by C. T. Adams
“Probably not. But it might be worth the money. Truly.”
David’s usual good-natured grin returned. “I’ll go with you. He’ll behave better if I’m there. If we hurry, we can get there before he goes to class and be back in time to open the shop.”
“You really think he has something that would work?”
David smiled knowingly. “I know just the thing. Trust me.” He made a shooing gesture with his hands. “Go get changed. I’ll finish in here.”
He was being unbelievably bossy, but Brianna was too tired to argue. Besides, she did trust him.
It didn’t take long to shower and brush her hair and teeth. Ducking into the bedroom, she dressed quickly, choosing black jeans and a black T-shirt with a silver floral pattern on the front. She pulled her hair up in a simple ponytail, pulled on socks and a pair of black running shoes, and was ready to go.
David was waiting in the living room. Pug had vanished. At her questioning look, David said, “He said he was going to guard the shop since you haven’t completed the protections yet.”
“Ah. Let’s get moving.” She gestured for him to precede her. They rounded the corner into the entryway with him just a fraction in front of her. Without even intending it, Brianna’s hand started to reach for the statue.
“Don’t even think about it, Hai. Put your hands in your pockets.”
He said it without turning around. Now that was just weird. Still, he was right. Brianna stuck her hands in the pockets of her jeans, spared a quick glance to make sure the cats had food and water, and the two of them were out the door, leaving her father’s magic safely behind.
Emerging into the shop, Brianna glanced up and spotted Pug in the shadows, on one of the metal rafters. She didn’t like leaving Pug by himself. He’d fed on enough blood yesterday to satisfy a stone troll of his size for several days and she knew he would protect the store against any enemies vulnerable to stone, claws, and teeth. But he was what the woman had been after. If she came back, she’d no doubt bring reinforcements and they’d be ready to take on a gargoyle. Pug wasn’t stupid, but Brianna wondered if he had enough sense to stay away from things he was no match for. She thought he did. Still, after his act of heroism yesterday … she was oddly reassured when he met her gaze and gave her a very obvious wink.
She mock-glared up at him, growling a warning. “If there’s any trouble, make sure you don’t bite off more than you can chew.”
He smiled in response, deliberately showing her all three rows of wickedly curved teeth. His meaning was clear. He could bite, and chew, a damned sight more than she was giving him credit for.
“Fine, fine.” Brianna grumbled as she punched in the series of numbers that activated the alarm system and followed David out the front door.
It was a five-block walk to the building that housed Ed’s studio. Even in the city, surrounded by concrete, Brianna could sense the turning of the season. The first bite of autumn was in the air. Tonight would be the first frost. In a few days the leaves of the carefully cultivated trees that lined Commerce Square would transform from summer green, to crimson, gold, and warm brown before falling into the gutters.
Commuters were lining up outside the nearby Starbucks with their briefcases and cell phones. Brianna kept scanning the area, looking for … something. She had a strange sense of foreboding, a general sense of unease that made her twitchy.
“What’s the matter? I’ve never seen you like this.” David’s eyes narrowed, his expression serious.
“No, I don’t suppose you have,” Brianna admitted. She smiled, but the expression felt artificial. Something was wrong, or about to go wrong.
David stopped, standing stock-still in the middle of the sidewalk. “Damn it, Hai! Stop being so friggin’ secretive! Haven’t I earned the right to know what’s going on?”
His dark eyes blazed, his hands clenching in fists. It was obvious he was well and truly pissed. She hadn’t meant to anger David. She loved David like a brother—hell, more than any of her brothers—but he was full human, and despite all the time they’d spent together, there were some things he didn’t understand about magic and the Fae.
“It’s just a feeling—not even enough to be a premonition.”
He stared at her for a long, silent moment, willing her to tell him everything. Unfortunately, she already had. Finally, he gave her a sour look and said, “You truly have no idea what’s wrong?”
“No.”
He bit his lip and ran one hand through his hair, turning it into a tousled mess. “Well, doesn’t that just suck.” His smile wasn’t happy and his eyes scanned the area for trouble.
