by Allison Pang
His shoulder tightened beneath my fingers. “No. Look closer at her wings,” he snarled. “She’s dying.”
“Are you sure?”
“I know what death looks like, Abby, and I sure as hell don’t need you to patronize me about it.” He gestured at the painting. “She’s losing her feathers. That means she’s running out of energy.” He bared his teeth at me. “They’re starving her.”
His upper lip curled harshly as he turned to Michelle. “I want you to get that two-bit hack of an artist out here. Now.” His words snapped like the crack of bones beneath a boot heel.
Michelle started, her face flushing. “I’m sorry . . . Mister . . . Ion, but that’s not possible right now. I’m afraid he’s out for the day.”
“Ah.” I stepped smoothly between them, my hand tightening on his arm in warning. “Do you think maybe you could tell us who commissioned this fabulous painting?”
Her face shuttered. “That’s private. The buyer wishes to remain anonymous. It is not our policy to give out that sort of information.”
“Well, it’s just that I was thinking I might like to buy it instead. I sat for Topher myself, you know.” I pointed to the mermaid painting, dazzling her with my most charming smile. Admittedly, I’m not that charming, but I figured I’d give it a shot.
Michelle gave me a withering look, the dazed light in her eyes fading away as she focused on me. “How nice for you,” she muttered, her gaze flicking to the mermaid and then back at me. “We don’t give that information out,” she repeated, the words mechanical, rote. “I will tell Mr. Fitzroy that you stopped by.”
Brystion gave me a sideways look. “This sounds fami-liar.”
“Yeah, well, just look at how well it’s turned out for you,” I retorted as he turned toward the other paintings. He didn’t acknowledge my words and that pissed me off even more. Michelle made another little sniff. “What?” I snapped, tapping my watch. “By my reckoning you’re open and it’s a free country, so don’t get your panties all in a bunch.”
“You’re horribly rude,” she said primly. “I shall be sure to inform Mr. Fitzroy that he has absolutely dreadful taste in models.”
“You do that.” I rolled my eyes at her. “Thanks for your help. Not,” I whispered beneath my breath as she swished away. Brystion was staring at my painting, shoulders rigid. “You gonna be okay?” I slid behind him.
He shook his head. “It’s something to do with these paintings,” he muttered. “I can feel it. It’s all wrong.” He turned to me abruptly. “When did you say you sat for him?”
“I didn’t, but it was a few months ago.” I frowned, taking a closer look at my picture. There didn’t seem to be anything particularly different in it. I was still there, complete with fish tail, complete with ship. Complete with deadly promises.
“What is it?”
“There.” I shuddered, my fingers trembling as I pointed at the darkest corner of the painting. “Do you see that?”
“It’s a shark.” He reached out to trace the edges of the shadowy figure. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the perfect triangle of the dorsal, bitterly edged like a knife. I sucked in a deep breath, my wrist to my lips as I turned away. He looked at me sharply. “Like your nightmares?”
My arms wrapped about my shoulders as I pushed the rising panic away. “Hell, you were there last night.”
“You’re suppressing something,” he said. “And it’s manifesting in the form of a shark.”
“You a doctor now?” The scowl crept over my face before I could stop it. “I don’t care what the fuck it is, Brystion, I just want it to stop.”
He swore softly. “What about the other ones?”
I pushed past the incubus, and bit my lip. “Melanie’s looks about the same. I don’t really see anything different about it.” I glanced over at the other one. “The Angel’s Charlie,” I snorted. Charlie was still there, seated in a feather-strewn bedroom, her eyes dark and sad. An open window looked out on a moonlit sea, a ship silhouetted against the starry sky. The curtains lifted as though the wind was blowing. “Not very original, is it?”
“I could have told you that,” Brystion said. “But I agree. I don’t think this one looks any different from the other night.” His lips pressed together grimly. “But yours . . .” Our gazes met and a pinch of fear lined his eyes. “Why did you sit for him?”
“I already told you. Topher wanted to do a TouchStone series. It was his way of coming back to the business, I guess.”
