A Sliver of Shadow

by Allison Pang

  “And what happens to you now? To the rest of the OtherFolk trapped here?”

  “We survive … for a time. Eventually we will fade.”

  “All of you?”

  “Those of us who are not TouchStoned. If we have a mortal soul on which to anchor, we can use that power to sustain us, but even that will only take us so far. Without the power of the CrossRoads to foster it, the Contracts mean nothing.” Her mouth twisted, chin shaking; a guttering burble escaped the wrinkled depths and I realized she was laughing. “Unless we had a living KeyStone, of course.”

  “Gee. Don’t let me stop you.” KeyStones were normally sacred places where OtherFolk could gather without the need for TouchStones—the Marketplace was one, the Judgment Hall, the Hallows … but how long would they last?

  Tresa stirred on the stage, her body shuddering beneath the ropes. I wandered in her direction, but kept my distance. Her eyelids fluttered, her head wrenching violently to the side as she began to gag. I felt a momentary flicker of satisfaction. The crowd of OtherFolk parted before me, but I pretended not to notice. I wasn’t Moses and this sure as hell wasn’t the Red Sea. I glanced down at the floor. Yet.

  “What have you done to me?” Tresa croaked.

  “Well, Melanie hit you over the head with an ashtray … and judging from the bruises around your neck, it would appear someone tried to strangle you after that. Not that I would have known,” I added pleasantly. “Being that I was rather indisposed myself. You remember, don’t you?”

  “I am the Protectorate,” she snarled. “You have no right …”

  “They had every right,” Talivar’s voice crackled from the doorway, a bedraggled Phineas at his heels. Melanie hung behind him, her face unreadable. The anger burned from the prince like a firestorm and for a moment the room seemed to darken. He’d restored his Glamour apparently, the tattoos on his face stark against the unblemished skin. He stalked into the room, his limp suddenly terribly obvious. “And you will step down. The position was not yours to take.”

  “And yet, here I am,” Tresa spat, wriggling precariously on the edge of the stage. She would roll onto the floor in a moment, but no one made a move to restrain her.

  I met Talivar halfway and shook my head. “It’s okay,” I murmured. “We’re all okay for now.” He stared at me for a moment, his hair falling forward to hide the eye patch.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, taking my hand. “I should have guarded you better.”

  “Buck up,” Phineas nickered, prodding me in the leg. “And stop wasting time making eyes at each other. We’ve got decisions to make. Or really, you do.”

  “It’s like having Yoda for a personal assistant,” I grumbled, letting Talivar’s hand slip from mine. “And I’m not sure my opinion holds any weight here right now. After all, I’m sort of supposed to be arrested. Again. Consorting with the enemy and all that.”

  The unicorn stomped a hoof. “Bah. You’re going to have to break that Contract.”

  “She can’t do that.” Tresa grinned. “I put a clause into it that ends in her death if she does so.”

  “And where are the scrolls?” He bugled in challenge. “When did Abby sign them?”

  “I didn’t, actually. How’s that for a loophole?” I smirked, waggling my finger at her. “We did the KeyStone thing.”

  “Then any concept of a written Contract makes no difference in this case. Abby didn’t sign it … therefore it is not binding,” Roweena agreed, her eyes resting on me. “You may break it at will, without repercussion.”

  Tresa’s eyes bulged. “No! You can’t do that! I worked the spell to only be released when we TouchStoned.”

  “We did,” I said shortly. “Just not the way you were hoping.” The connection between us fluttered like a trapped butterfly. “I release you,” I intoned, the ritual words stiff on my tongue. I twitched at the snapping of it, sighing when the essence of “her” drained away.

  “Lying bastard,” she spat. “He told me if I did this it would set him free.”

  The hairs on the back of my neck rose. “He who?”

  “Who do you think?” Contempt rolled off of her in bitter waves. “Maurice, you stupid bitch.”

  Nine

  I stared at Tresa, blinking stupidly. “Maurice? But I thought he was … being taken care of.” Or at least that was what I’d been led to believe. Though why I expected anything resembling the truth from the Fae was beyond me

  “They’re taking care of him, all right.” Tresa laughed. The sound was without humor, but a shivering edge of desperation rippled beneath it. An echo of darkness seemed to shimmer between us.

