by C. E. Murphy
“Yeah, but that was before I knew they really existed.” He held up a hand, smiling wryly. “I know it doesn’t make sense. Don’t ask.”
“It makes a kind of sense.”
“Grace told me about these favors you’ve exchanged with Janx,” Tony said abruptly. “Is that my fault?”
Margrit blinked, but shook her head. “It really isn’t. You put his name in my ear, but someone else pointed me at him to talk to about the Old Races. I made my own noose there. Don’t worry about it.”
“I can’t help worrying. I know what kind of guy he is.” Exasperation flitted across Tony’s face. “Except I don’t.”
“No, you do. Just because he’s a dragon doesn’t mean he’s not also a criminal. It just gets complicated when you start looking at it in terms of human justice.”
“No kidding.” Slow realization dawned on Tony’s face. “Shit, Margrit. Tell me you didn’t tip him off the night we raided the House of Cards.”
Margrit’s game face fell into place far too late, a too-honest wince creasing her features long before she could school them into courtroom calm. Tony stared at her, then in genuine dismay, said, “Margrit!”
She winced again. “That sounded way too much like my mother. I’m sorry, Tony. I really am, but I just can’t see him in one of our jails. It’s like caging a lion for hunting.”
“We shoot lions that hunt people!”
Margrit opened her mouth and shut it again on her argument. “All right, good point. Still, I just…I had to warn him. I just…”
Tony leaned back, arms folded across his chest as he glared at her. “Looks like the mighty have fallen.”
“I fell and then I started digging a pit. I don’t know, maybe this is one of the reasons I agreed to go work for Daisani. I always knew that most of the time I was defending bad guys, but I could live with that. It was how our legal system worked. But it’s our legal system, and I got myself neck-deep in a whole world that doesn’t quite follow our rules. It’s easy to stop toeing the line, Tony. I never knew how easy it was. If I’m not at Legal Aid anymore I’m not in the position of making these decisions, of splitting these hairs. I don’t have to decide if I put Janx away or let him walk.”
“That’s for a jury to decide, not you, Grit.”
“Where are you going to find a jury of Janx’s peers?”
Uncertainty crossed Tony’s face before he looked away with a new frown. “He lives in our world. He should be judged by it.”
“If you can really believe that,” Margrit said softly, “you’re doing one better than me.”
He looked back at her, lips thinned. “I gotta believe it.”
Margrit nodded, then sighed. “Would it do any good to ask you not to pursue him now? Because he’s already chafing at having to promise not to eviscerate you. If you push it…”
“You think he’ll go back on his word? I thought you trusted him.”
“I think he might decide you’re crunchy and good with ketchup now and be terribly, terribly sorry later.” Margrit widened her eyes in her best imitation of the dragonlord’s mockery of innocence. “I’d rather you didn’t risk it.”
“That’s quite a mouthful coming from you, at this point.”
“I know.” Margrit got to her feet, wrapping the blanket around her as a barrier against the cool room. “So maybe you’ll take that into consideration. Did Grace bring me any clothes, by any chance?”
“I went to your apartment and got you some.” Tony got up to pull a duffel bag around the end of the bed. “What’re you going to do, Grit?”
“First I’m going to get dressed.” Margrit began rifling through the bag, pulling out a favorite T-shirt, a sports bra and well-loved jogging pants. She shot a smile of recognition and thanks at Tony, who shrugged a shoulder in acknowledgment.
“First I’m going to get dressed,” she repeated, mostly to herself, then glanced at Tony again. “And then I’m going to topple an empire.”
It had sounded good, she thought later, though the reality was that she slipped out of Grace’s tunnels with very little battle plan in place. Cutting the legs from under Daisani’s world-spanning corporation took more insider knowledge than she had access to.
Margrit crushed her hand into a fist. No: not more than she had access to, not if she utilized all the resources at her command. But far more than she wanted to use, if there was any potential way to avoid it.
