by Allison Pang
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.
Twelve
What 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 fal
len 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.”
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.
