A Trace of Moonlight (28 page)

I drew myself up, finding my own jeans with whatever bit of dignity I had left. “That’s not fair, and you know it.”

He snorted and headed for the door. “Life’s not fair,
princess
. I would have thought you knew that by now.” Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and slipped into the hallway.

I scowled at the door as it clicked shut behind him, shame and anger at war within me, before digging through my dresser for new underwear. I was done with bouts of self-wallowing pity, however. What else could I really say to either of them? Brystion was right. I had no excuse.

Sighing, I did a quick brush of my hair and hit the bathroom to wash up. Staring at my face in the mirror, I studied my blue eyes. Not a hint of gold anywhere, but I still couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Even now, something inside me ached to be set free.

Something that wasn’t mine.

I threw on a sweatshirt and some boots and headed out into the kitchen. The two men were seated on the couch, their gazes stony. Phineas sat between them, all three heads turning in my direction as I strode past.

I took the wooden rocking chair beside the TV, trying not to flinch away from their stares. “Are we having an intervention?” I tapped the edge of the chair.

“Do we need to?” Talivar cocked a brow at me. “I only came to give you an update and to find out how you were doing here. Should I not have bothered?”

“What do you want me to say? Weren’t you the one who once said you couldn’t trust your wife to be faithful?” The words were brittle in my mouth.

But he had. Something about how the family structure in Faerie families meant that he technically was closer to his nephew than to his own potential children . . . simply because they couldn’t trust that their own children really belonged to them.

Given that, I would have thought the Fae could have figured out the equivalent of DNA testing by now. On the other hand, the system had worked for thousands of years. What would be the point of gorking it up? And given what I’d seen of how the monarchy and succession worked, maybe it was better this way.

“Is this really how you want to have this happen?” His nostrils flared. “I would grant you an annulment upon your request—rather than see your contempt for this obviously loathsome situation you find yourself in.”

“No,” I said finally, my voice small. “I just thought we were going to wait until all this was over to figure it out.”

“
You
made that stipulation, Abby.” He crossed the room to tip my chin up, forcing me to look at him. “And as much sense as that suggestion seems to make . . . I cannot help but wonder if it’s merely your way of putting off that which you don’t want to decide.”

A snort of agreement echoed from Brystion’s side of the couch and I flinched. The urge to crawl out of my own skin and flee shivered within me, but Talivar refused to glance away.

“What if I don’t?” I pulled away from him, focusing on the floor. “What if I don’t want to decide? What if I want you both?”

“But you don’t.” Talivar retreated to look out the bay window. “You never did.”

“And you’re assuming we can actually share that long,” Brystion rumbled. “Waiting until things are normal will most likely never happen.” His mouth curved up in a self-mocking smile. “Not with you, anyway.”

“You sure you even want to stick around?” I mumbled.
“There’s a refrigerator in the kitchen I can be conveniently stuffed into if you need some motivational angst.”

Phineas trotted over to me, his nubbed horn looking even smaller than before. “Maybe you two shouldn’t tag-team her into making a decision right this moment.” His blue eyes stared us down. “That goes for all of you. However fucked up your relationships are? That’s your business. When it starts affecting the things that need to get done? That’s mine.”

He stomped a cloven hoof. “And right now, deciding who’s knocking boots with who needs to get back-burnered.”

“Easy for you to say,” Brystion retorted.

“I don’t want to die,” the unicorn said softly. “And without the Tree to keep us safe, we all will. We’ll fade at the least, and KeyStone or no, there won’t be any stopping it.” His upper lips curled. “Maybe not
you
—now that you’re pretending to be mortal—but the rest of us?”

He shivered. “So what’s your news? We’ve got some of our own.”

“Maurice, of course. Seems he’s been stirring up trouble all over the CrossRoads. So many of us have been in shock with the decimation of the Tree, he’s been able to come and go as he pleases.” Talivar shook his head. “He uses that damned necklace to pop in, steal supplies, move his mercenaries, and then he’s gone again before any of us can manage to react.”

