A Sliver of Shadow

by Allison Pang

  Yes.

  My hand drifted up to play with the amulet he’d put around my neck that last morning we’d spent together. In all this time, I hadn’t bothered taking it off, though now it seemed like the physical reminder of a doomed memory. For a moment I was tempted to break the chain and toss it into the grass.

  In the end, I let my fingers fall.

  “Sentimental idiot.”

  I glanced up at the dusk-purple sky, willing myself to wake up. And then I felt myself falling, tumbling into the brightness of the sunlight of a golden afternoon and the waiting sheets of my empty bed.

  Eleven

  The Judgment Hall was an imposing sort of place at the best of times, but in the fading daylight, it took on an eerie “Night on Bald Mountain” vibe. It was Glamoured, of course, housed within the deep recesses of the run-down cemetery of Portsmyth.

  Crumbling mounds of granite, cracked and gnarled with fading gray lichens, rendered this part of the cemetery ancient and untouchable, entrenched in a moldering loam of damp leaves and small prickly plants. Thankfully almost no one ever came here, save for the occasional art student or small-town historian.

  But then, this particular Glamour seemed to work by making unaware mortals feel as though they’d stepped on an ant mound or a spider’s nest, a creepy crawly sensation of hundreds of little feet skittering across a hapless leg. Visitors never seemed to stay long.

  I shuddered. Even knowing it was there, I could still feel a tickle when I pushed through its gossamer strands. In the center of the cemetery a decrepit mausoleum stood watch beneath the shadows of a rotting oak, flanked by angelic statues with great sweeping wings.

  Or so they appeared. The angels nodded briefly as I approached, Talivar keeping pace behind me by a few steps. His own Glamour was restored so the scars were gone, the pointed ears hidden. I caught a glimpse of what appeared to be pixies crouched on top of a pillar, arrows nocked at the ready. Guess the OtherFolk weren’t taking any chances at potential invasion into one of their last remaining sanctuaries in the mortal realm.

  I shifted my backpack, hearing a small grunt from inside. “Almost there,” I told the unicorn. To the angels, I gave a friendly sort of smile. “Roweena is expecting us.”

  The angel on the left frowned, his aqua eyes darting between me and Talivar for a moment. He waved us in, the marble door shifting to let us through. The Glamour melted away as soon as we entered, leaving us standing in the long, stone corridor that led to the Council room.

  Immediately my backpack started squirming and I set it down, releasing Phineas with a quick flick of the zipper. He snorted, shaking himself out. “Gods, I will never get used to being carried around like a lapdog. Humiliating.”

  “Kind of hard to be humiliated when you have no shame,” I said.

  “It’s a gift. Come on and let’s get this over with. I’ve got a date tonight.”

  I exchanged a glance with Talivar. “Anyone I know?”

  “Doubt it. Hedgehogs aren’t in your social circle.”

  “Ah.” I paused, my mind trying to bend itself around that particular image. At least it wasn’t with the lion girl. “Yeah. Okay. Just, um, be careful. Quills and all that.”

  The unicorn rolled his eyes at me. “Teach Grandma to suck eggs, why don’t you?”

  “A date actually sounds like fun. Though it’s not really all that appropriate, under the circumstances.”

  “A date?” Talivar started down the stone hall, footsteps echoing with a strangely familiar ring.

  “Courtship,” Phineas sighed. “You’re expected to spend money on the object of your affection and maybe they’ll sleep with you in return.”

  Talivar eyed me appraisingly. “That simple, eh?”

  “You’ve been here long enough. You tell me if you really think things are that simple.” I arched a brow at him.

  He let out a rolling chuckle. “They could be.”

  We passed several long sets of doors, the burnished wood and copper handles gleaming in the witchlight. I knew what the inside of the cells looked like a little too well, having once been an occupant for several hours. Only one door had a guard out front, Robert’s familiar silhouette perched beside it, his wings tucked beneath a trench coat.

  “Tresa inside?” I asked him, though I knew the answer.

  “For the moment, though I half wonder if it might not be better for her to have an ‘accident.’” He grimaced at me. “She has a wicked tongue.”

