by Allison Pang
“One does one’s best,” I agreed, taking a bite.
“Shit,” she sighed as her phone started ringing. “Give me a sec.” She flipped open the purple RAZR. “Moshi-moshi,” she quipped, her face shadowing within seconds. “Ah, yes, just a moment.” She held out the phone to me. “Speak of the devil, it’s Topher. He said you weren’t answering your cell.”
“I didn’t have time to grab my phone this morning.” I held it to my ear. It smelled faintly of cinnamon lip gloss. “Hello?”
“Abby? I need to talk to you.” Topher’s voice was low and furtive.
“I tried to stop by the Gallery yesterday, but your . . . assistant wasn’t all that helpful.”
“She told me,” he said gruffly. “But I’ve been kind of indisposed.”
“That’s fine, but Christ, Topher, things are getting serious. There’s something wrong with those paint—”
“Hush. Listen to me, Abby, and listen very carefully. Stop poking around. You’re going to get into some seriously bad shit if you don’t.”
“You know something.” My voice was quiet, surprised.
The line went dead for a moment and I would have thought he had hung up if not for the heavy breath rattling through the earpiece. “Can you meet me tonight? Somewhere safe?”
I glanced over my shoulder, waving everyone into silence. “Okay,” I said, “Come by the Marketplace. It’s as safe as anything else, and I’ve got research to do.”
Another pause. “All right. I’ll try. But I think they’re watching me. Don’t trust anyone. There are spies on all sides.”
“Erm. Okay?”
“I have to go. I’ll see you later.” He hung up with an eerie little click, like in the movies where you know the big bad is just lurking around somewhere. I handed the phone back to Melanie.
“Is everything all right? You look pretty pale.”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” It was a blatant lie, but she didn’t push the issue. “You gonna swing by tonight?” I left my tone casual, but anyone who really knew me would have understood the message beneath. I needed her watching my back.
“Of course,” she said airily. Her smile never made it past her mouth.
“We’ll find Charlie,” I promised, grabbing her wrist. “We’ll find them all.”
“I hope so.” She nodded at me and exhaled with a slow hiss. “I need to go cancel my gig tonight, but I’ll catch up with you at the Marketplace later.”
“You promise too much,” Brystion murmured to me as Melanie walked away. His voice tickled the back of my neck, but that didn’t stop the frown I slanted at him.
“Well, it’s better than the alternative.” I thrust the feathers at him. “Here. You might be a better custodian for these.” He let them slip between his fingers, the crimson edges sparkling in the witchlight like dried blood.
“Do we really have time for this?” Phineas’s horn brushed my ankle. “Honestly, children.” The unicorn glared up at me and I sighed.
“This isn’t finished,” I said softly, pinning Brystion with my gaze.
He nodded, a light circle of gold flaring about his pupils. His jaw tightened. “When you’re done with Topher, let me know. I’ve a few things to tell him myself.”
“Just remember, he’s our only real link to what’s going on,” I muttered dryly. “He won’t be of much use to us if he’s unconscious.”
“Says you,” he retorted. “I’ll bury my way into his goddamned dreams if I have to.”
“If you could do that”—I raised a brow at him—“why haven’t you?”
He scowled. “Well, for one thing, I can’t find him in the Dreaming. He doesn’t burn brightly enough. And for another, I’ve been a bit busy, if you haven’t noticed. Mostly trying to save your ass.”
“Not like you’ve been doing that out of complete altruism,” I pointed out.
“No,” he admitted. He moved closer, his fingers creeping between mine. I stiffened and then folded them into my hand. “No regrets,” he whispered.
A jolt of electricity ran down my spine. The rest of his words hovered unspoken. I laughed shakily, ignoring Phin’s eye roll. “No.” Whatever else was coming along, I couldn’t deny that there was something growing between us. I wouldn’t have called it love, exactly. I mean, shit, it had only been a few days, but the TouchStone bond was mighty intimate. And ours wasn’t even a contractual one at that. On the other hand, I wasn’t so stupid as to pin a “might be” on anything as fragile as dream sex and metaphysical orgasms. Time would have to reveal the rest. I squeezed his hand, enjoying his warmth.