“Coming back? What the fuck would he be coming back from?”
I shrugged. “From what I understand, he got really sick. I’ve heard rumors of everything from hep C to AIDS, but who knows? He’d come into the bookstore every once in a while and chat up Moira. Maybe buy an old art book or two. He seemed harmless, but there was an air about him, like he just expected to die, you know?”
My mind wandered for a moment, thinking of how the artist had always had a smile when he came to see us. His face may have been gaunt, but his eyes were large and bright. Sometimes he would tease Moira with little sketches, capturing her face in enigmatic expression, poignant and beautiful. “And then one day he dropped by, maybe two months after I got to Portsmyth, and it was like a cloud had been lifted,” I continued. “I couldn’t have told you what it was, but he seemed lighter, more relaxed. Almost younger, even. He asked if I would mind sitting for him. He said he wanted to capture the inner light of what made a TouchStone.”
Brystion’s head snapped down at me. “He wanted to what?”
“Capture our inner light,” I said, feeling foolish. “Whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean. I figured it was just some sort of artistic jargon.”
“I’m surprised Moira would allow it, if he phrased it like that.”
“Ah, well.” I looked away. “Moira was gone by then, Brystion. This was just something the three of us decided to do on our own.”
“How long ago was that again?”
“Just under four months, I guess.” I added the weeks on my fingers. “Yeah, that sounds about right. Why?”
He turned back to the curtained painting of his sister. “Because that’s when the first succubus disappeared,” he snarled. He turned abruptly, tapping his fingers together.
“How many of them were there?” I asked.
“Three that I know of, but like I said, it took us a while to figure out the pattern.”
“Where did you find the . . . bodies?” Indelicate, maybe, but I didn’t think he was going to volunteer the information directly.
“The Dreaming,” he said shortly. “We are born from it and that’s where we go when we die.” The incubus paused, his face troubled. “They were . . . husks. As though they’d been sucked dry. And they disintegrated at our touch.”
“So there wouldn’t have been any direct evidence that you could have taken to Moira as proof,” I mused.
He shook his head grimly. “None other than our word.”
“Shit.” The lines were adding up here, and I didn’t like it one bit. “So now what?” I glanced back at the eggplant. She tapped at her watch and then pointed to the door. Clearly, we’d worn out our welcome. “We have to go.”
“I hope you have a pleasant day.” The eggplant’s lips twisted sourly.
“Oh, no doubt,” I rumbled back at her. Polite obviously wasn’t working. “Listen, if Topher gets in later today, could you please tell him to give Abby Sinclair a call? I really need to talk with him.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” She crossed her arms, and I knew she wouldn’t do anything of the sort. Brystion’s eyes lit up and he took a step toward her.
“Knock that shit off,” I snapped. “We’ll find another way.”
Without waiting for a reply, I pushed past him. My arm swung wide behind me, my watch snagging the cloth of one of the nearby paintings leaning against the wall. Shaking my hand, I hissed in irritation as the sheet pulled away. “I’m sorry. Let me just put this back.” I stooped to ret
rieve it and I froze, the cloth falling from my fingers.
Moira’s elven face stared back at me, her crystalline eyes piercing. I had only a moment before the eggplant shoved me out of the way, quickly covering the open corner. “Get out now,” she snapped. “Before you cause real damage to something.” Gesturing at one of the beefcakes who’d just emerged from the back, she pointed at the painting. “Please get this on the truck with the others.”
Where the hell had that painting come from? Surely it hadn’t been part of the original display? I glanced up at Brystion. He’d seen it too, or at least seen my reaction. I shook my head at him as his gaze slid thoughtfully toward Michelle again.
“Let’s go.” This time I made it through the rolling glass doors and into the waiting sunlight, the incubus at my heels.
He jogged into my shoulder. “What the hell was that all about? It worked the first time, didn’t it? I could have had that woman eating out of my hand.”
“Is that how it works, then? You just seduce people to your will? Is that how it’s going to be between us?”
