by Allison Pang
“Good manners being one of them.” I found the Crocs and the diaper bag. “All right, time to go.” I picked up a now-dozing Benjamin, swaddling his shoulders in a blanket and strapping him into the chest carrier. People tended to be drawn to his face before anything else, but no sense in tempting fate any more than I had to. Although I supposed Talivar could have put a Glamour on the wings. I would have to ask.
Hoisting his diaper bag over my shoulder, I turned off the iPod and headed through the kitchen. Sure enough, the scent of scorched mocha java blend was in full evidence. Strangely enough, Talivar refused to touch anything that came out of the enchanted fridge. “Only organic,” he’d told me once, and insisted on paying for his own share of the groceries. I didn’t care one way or the other since neither of us could cook worth a damn anyway. Burned was burned, so what difference did it make?
“I’m going to the Hallows,” I called to the unicorn. “Tell Talivar if he comes this way.”
“I’m not your answering service, you know. Prince too good to use a cell phone?”
“Technophobe,” I said dryly. “Just do it, Phin. And stay out of my underwear.”
“Like you’d know.” I shook my head and left, taking the stairs with a careful touch on the rail and a death grip around the baby. I’d started taking my meds on a regular basis, and it had definitely made some improvements in the number and quality of seizures I suffered from. In the past, I had let the drugs slide more often than not, but with everything that had happened recently I figured it was only fair to give my body a fighting chance. It had been almost two months since my last grand mal, something that had probably contributed to Moira’s decision to leave her child with me. Or perhaps it hadn’t crossed her mind at all. OtherFolk could be horribly self-absorbed, and the Faery princess was no exception.
The early afternoon sun warmed my skin. It might have been early April, but a slight chill still clung stubbornly to the breeze. I paused to assess the garden. It had taken a little convincing on my part, but I’d gotten Didi to invite a few cousins over to help tend the flowers. The PETA pixie hadn’t quite forgiven me for the loss of her wand, but Talivar had won her over with his self-effacing charm. The flower-Fae were tiny things, but most of them had potty mouths to rival even the most stalwart of sailors. Gave Phin a run for his money, anyway, and that was saying something.
They waved cheerily at me as I passed, blowing little kisses at the baby. He made grabby fingers at them and I whisked him out of the courtyard before he got any ideas. Cleaning squished pixie from his hands would undoubtedly lead to some awkward questions.
A casual peek into the Pit’s front bay window showed everything as it ought to be. Which is to say, empty of customers and full of crappy used books, and happily so. It still seemed odd to me that a Faery princess would run a used-book store as a front to a magical marketplace, but I did actually enjoy working there. I’d temporarily closed it the last few weeks while I had Benjamin, but I still ran the Marketplace most evenings while Talivar watched over the baby.
Benjamin babbled in my ear when he saw the sign creaking in the breeze above his head, but I hurried along. I passed the Opera Alley and the renovated Waterfront Art Gallery, trying not to shudder at the familiar lettering. I’d heard it was under new management, but something told me it would be a very long time before I ever willingly entered the place again.
Being painted into a magical realm with your friends via the blood of a succubus will do that to a girl. Still, it had been Sonja’s ex-TouchStone, Topher, who put us all there, so I couldn’t exactly throw myself a pity party about it. Even if it had been under Maurice’s command, knowing that the person you should have been able to trust most had murdered your sisters wasn’t the sort of thing you wanted to brag about.
“Cute baby.”
I glanced up from my inner waiting-at-the-stoplight-montage to see an elderly woman beaming at me. “Ah, thanks.” I tightened my grip instinctively.
Her mouth broadened into a smile. Benjamin gave me a look that could only be described as alarmed, and I shifted him away from her, lifting him up slightly. Hollow boned or not, the kid was getting seriously heavy to be hauling around like this. If Moira didn’t come back soon, I was going to have to invest in a stroller for sure.
“He’s got your eyes, you know? That’s how I can tell he’s yours. So pretty and blue.”
I nodded stupidly at the woman. When the hell was the light going to change? The mere fact I held a baby seemed to drive people to the most inane of conversations, but who was I to shatter the illusion? The fact that those were Robert’s eyes, ice blue and intense, would mean nothing to someone who never met him, and the truth of the matter is that people say shit like that all the time just to be polite.