“You’re not to leave my side, understand? Unless Robert is with you. Come on.” He tugged me back toward our little cluster of allies. “Let’s go get you recharged.” Wearily, I clung to his hand like it was the only solid thing left in my world.
Nothing. Not a damned thing.” I slumped against the wall, tempted to toss the latest tome across the room. The Marketplace was subdued tonight. Apparently news of Charlie’s disappearance and my required presence at the Hearing had traveled through the CrossRoads on the wings of a burning butterfly. The few customers that had shown up were only there to gawk; my Gypsy friend hadn’t even made an appearance. I felt a slight pang at seeing his corner empty, but I couldn’t blame him. He hadn’t looked too happy about being at the Judgment Hall, and probably with good reason.
I sighed, tossing the next pile of books on the floor, watching as they thudded next to Brystion’s leg. The incubus had set himself up behind the counter, sorting through the indexes as fast as I could pass them to him. “This is hopeless,” I said. “Forget needle in the haystack. This is like a needle in a vat of silver toothpicks.”
Melanie shifted beside Brystion to pick up another book on trompe l’oeil. “If I ever read one more alternate ending to Dorian Gray it will be too soon. There has to be more than this. Are you sure that’s the last of it?”
I chuckled, but there wasn’t any humor in the sound. “This is everything I could find about magic paintings that I couldn’t Google. And where the hell is Topher?” I glanced at my watch. “It’s almost one A.M. as it is. If we don’t leave the store by then we’ll be stuck here until it opens again tomorrow.”
“Is that how it works?” Brystion traced his fingers on the counter.
I flushed. “I’m not entirely sure, but believe me, I have no desire to spend a full twenty-four hours here again. I’ve done it once and that was plenty.”
His mouth curled. “You’re going to have to tell me that story, one of these days.”
“Not that exciting, really.” I glanced at my iPod, cheerfully chugging away to Amy Winehouse’s “You Know I’m No Good” before changing over to Stevie Wonder’s “Superstition.” Somehow terribly apt and not overly reassuring. “What about magical paint?” I tapped on a page that told a Chinese legend of a boy and his enchanted paintbrush.
“We’re doomed,” Melanie groaned. “There’s no way we can possibly try to come up with every variation of curse or spell that could be used with all the stuff here.”
I grabbed a handful of peanut M&M’s from the candy dish on the counter. “So this is pretty much a waste of time, isn’t it? I mean, do we actually have any real idea of what we’re looking for?”
Phineas opened an eye from where he was dozing on the corner of the counter. “Duh. No. Whose bright idea was this?”
“Mine,” Brystion snarled back. “Why hasn’t that shit-head artist come by yet?”
I stared at my watch. It was 12:50. Shit. “And obviously too late to try to go to the studio. Unless you want to try breaking in.”
Melanie rolled her eyes. “I hardly think we’re in any shape for that. I’m practically passing out as it is.”
“Well, it has been a rather long day,” I said, my voice dry. Of course, I’d had the benefit of a four-hour nap and a plate of chicken parmesan, so it sounded easy enough. “But what other choice do we have?” Before she could answer, the cell phone at my side vibrated gently
against my hip. I flipped it open, not recognizing the number.
“Hello?”
“Abby? It’s me.”
“Topher? Where the hell are you?”
“I can’t talk, Abby. I won’t be by tonight. I can’t . . . I can’t get away. Where will you be tomorrow?” His voice was hoarse and tight, just like before, like he was whispering in a dark corner.
“The Hallows. We’ll all be there, actually.”
“I’ll be there.” His tone grew urgent. “If I can’t, you need to tell him—” The phone went dead.
“Tell who what?” I repeated stupidly. “Tell who what? Fuck!” I slammed the phone shut. “He’s not coming.”
“The hell he’s not.” Brystion shot to his feet. “I’m going to go find that asshole right now.”
“No,” Phineas snapped, rising to his hooves, “you’re not. You’re going to take Abby upstairs and guard her ass. And make sure she sleeps.”
“Excuse me?” All eyes turned as a cloaked figure peered through the doorway, scaled feet sparking against the stone. The hood fell away when he approached the register to reveal my would-be daemon savior of the night before. I blinked. “TartBarbie?”