“That’s disgusting,” he snorted, his face ripe with offense. “You’re my TouchStone. That would break the Contract.”
“Oh, yes. It’s all about that Contract, isn’t it? Which we don’t actually have,” I pointed out. “How convenient for you.” I pushed the hair from my forehead, trying to figure out how to get this conversation back on track. “Look, I know I have no claim on you. But doing that—” I gestured back at the gallery. “I don’t know. It just seems wrong.”
His eyes blazed for a moment, his lips pulled back in a feral, mocking semblance of a smile. “Don’t you tell me what’s wrong, Abby. I will do what I have to do to save my sister. If Glamouring a few old biddies into thinking I’ll have sex with them is what does it, you’d damn well better believe I will. I am what I am.” His hand ran down his chest, pressing lightly against the cotton shirt. “And I will not pretend to be otherwise simply to sooth your morals or your mind. I do what I have to in order to survive—no more, no less.”
I stared at him, taken aback by the impassioned onslaught. “All right,” I said slowly, suddenly feeling like the Pensivies in front of Aslan’s tent. “Not a tame lion. I get it. Let’s just get back to figuring out what’s going on, shall we?” Inside, my mind was gibbering on and on about the unholy mess I was making of things, but I pushed the noise away. “I don’t suppose you happened to see that painting of Moira on the floor there.”
He exhaled, his shoulders dropping. “I saw. What do you make of it?”
“I don’t know. I certainly didn’t see it there last night.” I chewed on my lower lip as I tried to remember the tiny bit of detail that I’d seen. The flowered light switch on the wall . . . I snapped my fingers. “Her office. It looked like she was sitting in her office. Back at the Pit,” I explained. “She has one there for some of the more domestic type stuff.”
I’d never gone in there without Moira, and certainly not since she’d left. There hadn’t been a reason to. “Did you hear what I said?” Brystion was staring back at the gallery, distant.
“Yes,” he said absently. “Let’s go take a look at that truck out back. Maybe we can figure out where it’s going.”
“Or hitch a ride in the back?” I said it lightly, but my stomach churned at the notion. Part of my Contract with Moira stipulated that I couldn’t leave the borders of the city. The results of disobeying were bound to be unpleasant. “Why don’t you just Glamour yourself like you did the other day in the bookstore? You could find out that way.”
His face shuttered. “Not possible right now. They’ve already seen me. It will be too hard to confuse their minds directly in the daylight like this. Come on. We’re going to have to do this the old-fashioned way.” He slipped his arm through mine, strolling us casually down the steps and around the block. I risked a glance back at the glass doors, but there was no sign of the eggplant.
I sighed heavily as we rounded the corner, just in time to see the back of a moving van pull away from the loading dock. MIGHTY MOVERS was painted on the side in faded red letters. “Well, crap.”
“That’s about right,” he muttered, his eyes boring into the metallic plating of the back as though he might burn a hole in it.
I squinted at the license plate. “It’s a local truck. We might be able to call around and see if we can find out where they rented it from. In the meantime, we can check Moira’s office for any information that would indicate where she is. Assuming there’s any sort of connection.”
“There is. I’d stake my life on it.”
“Well, let’s just hope it doesn’t come to that.” I started back down the alley. “Truthfully, it’s not you I’m so much worried about as your ass. It’s like the Eighth Wonder of the World or something. Be a shame to deprive future generations of Dreamers, don’t you think?” My stomach rumbled. “Come on, I’m starving.”
A snort escaped him. “Nice to know you care.”
I patted my belly and shrugged. “Yeah, well. A girl’s gotta have priorities.”
About time you showed up.” Katy scowled at me from the stoop of the Pit. “You’re late.” She was draped over the steps of the stoop with the boneless grace of a teenager, all petulant angst and impatience.
“It’s not exactly like I’ve got a line around the block to buy a pallet of Time-Life books, now is it?” I retorted, digging into my pockets for the keys to unlock the front door, juggling the remainder of my sandwich in my hands. “I had things I needed to do this morning. It happens.”