Brianna grinned, relaxing fractionally. She couldn’t help it. David would probably never know how much she appreciated his absolute trust in her abilities. Anyone else she knew would have argued—claimed she was being paranoid. Not David. David just believed her. “Yeah, well, whatever it is, we’ll deal with it. But let’s not dawdle, okay?”
“Not a problem.”
They turned off the main road, onto a narrow side street. In less than two blocks the neighborhood transitioned from marginal to bad. Instead of curtains at the windows, there were tattered sheets or blankets. Neatly trimmed lawns gave way to mud and weeds. Debris and trash filled the gutters. A sagging fence was liberally tagged with graffiti. A battered old Plymouth rested on cinder blocks.
Two blocks more and they reached a narrow, three-story building of cracked red brick. The entrance was at the top of a set of concrete steps, the door flanked by rows of rusted mailboxes. Each box had been crudely labeled in whitish paint with an apartment number. A few sported peeling name labels.
Brianna’s skinned crawled in response to hostile stares. They were being watched, sharp eyes peering out from behind ragged cloth in many windows.
David took the steps two at a time. The outer door was unlocked and he held it open for Brianna. Inside, the scent of stale urine hit her like a blow and she realized it emanated from a homeless man snoring in one corner. Heading for the stairs, Brianna felt a stirring of energy and turned back, only to see the man shambling out the door.
“Boss?” David was waiting for her, halfway up the first flight of steps.
“Nothing. Never mind.” Brianna waved him forward and followed, but couldn’t keep herself from a backward glance before hurrying to catch up.
Ed and George’s apartment was on the top floor of the building. A corner unit, it was perpetually cold thanks to all the windows, but filled with wonderful light that Brianna assumed was useful for a painter. As they made their way up the final set of stairs, Brianna could hear an argument in progress. George’s basso profanities were punctuated by Ed’s shrill nasal whining. Great. Just great.
Perhaps in response, another tenant on the third floor had cranked up the volume on his television until Brianna could clearly hear every word of the sermon being broadcast. She recognized the voice of the great Reverend Ralph, who had been expounding on evil for years. Today he was harping on the sins of the flesh and the corruption of popular culture. Periodically the audience would respond with a rousing, “Amen.”
David gave Brianna a long-suffering look and raised his hand to pound on the door to Ed’s apartment. Neither combatant noticed right away, so David kept knocking. At last the argument broke off and Brianna heard the heavy stomp of booted feet approaching, followed by the metal scraping of locks being pulled back.
The door opened a crack, showing half of George’s unshaven face, bisected by a narrow, brass, safety chain. “Waddaya want?”
George glared at them. He lived under the oft-spoken presumption that if he didn’t keep constant watch on Ed, the other man was going to run off and bed anything that moved. It wasn’t an attractive attitude, and Brianna wouldn’t have tolerated it in Ed’s place. But Ed seemed to accept it. She sometimes wondered if perhaps he even encouraged it, manipulating George, making him jealous.
Brianna was half tempted to just turn around and leave, but she co
uld tell from David’s body language that he wasn’t about to let George’s bad attitude get in their way.
“I called earlier. Brianna wants to buy one of Ed’s paintings.”
George growled an incoherent response, then closed the door. Brianna heard the chain being shifted before the door opened again, revealing George lumbering away. A few seconds later she could hear him slamming pans and dishes in the kitchen.
“Sorry about that,” Ed said as Brianna and David stepped into the apartment, but by the look of him, he didn’t seem particularly sorry. He was twitchy, his spindly body moving in sharp, uncoordinated jerks that told Brianna he was wired on something. His natural paleness was more pronounced than usual and there were shadows like bruises under his preternaturally bright eyes. His dark hair was a mess of tangles, his jeans baggy and paint-stained.
“I’ve pulled out some of my best for you to look at.” He gestured wildly at a large group of canvases leaning against the far wall. They ranged in size from only a few inches across to huge pieces that took up nearly half of the long bare brick wall they leaned against.