For a moment I was tempted to tell her I’d found him on a doorstep.
She seemed harmless enough, but I’d run into a number of people that I once categorized as “harmless,” several of whom had turned into anything but.
The woman continued to make faces at Benjamin. Inwardly, I sighed. No sense in tempting fate. The light changed and I made my escape as politely as I dared, losing us in a cluster of window-shoppers before I ducked around the corner to the hidden alley leading to the Hallows.
Sequestered neatly off the main drag of Portsmyth’s pubs and nightclub district, the OtherFolk bar still remained one of the prime hot spots of the city. Its werewolf owner had worried that business might slow after Maurice’s daemon attack, but the resulting notoriety had only earned him a more loyal clientele.
I tapped on the rusted metal door. “Meet me at the CrossRoads,” I murmured, the Door shimmering in answer to the passphrase. A careful check of the alley showed nothing by way of hapless mortals, so I ducked inside.
Benjamin blinked at the silver sparkles, fingers rapidly opening and closing as he tried to catch them. One lit upon his palm, hovering for a moment before fading. He chortled and squirmed free of his blankets, tiny wings fluttering.
“That’s new.” Brandon grinned at me as I hastily attempted to wrap the blanket around the baby’s shoulders again. This early in the day meant the Hallows was empty of patrons, but no sense in taking chances. Benjamin wriggled with pure enthusiasm as his wings beat lopsidedly. The werewolf snorted, his tongue lolling from the side of his mouth.
“Yeah, well don’t make an issue out of it. I’m trying to keep it on the down-low.” As the bartender, the werewolf knew more than his fair share of OtherFolk secrets. One more wouldn’t hurt.
“Ah well, maybe I wanted to know how my favorite little angel is doing.” Brandon winked at me in that half-flirtatious way that left me a little uncertain as to which one of us he was speaking to. But then, that was nothing new. Even newly TouchStoned, the werewolf had a tendency to hit on anything that walked through the front doors and was remotely female. I wasn’t entirely sure how Katy could stand it, but then, I wasn’t barely eighteen, blond, and drop-dead gorgeous, was I? I was twenty-seven, currently saddled with a baby, a live-in job, a horny unicorn, and a fridge full of almost nothing but bacon. Given the choice, maybe I could understand, though I had to admit the bacon thing was a real winner.
“Stinky and cute, just like you,” I deadpanned, pulling a sweatshirt from Benjamin’s diaper bag and slipping it over his squirmy little head. A thin rope of drool slid over my hand. “Napkin, if you don’t mind.” I glanced about the nearly empty nightclub as Brandon dug beneath the bar. I’d been here since the renovations were done, but only at night, when the place was in full swing. A little different to see it in the cold light of day.
Moira had paid for all the damages and it showed. Not that it had ever really been a dive to begin with, but the gleaming teak wood was obviously several calibers higher than what had been there before. The stage, the sound system, the polished granite bar—all of it was brilliant. Even the dance floor had been replaced, the scuffed boards now glittering with some sort of Glamoured marble. My eyes fell on it and I pursed my li
ps. New or not, if I stared long enough at it, I could almost see the blood spatters and that spot where I’d stepped on that daemon’s brain …
“Did you get a chance to look at those latest letters, Abby?” Brandon’s voice pulled me from my reverie with a little start. He handed me a stack of napkins, his eyes suddenly fixed on the bar. The words were casual, but the tone was bland. Too bland. Bastard wanted something.
“Out with it, wolf-boy,” I said sourly, wiping at my palm. “You only pretend not to care when you really want something. No, no.” I moved an empty glass away from the baby. “Not for you.”
“I’ll take him for a while, if you want.” Katy emerged from the lounge looking like a golden Venus, all dewy youth and fresh sparkles. She was wearing jeans and a cut-off shirt, her perfectly tanned abdomen displayed free and clear. I frowned at it. Almost damn near unnatural, given the season.
Or you’re just incredibly jealous, given that the only tan you’ll ever have will be made up of the shades of “pasty” and “freckled,” I thought ruefully.
