“Keep your friends close?” Margrit asked with a wince. “I'd like to. I'd actually like to, and part of me is saying if I go to work for you, I have a chance at getting my hands on the right kinds of material to bring you down. I can't just try like I did tonight and walk away. I have to succeed, because Janx isn't going to let Tony go on a good try from the home team.”

“Janx?” Daisani wheeled to face the indolent dragon, who looked up with mocking apology.

“I'm afraid she's right. If she'd like to go to work for you, I'm happy to take the cost out of Detective Pulcella's hide. Entirely up to you, Margrit, of course.”

“Of course.” Margrit pressed her lips together, arms folded across her chest defensively. “You know, I actually came down here to ask you something, Janx. Something I didn't think Eliseo would answer.”

“Really.” Janx kicked his legs off the lounge and sat up, fingers laced and interest brightening his eyes. “Whatever could that be?”

“I came to ask about one of his vulnerabilities.” Margrit watched the vampire as she spoke, unconcerned for Janx or his reaction. “I came to ask if you knew what it would mean if I asked him where the bodies are buried.”

Sound erupted around her, a cat's shriek melded with
a whale's song and all of it accompanied by an explosion of movement vastly unlike anything Margrit had seen from the Old Races before. Daisani seemed to fly apart, a black viscous splash of oil and night, and then came back together again so quickly she doubted she'd even seen the change.

He was in Margrit's face, and somehow stopped from tearing her apart: Ursula was there, between them, moving as fast as he did. Then Alban, crushing Daisani's biceps in an unforgiving grip. Janx was on his feet, flexing with eagerness, and Kate crowded in beside Ursula, helping make a barrier.

Margrit had seen none of them move. Her heartbeat was sickeningly fast, making her light-headed with the panic of being in the midst of a reckoning that she had no control over. Chelsea's warning, to have Alban with her when she asked that question, seemed pitifully inadequate now: without the entire quartet who held Daisani off, she was certain she would already be dead. That she would have died so quickly that she would never have seen it coming.

Daisani craned his head toward her, neck elongating to an impossible degree. Ursula snaked into his path, half blocking Margrit's view, clearly protecting her. “Me first, Father.”

Hesitation flickered in Daisani's black eyes. His jaw opened too far, starting to unhinge, and then he snapped it shut again and withdrew into himself, suddenly the same contained businessman Margrit had met him as. He shook off Alban's hands, and to Margrit's horror, the gargoyle let him.

“You will come to regret asking that question, Margrit
Knight. You will come to regret it, and so, too, will the one who guided you toward asking.

“Catch me,” the vampire whispered. “Catch me if you can.”

DAISANI'S WORDS LINGERED
far longer than he did, sounds left on a whisk of wind as he sped away. Ursula, unexpectedly, squealed with glee and disappeared after him. Even Kate look startled at her sister's departure, taking a few abortive steps to follow before stopping. Alban flexed his hands, regretting that he'd released the vampire, but uncertain Daisani couldn't have slipped free regardless.

“Chelsea,” Margrit whispered. “He's going after Chelsea. Can Ursula stop him?”

Kate shook her head. “Ursula's not trying to stop him. She just wants to race. She's never had anyone as fast as she was to go up against.”

Janx snorted beneath Kate's denial. “One does not go after Chelsea Huo. Not even Eliseo is that rash.”

Margrit stared at him and Alban put himself between the two of them, catching Margrit's hand in his own. “Would you go after the serpent at the heart of the world, Margrit?”

The petite human transferred her stare to him, becoming incredulous. “How could you?”

“No more than you can go after Chelsea. Don't worry.”

Margrit dropped her chin to her chest, forehead pinched with the force of her frown. “So her referring to humans wasn't just because she's gotten in the habit of thinking of all the races by their specific names.” She lifted her gaze, lips thin, and pulled her hand from Alban's to fold her arms. “What is she?”

Alban fought off the temptation to follow her and simply shook his head. “Some secrets aren't ours to tell.”

A beat of silence, then two, filled the room before Alban, half apologetically, said, “Some secrets aren't ours to tell.”

Margrit threw her head back, scowling at the chamber ceiling. “Of course not.” She set her teeth together, then, jaw still held tense, visibly tried to let it go. Tried, and almost succeeded: Alban barely heard her threat of, “One of these days I'll get inside your memories and find out.”

“Not now that you've warned me,” he said with more apology.

Margrit glared at him. “All right. All right, fine, whatever. Never mind what she is. Some secrets have to be kept.” She sighed suddenly and pulled her hair loose to scrub her fingers through it. “How about the secret of where the bodies are? Do either of you know what that means?” Worry washed away her frustration and she hugged herself. “I don't care how safe you think she is. I want to make sure.”

“My dear—”

Margrit spun to face Janx, exasperation filling her voice to the edge of lividity, mercurial human emotion a wonder, as always, to Alban. “I heard you. What if you're wrong? She's the one who told me to ask the question that just sent Eliseo Daisani running out of here like a bat out of hell, Janx. How often does Eliseo run from anything?”

