by Allison Pang
“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.
I looked up at him finally, still surprised to see the dark of his pupils without the typical flicker of gold. He cocked a brow at me, his mouth kicking into a crooked smile as though he knew what I was thinking.
“I begin to understand now,” he said, wrapping me into his arms to finish the dance.
“I suppose I could tell you it’s about time.”
“You could. But I’d ignore you.” He nipped my ear gently. “Besides, I’m not one for sleeping with married ladies.”
I rolled my eyes at him. “Not even in their dreams?”
“That’s different. I’m merely giving them ‘inspiration’ for later moments with their husbands.” His mouth quirked. “Sometimes.”
“Indeed. How noble of you.”
He shrugged. “It does put us in a predicament, Abby.”
“I know. And I suppose I ought to figure that out soon.” Talivar had told me before that Faery wives weren’t actually expected to remain faithful . . . and neither were Faery husbands. That should have been reassuring, but it really wasn’t. And I was treading on dangerous emotional ground. Regardless of what the elf thought he believed in, I knew he would be terribly hurt at any betrayal by me.
And honestly, wouldn’t I be if he were to do the same?
I sighed. “Nothing ever gets to be easy, does it?”
“No. But life isn’t supposed to be easy. If it were, what would be the point?”
“I guess. So what now?”
“We keep dancing. And figure things out later.”
“Assuming there will be a later,” I muttered darkly. “If the Tree dies, we’re probably pretty screwed.”
“Probably,” he agreed. “In which case we can fuck like rabbits until the CrossRoads collapse.”
“What happened to being honorable?” I laughed.
“Under those circumstances, honor can go take a flying leap.” His face became sly. “If I’m going to die, might as well be while I’m between your thighs.”
“You stay classy.”
“It’s what I’m good at.”
I shook my head at him and he kissed me again, shoving me hard against the counter. “Just something to think about,” he murmured, his hand sliding over the inside of my arm.
I opened my mouth to reply and realized the store had gone completely silent. Even the iPod stopped playing. “This can’t be good.” I slipped out of Brystion’s embrace, making my way up to the front.
“Abby,” Phineas said sharply, his blue eyes filled with an odd sort of anguish.
My heart dropped.
Something bad had happened.
“What—what is it? Talivar?” I asked, stepping over a box of crystal flagons.
Nobu loomed in the doorway. His ebony wings mantled like a thick cloak behind him, his face a thundercloud.
“What are you doing here?” I frowned. Not that I would object to any additional help at this point, but . . .
I glanced down, Brystion catching my arms as I sank to my knees. In Nobu’s hands lay the familiar curve of Melanie’s violin.
Thirteen
What the hell—?” I carefully took the violin from the daemon. The weight of the wood pressed heavy in my fingers, the usual silver shimmer absent from the surface. I bit down on my lower lip. Melanie would never part from her beloved instrument, even in the direst of circumstances. I could buy that maybe she wasn’t playing it—but to leave it behind?
Given how ballistic she’d gone when it was stolen before, there wasn’t a chance in hell she’d voluntarily give it up. It was part of her soul, after all. I cradled it in my arms, staring at it as though it might somehow provide me with answers.
“Where did you find this?” I asked.
Phineas reared up on his hind legs to sniff the instrument.
“Not where I should have.” Nobu brushed into the store, booted heels whip-crack sharp upon the wooden floor.
My face grew grim as I looked at Ion. “Do we need to start looking at obituaries?”
The daemon shook his head, his words cutting. “I would know if she had passed on. That doesn’t mean she’s not in danger.” He glanced over at the violin. “If she is parted from it for too long . . .”
“So what do we do? I’ve already called everyone I know . . . I’ve got Didi scouting the streets of New York . . .” My voice trailed away, my fingers tracing the curved side of the violin. “The Dreaming. What if we tried to find her there?”
Brystion snorted. “The irony being that if I were still myself, I might be able to do it.”
“What about Sonja?”
“She never had the same sort of friendship with Melanie that I did. Without having the ‘signature,’ we can’t just arbitrarily find someone . . . and Mel wasn’t TouchStoned to anyone at the time either, so we don’t even have that.”
I eyed Brystion. “What about me?”
“What about you? You don’t have the Key anymore . . . even if you wanted to try the trick you used to before, you couldn’t.”
Which was true. When I’d worn the Key, I’d been able to tap into its potential for opening Doors nearest the thing I most wanted to find. It had been handy . . . until I inadvertently started a war between Hell and Faerie with it.
