by Allison Pang
“Abby?” Charlie’s voice warbled at me from a distance, rushing down the dark corridor of my consciousness. I couldn’t move, but I could sense her by my side, grasping my shoulders.
Only a little one . . .
Seconds, minutes, hours. I never really could tell how long I stayed out during an episode, but suddenly my eyes were open, exhaustion hitting me full in the face. Charlie had laid me out on the floor, my limbs heavy and dull.
“Hey, you okay?” Charlie’s face came into focus, her dark chocolate eyes wide.
“Yeah. Just . . . tired. Want to sleep.” My eyelids sank for a moment. “Seizures always make me drowsy,” I mumbled. “Least I didn’t piss myself this time. How long was I out for?”
“A few minutes. Jesus, Abby, I thought you were getting better.”
“Happens. I’m tired. Or maybe drained is a better way of describing it. But I get them more when I’m tired.” And when you take your meds haphazardly, a snide voice reminded me. “I just need to get more sleep.”
“That could be,” she agreed, “but being a TouchStone expends energy. And you’re not just a normal TouchStone, Abby—you’re the TouchStone of the Protectorate, which is a lot more intense. Most mortals can only handle short-term Contracts, and certainly not more than one.”
“If you say so.” I rubbed at my head, ignoring her eye roll.
“Ever wonder why so many brilliant musicians and artists seem to die at such a young age?”
I blinked stupidly at her, my muddled thoughts tripping over themselves. “Too many Contracts?”
“Absolutely. OtherFolk are drawn to anyone with major talent, particularly the Fae. Sometimes they’re not overly careful about how much energy they take.”
Brystion’s words echoed in my mind for a moment, something suddenly becoming uncomfortably clear.
You’re a Dreamer, Abby. I could drink your dreams like milk.
“Yeah, yeah, I get it. The whole rainbow connection thing—the poets, the dreamers, and me. Moot point since I’m not any of those things. Not anymore. And I’m certainly not interesting enough for anyone else to want to Contract with me. Except Fuckfang.” I struggled to sit, letting Charlie pull me upright. The world tilted sideways for a moment and then straightened as I leaned against one of the stacks. I tipped my head back. “And he only thought . . . well, never mind what he thought.” I frowned. “Doesn’t matter anyway.”
I met her liquid eyes with a sour smile. “So where does this leave me? Moira’s missing. A succubus has disappeared and her horny incubus brother seems bent on trying to invade my mind.” And a unicorn is upstairs getting busy in my underwear drawer, I added silently, wondering if I should tell her I’d TouchStoned to him. I glanced at her worried face. I’d shelve it for now.
“You’re going to have to talk to Robert about this,” Charlie pointed out.
My heart tripped over itself trying to launch its way out of my throat. Robert was Moira’s personal bodyguard and her first lieutenant. Charlie was his TouchStone, but how they had come to that particular Contract I didn’t know. What I did know was that Robert swore like a sailor, drank like a fish, and still dropped his rs with a good dose of Boston pride. He had a wicked temper and guarded Moira’s interests like a hawk. For being the living embodiment of such a bundle of clichés, he also seemed to intensely dislike me, though damned if I’d ever figured out why.
“Are you sure? I didn’t think it was worth getting him involved.”
“Are you kidding me?” Her eyes grew wild for a moment. “Robert’s been in a foul mood lately, and I didn’t know why. I mean, I knew he was worried when she didn’t answer his calls, but he didn’t want to make a fuss because . . . well . . . she’s Fae, and they’re just weird. Besides, you’ve been sitting here acting as though everything was fine. He thought you’d let him know if there was something wrong.” She turned toward me, shaking her head. “Abby, why didn’t you come to us?”
I gave the other woman a helpless shrug. “She left a note. I mean, she said she’d be back. How was I supposed to know? Christ, for all the contact Robert’s had with me, they could have both taken off and I wouldn’t have known.”
“I’ve forgotten how new you are to all this,” she said. “All kidding aside, you’re in a bad position, Abby. What do you think the rest of the OtherFolk are going to do when they realize Moira isn’t here?”
“Nothing good, I’m guessing,” I said grimly.
