Brush of Darkness (35 page)

Well, at least you’re not a crier. The other one wouldn’t stop wailing long enough for me to get a word in edgewise.
Sonja’s voice echoed dimly in my mind, her tone dry.

“I do my best,” I shot back, tightening up the seaweed bandage over my tail. The scales were marvelous, silver and gleaming, but I couldn’t bear to look at them. They were just an illusion, after all. The thought was bitter in my mouth.

“So now what?” I peered into the darkness outside the pearl. “And what do you mean, the ‘other one?’”

The angel’s girl. His TouchStone. She went a bit mad, I
think.
The voice paused.
Not that we all haven’t, but I think they roughed her up pretty good.

“We who? And why can’t I hear her?”

She’s gone . . . silent. They both have.
The succubus paused again, but this time the silence became ominous.

“Are they dead?” I could hardly get the words out, but I had to ask. “They can’t be, can they? I mean Moira can’t—wouldn’t I feel it?”

Probably. But it depends on the closeness of the bond. They’re just . . . elsewhere. They have retreated into themselves, like you did when you first got here. Moira needed to concentrate on her baby. Charlie just couldn’t hack it. Though maybe it was the ghosts that did her in.

I shook my head. “English, please. This whole thing effs up my head.”

Explanations are hard to come by in this place,
the succubus snorted,
but I’ll do the best I can. You’re correct in assuming you’re in the painting. You are. In fact, if you concentrate hard enough you can actually look out of it and see through to the other side.

Startled, my gaze shot up. “How?” I demanded as I squinted into the darkness.

Relax and try to—oh, shit, I don’t know—try to become one with the canvas. It happens that way for me.

“Ooohhhhmmmm,” I muttered sarcastically while I eased my tail beneath me, slumping as I stared at the inner walls of the pearl. My vision drifted after a bit, following the glowing patterns rippling on its surface. There. I blinked and suddenly I was flat. Horribly flat, in fact. Everything went hazy and warped as I stared around the edges of Topher’s art studio. A dim light burned in the corner; the tub he’d drowned me in was empty.

Drowned.

I felt sick, the churning waves of nausea burning a hole in
my stomach. I retreated from the wall, my awareness slowly shifting back to the pearl. “That’s awful.”

Tell me about it. I’ve been trying to get your attention for days now, but no one could see me in the damn thing. I could see all of you just fine. And my damn brother and his damn shields. I’ve
never
been able to get through them, even when we were younger—but the thing he had thrown around you was damn near impenetrable.

“Shield? Oh, you mean when he was protecting me from my nightmares? Yeah, that was part of our . . . deal.” I swallowed the bitterness of
that
particular thought.

Damned inconvenient time for him to get all chivalrous
, she snorted.
I had to wait until you had that seizure to get anything through—and even then I did a fuck job of it.

“I wouldn’t say that,” I said, remembering the way the feathers had cut into my hands. “We took notice, anyway. Not that it’s helped us any.” My finger drifted along the wall of the pearl. “Too little, too late.”

Sonja’s brittle laughter echoed past me.
Truer words have not yet been spoken. And I should have seen it coming.

“Topher said he was your TouchStone,” I said cautiously. “I thought that meant you would always know where he was.”

I’m not my brother. Whatever connection the two of you have is a personal thing. I’ve never felt the need to check up on my TouchStones.

“How does that work? I thought all of you traded sex for something.”

Not hardly, my dear. I’ve no real interest in sleeping with Topher. Although he has a certain charm about him, it’s his talent that I’m interested in. Or was. He’s merely a shadow of himself now. Sad, really.

Her voice held a certain dispassion, but I couldn’t help but wonder at the odd little tremble behind it. I wasn’t going
to press the issue though. It wasn’t any of my business, and I’ve never been one for caring about other people’s sex lives, metaphysical or otherwise.

“That’s what Brystion meant,” I murmured, “when he said Topher couldn’t have painted these pictures, that you would never have sat for him willingly.”

Oh, I sat for him willingly in the beginning. But the chains here are real enough, in their own way.
I heard a distant clinking and shuddered, knowing how much they had to pain her. She chuckled again, as though reading my mind.
Yes. They hurt. Exquisitely. It’s my own reward though. I thought I could help him, thought I might make a difference. But in the end, I became the anchor for his madness. Ironic, no?