“No. Not that.” Irritated, I flicked my thigh wit
h my fingers. “I meant me, in the Dreaming.”
He blinked. “DreamWalking? I don’t know if you’d be strong enough for that. It takes so much control, Abby, and that’s something you’ve been lacking. Would you be able to push your way past those nightmares?”
“I don’t know.” Months ago, Sonja had shown me the way the Dreaming was connected . . . how people in the real world often had tenuous bonds within their dreams . . . and how such bonds could be traversed by Dreamers.
I was mostly untrained, but I’d be more than willing to give it a shot if it meant getting my best friend back. To keep her from doing something stupid, if nothing else. On the other hand . . .
Nobu’s mouth pursed. “And what happens if it doesn’t work? What happens if you fuck something up in her head?”
“Back off, Peacock.” Ion bristled beside me. “We’re doing the best we can.”
Phineas nipped my ankle. “Don’t be such dumbasses. Take Sonja with you. I’m sure she won’t lead you astray.”
I glanced at Ion. “That should work, right? She was teaching me before.”
“She was teaching you theory,” he corrected. “It’s not really the same thing.”
Nobu threw up his hands. “I have no time for this. If you find her, let me know—otherwise I’ll be out searching for her myself. Guard that violin with your life.” He whooshed out the door, a few stray feathers floating in his wake like tiny black snowflakes.
“He’s worried,” I observed.
“Nice to see you’ve retained your penchant for stating the obvious,” Phin said, snorting. “I was afraid you lost that when you died.”
“Shut up.” I nudged him away and snagged my iPod before damping the witchlights. “Come on. Let’s close up here and call Sonja . . . and then we’ll see what I can do.” We trudged outside and I tapped a combination into the wall. The Door to the Marketplace flared once and then faded away in a shower of silver.
Ion slipped his hand into mine and led me up the stairs to my apartment, Phin trotting behind us. “I wish I could help you with this,” he muttered, his voice suddenly agitated. “Messing around in the Dreaming is so dangerous for the untrained, Abby. If I was still an incubus, I could lead you there, possibly ride the link myself.”
I rewarded him with a tight smile, touching the bells in my hair. “Somehow I think you will be.”
The Dreaming was silent when I arrived after a fitful attempt to sleep. The grass had grown in my absence, tall and wild. Vines of swiftly twining greenery trailed over the iron bars of the gate, but no crickets chirped, no fireflies flew.
It was just me and the breeze and the tumbledown foundations of my old house. A part of me wanted to start creating again, forming the Dreaming into the shape that I willed, but I would need all my strength to concentrate on finding Melanie. Redecorating could come later.
I caught the faint brush of an amber shadow lurking outside, a hint of red feathers.
Sonja.
I opened the gate to let her in, giving her a tight smile.
“Are you sure you want to do this, Abby?”
I nodded. “What else can I do? I have to at least try.”
She paused, her dark eyes weighing me for a moment. “All right, then. Let’s get started. You remember the basics? How to shield?”
“Yeah.” I imagined the white light, the bubble surrounding me and pushed outward. Light as a feather and stronger than steel, a guardian of myself, made to protect me from the shadows of my nightmares.
It was something I’d never really managed to do before . . . at least, not very well. I’d always had to struggle with it, trying to wrap my mind around the odd physics of the Dreaming. Even when I’d finally gotten around to creating a tiny shield, it paled in comparison to what Ion could do . . . the way he manipulated the Dreaming to his will.
He might not have previously had a Dreaming Heart of his own, but his very essence had been of the Dreaming itself. He could bend it, warp it, wend it, draw strength from it . . . As could Sonja.
I glanced up as I realized Sonja had gone quiet, staring at me. “Where the hell did you manage to learn that?”
I was glowing with silver light. I blinked and the halo damped down. “I don’t know. When I came here last time, I had to fight through the sharks. This is what I made.”
She shook her head. “You’ve got a shitload more power now than you did before. I don’t know if dying opened up your inner channels or what, but if you’re able to produce a shield like that, you’ll have little trouble trying finding your way through the rest of the Dreaming.”
An uneasy thought twisted through my gut. “What if it’s what Ion did to me?”
“Did you manage to pry that out of him?”
“Sort of. He . . . uh . . . made me drink his dreams. It wasn’t supposed to turn him human . . . he was trying to reverse what we did before. He was trying to pull me into the Dreaming and out of Faerie.”