She patted my hand thoughtfully. “I think you should take the rest of the day off. Go on upstairs and rest, but come to the Hallows tonight. I’ll make sure Robert’s there, and you two can try to figure out what the best course of action is. It wouldn’t hurt for you to be seen either. After all, if there’s something untoward going on, showing them that you’re not rattled by it couldn’t hurt.”
“Unless I get killed for it.” My lips curved into a self-mocking smile. “But I’ll be there.”
Hot stuff, Abby.” The bartender grinned broadly at me, his teeth gleaming in the amber light of the nightclub. This would have been slightly more reassuring if it weren’t for the distinctly wolfish snout pressing out from his face. His tongue lolled between sharp canines as he laughed at my expression, one hairy paw taking the ten-dollar bill I handed him. “You look damn good enough to eat, darlin’. All you need is a little red hood.”
“Not that hot, Brandon.” I stifled a groan at his words. My fingers curled around the Mudslide he pushed across the bar, smearing the condensation on the frosted mug. I let my lips drift over the straw, the heady sweetness of chocolate and Bailey’s flooding my mouth. My gaze flicked to the mirror behind the counter. No harm in checking myself out, right?
I was as dressed up as I get, in wedge-heeled, sling-back sandals and denim capris. My shirt was a cut-off, leaving my belly slightly exposed. I hadn’t worked out in ages, but years of pliés and pas de chat had left my abs with more than a hint of tautness. Maybe not as muscular as before, but I didn’t mind.
I’d pulled my hair into something more stylishly tousled, and I even brushed on a little eye shadow. Not too much though. Funny how tossing a little glitter on your eyelids suddenly looks garish when you’re standing next to a gorgeous fox-woman or an ethereal nixie. Of course, there were some real ugly creatures that hung around this place too. Not that it really mattered. Glamour or not, beautiful or hideous, the OtherFolk all had an aura of otherworldliness that the rest of us couldn’t touch.
The woman at the other end of the bar was certainly doing her damnedest though. She had hair the color of ripe chestnuts and golden skin, her dark-smudged eyes and green velvet dress giving her a sort of absinthe-Faery-meets-streetwalker vibe. She was holding court among a gaggle of vampires. They were drooling all over her, but I couldn’t tell if that was because she was an artist of some sort, or just because of the 38DD implants bolted to her chest. I shuddered.
I turned back to the werewolf and snorted. “She seems like your type, Brandon. How come you’re not trying to talk her into being your TouchStone?”
“She’s just a groupie,” he declared, licking his chops. “She’d be lovely for a few nights, I’m sure, but I’m looking for something a bit more permanent.”
“And you thought an underage girl would be the best choice?”
He winced, and his wolf ears flattened sheepishly. “I know, I know,” he sighed. “But Katy seems so . . . right. And she found this place on her own. That has to count for something, doesn’t it? Besides, she’s awfully sweet. I miss that sometimes.”
I nodded and let my gaze travel to the door. The Glamour draped like a veil at the entrance of the alley leading to the Hallows reminded me of swimming through spiderwebs of boredom and ennui. Mortals that weren’t TouchStones—or who hadn’t had their eyes opened to the OtherWorld—tended to walk on by, glances sliding away as if it didn’t exist. Inside, it was like any other bar. Smoky. Hazy. Hot and sweaty with dancers and drinkers, wingmen and fat chicks. Normal. Well, except for the poin
ted ears and fanged smiles, that is.
Up on the stage Melanie played “Last of the Wilds” by Nightwish, her hand rocking over the strings of her violin, its wood a burnished silver color beneath the lights. She twirled about like a gothic pixie, all black corset and Doc Martens.
Elves crowded the stage, whirling in a flurry of impossible colors, cheering her on with hungry eyes. For all that the OtherFolk acted so high-and-mighty around us, they certainly lapped it up when one of us shone.
Melanie was one of the brightest.
A sudden handwave caught my attention as Charlie gestured me over to her table. I held up my drink in assent and grabbed my purse. “I’ll see you around, Brandon.” His ears flicked toward me curiously as he wiped off the glass-topped bar.
