All That Falls

by Kimberly Frost

  Lysander licked his lips, wanting a lingering taste of her. He swallowed, knowing that he needed to stay away from her, but he was already nostalgic about their time together. He ran a hand through his unruly hair, thinking of the soft, very dark waves that had framed her face like a dusky halo. He shook his head with regret. A great and dangerous beauty. Better never to have met her.

  He rubbed his arms against the chill that seemed worse than usual. Then he felt a sharp pang in his chest that he recognized. He looked to the sky. Dark. Silent. Still. He glanced around and down, not really seeing, focused instead on the quiet. He felt a vibration, a wave of malignant energy, then another sharp cramp in his heart.

  Demons.

  Some fool had opened a gate.

  Chapter 10

  The ache lingered. Longing had never been so intense. Using muse magic on herself wasn’t strictly legal, but Cerise couldn’t move, couldn’t focus. She had to try to use her gift to overcome the effects of his. With a slow exhalation of breath, she gathered strength.

  “You don’t need or want anything. Or anyone. You’re content.” The magic washed over her. She drew in a fresh breath and exhaled trouble. Angels were so addictive. She hadn’t known. Now she did. The way she wanted him was unnatural and should have made her want him less, but didn’t.

  The longing faded, muscles unfurling, mind spooling away from the orgasm she’d had and the one she hadn’t. She forced herself up and she dressed, all the while recalling the slide of his body over hers. She shuddered, then clenched her teeth, awash in emptiness.

  Time ticked by, and gradually she remembered why she’d originally come to his apartment. Her gaze slid to the duffel. She wouldn’t have admitted to Jersey or Hayden that if given the choice she would’ve chosen Lysander’s body over the opportunity to get the songbook, but lying to herself wasn’t an option. Some people were good at it, but she’d never been that lucky.

  Cerise pulled on the bag’s strap, and it dropped with a thump on the pillow. She unzipped the duffel and removed the book from where it had been tucked next to his violin. She glanced at the shelf, empty now, a lonely shadow stretching from it.

  She rose and glanced at the middle of the bed where the open duffel rested, big and black like a giant beetle against the sheets. If it wasn’t the first thing he saw when he walked in, she’d be surprised.

  He’d open the bag and know she’d taken the book back, that she’d gotten at least one of the things she’d wanted from him—a thing he hadn’t wanted to give up.

  Good.

  As she left, a feeling of restlessness kept her company.

  Retrieving the book is enough, she told herself. Because it has to be.

  Strange company, Cerise thought upon entering Alissa’s apartment. Merrick had returned from fighting the rival ventala, and he and Richard played poker in the low light to the hum of their murmured mock barbs and chuckles. Their rapport was as easy as if they’d been friends for a lifetime. She glanced at Richard’s mountain of chips, then to Merrick’s sharp eyes. Richard was taking Merrick for all he was worth? Not likely. Amusement curled through Cerise at the thought of Merrick letting Richard win at cards. He’s very good with my dad, Alissa had said. Apparently so. Merrick, ruthless to a fault by reputation, indulged his father-in-law for his wife’s sake. Cerise felt envy’s kiss. Griffin had loved her, but not that much. Not enough to tell the world. Not enough to stay with her. And Lysander…well, he was quicksilver through her fingers, too. She couldn’t hold on to him.

  Merrick looked at her speculatively. She knew she’d been gone a long time, but Merrick didn’t ask where she’d been. In fact, he said nothing at all. Had Richard told him she’d gone down to Lysander? If so, she was surprised Merrick hadn’t come after her. Or maybe she wasn’t surprised. Merrick didn’t seem the type to butt into business he didn’t consider his.

  “We trust in plumed procession, for such the angels go. Rank after rank, with even feet. And uniforms of snow,” Richard said. “It’s a shame Emily Dickinson never met Lysander. I’d like to have heard the verse she’d have written for a lost angel.”

  Merrick’s brow quirked as his eyes slid to the songbook in Cerise’s hand. She’d held it to the side and slightly behind her, not exactly hiding it, but wanting it to go unnoticed. Her grip tightened at Merrick’s interest, but he gave no indication that he’d try to recover it for his friend.