  “How’s my nephew?” Talivar’s posture suddenly went rigid.

  The angel frowned at him. “Charlie’s watching him. He’s fine.”

  “Keep in mind this is only a temporary solution,” the prince announced. “When we get things settled here, Abby and I will be taking him back.”

  “Uh. No.” I caught Robert’s momentary look of anguish and stepped between them. “I think he’s fine where he is, Talivar.”

  The prince drew himself up. “I’m Protectorate. And more than that, I’m the boy’s uncle. Robert can have no true claim on him.”

  “Think you’re overstepping your bounds there,” Phineas said, waggling his beard. “You haven’t become the Protectorate yet.”

  “Babies should be left with those who can best take care of them. Right now, that’s with his father,” I said.

  “But according to Faerie law—”

  “We’re not in Faerie.” I rolled my eyes.

  Robert coughed. “Technically, the Judgment Hall is considered to be under Faerie jurisdiction, Abby.”

  “Whose side are you on, anyway?” I tugged on Talivar’s sleeve. “Look, I understand you’re his uncle and all, but let’s be realistic. You gonna haul a baby around while we try to track down a way to open the CrossRoads? With the diapers and the milk and all that?”

  He shot me a puzzled look. “Of course not. That’s what you’re for.”

  “I’m what?” My feet scuffed the marble as I stopped dead in my tracks.

  “You’re a woman. That’s what women do,” he continued, sighing with a wistful hum. “Service their men, raise their babies, trail behind us when we go off to war …” I made a choking noise. “I jest,” he said dryly, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Besides, I’ve seen the way you cook. I’d starve if I were dependent upon you for my meals in the field.”

  “That makes two of us, then,” I retorted, ignoring Robert’s snort of amusement. Roweena gestured at us from the main doorway. She looked better than she had before, though given Talivar’s earlier missive about physical flaws, I wondered if she was hiding her issues behind a Glamour as well.

  I shrugged inwardly, not really one to judge. After all, I tried to hide the scar on my head often enough; I certainly had no room to point fingers. Behind me, the two men exchanged some sort of verbal He-Man mutters, but I didn’t bother trying to listen in. “Contracts all drawn up?”

  Roweena nodded, weary lines etched into her forehead. “Yes. Melanie is awaiting Talivar so that we may formally dissolve their Contract.” Long-term Contracts had never been Melanie’s thing. It spoke volumes to our friendship that she’d allowed herself to be shackled even this long.

  I entered the hall, relieved to see it had a slightly more friendly appearance this time around. Of course, not being on trial for potentially murdering my friend certainly helped with that.

  I spotted Melanie up at the dais, perched on the great stone table, her booted feet swinging aimlessly. “How’d it go with Sonja? Any luck?”

  I shook my head as I approached, Roweena sliding beside me. “No. She wasn’t there. I left her a note—hopefully she’ll find it and be able to help us out.”

  Melanie raised a brow. “And Ion?”

  I sighed, peering at my ragged nails. “Not exactly. I mean, he was there, but …”

  “But he wouldn’t help,” Melanie said softly.

  “I would have thought he might at least be willing to try. After all our history together and all.” I swallowed down another wave of bitterness
. “Self-absorbed prick.”

  “He’s an incubus,” Roweena said. “There’s no point in hoping daemons will do anything but for their own reasons.” Her shoulders slumped. “I suppose we might as well move along with this and concentrate on finding another way.”

  Footsteps from the doorway indicated Talivar’s presence. He stalwartly kept his head facing forward as he passed me by, but his good eye slid sideways, winking when he met my gaze.

  “So soon?” Melanie’s mouth pursed.

  “Not hardly,” I snarled. “And no, before you ask, I’m not sleeping with him.” If he heard me, he gave no heed of it. I bent down to scoop up a wriggling Phineas, who was making quite the ass out of himself with demands that he be allowed to see.

  “All right, then,” Roweena said crisply, unfurling the first of the scrolls. “This is Melanie’s Contract with Talivar. Do you both agree the Contract has been fulfilled, in as much as can be?”