  “He has a hold on you,” I said sharply. “What is it?”

  “He holds the key to my undoing,” the elf woman said bitterly. “More than that I will not say. Only that by freeing him, I might have a chance at escape.”

  Talivar stepped closer to her, his gaze flat and dark. “You chose to align yourself with a known traitor.”

  “You know nothing. From where I stand, the Queen is the traitor.” Her eyes burned with madness.

  “Now I know you’re crazy,” I muttered, rubbing at the side of my temples. “Guess we just need to get the CrossRoads reopened and we’re good to go.”

  Roweena let out a weary sigh. “As per this latest Court mandate, Moira was removed from her position as Protectorate, but you still remain her TouchStone. However, with the CrossRoads locked down, we need to chose another Protectorate, if only to preserve what little order is left to us. Tresa is obviously unsuitable.”

  I shuddered at the thought of having to bond to yet another Fae. “What difference does it make? I mean, without the power of the CrossRoads, it’s not like a Protectorate could really do anything anyway, right?” I frowned at her. “I would have thought you’d want the job. After all, you seem to be the next Fae in position to do so.”

  “If I must,” she said after a moment of hesitation, “but as the Court Liaison, there may be a conflict of interest. I’m here to protect the interest of the Court above all else. I shouldn’t even be thinking of undoing what the Queen has wrought.”

  “Oh, the humanity of it all.” I sighed. “Surely the Council would want a say in it?” The local Council was made up of nine members of all three Paths and overseen by the Protectorate. They were supposed to provide balance and make sure each group was fairly represented.

  “Assuming we could even find all of them in time?” Roweena shook her head. “The choosing of the Protectorate is a Faery matter only and should stay that way.”

  “Then what about Talivar? Honestly, doesn’t he make the most sense? Related to Moira? Royalty? Fae? Hell, he’s even already got a TouchStone.” Melanie’s brow wrinkled at my words. “We could just modify that Contract, couldn’t we?”

  There was an uncomfortable silence, the two elves not looking at each other. “I’m afraid that’s out of the question, Abby.” Roweena murmured. “Talivar is not … suitable.”

  “Fuck suitable,” I snapped. “None of this is suitable.” I turned toward Talivar. “Do you want it? As … whatever I am … I’m offering you the shot.”

  He looked at me gravely. “It would be my honor.”

  Roweena shook her head at me. “This is asking for trouble.”

  “Yeah, well, I get that you all have your little secrets, but unless you want to enlighten me on the red flag here, this is the best course of action.”

  “As you will.” Roweena’s eyes darted between me and Talivar before moving on to Melanie. “We will have to rework the Contract, of course,” she said coolly. “Unless Melanie wishes to remain his TouchStone.”

  Melanie shook her head violently. “No. I’m sorry, but I can’t.” She gave me an imploring look. “I’m sorry, Abby … but there are other things in my way that won’t allow it. It would be a very, very bad idea.”

  I stared at her, watching as she nervously stroked her violin. It wasn’t in me to judge, but for a brief moment I really wished someone else wou
ld step up to the plate here. On the other hand, she’d nearly lost her soul for me and it’s not every day you can say that about a person.

  “All right.” I nodded at Roweena. “How long will it take to draw up an official Contract?”

  “Normally, not too long—but this is getting a bit complicated. I will endeavor to have it to you tonight.” Roweena straightened up. The effects of her injuries appeared to be fading, her words becoming less slurred. “And in the meantime, we can nullify the Contract between Melanie and Talivar. Thankfully Moira left it in the archives. Without the CrossRoads behind it, it won’t be binding, of course, but it will go a long way. Come by the Judgment Hall this evening.”

  “I didn’t think we could get in there with the CrossRoads shut.”

  “It’s a KeyStone. Like the Marketplace. Like you. It exists under its own pocket of power. It won’t last forever, of course—but think of it as a temporary generator. The Queen is the only one who can reopen the CrossRoads, and we have no way of reaching her—so this will have to do.”