“And there’s no way of following him, I assume?” I tried to keep the despair from my voice.

“Even when we do manage to scout him out on the CrossRoads, he disappears pretty quick somewhere else.” The elf frowned, shifting away to pace toward
the door, his boots clicking on the hardwood. “If I had to guess, he’s got some sort of spot hidden away, only accessible by the Key.”

Brystion and I exchanged a look. “Shadow Realm?” I asked.

“It’s possible,” Ion agreed. “Though it shows a lack of imagination on his part if that’s the case.”

Talivar’s gaze blanked for a moment. “Ah, you mean that disgusting little trick he played on my sister before. And you. Our trackers have indicated his ‘signature’ cannot be found after he disappears. I supposed it is possible.”

“All well and good,” I muttered. “But we need to find Melanie.” I glanced up at the two of them. “She’s dying. We know is she’s in the hospital . . . but not which one.” I retrieved the violin from the bedroom. “Nobu found this.”

The elf frowned at the mention of Nobu. He ran his finger over the chin rest. “She would not have left it willingly.”

“No. And I don’t think her family understands its importance.” I waved my hand at them. “I was about to start calling hospitals again. Hell, for all I know her family put her under something else . . . or moved her out of New York or . . . who knows.”

Talivar’s jaw tightened. “There may be another way.”

“Do tell,” Brystion drawled. “Swooping in to be the noble prince after all?”

“It’s
King
,” Talivar said shortly. “And I meant the Wild Hunt.”

Phineas snorted. “Been a while since that’s been used.”

“Not since the Unseelie Court was in full swing,” Talivar agreed. “And I’ll admit it’s risky to consider it . . . but if not now, when?”

Brystion nodded, his mouth pursing. “If the world is going to end anyway? I suppose it doesn’t make much difference.”

My gazed darted between the two of them. “Anyone care to clue me in here? We talking horses and dogs and running around the CrossRoads?”

“Calling the Hunt mere horses and dogs is like comparing a chicken to a harpy,” Phineas interjected. “Both have feathers, but one is going to disembowel you and eat your liver.”

I stared at him blankly and he sighed. “It’s one of the most powerful weapons the Fae possess—a host of lost souls and damned Fae, traveling the CrossRoads until they find their quarry.”

“Not just the CrossRoads,” Talivar corrected him. “The Hunt has its own pathways that override the need for TouchStones or Doors, though it can certainly use them.” His gaze became distant. “I only ever remember seeing it once, as a child. To hunt a hapless mortal. I don’t even remember what offense he’d given, but I remember the horses. Black ones, made of smoke and fire.” He gave me a wry smile. “Or so it seemed through the filter of a child’s vision.”

My eyes narrowed. “And he was captured.”

“Torn to pieces, actually.” He shook his head. “The Hunt isn’t always about finding things so much as retribution.”

“And if you don’t find what you’re looking for?”

“Then the Hunt rides on.” He shrugged. “It’s a
death sentence for the Huntsman, really. An endless search, night upon night of riding and hunting without cease.”

“And there’s nothing that can undo it?”

“Only the capture of what is sought. But Abby . . . being a Hunter changes you forever. Even after a successful hunt, there is always a part of the Riders that crave it. It translates into restlessness at first, perhaps, but . . .”

“Eventually they go mad,” Phineas pointed out helpfully. “All of them.”

“Well, that sounds lovely.” I slumped. “So you’re basically talking about unleashing the Nazgûl to what? Find Melanie? Or Maurice?” I blinked up at him. “Because I think we ought to continue to try via mortal means for a while longer. Perhaps Nobu will have a way . . .” I glanced at Brystion. “When we were TouchStoned, you claimed to always know where I was. Melanie has—”

“The mark, yes.” Brystion frowned. “But that’s more of a direct connection to . . . Him.”

“I know. Surely we could at least ask.”

“All options must be explored,” Talivar agreed with a sigh. “But we’re running out of time.”