“But just what is it that he’s doing? Or really, what is Maurice trying to do? I’m not sure they’re the same thing.”

Maurice clearly has a bone to pick with Faery. Whatever he’s trying to do, he’s been trying it for a while. The paint . . . somehow he figured out a way to use succubus blood as a base for the painting. As far as I know, I was the only successful exchange. My sisters . . . died.

There was burning hatred behind her words, and I knew that if she ever made it out of here alive, the artist would probably not last long in the world. Not that I could blame her. Cure for cancer or not, there was such a thing as honor, and none of this struck me as particularly honorable, especially given the sacredness of the bonds between OtherFolk and their TouchStones.

Still, I thought of my mother and the way she’d died, and Brystion’s words echoed back to me. Would I give up what I was for another chance at somehow bringing my mother back to life? Moira’s wish hovered just out of reach, teasing me with its closeness.

“That’s different,” I muttered. “I’m not going to kill
anyone for it.” And yet—what
would
I do to set things back? “The past can’t be changed,” I said savagely, my heart aching.

I wrapped my arms about my tail, rocking back and forth. “So how do we get out of here? And for that matter, where are we? Aside from the painting thing. We can’t just be trapped in the canvas.” I breathed deeply as I watched the shadowed sharks. “I’m bleeding pretty well for just being some cadmium red.”

So many questions.

She was getting irritated with me. I could understand that, but I needed more information. After all, not knowing enough is what got me into this mess in the first place.

We’re in some kind of Shadow Realm. It’s small and contained, just a pocket tethered on the CrossRoads somewhere, but it’s not . . . normal. We seem to almost be in the Dreaming, but the paintings only have one-way Doors. And no, there’s no way out. It’s completely sealed as far as I can tell.
She paused.
And oddly enough, I think you and I are TouchStoned, though I can’t imagine how.

“The feathers,” I said. “I ended up touching you and we linked. I’m a KeyStone, you know.”

Huh. I thought Maurice was lying about that. For all the good it does us. Guess we can just sit around and jabber at each other until one of us starves to death.

I shook my head. “No. There has to be a way out.”

She didn’t answer and I realized her attention was fixed on something else. I stilled, outside voices reaching my clogged ears.

“I know she’s here, you lying piece of shit.” Brystion stepped into view, dragging Maurice behind him. Both of them looked like they’d seen better days. The incubus in particular was sporting a bloody contusion on the underside of his chin.

“Brystion,” I breathed, pressing myself up against the
edge of the pearl. Anger and hurt and disgust at my desperation shot through me. He’d
used
me. Seduced me. Lied to me.
Betrayed
me.

On the other hand, I was stuck inside a painting.

I decided I had no shame when it came to trying not to die. I pounded my side of the canvas. “Please,” I cried. “I’m here. I’m in here!”

He can’t hear you,
Sonja said glumly.
I’ve been trying for ages, like I said.

“We’ll just see about that,” I muttered, opening my mouth to scream again.

Hush! I want to hear what’s going on.

I tucked my aching tail under me and leaned closer.

Maurice’s words garbled as though his mouth were stuffed with cotton, but judging by the look on Brystion’s face I knew nothing good was said.

“There’s nothing you can do, incubus. They’re all beyond your reach, and once Sonja dies, the Shadow Realm will close forever.” The old man leered up at Ion, his mouth splitting wide in a toothy, blood-smeared grin. “Whatever you do to me, she’ll be dead, either way. They all will.”

Brystion’s eyes narrowed. “Where is she?”

“Right in front of you, of course,” came the mocking retort. “Where she’s always been.”

Brystion glanced at Sonja, turning away with a hiss. “Motherfucker.” His eyes flicked toward mine, pain flooding me as our gazes met. It sounds stupid—I was in the painting after all—but he stepped toward me, his fingers curling at his sides. Even through the fishbowl I could see them clench and unclench, biting into the rivets of his jeans. “What have you done to her?” he said hoarsely.

“Like that, do you?” Maurice chortled. “She ran into some of my little pets, as you can see. They don’t fuck around, do they?”

“All that blood . . .” Brystion’s eyes blazed as he reached up to touch my painting.