“Brigadun,” the daemon hissed at me. “TB is just my handle online.”
Brystion shot me a withering look. “Let me guess. You’re TouchStoned to him too?”
“Oh, no,” the daemon said brightly. “Nothing like that. I just tried to kill her.” He held up a clawed hand as Brystion started to close in. “Aw, come on, dude. It was a job. I’m here on good faith.”
“How convenient. Where are the others?”
Brigadun shrugged. “Rayo and Turnip got away, but they’re hurt real bad. Thanks to the angel’s handiwork, I’m thinking. He’s pretty righteous with that sword, you know.” His voice became dreamy. “He’d be great at DPS.” The daemon frowned, looking at Brystion, and inched backward. “And Hzule wasn’t looking too good either.”
“Not having a throat will do that,” Brystion said dryly. “Why are you here?”
Brigadun shuffled toward us, throwing something onto the counter. It was his mercenary badge, the same symbol on it as the one Brystion had found earlier. “I’m quitting the job.”
I stared at it. “Where is Maurice?”
“I don’t know. I only ever met him once and he didn’t show his face,” Brigadun said. “We were just supposed to capture you. Alive,” he added, his face somewhat apologetic. “But I don’t want to do that anymore.”
“First daemon to say that,” I muttered. “What do you want?”
“Just to be left alone and go back to the way things were.” He fidgeted with his cloak. “I mean, I’m all for a little tank and spank, but I kinda prefer a pixel death to the real thing.”
“Less mess that way, I suppose,” Melanie deadpanned, eyeing him curiously. “You’re a funny sort of daemon.”
He flashed her a grin. “You have no idea, babe. Anyway, as I was saying, I’m leaving town for a bit. I just wanted to make sure there weren’t any hard feelings.”
My eyes narrowed. “And they just let you go?”
He smirked. “Oh, no. Once they found out I’d set you free, they decided to kill me. Technically, I’m due to be executed in, oh”—he glanced down at his watch—“about fifteen minutes. So with that in mind, I’d kind of like to get out of here.”
I exchanged a glance with Melanie. This whole thing smelled like a setup, but the idea of trying to take him hostage didn’t really appeal to me either. If he really was being hunted, it was probably unlikely that the other daemon mercenaries would give two figs if we captured him. On the other hand . . .
“Give us something we can use first. If you can’t tell us where Maurice is, what can you tell us?” I popped another M&M. “I don’t suppose you know anything about magical paintings?”
The daemon shifted uncomfortably, pulling on the sharpest horn hanging from his chin. “There’s a garage across town that Maurice was using for storage. I can tell you where that is.”
“You mean you can show us.” Brystion glowered at him from where he was leaning against the counter. “That way, if we discover you’re just feeding us bullshit, I can beat you senseless right there. Saves me the trouble of hunting you down,” he added pleasantly.
“Erm, yeah. Okay. I can do that.”
I glanced down at my watch. “Crap, guys—we gotta go or we won’t be doing anything until tomorrow night. Come on.” I pushed the rest of the books hastily into a corner and snagged my iPod, herding everyone out the door as fast as I could. “Not that I don’t enjoy everyone’s company, but all things considered, I’d like a bed tonight.”
“Me too,” Brystion leered, his eyes flashing gold for a moment.
“Is that all you ever think about?”
“Incubus,” he pointed out, tapping his chest.
“Yeah, yeah,” I muttered, my fingers brushing the stone wall as the door disappeared. The moon was full tonight, illuminating everything in a wash of silver. It made the proud edge of Ion’s jaw gleam beneath his lips. I had the sudden urge to kiss it. “So what now?” I dialed Robert’s cell, texting him when he didn’t answer. Might as well let him know we were on to a lead.
Melanie rubbed her elbows in the evening chill. “How far away is this garage? Walking distance?”
“Yeah, maybe a mile or so,” Brigadun admitted.
Phineas snorted. “I vote for a cab. I’ve got short legs, you know.”
“Seconded,” Melanie said.
“Not going to let me carry you?” I said it jokingly, but the unicorn stiffened.