  “Where’s the closest helipad in your territory?” Cerise asked.

  “There isn’t one, but if you’re arranging a ride, we’ll block the nearest intersection and the chopper can set down in the street. You thinking of calling Etherlin Security?”

  Bringing Etherlin Security to Merrick’s front door and tempting them to try to recover Alissa from him didn’t seem fair payment when Merrick had saved Cerise’s life.

  “No, but I have a couple of friends who owe me favors or who would like me to owe them one. I just need to make some calls.”

  Richard leaned forward toward Merrick and whispered, “Have a care. Mighty things fall from the sky.”

  Merrick’s eyes narrowed.

  Richard cocked his head, his silver hair catching the light. He glanced at Cerise with a soft expression. “Interesting company is the most valuable. Brooding and passionate, it consumes.”

  “Are you saying that I should stay? That if I try to leave by helicopter it will crash?” she asked.

  Richard shook his head. “But what I told Lysander two nights ago while we played cards still holds true. Look to Basil King, I said. I had a full house and won the hand, so he accused me of using the quote to mislead him into not folding so I could build a bigger pot.” With an impish smile, Richard shrugged. “When I mentioned King’s advice, I wasn’t speaking of cards. I never claimed I was.”

  She laughed. “But you let him think you were? Clever. I wish I’d been there to watch you beat him,” she said. “What was the quote?”

  Richard gave a vague wave of his hand.

  “King’s famous quote was ‘Be bold and mighty forces will come to your aid,’” Merrick said.

  “Yes, roughly,” Richard said.

  “You’re a fan of quotes, too?” Cerise asked Merrick.

  Merrick winked.

  “He doesn’t collect quotes for his own sake,” Richard confided. “He does it to better converse with me, which scores points with Andromeda.”

  “Andromeda?” Cerise echoed.

  “Yes, my daughter, Andromeda.”

  Cerise glanced at Merrick, who shook his head and rolled his eyes in an “it’s a long story” expression.

  Richard whistled low and soft. “Cerise, when you need a key, find it in the hollow at the base of the purple trellis and look to the spring equinox.” Richard glanced at Merrick. “It won’t be long now. Let’s finish the hand.”

  Cerise saw Richard deal a card from the bottom of the deck. Merrick saw it, too, of course, but kept right on playing as if he hadn’t.

  “You should wake Andromeda,” Richard said. “She doesn’t like confrontations, which is why she’ll be needed.”

  It was clear by Merrick’s frown that he disapproved of the idea of disturbing Alissa. Cerise smiled. It was sweet the way that Merrick was about Alissa and Richard. She liked him for it.

  Cerise called a music exec who lived in the Sliver and arranged for him to pick her up by helicopter. He promised he could get her back to the Etherlin at dawn, and she hung up satisfied.

  Cerise walked to a corner reading nook next to a large bookshelf. She flipped on the lamp and dropped onto the seat of a velvet-cushioned chair, putting her feet up on the matching ottoman. She bet that, as a muse to writers, the chair was Alissa’s favorite spot.

  Cerise leaned back and opened Griffin’s journal. In an instant, the room seemed to suck the air from her lungs and she was transported back. She saw him, clear as day, standing on the edge of a stage, singing “Marks of a Misspent Youth” over the excited screams of forty thousand fans. Then she and Gri
ffin were alone in the living room of the rented house. He laughed and kissed her. A darkness like smoke blurred the room’s edges, and she saw a hand over her wineglass. Crushed powder sank and disappeared into the Merlot. She squinted.

  What was that?

  She gripped the book and flipped the page, forcing her eyes to focus. In the margin there was a drawing of an eerie tree limb from which a bird’s nest was falling.

  The only things she’d ever known Griffin to doodle were musical notes. She stared down at several illegible lines written in handwriting that wasn’t Griffin’s. Her eyes narrowed, trying to make out the words. The tiny letters crowded together as if hiding.

  Had one of the other musicians used the book when it was lying around in the studio? She tried to remember what Hayden’s and Jersey’s writing looked like. Jersey’s was loopy. It looked nothing like the tiny scrawl. She didn’t think it was Hayden’s, either.