“You’ll help me out then?”
“It’s the fourth one this month, dude. Maybe you should try something different.”
“Just this last time, I promise.” He blinked winsomely at me. “I really think she’s the one.”
I laughed despite myself. “Spare me the puppy-dog eyes, wolf-boy. I’ll see what I can do.”
“It’s nice to see you here again, Abby,” he said, his grin playful now. “You should stop by more often.”
“Probably.” I rewarded him with a genuine smile. Brandon was a nice sort. A little hairy for my taste, but given some of the OtherFolk quirks I’d seen, I probably could have lived with it.
I slipped through the swarm of dancers, narrowly avoiding an elbow to the jaw from a satyr dancing a rather obscene version of the Electric Slide. “Watch it,” I shouted above the hum of the music, but he simply gave me a once-over and turned away. Ouch. Rejected by a smelly goat-man. Somehow I thought I’d live, though an inopportune glance at his groin told me someone had certainly been eating his Wheaties.
“Hey there, Sparky.” Robert’s voice drawled out the rs, so it came across as “Spahhky.” I liked the way it sounded, despite the usual hostility that lingered beneath. There was a dangerous lilt to it tonight, and I struggled not to wipe my suddenly damp hands on my pants.
“Robert.” I smiled, taking another sip of my drink to mask my apprehension. As far as angels go, I suppose he was fairly typical—blond, blue eyed, broad shouldered, and well muscled. He tended to dress casually, and tonight was no exception. He cut a nice figure in his button-flys and Sean John shirt. And wings. Huge-ass, glossy white wings that stretched nearly all the way to the ground. At the moment they were neatly arched and partially folded. If they were mine I would have been worried someone might step on them, but Robert gave off an aura of “don’t touch” that apparently translated between realms. Of course, the fact that he had full authority from Moira to smite anything he damn well pleased probably had a lot to do with it.
“Charlie tells me there’s an . . .” He paused, the words crisp and specific. “An issue.”
I swallowed another mouthful of Mudslide, squirming beneath the sharpness of his gaze. “I don’t know if it’s really an issue. Moira just didn’t tell me when she was coming back.” I struggled to keep my smile. “Honestly, I just thought it was something she did.”
“Ah well, sure. And she does disappear from time to time, usually to take care of things in Faery, but she’s always been good about letting me know beforehand. This is worrisome.” He chugged his beer and fixed his jewel-bright eyes on me again. “You say you haven’t heard from her at all?”
I pulled the piece of parchment from my purse and slid it over to him. “Just this note. But she didn’t mention anything about telling you or if she was in trouble. I’m sorry. I thought you knew.”
“Hold back the fort?” He snorted. “The Fae never get anything right.” His sizable bulk pressed across the table and his voice dropped low. “I don’t like it. This whole thing just stinks, especially given what happened with her last TouchStone.”
Charlie nudged him with her elbow. “Bobby,” she hissed. “You don’t need to get into that.”
A cold shiver ran down my spine at her words. I wasn’t completely ignorant of the situation, but I’d never gotten a straight answer from anyone on it. “Get into what? What happened with her last TouchStone?”
Charlie raked a steely gaze over the angel, and he had the good sense to hastily resume nursing his beer. I swallowed a laugh. That had been a “no nookie tonight” look if I’d ever seen one. She sipped her Cosmopolitan before glancing over at me. A typical stalling tactic and we both knew it. “We don’t know, actually. He’d been with Moira for years. They were really close.” Her eyes darted toward the angel. “Like us.”
Lovers.
“A permanent Contract?” I raised my brows. “I didn’t think Moira was the type. Besides, she damn near bit my head off when she found out about my little . . . indiscretion with Jett. Why would she get involved with her TouchStone?”
The angel snorted, sliding his empty bottle toward the center of the table. “Hypocrites, the lot of them. There’s not a damn Faery in the world that doesn’t talk sideways out of their mouth; Moira is no exception. Don’t get me wrong”—he held up a hand as I started to bristle—“she’s been a great Protectorate, but she’s as flighty as the rest of them. As far as what happened to Maurice . . .” He shrugged. “Nobody knows. One day they were as thick as thieves and the next . . . gone.”