Maurice shrugged. “The fun part is that they’re of her own making, you know. Succubus blood seems to have this delightful way of bringing one’s nightmares into reality. A real bonus to have discovered that particular trait, don’t you think?” He elbowed Brystion, ignoring the way the other man’s jaw tightened.

“This was
not
part of the bargain,” Brystion said hoarsely. “My sister for the TouchStone of the Protectorate, yes, but you promised me you wouldn’t hurt her. Just hold her for a bit. Not this . . . perversion.”

“A fine one you are for talking bargains,” Maurice spat. “Why don’t we ask Hzule what the original Contract was for? Oh, wait, you killed him, don’t you remember?” His smirk deepened. “Fell in love, did you, daemon? I’m sure it will sting a bit once she’s dead, but I imagine you’ll get over it. Your kind always does. Besides, I have nothing to do with her pain.” He waved his hand carelessly at me, his mouth a sly curve. “She controls how much power they have over her. Apparently, they have a lot more than I reckoned for. But that’s all right.”

What is he talking about?

“Your
brother
set us up.” I bit down on my lip, ignoring the little billow of blood spilling from my mouth. “I thought he was trying to find a way to release you. Apparently I was the price; I guess you don’t come cheap,” I snorted. I shouldn’t have been surprised though. After all, he
had
told me he would do anything to save her. But it still hurt like a bitch.

The incubus stiffened at Maurice’s words. “You know
nothing
about it, old man.”

Maurice coughed, his gnarled hands pushing back his thinning gray hair. Pointing a trembling hand at Moira, he
shook his head. “That bitch is carrying my child. She
owes
me. You think I
wanted
to age like this? Love, hell.” His gaze turned wistful. “How many years did I serve you faithfully? How long did you plan on deceiving me with your Faery lies? Did you think I would just stand by and let you replace me with some . . . some interloper? The Stewardship belonged to
me
. All you had to do was keep me by your side. We could have had the world at our feet,” he said softly.

Moira obviously said nothing, but damned if a flicker of something didn’t spark in the depths of her eyes. Her hands tightened on her belly, her mouth thinning.

“She can hear you,” Brystion said wonderingly.

“Of course she can,” Maurice snorted. “They all can. Even your little mermaid.”

Ion turned toward me, something pleading in his face. “I know you probably can’t forgive me, Abby, but I had no choice.” I made a
hmmmph
sound in the back of my throat. I’d heard
that
one before. He tipped his forehead so it rested on mine. “I have no regrets, save this.”

Goddess, he’s into you.
Sonja’s thoughts flitted by me like the buzzing of bees, a mixture of envy and sisterly protectiveness. On impulse, I pressed up against the canvas, willing him to feel me, willing him to pull me through. He stared at me for a moment before letting his hand drop.

“Set them free.” His voice fell to a low whisper. “I’ll do anything you want, if you set them free.”

Maurice’s eyes narrowed, one hand drifting up to cup Brystion’s chin. “Will you now? I wonder if an infusion of incubus blood might not sweeten the deal. Or perhaps that lovely sexual Glamour. Who knows what magics I might be able to work with such a thing.”

Brystion’s gaze never wavered from mine, but his nostrils flared ever so slightly. “Whatever you need,” he said dully.

“Let’s go discuss it elsewhere. Little rabbits have big
ears, you know,” Maurice murmured, his fingers sliding to the back of Brystion’s neck. The incubus stiffened, but allowed himself to be led out the door.

My head snapped toward Moira’s painting. “Wake up! You have to wake up!” I thought she stirred, but it was only for a moment and then she settled back into stillness. I punched through the pearl in frustration. I heard Sonja sigh, and I glared in her direction. “Knock it off. We have to do something.”

What do you want me to do? I’ve tried everything I can so far.

“Not good enough,” I snarled. “If Melanie were here she could make us a Door.”

If
she had her violin. And knew where the hell we were
.

“And her hand wasn’t busted,” I added. I paused, tapping my fingers on my hip. “I don’t suppose you saw what they did with it?”

He locked it away. I suspect Maurice is going to try to bribe Melanie with it. He’s rather manipulative, if you hadn’t noticed.
A strange sense of excitement hovered beneath the words.
Do you think she could do it, if she had the violin?