“I’m not a Chihuahua, you know.”
“You hump my leg like one,” I retorted. “But in either case, I’m not sure the cabs are running this late. You might just have to hitch a ride in my purse.”
I turned back to Brigadun, blinking as I realized he’d thrown on a Glamour. Innocent blue eyes gazed up at me, framed by beautiful blond curls. Great. A cross-dressing daemon? Her boobs would have poked my eyes out if she had been any taller. “And here I thought you were going to try to attract less attention.”
I scooped up Phineas and tucked him into my purse with minimum fuss. Together, the five of us slipped out of the courtyard and down the street, letting Brigadun take the lead.
The night air was chilly, but my blood was thrumming with the possibility of finding answers and that shook off any chance of being cold. Melanie’s arm slipped through mine on the right. I couldn’t help but feel strangely grateful at the act, as our shoes tapped in time on the sidewalk. Brystion loomed behind us, his power uncoiling like a cloak of shadow as we passed the quiet brownstones and elegant town houses. The gentrification of past generations gleamed like ghosts in the streetlights.
We were moving away from the center of the tourist areas, though I thought I could hear the bass of a local club in the distance. Tall trees lined the streets, old oaks and graceful beeches, their leaves rustling in the breeze.
Brigadun hung back at one point to wait for us to catch up, eyeing Melanie’s violin case with interest. “You’re the Door Maker, aren’t you? The one who won the bet with—”
“Yes,” Melanie interjected, cutting him off with a warning look. “I am. And I don’t like to talk about it.”
“Sorry.” He dropped her an abashed smile. “That’s a pretty neat trick though. What’s the secret?”
Melanie frowned at him, shifting as though to pull the violin farther away from him. “There is no secret. I have synesthesia,” she said finally. “Or some form of it.”
The daemon blinked. “You have what? Is it contagious?”
“I see music,” she said, her jaw tensing. “Notes appear to me as colors.” Her fingers crept up to the violinist’s mark beneath her chin, rubbing it violently.
Brigudun looked at her blankly, opening his mouth to speak. I shook my head at him. “Like musical Skittles. You know, taste the rainbow? Same sort of thing.” I squeezed her arm and she sighed,
giving me a tight smile. I had learned about that particular quirk back at Juilliard, but I hadn’t realized it tied in to her ability to make Doors.
Secrets upon secrets, and nothing I was willing to press her on just now.
At last we came to a run-down Victorian, the front porch decaying and decadent against a wall of ivy. “You’re sure this is the place?” Not that it didn’t look suitably spooky, but it just seemed terribly obvious. As if on cue, a loose shutter creaked ominously, tapping against the house.
“Yeah,” Brigadun muttered, shifting from one foot to the other. “We only came here once or twice. It’s haunted.”
Melanie glanced back at the house with interest. “Really? Too bad we don’t have Charlie with us.” She stilled, as though she’d just realized what she’d said.
“Exorcist?” Brigadun said, impressed.
“No, she just has an affinity for the . . . dead, I guess.”
“Let’s go,” I said gruffly. In truth, my knees were starting to quake, scenes from horror flicks rattling through my brain. The sort where you just know the heroine is too stupid to live. And yet, here we were.
But I wasn’t alone. Phineas squirmed beneath my arm to poke his head out from the purse. “What a dump.”
Brigadun gestured at us, raising his finger to her lips, crouching through a hole in the picket fence. It would have been pretty with a fresh coat of paint, but it had been left to sag and fade, rotting away from the inside. Melanie followed the daemon and then I walked behind her, with Brystion bringing up the rear.
The incubus had been silent during our walk, with none of his usual sarcastic digs. I reached back and gave his hand a squeeze.
We went around the back of the house, past a rosebush growing wildly up to the garden shed. Brigadun reached for the lock and cringed as it creaked. After a moment of silence he shrugged and opened the door, standing back to let us peer in.
A wave of turpentine and linseed oil hit me in the face, as though the scent had been trapped inside for a long time. “Man, it’s dark in here,” Phineas grunted, wriggling out of my purse. He pawed at the ground, his horn sparking to life with a silver halo.
