Brush of Darkness (42 page)

“Dreamer,” he snorted, giving me a rueful glance. “I have to go. The CrossRoads will close soon.”

“Keep the blanket,” I said dryly, pushing the bitter-sweetness of the moment away. That he had not chosen to renew our TouchStone bond hurt more than I thought it would. “That walk of shame is a bitch, isn’t it?”

His mouth twitched. “You have no idea.” His eyes alighted on my nightstand. “What is that?”

I frowned, following his gaze to the necklace, silver
winking in the dawn. “Ah. It was my mother’s, I guess. I found it last night in the letter from her attorney.”

He strode over to take a closer look. “It would suit you, I think,” he said suddenly. “May I?”

I shrugged, nonplussed, as he brushed the hair from my shoulders and gently fastened it around my neck. “I wasn’t really planning on doing anything with it, honestly.” I pulled it away from my chest, its weight heavy in my hand. “Solid thing, isn’t it?”

“And a guaranteed ‘plus-four’ against incubus seduction, I’ll wager,” he said softly. The awkward pause lasted several minutes and then he shook his head. “I will have Sonja stop by later. I think she would be excellent at teaching you to control your nightmares.”

Somehow I thought she might not see it that way, but I wasn’t going to argue the point. I bit down on my tongue before I could embarrass myself by asking him to stay. He’d clearly made up his mind, and if it wasn’t quite what I’d hoped for, at least we were on the same footing. Who was I to deny him his own personal quest for . . . whatever he was looking for?

With a sigh, I slid off the bed and found my bathrobe. The least I could do was see him out. Besides, I didn’t need Talivar going all WWE on the incubus in my living room.

“Let me go first,” I advised Brystion. “I’ve got a . . . a guest. Sort of a permanent bodyguard. Moira’s idea, you understand.”

He raised a brow but allowed me to push past him. The kitchen floor creaked as we crept through. Phineas was nowhere to be seen, though a slight snoring from beneath the tablecloth was more than enough to answer that particular question.

Talivar was waiting for us, of course. The elven prince sat in his usual place on the couch, bristling with a lethal sort
of quiet. Of course, the effect was slightly lessened by the tousled fall of his hair and the bleary yawn that escaped him, but I decided not to point that out. Bedhead had no truck with elven princes, of that I was quite sure.

His polite cough still had me blushing, though that irritated me more than anything else. Shit if I was supposed to apologize for what I did in my own bedroom.

I gave the elf a sour look, frowning at the sudden gleam of amusement in his good eye. Behind me, Brystion grunted in that oddly possessive male way of greeting and I hurried us along before it could escalate into anything more.

The autumn chill drifted in and lingered at my ankles as I opened the door. I shivered. “Guess this is it,” I muttered, hugging my arms to my sides, debating the wisdom of saying anything about letting wild things go free. “Will I see you again?” The words fell from my lips before I could stop them.

“Only in your dreams,” he said slyly. And then he gently kissed my cheek and slipped down the steps and into the morning, his breath fogging in the air. A slurry of silver sparked up as he faded through the Door at the garden gate, and I sighed.

“Will this be a common occurrence?” Talivar asked. I closed the door behind me, strolling slowly back into the living room where he stretched gracefully. “Not that it’s any of my business, but I like to be aware of who’s a stranger and who’s a guest.”

I shook my head. “No. He won’t be coming back.”

The elf made a disbelieving sound but said nothing else, sagging back into the couch with another yawn. He seemed suddenly very out of place, wrapped in the archaic tunic and leather vest. I decided to take pity on him.

“Are you hungry?”

“Breakfast would not go amiss. I’m afraid I’ve not much
to offer by way of cooking skills, though I can field dress a mean coney,” he added helpfully.

I chuckled despite myself, gesturing at him to follow me into the kitchen. “That’s all right. I’ve been told I make pretty lousy omelets—but my scrambled eggs are to die for.”