She was running without knowing when she’d started, running for the first time in days, trying to outpace the only solid idea she had. She put on speed, not caring if she pushed herself too far: she needed the release, and the clarity that came with her feet striking the pavement in rhythmic slaps.
Janx and Daisani were symbiotic, always working as a pair. Both Chelsea and Tariq had said that when one failed in a location, the other soon moved on. Margrit told herself it wasn’t betrayal to push Daisani toward that end, but rather helping nature take its usual course.
Disbelieving laughter tore her lungs. Even if she could make herself believe that—and while she was a good liar, she didn’t think she was that good—even if she could, Daisani would never believe it. She already had a very black mark against her on his record. Pulling strings to cut his financial empire’s throat would be setting herself a noose and offering to adjust its fit.
Ir rah shun al, whispered the back of her mind. She sprinted ahead of it, trying to run faster than thought. It leapt ahead of her, taunting: if she failed Janx, his hands would be freed. Daisani losing everything seemed a fair trade for Tony’s life. The vampire, after all, could start again. Tony wouldn’t have a second chance.
Someday, she would be able to look back and pinpoint the moment at which she ceased recognizing herself. Maybe it had been when she’d gone with instinct and admitted to Alban that she trusted him. Maybe it had been later than that; maybe it had been when Ausra had died and Margrit had passed beyond normal human law into being part judge, jury and executioner herself. Maybe all of it had simply crept up, weighting her with incremental changes until she was suddenly, simply, no longer as she had been.
The woman she’d been wouldn’t have seriously considered how to ruin vast financial holdings, much less found herself grimly intending to do so.
Fresh humor, more of the bitter stuff that had followed her lately rather than the previous night’s joyfulness of being alive, surged through her. The truth was the woman she’d been before the Old Races could never have encountered the questions and problems that were now part and parcel of her life. In the same extraordinary circumstances, faced with what she now faced, the woman she’d been would make the same decisions. Had to make them, for the sake of people she loved. Daisani could start again, and at the end of the day, his welfare wasn’t as important to her as Tony’s.
Margrit wondered if that made her more human, or less, than she’d once been.
The thought cleared her mind, leaving her room to simply run. She cut across streets against the lights, making her way uptown with the vague idea of going home, or to the park. It didn’t matter, as long as she ran. For the first time in two weeks, nightmares didn’t haunt her steps, and she felt as though the exercise was helping to replenish the blood she’d lost the night before. She still needed more to drink, but what Tony’d brought had given her strength.
She came to a halt, panting, outside an apartment building, and flipped her ponytail upside down, hands on her thighs as she panted for air. The dizziness felt good: normal, and she was beginning to forget what normal was like. Anything that reminded her was welcome.
“Ms. Knight?” A voice spoke from a few yards away. Margrit righted herself, hands on her hips while she continued to heave for air, and blinked at the doorman, whose expression split into a smile. “Are you here to see Mr. Daisani?”
Margrit rolled back on her heels, still breathing hard, and looked up toward the penthouse apartment Daisani lived in. She’d had no conscious intention to visit the vampire, and reversed her g
aze to eye her feet accusingly, as though they’d developed a mind of their own. Then she smiled at the doorman. “Yeah, I am. It’s Diego, right? Gosh, thanks. I didn’t know if anybody would recognize me, with me turning up all sweaty and out of breath.”
Diego grinned. “It’s my job.” He held the door for her and Margrit went inside, waiting till she was well past him to raise a mocking eyebrow at herself: gosh? It was the sort of thing the flighty, frantic persona she’d put on a few days ago in an attempt to rescue Alban would have said.
The elevator doors slid open and Margrit stepped in, heel of one hand pressed against her eye as she tried to count back and remember how many days had passed since then. It was late Saturday afternoon now, and that had been Wednesday morning. She’d had far too little sleep in the interim, but felt astonishingly good for all of that.
An almost unnoticeable lurch warned her she’d reached the penthouse level just before the bell rang. Expecting a hallway, Margrit stepped out and then, astonished, glanced around a gorgeously lit, sunken living room. After the warm, rich Victorian colors of his office lobby, Margrit had expected Daisani’s home to be similar. Instead everything glowed in whites and creams, making the room a bastion of light.