  She turned pages and stopped at more writing that wasn’t Griffin’s. Handwriting gone gothic, the calligraphy had been done in jet ink by fountain pen and half the words were curses and slithery phrases about sex and bondage.

  What the hell?

  In a flash, crushing fingers gripped her throat from behind, choking her. Her own hands strangled pewter-colored sheets as she struggled, trying to wrench free, unable to breathe. A rush of adrenaline. Panic. A body pressing against her. She tried to scream, to fight—

  Sharp as a blade, the memory receded. Cerise’s harsh breathing and pounding heart were all she could hear for a moment. The book lay at her feet, apparently having fallen from her lap.

  What the fuck?

  She touched her throat, which still tingled and throbbed like someone had been choking her.

  Then she flushed, remembering she wasn’t alone. She looked up and found Merrick and Richard staring at her.

  “Tea with milk and honey. Even warrior queens once and again need soothing,” Richard announced, rising.

  Merrick said nothing. His eyes, dark with midnight shadows, watched her silently.

  “I’m okay,” she said, reaching down to retrieve the book. She set it on her lap, studying it warily. It pressed against her legs like a thousand pounds of unwanted weight. What had happened that night? She struggled to unbury more of the memory, even while dreading what she might see.

  When Richard came from the kitchen, Merrick intercepted the mug and put a shot of whiskey into it.

  Cerise’s fingers stretched over the book’s cover like spiderwebs, trapping it closed. Merrick set the mug within the reach.

  “Thanks,” she said, preparing herself to open the book again. Her stomach knotted a protest.

  I have to…

  “You know,” Merrick said. “Lysander’s mercurial, but not random in what he does.”

  “Meaning?”

  “He kept the book even after you told him it was yours. There’s a reason.”

  As if on cue, the balcony door opened and air gusted in as Lysander’s wings folded backward and disappeared. He filled the doorway as he entered. Cerise slid her hands to the edges of the book so she could grip it tight.

  “Timing perfect enough to break the heart of a Swiss watchmaker,” Merrick said, stepping in front of Cerise.

  Lysander waved Merrick aside. “Did you feel it? Demons rising. A fight before dawn I think.”

  “Did you come to get one for luck?” Merrick asked.

  “One what?” Lysander said impatiently.

  “Another kiss from the girl,” Merrick said.

  Cerise flushed. How had Merrick known they’d kissed? She licked her lips wondering if they were more red or plump than usual.

  “When it’s time for me to account for my actions, you won’t be in attendance, Merrick. Nor can I imagine why you’d want to be.”

  “She’s Alissa’s guest.”

  Lysander shrugged. “I like your wife, but I don’t dance at her pleasure.”

  Merrick folded his arms across his chest. “Are you here for the girl or the book?”

  “Surely you know.”

  “If you didn’t want her to take it, you could’ve put it out of reach.”

  “I’ve not had the opportunity because I’ve been detained here, carrying human cargo across the sky at your request.”

  Merrick inclined his head in acknowledgment. “You’ve got a reason for keeping the book. Tell her what it is and convince her to give it to you.”

  “On the whole, you understand plenty, but sometimes you know less than you suppose, Merrick. I’m not inexperienced with women. And for your information, this one doesn’t need your bodyguard posturing to put her at ease.”

  “When have you ever known me to posture?” Merrick asked with grim amusement. “It’s her book.”

  “In point of fact—”

  “Lyse, according to Alissa, it’s her book. In this apartment, it’s her book.”

  The angel let out an exasperated sigh. “Merrick, if a woodsman pointed out a poisoned berry, would you eat it because your wife asked you to?”

  When Merrick didn’t answer, Cerise smiled, and Lysander threw his hands up in frustration.

  “You were the most hardened, most practical boy I ever met. You realize you had more sense at fourteen than you have now. Step away and let me speak to her.”

  Merrick moved aside, but put a hand on the back of the chair, clearly hovering. Lysander towered over her for a moment, then dropped to a knee.

  She raised an eyebrow as if to say…this should be good.

  “I got the message you left so I’m here.”