I paused outside the entrance to the Hallows, the heavy thrum of the music beating a sharp, muffled cadence through me. Unconsciously I let my hips sway to it, even as my fingers touched the silvered panel beneath the lock. “Meet me at the Crossroads,” I murmured, stepping back as the familiar glow brushed past me in a flutter of butterfly brilliance. It tickled past my skin, tingling over my face as I stepped inside.

Brandon and Katy had outdone themselves. Clearly the decorations they’d purchased from the Marketplace had gone to good use if the dancing stars and spiders on the ceiling were any indication. Up on the stage, Melanie was in usual form, belting out Rilo Kiley’s “Under the Blacklight” in her rich, throaty voice. A throng of masked dancers paid her court in a haze of graceful limbs and elegant movements.

I brushed the remainder of the silver sparkles away from my store-bought Pirate Wench costume (
COMPLETE WITH GENUINE FAKE BOOTY!),
my mouth curving into a smile as Talivar awkwardly took my elbow.

“Grrr. Argh,” I murmured at him, his one good eye rolling in a suffering sort of tolerance beneath his tricorne hat.

Much to his dismay I had let Sonja talk me into showing up after all, but for this one night the Hallows had a dress code. And not just any sort either. Glamours were strictly forbidden, leaving the OtherFolk to such mundane devices as Scotch tape and crepe paper.

Some of the results were rather unintentionally hilarious—elves dressed as accountants or pixies as IT
consultants. The vampires in particular seemed to take great delight in strutting about with rubber stakes and mallets, pretending to be slayers. Brandon still sat behind the bar, decked out as a grandmother, of course. Katy wore a red cloak and big smile and not much else. Even Phin had gotten into the spirit of things, although I wasn’t entirely sure covering his body with bacon and calling himself a daemonic hors d’oeuvre really counted.

Talivar had taken my request without much more than a protesting grunt, but then, he already had an eye patch, so I figured a justacorp and hat wouldn’t be
that
much of an imposition. I caught the ghost of an occasional smile cracking that handsome veneer time and again, so I supposed he was loosening up at least a little bit.

A figure brushed by me, and I looked up to see the Gypsy stroll by, his arm linked gallantly through that of a pale woman. She was short and voluptuous, with fat black ringlets and ebony wings folded neatly against her back. Her laughing violet eyes glowed, and her generous mouth lifted in laughter. The sheer joy in his face reflected in hers as though she were the moon herself.

I felt a momentary twinge of envy. Brystion hadn’t come back, of course, though Sonja certainly had held up his end of the bargain well enough. Girlfriend was kicking my ass quite nicely as far as the Dreaming went. It was a bittersweet taming of my nightmares, but I can’t say I was completely unhappy with the arrangement. Trust and lust may rhyme perfectly well in the scheme of poetic definitions, but some days poetry just isn’t enough, and I’d had my fill of emotional wangst to last me for quite a while.

“Did you want to dance?” Talivar held his hand out with grave interest when Melanie started up a slightly maniacal rendition of
Danse Macabre
. I shrugged, surprised at the unexpected grace in his movements when he spun me out
before leading me into a gentle waltz. Warrior-poet, indeed.

And if he caught the silhouette of a certain Captain Jack Sparrow prowling on the outermost edge of the crowd, he chose not to disclose it. My gaze met the other pirate’s, his eyes sparking gold for a moment and then he was gone, swallowed up in the haze and jumble of the other dancers.

A secret smile crept over my face as I watched the Gypsy lead his angel to the dance floor beside us. It seemed as though my friend had found what he was searching for, after all. And CrossRoads help me, one day so would I.

R
un, Abby.”

Sonya’s warning slid around me with a wash of power. Startled, I shot up from where I huddled beneath a cluster of fallen logs, narrowly escaping a swipe of claws. I ducked, the sharpened talons slicing the air with a deadly whistle.

Grinding my teeth, I narrowed my eyes and concentrated, letting my own form shift. Small, furry, fast . . .

Hare.