“We always figured it was some sort of lovers’ quarrel, but we never dreamed she’d break the Contract.” Charlie bit her lip. “It was the eight-hundred-pound gorilla in the room, Abby. He’d been with her for years. And the next thing we knew, you showed up and . . . well, you didn’t really seem to know anything at all. We didn’t know what to think.”
I focused on the MudSlide resting between my knees; Brystion’s words to me about my ignorance the night before were suddenly becoming clear. “And I’m just a straw horse, is that it? A shadow replacement for the status quo?” The words rang hollow in my mouth, the bitter truth leaving an aftertaste of shame and bile.
“That’s not it, Abby, but even you have to admit things don’t add up. Why would she replace such a loyal companion with . . . well, you? You’re perfectly lovely, but if she was going to be gone for such an extended period, she probably should have had a TouchStone with more experience.”
“I didn’t ask for this,” I reminded them, ignoring the dagger slice of betrayal that lanced through my gut. “I didn’t know what I was getting into when I signed the Contract. I didn’t even know what a TouchStone was, let alone what the duty entailed. And I sure as fuck didn’t think I’d be stuck doing it all alone.”
“I know.” Charlie reached out to squeeze my arm. “Unfortunately, declaring ignorance isn’t going to help right now. We didn’t realize she had left you without any resources.”
Robert’s head snapped toward me. “You’ve been running the Marketplace by yourself all this time?”
“Well, it’s not like there’s anyone else lining up for the job, now is there?” I retorted.
“You should have come to us. To me.” His hand slammed on the table, the empty bottle tipping on its side. “That’s what I’m here for.”
I bared my teeth at him and then bit down hard on the straw. “Really? Because somehow I don’t see you stooping to scrub the hoof prints off the hardwood floor of the Marketplace.”
He shot me a piercing look, ignoring my last comment. “I’m going to have to insist that you curb your activities for a while until we can see about getting you some kind of bodyguard.”
“What if I don’t want to?” I frowned at him. “I’m not some kind of child; this is my life too, you know.”
“You’re our last link to Moira,” he said. “I don’t know what happens if something happens to you.”
Charlie reached out and gently stroked his arm. “We’ll figure it out. You know we will.” Her eyes were full of sympathy and pride, gentle with sorrow.
I could only nod, turning away as my senses reeled with this latest impact. Apparently I was responsible not only for the existenc
e of my TouchStone mistress, but for that of everyone else attached to her. “What do you know about unicorns?” I asked randomly.
“Unicorns are from the Light Path. They can’t be corrupted.” The angel shifted, leaning across the table, as I struggled not to let out a bark of laughter.
“Oh the humanity,” I muttered. “Listen, I really think we should take—” My words were cut off, drowned by the strum of an electric guitar wailing over the speakers. All attention snapped toward the stage, suddenly gone dark as the houselights dimmed. A spotlight pointed at the center, its silver light pooling over the scuffed dance floor, shining off the condensation on my glass.
Melanie appeared, pushing back a few damp strands of hair from her forehead. She smiled, her teeth glinting, as she stared out into the crowd. I felt a twinge of homesickness, watching her. My heart ached, remembering how it felt to be the core interest of a venue, the way the lights partially blinded you, but you didn’t care because you knew you were the reason they were there.
She curtsied at the wave of catcalls and cleared her throat, tapping the microphone with her violin bow. “Ladies and gents, mortal and Other, I have the distinct pleasure of introducing an old favorite, in his first performance since Ion’s Folly disbanded.” There was a murmur of excitement at this, a rumbling wave of anticipation.
Robert snorted next to me. “Tool.”
“Hush,” Charlie hissed, elbowing him in the shoulder. The angel’s face hardened, and he crossed his arms. I missed whatever else Melanie said in the little exchange, but it didn’t really matter because in the next instant the lights flooded the stage as Brystion appeared to a screaming wave of applause.
The incubus basked in it, a sly smile on his face. He clearly nodded to a few patrons, resulting in definite female voices squealing out his name. “What’s the big deal?” I shouted to Charlie over the din.