Daisani himself came out of an enormous kitchen off to the elevator’s right, followed by the scent of garlic. “Miss Knight. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Margrit, her intended topic entirely forgotten, blurted, “The elevator opens in your living room? Isn’t that dangerous?”
Daisani arched an eyebrow. “Not especially. And, of course, I assure you the elevator only opens so indiscreetly when I know who’s arriving. Its back doors open on the hallway, which is how most visitors are admitted. Margrit, whatever are you doing here? I understand there was quite a kerfuffle last night.”
“Quite a…You could say that. I’m only alive because of you. Thanks.” Her eyebrows shot up. “I thought you said I’d still have to sleep, by the way. I’ve been up for most of four days and I feel fine.”
“Really. How extraordinary. I sleep very little, of course, but my blood doesn’t impart that gift to humans. It’s a more dragonly trait. Won’t you come in? Have some wine?”
“Water, please.” Margrit followed him into the kitchen, squinting. “Wait. Something happens if dragons give a human their blood, too?”
“I have no idea. They’re not, as far as I know, in the habit of it. Especially since your alchemists and wizards used to hunt them down for the so-called magical properties in their blood. I wouldn’t be inclined to share, either.” Smiling, Daisani poured a crystal glass of water and offered it to her.
Margrit took it and drank automatically, then, childlike, held it out for a refill when she’d finished. Looking amused, he poured a second glass, and Margrit did the same thing again without realizing it. When he handed it back a third time, she accepted, then turned one palm up, searching for a cut that wasn’t there.
But her own mind, sharpened with gargoyle clarity, showed her what she sought: a memory of Janx’s bloody scale, torn from his body by Alban’s strength. Margrit had pressed her hands against the deadly edge, watching her own skin part and meld again.
Melding, perhaps, with dragon blood.
“Margrit?”
She jolted, looking up from her hand, then drew a sharp breath. “Sorry. I was thinking.” Water glass set aside, she pulled her ponytail out, then twisted it back into place. “You want to know why I’m here.”
“Very much.” Daisani’s smile all but sparkled with curiosity. “After what I’ve heard about last night, anything that brings you here must be momentous indeed.”
“It is.” Margrit swallowed, then turned her hands up, as if pleading. “Here’s the thing. I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place. Janx wants you destroyed, and my promise to do that is the only thing keeping Tony alive. But for some reason it really gets under my skin to sneak around and backstab you, so I’m telling you that this is what I have to do. I have to try. I don’t much want to, but I can’t stop Janx any other way.”
Daisani blinked, the slowest, most deliberate expression she’d ever seen from him. “That…is momentous, indeed. You are certainly full of surprises, Miss Knight. Do you throw gauntlets at all your rivals with such clear and forthright intent?”
Margrit blinked back, then twitched her eyebrows in a shrug. “Well, yeah, pretty much. This is what lawyers do. Meet in neutral territory, proclaim their intentions, bargain if it’s possible, then step back to do battle in the courtroom.”
“And is a bargain possible?” Daisani asked the question as if it were academic; as if he knew already what the final answer was, but was curious to hear her response.
“Let’s assume for a moment that you were willing to relinquish all your holdings and walk away from the corporation. I don’t think Janx would qualify that as you being destroyed, which is what he wants. He probably also wants it to be a surprise, but I can’t help thinking that if I pull it off, you’re going to be plenty surprised whether you’ve been forewarned or not. So, no, I don’t think it is possible. I wish it was. I wish it could be that easy. But you’re not going to make it that easy, are you?”
“What fun would that be? I do see a critical flaw in your plan, though, Margrit.” He waited the fraction of a moment for Margrit to look inquisitive, then said, “What’s to prevent me from killing you right now and ending the entire question?”
Margrit dragged in a breath, held it, then expelled it on a crooked smile. “What fun would that be?”