“How long before—” My words cut off as a hissing rumble slammed into the window, sending shattered glass across the room. “What the hell?”

Immediately the edge of the sofa began to smolder.

“Get down!” Brystion hurled himself at me, rolling us onto the floor so the breath rushed out of my chest. I lay there gasping like a half-dead fish, his body covering mine as an eruption of heat exploded past us.

M
y apartment was on fire.

“The violin!” I scrabbled out from underneath Brystion, a tremor running through me when I realized he wasn’t moving.

The elf was already on it, snatching up Melanie’s violin. Above me, flame licked the ceiling, the heat burning my face. Talivar thrust the instrument into my hands. He coughed. “It’s a trap.”

Behind me, Brystion moaned, getting to his feet. The back of his shirt was spattered with blood from the glass explosion. “I’ll go with you,” he muttered. “Fight them off.”

Talivar gave him a look of pity. “No.” He drew his blade and slipped out the front door.

“Never mind all that.” I clutched the violin. If it got burned . . . hell, my goddamned living room was on fire. Brystion snatched up an old quilt from the couch, attempting to suffocate the flames. Smoke billowed from beneath it, scorching the cloth, but for the moment it looked as though the immediate danger of having the place burn down around my ears was gone.

Which left what, exactly? Waiting for Talivar to play the gallant hero? For someone to toss me another Molotov cocktail?

Hell with that. “Phin?”

“Here.” The unicorn crawled out from underneath the chair. “This sucks.”

From outside the clash of steel rang up the stairwell.

“No help for it.” Brystion scooped up Phin and pulled me out the door, keeping his body flat against the wall as we slipped down the stairs to the courtyard. My hand braced on his shoulder, and the hot sting of blood wept through the holes in his shirt.

“How bad is it?” I whispered, my ears pricked for the sound of police. My neighbors tended to turn a blind eye to the odd goings-on around this place, but I wasn’t sure an explosion was going to go unnoticed unless someone had oh-so-politely Glamoured the living hell out of the area before firebombing it.

“I’ll live,” he said shortly, craning his head around the edge of the awning. Immediately, he jerked away as the swipe of a blade slammed inches away from where his head had been, Phin slipping from his arms. “Fuck.”

Ion gave me a shove backward as he ran into the fray, ignoring my swearing. The scent of sulfur stung my nose. Glamour or no, we were fighting daemons.

“You’re notoriously hard to kill, girl.” Maurice’s voice rippled from behind me, his mouth nearly at my ear. “It’s becoming vexing.”

I spun away from him. If anything happened to Mel’s violin, we were totally fucked. He had tried to take it from her before, but I’d always assumed that
was to prevent her from rescuing me and Moira from the paintings.

But now I wasn’t so sure.

“And you’re looking old,” I snarled, pointing to the amulet at his neck. “I think you’ve got something of mine.”

“Finders keepers, dear. You didn’t really need it anymore, being dead and all.”

“You ever do your own dirty work or do you always rely on hirelings?” Behind me I heard a soft grunt and a thud. A body hitting the wall. Somehow I managed to disconnect myself from it, the knowledge that I could stop this thing right now reverberating through my entire being.

Subdue him. Or failing that, keep him here long enough for the cavalry to show up. Maurice cocked a brow at me. “I’m an old man, remember? Think I’ve earned that right.”

“You’ve earned nothing,” Phineas snorted from my ankles. “Except a quick death.”

“Why did you destroy the Tree?” I snapped.

His lip curled in a snarl but he didn’t answer, lunging for the hand that still held the violin.

I twisted away. “Not this time.”

“Odd to see the violin without the player. I do hope nothing’s happened to her.”

I didn’t bother to reward him with a reaction, retreating slightly. His gnarled hand snagged my shirt sleeve, the cloth tearing when I elbowed him in the gut. Not that I knew the first thing about fighting, but I wasn’t going to go down like a sheep this time. Maurice never played fair. He rushed me, kicking at my feet. Pain jogged through my bad knee when he grazed the kneecap.