  “Too bad cell phones don’t work across planar dimensions,” Melanie muttered. “This would be so much easier if we could text the Court or something: Plz open XRoads. KThxBai.”

  Phineas shook his head, waggling his beard. “The Key to the CrossRoads could be used to open a Door, allowable for just such a purpose.” His eyes darted to me, unblinking. “It was intended to be a fail-safe, should any be trapped on one side or the other.”

  Tresa rolled her eyes. “The Key? That’s a myth, even for those such as us. After all, the Key hasn’t been seen for ages. We have no idea where it’s gone.”

  “Or what it looks like,” Talivar added sourly. “Though there might be something in the library at the Judgment Hall that delves into it.” He glared at her. “Not that anyone was asking you.”

  Roweena sighed. “Oh, it’s real enough, I suppose. Or it was, once. But as to its location …”

  “Missing talismans, this week only, on Scavenger Hunts of the Magical and Fucked,” I quipped. Not that I was planning on leaving that much to chance. I glanced over at Melanie. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen Sonja around today?”

  Melanie shook her head. “No. Why?”

  I tapped my head. “Well, if I find her in the Dreaming, maybe she can get onto the CrossRoads from there? She could carry a message to the Queen. I don’t think she uses a Door when she travels that way.” I chewed on my lower lip. “Of course, if she’s not around I suppose I could try to break through myself…”

  She bopped me on top of the head. “Um. No. You can’t go through Doors that way either. You remember what Ion told you? That whole thing about dying if your Shadow Self emerges on the wrong plane?”

  “It was just a thought.”

  “Of course, that sort of begs the question. What if Sonja isn’t there? Could you ask Brystion?”

  I flushed as Talivar stared at me. “Erm. Yes, I guess I could. If he’s there. Though it’s not like we see each other much there. Like not at all, really.”

  “It’s worth a shot,” Phineas agreed. “I’m not sure how much luck either one of them will have actually getting into Faerie, but maybe they can pass along a message.”

  “Good enough.” I looked at my watch. Even after everything that had happened it was only approaching noon. I nudged Talivar. “So now what, Protectorate-to-be?”

  He frowned, and I could almost see the way the thoughts calculated behind his gaze. “First thing is to get … her”—he tilted his head toward Tresa—“situated in the Judgment Hall. I don’t want her escaping. In fact, I want Robert guarding her. She is to have no contact with anyone. Understood?”

  The last was said with a bit of an edge to his voice, and I could only wonder as Roweena finally bowed her head. “As you say.”

  “I’ll call Charlie and let her know,” Melanie said, winking our way. “Consider it one of my last TouchStone duties.”

  Katy approached us from behind the bar. “And actually, I was thinking maybe we should see about trying to notify any of the OtherFolk who might be stuck somewhere else. We had a fair number of people on that dating list—we can try contacting them. They’ll be just as confused as we were if they all woke up from seizures.”

  I blinked. “That’s actually a damn good idea. I hadn’t even thought of that, but there’s bound to be OtherFolk unable to travel, especially if they’ve lost their Glamours.” I glanced over at Brandon. “Can we use the Hallows as a base of operations? Maybe find a way to transport people here?”

  The werewolf sighed, his eyes suddenly twinkling as he watched Katy. “Guess we’ll find a use for that potential TouchStone list after all.”

  Katy beamed at him. “I can borrow my mother’s van.”

  “Shotgun,” Melanie said as we shared a look. Katy could be enthusiastic, but it wouldn’t hurt to have someone a little more knowledgeable about the situation tag along—and everyone knew Mel by reputation, if nothing else.

  “Sounds like a plan.” Tresa let out a derisive snort.

  “If I wanted your opinion I would have given it to you,” I said sourly, somehow knowing whatever I did here, it would likely come back and bite me in the ass.

  I shoveled down the last forkful of my mac ’n’ cheese, scraping the yellow cream off the bottom of the fast-food container. “Stop hogging it all,” Phineas whined, poking me hard in the ankle.

  “Belay that,” I retorted. “Besides, it’s all gone. There are still some chicken strips left, though.” He grunted what I assumed was an affirmative and I tossed a few into his bowl on the floor.