“Hey, Katy. Happy birthday.” I smiled at her anyway. Not like she could help it, right? “And sure, think he’s a little sick of me anyway.” I undid the carrier and handed Benjamin over to her. He immediately began gurgling, another bit of drool falling on her shoulder.
“Just like every other guy who comes within ten feet of her,” I quipped. “And you’re tag-teaming me. So clearly something’s up.” Katy cooed happily at the little guy, walking him over to the stage so he could see the way the disco ball lit up. Despite my inner snark, I genuinely liked her. She had spunk where it counted and she’d certainly treated Brandon like a prince. Not always easy to do with someone who often resembled an anthropomorphic canine most of the time. Besides, being kidnapped by daemons together made for excellent girl-bonding.
The werewolf stared at me for a moment and then chuckled. “You know, you’re not nearly as ignorant as you let on.”
“Now you’re flattering me.” I sighed and crumpled the dirty napkin. “Gonna spill?”
“Well, we’ve been thinking—Katy and me, that is. Or really, this is Katy’s idea mostly, but I think it would be a good thing.” He paused, looking at me expectantly.
“Brandon, it might actually help if you told me what you wanted me for.”
“Oh, right. Yeah. You know we started that TouchStone dating service.”
“Yeessss.” It was still in the early stages as far as I’d heard, but with everything else going on, I hadn’t paid it much attention. TouchStone Contracts were usually overseen by Moira as part of her Protectorate duties, but for the most part I stayed out of anything to do with those.
I stared at him blankly, but the hairs on the back of my neck rose. In the past I had a tendency to ignore my instincts, but this time I had to agree with them. “And this involves me how?”
His ears dropped, that canine brow furrowing. “Well, you are a KeyStone, Abby. We were sort of hoping you might, you know … use your talent? We figured you might be able to help us match profiles better that way.”
I thought of the one night with my ex-vampire lover, Jett, and shuddered. A mortal TouchStone usually had a written Contract sanctified by the Faery Protectorate to allow at least some level of protection, but even then things could be a bit unscrupulous. There had been efforts in the past to regulate it better, but the three Paths barely managed to tolerate each other on a regular basis without coming to blows, let alone come to an agreement where a ruling party determined what was “fair.” Angels. Daemons. The Fae. For all their magical snobbery, they could be such assholes.
As a living KeyStone I had the rare capability to Touch-Stone OtherFolk on contact, which could lead to a number of unfortunate situations. Without an actual Contract, the boundaries of such a bond were nebulous at best and dangerous at worst. I knew where Brandon was going with this; I actually got a vision of an OtherFolk’s inner personality upon creation of the bond—but that sort of thing took energy. Plus it was damned creepy. Not something I was willing to put up with simply to make life easier for people who couldn’t even be bothered get to know each other first.
“Um, no. I don’t think that’s a good idea. For one thing, the more people I’m TouchStoned to, the more energy I end up expending. For another—”
“For another, Moira wouldn’t allow it.” Talivar drawled behind me, but there was an edge to his voice that I’d come to recognize very well. His fingers brushed lightly upon my arm, their heat marking me as surely as any brand. “And neither would I. Abby has enough on her plate without taking on another project, don’t you think?” His gaze flicked to where Katy cooed at the baby, Benjamin’s happy giggles ringing through the bar.
Brandon bared his teeth at the elf, ears flattening. “And maybe you should let her decide for herself, aye?”
I planted a hand on Talivar’s chest before he could reply. “Dudes, can we save the pissing match for another time? Moira’s not going to thank you if you start smiting the newly renovated dance club she just finished financing.”
The prince shrugged, sliding a steaming cup of coffee toward me, the scent promising something with cream and caramel. “The final choice, of course, is yours. As your bodyguard, I merely thought to make my opinion known.” He smiled at Brandon. “My apologies, lycanthrope.”
The werewolf snorted and then shook his head, but the ears had perked up. “Yeah, whatever.”