  Talivar nodded curtly even as Melanie smiled. “Oh, yes.” She sighed, one hand running down the side of her violin case, her happiness at being released radiating from her in waves.

  The elven liaison scratched out a few things on the parchment. “Both of you sign here … and here. And then I will stamp it with Moira’s seal.”

  I debated pointing out that Moira wasn’t technically the Protectorate anymore, but since the alternative was hauling Tresa in here, I decided it wouldn’t really matter. Without the CrossRoads behind it, this was all just a matter of semantics anyway. The two of them quickly scrawled their signatures, Talivar’s in sweeping, broad strokes, Melanie’s in a surprisingly lovely script.

  “Now, then,” Roweena said, rolling up the scroll. “I’ll put that one in the archives for later. In the meantime, I’ve gone over Abby’s original Contract with Moira, as well as the forged documents from Tresa. Although her actions are woefully misled, we can certainly use the wording to do the transfer.” She tapped her fingers on yet another scroll. “And I have done so. If you would care to look it over?”

  I peered over the table, nearly butting heads with Talivar. He gave me a sheepish smile. I pushed back my bangs and resumed scanning. “None of the perks, it seems?”

  Roweena shook her head. “Moira handled that side of things. I figured I would let Talivar decide what reward to give you for your service. But I wouldn’t be too frivolous with the promises,” she admonished. “It’s unlikely any of them could be fulfilled until we get the CrossRoads open.”

  I nodded. “There’s nothing I really want, anyway. Not at the moment.”

  Talivar shrugged, his eye resting on me with a curious bent. “I’ll leave it open, for now, to be granted at a later date.”

  “Good enough.” I took the quill from him, the callused edges of his fingers brushing mine. Exhaling softly, I signed my name. “Guess that’s it then.”

  A little disappointing, really. When I’d signed Moira’s original Contract, I remembered a bit of a magical spark as we finished. But with the CrossRoads closed, there was no magic. Sort of took all the fun out of it, really.

  I looked at Talivar, studying the curve of his cheek. “I’m still a KeyStone, you know. We could do this for real, if you think that would be better.”

  The prince cocked his head at me, something unfamiliar passing over his face. “No,” he said at last. “It would not be right.”

  Surprised, I withdrew my hand. “What’s to be right or wrong about it? I just thought it might lend better credence to the whole situation. Make it more legit. Whatever.”

  “And that is appreciated,” he said firmly. “But not necessary. It would not be fair to the others if I took advantage of that when they could not. If things take a turn for the worse, I may be forced to take your offer, but until then I’ll stick with this.”

  I nodded. To be honest, I was a bit relieved, even though the less rational side of me raged at being rejected for the second time that day. And not even for anything romantic. “Oh for two,” I muttered. “Fair enough. What’s next?”

  “Research,” Roweena said, gesturing at several large tomes beside the scrolls. She stamped the new Contract with the Royal seal. “There, now. New Protectorate, bound to a TouchStone. One small thing in order, anyway.” She picked up the first book, a solid, leather thing that probably weighed about twenty pounds. With a wan smile, she handed it to Talivar. “Your first duty.”

  She gazed at me apologetically. “Unfortunately, these books are in old Elvish, so I don’t think you’ll be able to help us. I don’t actually think we’ll find much about the Key, but perhaps there will be something else we can use.”

  “I could look at pictures,” I offered, but even I knew that was a hollow answer. “I’ll just wait over here.” The two elves barely batted an eye at my words, already starting to skim the pages. The scent of book dust and crumbling parchment hit me full on, my nose wiggling against a vicious tickle.

  “Almost like the Pit.” Melanie chuckled. “You should feel right at home.” The two of us moved away from the elves, planting our asses on the last row of marble benches. Padded cushions of emerald green lined the seats, but I got the distinct impression they were only there for decoration.

  “Guess you must feel pretty good about getting that Contract lifted,” I yawned. “Sounded like neither one of you was happy about it.”

  She frowned at me. “What are you talking about? “

  “I overheard you guys talking yesterday. At the Hallows. I assumed he was looking for permission to break it?”

  “Ah. Abby?”