Janx looked toward Alban, who opened a hand in answer to the question. “There was Moscow. But then, you left rather precipitously, too, didn't you? With your tail between your legs, if the stories have it right.”

The dragon's nostrils flared, and Margrit looked from one Old Race to another with an expression that demanded explanation. Alban flashed a smile and shook his head. “That's all anyone knows about it. But aside from that, I don't remember the last time Eliseo ran from anything, and a gargoyle should.”

“You've been out of the memories a long time, Stoneheart. There was Van Helsing.” A hint of smugness slithered over Janx's face as Alban lifted his eyebrows. “You wouldn't know about that. It was what sent him—and me, in the end—to the Americas. Van Helsing is why there've been no vampires but Daisani these past hundred and fifty years.”

“Van Helsing is a story,” Margrit protested.

Momentary silence filled the chamber before the dragonlord smiled. “You can stand here, in this company, and say that with such authority? You asked once what happened to those humans who executed the Old Races. Your own facetious answer was immortality, but you're not so far off, my dear. Human fiction disguises worlds of truth.”

Margrit shot a look from Janx to Alban and back again, then cast a wary glance toward Kate, as though checking to see if the other woman could tell if the Old Races were having her on. Kate made a tiny motion of denial and Margrit's gaze came back to the dragon and gargoyle. “Are you telling me Abraham Van Helsing existed and hunted vampires? That he came to help some woman
who was bitten—But it doesn't work that way. You can't turn a human into a vampire.”

“Ah, but what if you flip the story around? What if Lucy lies dying of consumption, and her doting suitor discovers a sip of vampire blood will cure all her ills? What if he begs help from a doctor friend and they pursue the panacea at all costs, but are refused and the beloved wife dies? The lover might retire, his heart broken, but the doctor might be unable to let the idea of a universal cure go. He might make of himself a hunter, perhaps the best in all the world.”

Margrit lifted her hands to her temples, massaging.

A burst of sympathy filled Alban and he stepped forward to touch her shoulder.

She dropped her hands and stared at the ceiling before exhaling heavily. “Yeah, okay, I guess he might just. I mean, all the other stories are turned on their ears. So what happened?”

Janx shrugged. “Eliseo determined retreat was the better part of valor, and fled. Shortly thereafter he met Vanessa, and you know the rest.”

Margrit laughed, short, sharp sound, and turned a despairing look on Alban. “That's so far from the truth I don't even know where to begin.”

“Why are we still here?” Kate demanded with what struck Alban as very human impatience. “Even if Daisani can't do anything to this Chelsea person, shouldn't we still be going after him? What if you're wrong?”

Janx sniffed. “I'm rarely wrong, Katherine. And there's no haste, because it's not possible to catch up with him. Your sister might have, but as for the rest of us, we may as well wait for him to come to a stop.”

“Wherever that may be,” Kate said sourly.

“Most of us do have somewhere we call home.” Janx gave Margrit a telling look. “Unless it's been stripped of us, of course. Either way, I have very little fear for our friendly neighborhood bookseller.”

Margrit glowered at the dragon. “Chelsea told me to ask about the bodies when I asked if Eliseo had any vulnerabilities. I'd think you'd be just a little bit interested in what the answer was. If you're not, that's fine. I won't pursue it, but you'll release me from this promise, no holds barred. I leave Daisani alone, he retains his empire, and you don't go after Tony. I'm going to check on Chelsea. Come or don't, but make your choice, dragonlord. I'm sick of this.”

Janx said, “I liked it better when she was afraid of us,” to Alban, then bowed melodramatically to Margrit. “Very well. I'll chase your wild goose.”

 

Kate and Janx walked ahead, red-haired vanguards of a tiny army. Margrit itched to turn to Alban and plead for him to take her and take wing. They'd left the tunnels as close to Chelsea's bookstore as any of them knew how, but the intervening blocks could have been swept away under a few beats of Alban's wings. The idea of a few minutes of time alone in the sky with him was as appealing as making certain of Chelsea's safety that much more quickly. But neither Janx nor Kate could transform as discreetly as Alban, and with Janx's grudging agreement to join them, Margrit was reluctant to now leave him behind.

“Did I do this?” Her voice sounded wrong to her own ears, too soft and high. Alban looked down, concern creasing his forehead, and she fluttered a hand at the pair
in front of them; at the world. “Did I make your world this place where we're all running around trying to stab each other in the back before someone else gets a chance?”

“You had help,” Alban said with a ghost of humor.

Margrit twisted a smile. “I feel so much better, then.”

“Even my people have come to believe this is necessary, Margrit. Even I have. Not the politics and machinations, but a forcible entry into the modern age. Perhaps the one doesn't come without the other. Everything has a price.”

“I hope it's worth it.” Margrit's phone rang and she clapped a hand against her hip, then pulled the phone from her pocket to say, “Hello?”

Kaimana Kaaiai's easygoing voice came across the line, sounding, as usual, as though he had a smile in place. “Margrit Knight. Cara asked me to contact you. She seems to think you have another trick up your sleeve.”