“Ah. The delicate male ego. So fragile. So infinitely pettable.” Ignoring the way they both blinked at me, I pointed over to the stage where Melanie was tweaking her amp. “Now go bother your own TouchStone for a bit. Find out how much planning is left for Katy’s party tonight. I’ll join you in a minute.”
Talivar grunted in assent, watching Benjamin for a moment before heading past the bar and beelining for the stage. I watched the prince’s ass, simply because I could. There was something about that slim-hipped swagger that had my Lord of the Rings inner geek demanding some sort of fanservice. Preferably the mostly undressed sort.
Brandon yawned, leaning on the bar top. “I honestly had the feeling that you wouldn’t, but Katy thought it wouldn’t hurt to ask.”
I slipped into a high-backed barstool and took a sip of my coffee. “Well, even aside from Talivar’s input on the subject, it would have to go through Moira first. After all, she’s made a few allowances for me, but given the trouble we had before, I think the Faery Council would really have issues with it. I mean, they totally freaked out when they found out I was TouchStoned to … Brystion.”
I shivered. I’d been accused of attempting to overthrow the Protectorate in a misunderstanding of massive proportions and I had no wish to revisit the process. If I never saw the inside of a cell within the Judgment Hall again it would be too soon.
“I hadn’t even thought about that,” he admitted. “But, yeah, I guess I can understand.” He brightened, cocking his head at me. “Well, if not that, how about a ‘Dear Abby’ column in our newsletter, then? Maybe take some of the pressure off you having to answer all these.” He pulled up a new stack of variously shaped envelopes and I groaned.
“Seriously?” I fingered one that looked to be little more than a leaf stuffed in a conch shell. “Well, that one’s different, anyway. Snail mail,” I quipped, my lips curling at my own joke.
“They keep coming in. If we set you up with an actual column maybe people would understand it if you couldn’t get to them all.”
“Why me?”
“Why not you?” His gaze rested heavily on me. “You’re one of the first mortal KeyStones that’s shown up in a very long time. You nearly died to save the Protectorate.”
I scowled at him, slouching on my stool. “The bad guy still got away and my friends were hurt. Hell, your bar was completely trashed. I’m not sure I see anything overly heroic about that.” To be honest, I’d thought I’d been nothing more than a big coward for most of it, giving myself to the enemy like some kind of sacrificial lamb. “I shou
ld have acted faster than I did.”
“You acted. That’s more than a lot of mortals would have done.” His long furry fingers toyed with the edge of one of the letters. “The fact of the matter is you’re TouchStoned to one of each of us. Each of the Paths, I mean. There’s something sort of disturbing and comforting about that.”
“That’s me,” I retorted. “Like holding a .45 to your skull with one hand and offering you a lollipop with the other. And I’m not TouchStoned to all three Paths anymore.” I tried not to flinch as I said it, leaving my tone as matter-of-fact as I could.
“But you were.” He sighed. “That’s not what I meant. I’m sorry.”
I waved him off, shuffling the pile of letters together to shove them into the diaper bag. “Yeah, I know. And I’ll think about it.”
“All we can ask.”
It wasn’t entirely true, I didn’t think. The asking. I owed him a debt for being there when I needed him, and for him not blaming me when Katy was hurt. It was still on my shoulders.
Talivar had his back to me as I approached the stage. His voice was pitched low, his head beside Melanie’s. I hesitated. If they were in the middle of a serious conversation, I didn’t want to be caught up in it. I studied my best friend for a moment, taking in the way her familiar curly red hair hung loosely over one shoulder, tangled in the hooks of her leather corset. Her eyes appeared troubled behind the purple teashade glasses.
The commonality of their forced TouchStone Contract was me, something I wasn’t overly comfortable with. The fact that Melanie had been required to do it to save her fingers wasn’t anything I was proud of, particularly given that I’d inadvertently put her in the situation that had injured her. As a virtuoso of unsurpassed skill, she was in high demand among the OtherFolk. Without the ability to play, she would have lost her livelihood for certain.
For the first time, I really looked at the two of them, wondering if they’d break the Contract, given the chance. There was a tenseness to Melanie whenever she looked at him, and the set of Talivar’s shoulders didn’t speak of anything calm. Melanie shrugged, her words increasing in volume.