The succubus swore under her breath. “Idiot. You can’t do shit like that.” She swept up to me as I let the shield fall away, her fingers digging into my hair for the bells. “I knew there was more to these than a souvenir . . .” Her dark eyes bore into mine. “Whatever you do, do not lose them. You hold his life in your hair here . . . and quite possibly the only way to turn him back.”
“Balls on a string,” I muttered, and she snorted.
“To put it bluntly, yes. It’s like the essence of who he really is was trapped in them.” A sigh escaped her. “Do you remember anything of what I taught you before?”
“Yeah. Ion showed me what the whole Dreaming looked like the last time I saw him here.” And he had. The incubus had stripped away he illusory safety of my Dreaming Heart, revealing it as a single point in what I could only describe as some sort of metaphysical universe . . . each Dreaming Heart a sparkling solitary star in the darkness of the unconscious mind.
Sonja had told me that a DreamWalker could move between them. Not everyone’s, of course—but between those to whom the Dreamer had a connection. Friends. Family. TouchStones. And quite possibly enemies. What mattered was the strength of the emotional connection between them.
And Melanie was the sister of my heart.
“All right, then. You’re going to need to feel this out a bit, but once we step outside the gate, I want you to put your shields back. I’m going to lead you to the very edges of your Heart. I want you to concentrate on your feelings for Melanie. Your best memories. That sort of thing. If I can get you turned in the right direction, you’ll vibrate like a string. We get that, we can follow the path to where she is.”
“And if there’s nothing?” I hated to ask it.
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.” Her mouth twitched into a soft smile. “Let’s keep that upper lip stiff, shall we?” She linked her arm through mine and together we slipped past the gate.
I shut it carefully. No sense in letting something else inside while I was gone. Sucking in a deep breath, I pushed out again, the light of my shield illuminating the cobblestoned path before us.
Sonja made a curt nod and abruptly the gate faded away, along with the remains of my Dreaming Heart. Once again, I was plunged into darkness and shadow. In the distance I glimpsed the silhouettes of my sharks, but there was something far less sinister about them.
Maybe if I believed they had no real power over me it would be true. I ignored them and they seemed to do the same. Maybe it was a subconscious truce. Whatever it was, I’d take it.
We were rising, or the path was falling away. I couldn’t quite figure it out. Tiny pinpricks of light beamed, but they were so very far away. Sonja’s wings were outstretched and there was a feral gleam in her eyes as the light from my shield played over her skin.
I wondered if she’d fed.
She turned toward me and nodded. Trusting her to know what she was doing, I let the memories of Melanie sweep by like a river of . . . music.
Of course, what else would it be?
Notes and half-forgotten chords swirled about me . . . the piece she’d played during one of my recitals so long ago . . . the first time I’d seen her play at the Hallows, her solo slipping off into a wild cadence, dancers spinning and spinning and spinning on the dance floor. The night she took me out when I first arrived in Portsmyth . . . the way the Doors flared to life when she played, opening the CrossRoads.
Door Maker, the OtherFolk named her. Player of the Wild Music. Violin virtuoso. Street busker par excellence. Traveler of the roads. Juilliard dropout.
The names were many, but just facets. Bits and pieces of how others saw her, but none of it really came close to all that she was. For a moment I imagined how Nobu fit into the equation, if she had loved him . . . what her true ties to him had been.
But above all, she was still my friend. Red-haired. Green-eyed. A cliché of beauty and soft curves and violet tea-shades, leather corsets and combat boots. The flash of her teeth when she smiled. That odd little quirk of her brow when she found something amusing. The crooked knuckle on her left pinky. The spiral tattoo on her shoulder. The silver scar at her jawline . . . the Devil’s kiss, marking her as His.
Where are you?
I cast the thought into the Dreaming.
What did she dream of? What nightmares did she face?
But I knew the answer, didn’t I? I imagined her violin, shining silver beneath the light of the CrossRoads. I didn’t have the full details of how she’d received it, but I knew her reaction when it had been lost before.
A vibration thrummed through me, faint. The merest tickle at first, becoming sharp and frantic. The image of the violin grew stronger and more vibrant. A wave of despair washed over me, nearly driving me to my knees. My shield wavered and I lost the vibration as I tried to keep it from collapsing.
Sonja’s head jerked toward me. “There,” she murmured, her hand pointing into the darkness. “It’s coming from that direction . . . assuming what you’ve found is actually her.” The succubus’s mouth compressed. “There are mimics out there.”
“It felt like her. I think.”