The place was a mess. The entire living room area had been taken over by Ed’s painting supplies and canvases in various stages of production. The bedroom, visible through the open door at the end of the hall, was a mess of rumpled sheets and laundry piled haphazardly on the floor. While she couldn’t see the bathroom, she’d had enough previous experience here not to want to.
Shaking her head, Brianna walked over and began flipping through the paintings, trying to ignore the negotiation going on behind her. David had offered a price, Ed was arguing for more, and George, God help her, had returned from the kitchen and was trying to serve as the voice of reason. The whole exercise was pointless if she didn’t find something worthwhile.
The first few canvases were disturbingly odd. They were brilliant; the images haunting, dreams and nightmares captured in pigment. But looking at them, Brianna had to suppress a shudder. They probably deserved to be hung in a gallery, but she wouldn’t want them in her home. Nor were they suitable for her father.
She heard soft footsteps behind her, and half turned to find Ed at her elbow. George and David had retreated to the couch and lowered their voices.
“The first three are my most recent work,” the painter said.
“They’re quite remarkable,” she admitted, “but I’m looking for a gift that needs to be a little more—”
“Traditional?” Ed suggested.
“Exactly.” Brianna smiled, trying to take the sting out of the rejection.
He nodded. “Try the ones further back.” As he reached past her, perhaps intending to move some of the canvases out of the way, his hand brushed against hers. Brianna felt a shock, like an electric current, that made her jerk back. In that instant Brianna knew that her magic had sensed something wrong about Ed; the zap was a warning.
“Ouch. Damn! That hurt.” Ed glared at her.
A moment later George edged his body between Ed and Brianna. Brows lowered, he asked, “What’s wrong, Ed?”
“Nothing—I just got a shock. Must be static from the rug.”
Brianna couldn’t imagine there was enough nap left on the threadbare carpet to generate a good charge, but George relaxed visibly. He didn’t leave but his posture became less aggressive.
“Brilliant, isn’t he.” His tone challenged Brianna to argue.
“Definitely,” Brianna agreed. “I just hope I can find something right for my father.” George or no George, if she didn’t see something suitable, she wasn’t pulling out the checkbook. Nor did she intend to waste much more time on this. She and David needed to get back to the shop in time to open.
“Here.” Ed pulled out the third painting from the back. “What do you think of this?”
With an aggrieved sigh, George moved aside so Brianna could see the whole piece. The moment she did, the breath caught in her throat. She was completely awestruck.
It was a woodland scene. Done in photorealism, the soft sunlight of an early summer morning filtered through leaves of every color of green imaginable and speckled a forest floor. It drew you in, as if you were walking into the painting, and into the woods until Brianna almost expected to hear the notes of the songbird perched among the branches, see the rabbit bolt when her footfalls came too close. It was amazing, each plant, each animal, every leaf and blade of grass was so perfectly depicted that Brianna could almost smell the loamy earth, hear the birds in the trees.
It was glorious, exquisite and amazing. Her father would treasure it. Ed could name whatever price he wanted. If Brianna could afford it, she’d pay it.
Ed stared at her, a knowing smile twitching at his lips. He was smug, but he had good reason to be. “This is the one.”
“Yes. It is,” Brianna agreed, her voice hushed.
“I’ll give you a break on the price because you modeled for me.” He sounded both cocky, and oddly, sad. Brianna wondered if he was sorry to part with it. Were his paintings the children of his mind and talent? Was it hard to let them go? She’d never had such a gift, so she would never really understand.
“Thank you.”
His eyes met hers, the look acknowledging that something more serious than a mere purchase was going on. For the first time, Ed and Brianna actually understood each other.
“When is that book coming out anyway? I’ll want to get a copy,” Brianna asked.
Ed smiled, and again it had that hint of wistful sadness she didn’t quite understand. “I asked and the author sent me autographed copies for you and David. George, could you get the books for me while Brianna writes the check? They’re on the nightstand.”