The Dreaming rippled. I bounded away, sleek and long, haunches bunching and then springing forward, propelling me into the darkness. Sonja’s low growl of frustration echoed behind me. I didn’t know exactly what form she’d taken, but my rapidly twitching nose instantly recognized the acrid scent of something feline.

The urge to go to ground vibrated through my little body, but I pushed forward, leaves sliding beneath my paws. All around me were shadows, as my nails dug into the moist earth. The scenery blurred past in a haze of ragweed and pine trees, needles brushing my fur. I couldn’t hear Sonja anymore and I paused, my ears rotating to cup the darkness. The faintest breeze caught my attention, and I instinctively
flattened against the grass as Sonja swooped past, this time in the form of a barred owl.

She wheeled, but I took off toward the tinkling stream nearby. Shedding the last vestige of the hare, I leapt towards the surface, my skin sluicing into scales as I slithered into the depths. My gills opened, sucking in the water, my pink salmon belly scraping the gravel.

“Good! Very good.” Sonja applauded from the banks. The succubus had shifted into her normal form, the blood-red feathers of her wings shining in the moonlight of the Dreaming. “You can come out now, Abby. I think that’s enough for tonight.”

My tail flicked me through the current as I changed again, pulling together the part of what made me,
me
. Emerging from the water, I squeezed the drops from my hair and brushed it away from my face with my fingers. “I’m getting better.” I pulled the Dreaming around me until I was dressed in a pair of jeans and a shirt.

Sonja nodded cautiously. “You are, but you’re still barely tapping your potential.” She gestured around us with a hint of frustration. “These are
your
Dreams. You limit yourself to your own sense of physics. Becoming a rabbit was fine and you’ve certainly improved your shifting ability—but why not change the ground, or the trees? If you’re ever going to really, truly defeat your nightmares, you’re going to need more than just a few parlor tricks.”

“I don’t think that way. You know that. We’ve been through this how many times now?” I glanced down at my feet, watching the water flow over my toes before giving her a wan smile. “Have patience with me. I’m new to this.” One dark brow rose at me sourly, but she let the lie pass without comment. In truth it had been over six months . . . six very
long
months. She was frustrated, I was frustrated.

She sighed, looking at my woeful expression. “You’ll get
there. You just need to concentrate.”

I waggled my nose. “Is
that
all there is to it, Endora?” My eyes narrowed as I stared at her, the power rushing through me, a thin rivulet of the Dreaming taking form in my mind.

Just a small change, perhaps.

The succubus glanced over her shoulder with a surprised laugh. Her scarlet wings now gleamed a brilliant purple. “Not bad,” she admitted, ruffling them with a shiver, a flush of crimson staining them back to their normal shade.

Her face sobered. “But seriously, Abby. You have enough potential to make a first class DreamWalker. With the right training, you’d be able to slip in and out of the Dreaming at will . . . and not just into your dreams, but others as well.”

I shuddered, wondering what that might be like for a moment. My lip curled in distaste as visions of accidentally stumbling into someone’s personal porn theater crossed my mind. “Ah. Yeah. You know, I’m not really trying for that sort of thing. Let’s just stick with what will keep me sane.”

“Suit yourself, but you might change your mind someday.”

“Not likely.”

She held out a hand to pull me from the stream, and we slowly ambled back toward my Heart. My gaze slid toward the dark forest behind the house. Brystion had made good on his promise to be scarce and I’d barely seen a sign of him, short of the occasional sound of bells echoing like some distant memory through the trees. The few times we’d run across each other at the Hallows had been polite, if a bit strained. I didn’t usually hang around to listen to him sing, and he avoided flaunting whoever his latest TouchStone was to my face, a fact for which I was utterly grateful.

Sonja snorted at me and I flushed. “Have a good night. We’ll try again tomorrow.”

I waved at her, watching as she passed back through the
Gate, fading away in a slurry of silver. I often wondered how she could manage the CrossRoads directly like that, but I supposed it was just what succubi did.

I reached out and stroked the Gate of my Heart with a curious finger, the rusted metal flaking into my hand. Physics or not, it still seemed so real here. And as far as confronting my nightmares . . .