  “And Ion. I don’t even know where to begin with that. Do I have ‘Untouchable’ tacked on my forehead today? I mean, I know we’re a little awkward these days, but I at least thought he might be willing to try.”

  She pushed her violet teashades onto her forehead. “Guess maybe that depends on how you asked him. How did he look?”

  “Well enough. He’s been feeding, anyway.” I couldn’t quite meet her eyes, but the jealousy flared to life beneath my breast.

  “You miss him, don’t you?”

  “Yeah. As much as I hate to admit it.” I fiddled with the necklace again, twisting the chain. “And for shit’s sake, I know we only knew each other for a week or two—it’s not like that’s long enough to get to know anyone. Not really.” I let out a sigh. “When he broke up with me he admitted that if he hadn’t been attracted to the Dreamer in me, he would have let me die.”

  Her brow rose and she shook her head. “No way. I’ve known Ion a long time and I don’t think that’s true,” Melanie said quietly. “He may be a bit confused as to how he feels, but deep down he’s a good person. I truly do believe that.”

  “Got a funny way of showing it.” On the other hand, the guy was keeping a shield around my nightmares, so there wasn’t much I could say to that. Still, it sucked all the way around. First things first, though. Responsibility over love life and all that shit.

  Her mouth pursed. “Talivar wants to court you, Abby. That’s what he was asking me about yesterday.”

  “Court me?” I said faintly, some of his previous comments now making sense. “Ah. So he was asking your permission to date me?”

  “Guess he thought it was common courtesy. He seems like a very old-school sort of guy. Very proper. He might even be good for you.”

  “Famous last words. And incidentally, I’m not sure there’s anything old school or proper about dancing the Hustle at a Dance Dance Revolution competition.”

  She glanced over at him and giggled. “Where the hell did he learn that?”

  I scowled at her. “I taught him a few weeks ago. Katy set up a disco dance-off in the back room of the Hallows. And before you knock it, he’s actually pretty damn good.” I shrugged. “Of course, it’s the only dance he knows, but it was totally worth the price of admission.”

  She chuckled. “He’s learning. Just decide what to do now that you know he likes you. I’d rather not see him strung along.”

  “Little fond of h
im yourself, aren’t you?”

  “Sure. As OtherFolk go, he’s not that bad. There’s something rather noble about him. Feels like he’s been trapped in a shell or something.” She smiled at me. “This has been good for him. We’ve been good for him.”

  “And you never thought to make a play for him yourself?”

  “When was the last time you saw me with anyone that way? OtherFolk are strictly off-limits for dating material.” I thought about that for a moment and realized she was right. In all the time I’d known her here, she had never been in a relationship with any of her Contracts.

  “Why?” I asked bluntly.

  “I hate mixing work with pleasure. And honestly, mortal guys are going to like me for who I am—not for what I am, or what I can do.” She twiddled her fingers, not meeting my eyes. “I get tired of being treated as a commodity. And sometimes normal is nice … uncomplicated.”

  I watched the two elves across the way. Phineas was wriggling his way between them as they stared at the books. Roweena pointed at something and Talivar shook his head. His hair was tied back so it didn’t drag across the paper, the torc at his neck gleaming like a vestige of his former royal glory.

  “I don’t know,” I murmured finally, a flush spreading over my cheeks as I remembered his mouth on mine the night before. “He’s my bodyguard. Seems a little inappropriate.”

  “Well, technically he’s your boss now, but yeah, I see what you mean.” Melanie yawned. “Want to go get something to eat? I’m starving, and if they’re going to be here all night, we might as well snag some grub. I’ll probably need to crash soon anyway.”

  My stomach rumbled in answer. “Sounds good.” We made our way up to the table. “Any luck? Mel and I are gonna go get a pizza or something.”

  “If by luck you mean ‘shit out of,’ then yes. And I’d kill for a pizza,” Phineas sighed. “With sausage.”

  “We did discover some usefulness about the Key’s properties,” Talivar said. “The mechanics of it are quite complicated, but we do know that the Key has changed its form over the years. Makes it a bit hard to track down, though.”