  Talivar paced in the kitchen, his arms crossed. The prince had cleaned up the mess from before in rather short order after we got back from the Hallows, scraping the broken crockery into the trash without a fuss. He’d eschewed the chicken when I bought it, so I didn’t bother offering a second time. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “Do what?” I shrugged. “All I have to do is fall asleep. It’s not going to be a big deal or anything. What’s the worst that could happen? Aside from Sonja not being there.”

  “I mean about the TouchStoning thing. And me being the Protectorate.”

  “Well, sure. I mean, you fit the bill well enough. Unless there’s something I don’t know.”

  “Isn’t that usually the case?” Phineas grunted at my feet, narrowly avoiding my kick.

  I leaned in my chair, studying Talivar’s profile as he continued to pace, one hand reaching up now and then to rub the back of his neck. His hair hung in a loose tangle about his face, the braids a tattered mess. “Care to tell me what this is all about?”

  “Not really.”

  “Please. You’ve lived here for, what? Eight months? I’m pretty sure Moira wouldn’t have dumped some sort of mass murderer on me, so what is it? Why do people dance around you like you’re some kind of Fae leper?”

  He stilled, his back to me, but he shuddered as though he was holding his breath. In an instant he had removed the hoodie and pulled up his shirt, giving me a glimpse of a flawless form. The muscles moved smoothly beneath the dusky skin, my fingers suddenly aching to touch his sculpted beauty. The T-shirt dropped to the ground like the discarded scales of a snake. And then the Glamour melted away and I froze.

  Welts crisscrossed into the flesh of his back, working their way around his left shoulder, wending over his hip before dipping below the belt. He shifted so that he was turned partway to face me, unflinching as he allowed me to look at his chest, the white scars like a spider’s web along the left side of his abdomen. His face remained mostly untouched, expressionless marble except for the barest of twitches in his right cheek. Slowly he removed the patch covering his eye, the puckered skin marring the perfection of his brow.

  I thought he’d be done there, but a moment later and he’d removed his jeans too. And hey, Talivar went commando. Who’d have thought? But he gestured downward and I could see the ravaged remains of his knee, the slightly shrunken thigh, ropey with sca
r tissue.

  “Behold the Crippled Prince.” He stared at me from beneath the shadow of his hair, daring me to react.

  Beside me Phin let out a low whistle, but I ignored it. What sort of reaction was he going for? Shock? Surprise? Sympathy? The unveiling of one’s scars could be terribly traumatic, but given the circumstances …

  “Who did this to you?” I said finally, my voice steady, keeping my eyes upon his face.

  “My father.”

  I raised a brow at him. “There’s a whole lot more to this than just the normal sort of ‘I accidentally drove Daddy’s car through the garage door,’ I’m thinking.”

  He grimaced as he bent to retrieve his clothing, carelessly pulling on the jeans. “You might say that.”

  “But why does that make you unfit to be Protectorate?”

  “Aside from the fact that I committed regicide and patricide? Those inconveniences could so easily be overlooked, but for my physical flaws.” At my questioning grunt, he shook his head. “In Faerie, only the most physically perfect of us may rule. We’re considered to be representative of the land. A broken body indicates a broken kingdom. To lose a limb, or an eye … or both?” he said pointedly. “Well, there isn’t much chance for me, regardless of how royal my bloodline may be.”

  “You killed your own father?” I debated taking a few steps back and then decided that would be asinine. There was a massive story here, but somehow I had the feeling I wasn’t going to get a straight answer from him. Not yet.

  “And quite rightly so,” he said mildly. “The damage had already been done. I saw no reason for my sister and mother to endure life beneath his thumb.” He rotated his hand. “So to speak.”

  “They don’t seem to care about my scars that much,” I pointed out.

  “You’re not Fae. Or in line for the throne … Frankly, none of them care.”

  “Ouch.” Nothing like a little bluntness to make a girl feel good. “Most of my scars are hidden anyway. Except this one.” In a show of camaraderie, I pulled up my shirt, exposing a silver oval on my belly. “I got this one for Moira, when Maurice tried to gut me through the painting.”