THIRTY-ONE
SHE COULD ALMOST hear Alban’s voice, dismayed and resigned, saying, “That was a bad idea.”
The phrase was so inadequate as to be laughable, but that was part of the delight in hearing him say it. She had pursued so many bad ideas in the months since the Old Races came into her life that more extravagant words fell by the wayside of that one hopelessly understated comment.
Daisani had laughed aloud and gestured her back toward the elevator. Grateful, Margrit had taken the out she was offered, heart pushing thick blood with such enthusiasm that it sent a cramp through her chest when the elevator doors closed without Daisani darting inside them. He could catch her anywhere, instantaneously, but allowing her to escape the building without reminding her of that seemed like an agreement to the game.
Now, after the fact, warning him what she intended felt supremely stupid. She stopped a few yards down the block, arms folded over her ribs as she tried to hold back stomach-churning nausea. Feeble intellect proclaimed that challenging the vampire openly had been the right thing to do, and she’d been confident enough in that rightness to walk into his lair without fear. Now that the moment was past, though, she wasn’t certain she had strength left to get home, much less draw together the resources necessary to bring about his downfall.
“Mind over matter, Grit.” She spoke the words softly, trying to encourage herself, then nodded a couple of times and pushed herself upright, leaning against the wall. “One step at a time. Um.” Unable to think of another platitude, she managed a smile at herself and dug for the cell phone she’d pocketed when she’d put on her running gear. She’d set the autodial in motion and brought it to her ear before she fully noticed the screen was a pixelated mess. “Oh, goddammit!”
“Sorry?” A startled man—not a local, from both his response and from the T-shirt reading Oklahoma Is OK!—edged out of her way as she clenched the useless phone in her fist to stop herself from dashing it against the sidewalk in frustration. She’d ended up hurt and without a cell phone both times a djinn had snatched her. For one overblown moment, the loss of the phones seemed vastly more debilitating than the physical injuries. The fact that Janx wouldn’t be replacing this phone only added insult.
Margrit channeled destructive tendencies into running and left weariness behind in the rush of endorphins. Even so, by the time she arrived home, she was gasping, thirsty and vividly aware that she hadn’t eaten since lunch the previous day.
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There were no leftovers in the fridge, more disappointing than the discovery warranted. She took out a cup of yogurt and stirred it into a bowl full of granola, then left both on the counter as she searched for a pint of ice cream from the freezer. Two bites told her she needed real food first, and she shoveled the granola yogurt into her mouth while she called for Chinese delivery. With a promise of Mongolian beef and cashew chicken in twenty minutes, she sank down in front of the phone to finish eating her snack.
A key in the front door warranted looking, but not getting up. Margrit’s stomach clenched around the food, the anticipation of another confrontation with Cole too much to face, but it was Cameron who stepped in, gym bag slung over her shoulder and long legs shown off beneath a short, white tennis skirt.
“I thought you didn’t play tennis.”
Cam yelped, startled, and swung around to regard Margrit’s position on the floor in front of the telephone table. “Normal people say hello first!”
Margrit smiled. “Hello. I thought you didn’t play tennis.”
Cameron pointed a toe to flex lean muscle. “I took it up so Cole’d buy me a diamond tennis bracelet. You like the look?”
“You look gorgeous,” Margrit assured her. “Is it working?”
“Not unless he gets a substantial raise, but I don’t really need a tennis bracelet.” Cam smiled back and threw her gym bag into the room she and Cole shared before coming back to straighten up a kitchen Cole never left messy. “You left the party early last night, and you’ve got ice cream melting on the counter. Are you okay?”
“The ice cream didn’t taste good. I needed real food first.”
Cameron put out a hand and Margrit put her empty bowl into it for inspection. “So you ate cereal and yogurt?”
“I’ve ordered Chinese.”
“Cole will never forgive you if you stink up his fridge with leftover Chinese.”
“I’ll eat it all. I haven’t eaten since yesterday.”
“That’s not good.” Cameron frowned down at her. “What’s up with that?”