Margrit stopped walking and scowled at the sky, lips thinned as she considered what to say. After a moment she shrugged and chose the truth. “I had one. It fell out.”

Some of the geniality fell out of the selkie lord's voice. “Really. I was given to understand this trick would compensate us for a significant loss. I'm disappointed to hear it won't be coming through. What, if I may ask, was it?”

“Does it matter?” The brusque question was just better than the ill-advised suggestion to
suck it up
that Margrit was tempted to give. “I'm sorry to have bothered you, especially if you're back in Hawaii. It must be about four in the morning.”

“On the contrary, it's seven in the evening. Nothing to worry about,” Kaimana assured her. “Will you be providing another form of recompense?”

Margrit pulled the phone away from her ear and stared
at it. It was a moment before she trusted herself enough to say, “I'm afraid not,” politely. “It was a gamble. You lost. It happens.”

“It was your gamble, Ms. Knight.”

“‘Ms.'You people always pull out the honorifics when you're annoyed with me. You know what, Kaimana? If you really want to destroy your own people and the rest of the Old Races by taking it to the mat with the djinn, be my guest. Go be offended that you're not getting your big fat paycheck and take it out on whomever you want. I have done my goddamned best, and if that's the game you want to play, I wash my hands of it.” She hung up the phone and spun around, arm lifted to fling it against the nearest wall. Only the fact that it belonged to Cameron stopped her, and after a few seconds, she lowered her hand with a curse.

Alban's quiet presence appeared behind her, more felt than heard. Margrit turned her profile to him, shoulders sagging. “Well, that was mature.”

“Perhaps it was necessary.” His warm hands enveloped her shoulders, sending a wave of comfort through her. She relaxed a little, leaning against him, and felt him lower his head over hers. “You've been thrust into a world about which you knew nothing, and have stood fast for what you've believed to be right, even at a personal cost. Perhaps, having shaken us up, it is as necessary to let us condemn or save ourselves of our own accord. I do not believe Kaimana Kaaiai will guide his people into open warfare with another of the Old Races. But if he does…we reap what we sow. Isn't that the phrase you use?”

“Me personally or humans in general?” Margrit turned in Alban's arms to bury her face against his chest and let
go an exhausted sigh. “I feel as if there's no way out of this alive, Alban. Janx is playing it like a cat with a mouse. It's all fun and games, all light and mocking, but if I don't manage to completely ruin Eliseo somehow, he's going to kill Tony.”

A last vestige of hope was smothered with Alban's nod. Dismay soured her laugh. “You were supposed to tell me that he wouldn't really.”

“But he will,” Alban said steadily. “Human lives mean little to Janx, and Detective Pulcella has humiliated him. Had Janx not been injured so badly at the House of Cards, I doubt Tony would have survived the night. He's been fortunate.”

“I'm not sure anybody involved with me is fortunate, right now. Russell's dead, Tony's under a death sentence, Daisani's threatened to eat Cam more than once, my mother nearly had her heart pulled out…Jesus. If I thought leaving town would work, I'd do it.”

Alban, carefully, said, “Sarah did.”

Margrit shook her head. “Her situation was different, and you know it. I have to see this through. I'm not going to let Tony pay for my involvement with the Old Races.”

“You're a worthy adversary, Margrit Knight.” Alban tipped her chin up, his pale eyes serious as he studied her. “Regardless of how lacking in control you may feel, I assure you that no one amongst the Old Races thinks you are anything but worthy. As much trust as you put in Janx's integrity, if you hadn't earned his respect, he wouldn't have honored the favors you've played against each other.”

“Which is why I've got to hold up my end of the bargain. My own honor's as much at stake as his is.”
Margrit took a deep breath and released Alban, her whole body aching as the comfort of his presence withdrew. “I said humans were good at leveling the playing field. I have to keep trying to do that. This'll end soon,” she added more softly. “Either I'll succeed and this horrible mess will be over, or I'll fail and I'll be—”

“You will not.” Alban's voice dropped to a dangerous growl.

“Janx'll take Tony's life over my dead body.”

“Then we shall make very certain he has no reason.”

“We?” A new spark of hope lit in Margrit, so unexpected it tightened her throat. “What's this
we
, white man?”

Alban blinked at her, nonplussed, and the flicker of hope turned into a shaking laugh. “Haven't you ever heard—it's a Lone Ranger joke. Haven't you—Never mind. Never mind,” she repeated, and Alban chuckled, then cupped her jaw.

“We, Margrit. I have no intention of allowing you to fall at Janx's whim, and regardless of Chelsea's dramatic questions, we can't deal Eliseo such a crippling blow that he'll never rise from it. His life is too long and his resources too great. We,” he said again, gently. “Your allies may be few, but they do exist. I am here.”

“That makes me feel better.” The words scratched out through a still-tight throat. Margrit stepped into Alban's arms for another fierce hug, then let him go again with fresh determination. “To hell with the selkies and the djinn and all of them. We'll deal with Daisani and go from there.”