  “I didn’t leave you a message.”

  The corner of his mouth turned up. “The open bag on the bed was very clearly a message. You sought to provoke a response. Here it is. That book contains more than the music and lyrics of a young man. He crossed paths with someone evil. I wouldn’t be surprised if it contributed to his death.”

  Surprised, her jaw dipped open. “What do you mean evil? What makes you say that?”

  “I would no more tell you that than let you keep the book.”

  Her grip tightened. He set his right hand, palm up, on her knee. He glanced at the book, then at her face. His moss green eyes shone with sincerity. “You have cause to be angry with me, but I hope you won’t let that cloud your judgment. I ask you to release that book for your own safety.”

  “I don’t want protection. I want answers.”

  “Not the ones contained in this book, Cerise.”

  “Listen, these songs belong to his band.”

  “I’ll copy the songs and give them to you.”

  “It’s not just the songs. I need to read what he wrote.”

  “Richard, what are you doing?” Merrick asked.

  Cerise looked up and spotted Richard going down the hall.

  “Don’t knock on that door,” Merrick said.

  Richard’s fist stopped just before it rapped against the door. Richard gave a short nod to acknowledge what Merrick had said, then he grabbed the knob, turned it, and proceeded inside.

  Merrick frowned. “I meant don’t wake her up,” Merrick muttered. “And despite how crazy you are, you knew exactly what I meant.”

  “No,” Cerise said as Lysander put traction on the book. “Griffin and I were involved, and I need to find out what happened on the night he died.”

  “You loved him?”

  “I did.”

  Lysander shuttered his expression. “Which will make you dangerously determined to unlock doors that should stay closed.” With a small jerk, he plucked the book from her hands. She grabbed his arm.

  “Lysander,” Merrick warned. “Free will, remember? You’ve warned her. That’s enough.”

  Lysander stared at Cerise’s face. “Obviously, she thinks I haven’t done enough. She’s had more of me than anyone has for a thousand years, but she’s not satisfied.”

  Cerise flushed and glared at him, but he looked away to glance at Merrick.

  “If the evil that brushed again
st the pages of this book realizes that she means anything to me, it won’t rest until she’s destroyed. I speak from experience.”

  “What do you say, Cerise?” Merrick asked. “He doesn’t lie. If he says the book’s deadly, it is.”

  “I won’t open it again until I’m back in the Etherlin.”

  “A demon has attacked in the Etherlin before. Etherlin Security wasn’t particularly effective if you recall,” Merrick said.

  “Enough of this,” Lysander said, standing up.

  “Hang on,” Merrick said, putting a hand on Lysander’s shoulder.

  Lysander jerked his shoulder back. “Don’t do this, Merrick. Even you can’t win against me.”

  “If you and I dance, no one wins.”

  “Wait. What’s happening?” Alissa asked, striding toward them.

  “Stay back, Alissa,” Merrick said in a low voice, and she slowed.

  “What’s going on?” she asked, walking directly to their sides. She put a hand on each of their arms. “Tell me.”

  “We’re arguing over the songbook,” Merrick said.

  “Oh,” she said. “Why do you want it, Lysander?”

  Lysander pulled free of Alissa’s grip. “Dawn is coming, Merrick. There’s no time to go through it again. Do we fight each other? Or do I fight what really needs to be fought?”

  “Fight each other? Of course not,” Alissa said with a gasp.

  “Alissa,” Merrick said, moving her aside. “Stay out of the way.”

  Lysander stalked toward the balcony.

  “What do you say, Cerise?” Merrick asked grimly.

  She wasn’t sure she could be at peace with things now that she knew there was a great deal more to the book than she’d ever realized. But she didn’t want to destroy Alissa’s happiness, and she didn’t need Merrick fighting her battles. “Let it go.”

  Alissa bent down, kissed Cerise’s cheek, and whispered, “Thank you.”

  “This isn’t finished, Lysander,” Cerise called as he flew off the balcony.

  Alissa sat on the edge of the ottoman in front of Cerise. “Now fill me in.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Just remind him that he promised to copy the songs. I want to give those back to the Molly Times. The rest I’ll take care of myself.”