“But I have questions and I—” Her voice dropped when she saw Brystion, her eyes widening. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you had a guest.”
I rolled my eyes as the incubus turned a full-wattage smile on her, stunning her into a dreamy sort of silence. For some reason this didn’t irritate me nearly as much as I would have thought.
The door opened with a grunt, the lower corner swollen from the humidity. I propped it open with a stack of ancient hardcovers and sighed when the breeze fluttered through to blow away the dusty smell. “That ought to do it.” I headed behind the counter, starting to organize the few things Charlie had left from the day before.
Katy’s giggles rippled from the front and I peered over the stacks to see her perched on one of the reading chairs, hanging on to whatever story Brystion was telling. I cleared my throat, gesturing to the back of the store when I caught his gaze.
“Guess that’s your cue,” he said, winking at her.
“Don’t hurt yourself,” I muttered.
Katy sauntered up to the counter, the book of poetry resting in the crook of her arm. She had a strut that would make men weep, all hips and ass and long legs and short shorts. She made it seem effortless. A mild twinge of envy swept over me and I frowned. What the hell was wrong with me today?
“Did you like the book?”
She shook her head, setting it gently on the counter. “I didn’t get it at all. There’s nothing in here about a fourth Path.” Her eyes narrowed indignantly. “I think you just gave me this book to get rid of me.”
“Never,” I murmured, somehow managing to keep a straight face. “Honestly, the information on how to get to the CrossRoads really is in there . . . you just need to figure it out.”
“You’re lying.”
“No, actually she’s not.” Brystion’s dark voice glided up behind us in a silken wave of desire. My legs trembled in response and I was very glad I’d worn a longer skirt today. Katy jumped, her jaw dropping as she turned to stare at him, clearly as affected by the rush of power as I was.
“He’s . . . you . . . you’re OtherFolk,” she finally gasped.
“Ding, ding! We have a winnah!” He tapped the counter in emphasis.
“But . . . I thought . . . I thought you only could appear at the four Hours.”
“You thought wrong, then.” He glanced over at me in amusement. “Where’d you find this one, Abby? She’s even more ignorant th
an you are.”
“You say the most romantic things,” I said, a flush crossing my cheeks. “And you’re being an ass. Go wait in the storage area. I’ll be back in a minute.”
His eyes lit up with a wicked twinkle as he sauntered past us, one hand drifting behind him to trail lazily over my hip. I snorted in bemusement as he disappeared into the storeroom.
Katy uncrossed her arms. “He’s a real jerk, you know that? You can do better.”
“So I’ve been told.” I glanced at her thoughtfully. “You know how to make change?”
She blinked, puzzled. “Sure. Why?”
I tossed her my name tag. “You’re me for the next few hours. Think you can handle it? We only take cash, so it should be pretty easy.”
“What, run the store so you can go off and get busy with the walking orgasm?”
“I heard that,” a dark voice echoed sourly from the back. There was a heartbeat of silence and then a sigh. “Even if it is true.”
“I think you’re getting the better end of the bargain,” I muttered. “But I’ve got some things I have to do, and this way we both win.”
She crossed her arms. “And what do I get out of it?”
“What you wanted. Watch the store for me now and I’ll take you to the Hallows tonight.”
“Seriously?”
“Scout’s honor,” I promised, trying not to look back over my shoulder. “Brandon’s been asking about you, actually.”
Her cheeks pinked prettily. “Well, in that case . . .” She fastened the name tag to her shirt and smiled. “Hi, my name is Abby. How can I help you today?”
“Perfect. Here.” I dug my iPod out of my purse and hooked it up to the speakers. “It’s . . . um . . . enchanted. Just tell it what you want to listen to and it will play for you.”
“Whoa.” A grin split her face. “Now we’re talking.”
I headed back to where Brystion had disappeared as BuckCherry’s “Crazy Bitch” suddenly crackled through the sound system. Maybe not the best choice for enticing customers, but I wasn’t going to argue. “Just call for me if you need anything; otherwise, prices are noted on the books.”