George didn’t argue, stomping out of the living room area without comment. Taking the hint, Brianna pulled her checkbook and pen from her back pocket. David gave her the figure he and George had settled on. It was a hefty amount, but that painting was worth every penny. Who knew, if it didn’t go to drugs, it could buy the boys a house—with lots of windows and perfect light. The thought made Brianna smile.
9
The painting hadn’t looked that big in Ed’s living room. It wasn’t until Brianna and David were carrying it that it became apparent just how awkward an eight-by-twelve-foot canvas could be. It wasn’t heavy, but it was large and ungainly. It had been hard getting it down the narrow apartment stairs; the real challenge, however, came at street level. Who knew that it would make the perfect sail, catching the slightest breeze and attempting to drag the two of them into traffic—to the spirited accompaniment of horns and cursing?
Brianna was in good shape. She knew David was as well—after all, you can’t carve marble or move magical artifacts made of stone unless you were reasonably fit. But after the first few minutes Brianna could feel the strain in her shoulders and arms. Too, once they started they couldn’t exactly stop and put the canvas down.
It didn’t help that the used grocery bag that held their new hardcover books kept slapping against Brianna’s legs. By the time they had traveled two blocks she was well and truly sick of the entire process and they hadn’t even reached the halfway point.
A vehicle pulled to the curb ahead of them and a gravelly voice filled with amusement called out, “Hey, bro, you look like you could use some help.”
Peering around the edge of the canvas, Brianna got her first in-person look at David’s older brother.
Brianna had seen pictures and heard a lot about Nick from David over the years. He was a few years older and different enough in age and personality that they hadn’t been that close growing up. Now, as adults, they were developing a real friendship. According to David, his brother was stubborn, hard-headed, and a world-class smart-ass, but otherwise a good guy and a damned fine cop. One thing Brianna counted in his favor was the fact that of all the Antonellis, he alone had never given David a hard time about his sexual preference.
Brianna’s eyes widened when she caught sight of him, her pulse speeding slightly. The pictures she’d gli
mpsed on David’s cell phone had definitely not done him justice.
Oh, my.
10
NICK ANTONELLI
God, Nick was tired, completely exhausted. He wandered down the hall from the intensive care unit to the little waiting room with its uncomfortable molded plastic chairs and bank of vending machines. A television overhead ran incessantly. Looking up he was disturbed to see a clip of himself rushing into the hospital.
Turning toward the nearest machine, he took a look at himself in the glass. Yep, he looked just as bad in person. His work clothes had been taken into evidence, so he’d changed into the rumpled and ratty sweatpants and T-shirt stuffed in the gym bag at the bottom of his locker. He hadn’t bothered to shower, either—and there were speckles of dried blood here and there that he’d missed when he’d done his lightning-quick wash-up.
Juan’s blood: Juan, who was out of surgery and clinging to life in the ICU down the hall, his family gathered, pale and intense, praying or quietly crying as they waited for news of whether he would live or die.
Nick found himself blinking back tears. It would’ve been better if it had been him. He didn’t have a wife, a brand-new baby. And while his parents and David would mourn, it wasn’t the same. Damn it anyway! Rage at his own helplessness, instant and intense, rolled through him, making him want to hit something, anything. Closing his eyes he reined in his emotions, waiting until his ragged breathing had steadied before opening them. When he did he was surprised to find he was no longer alone in the room. Juan’s mother had come in behind him. He could see her reflection clearly in the glass of the vending machine.
Inez Sanchez was not a young woman. Tiny, she was less than five feet tall. Her silver hair was pulled back in a tight bun and lacquered into place with enough hairspray that not a single hair had come loose, even after all these hours. She wore an old-fashioned housedress with purple flowers and a hand-knitted sweater in an improbable shade of lilac. Widowed young, she’d raised five children in a questionable section of the city. It was a testament to her that not one of them had wound up in trouble and all of them still attended both her Sunday dinners and mass on a regular basis.
