House of Cards

CHAPTER 31

Stone shuddered and fell away, sunset’s gift even when the sky lay many levels of tunnels and streets above him. Waking rarely brought such a sense of anticipation, and Alban pushed out of his crouch with a smile. There was enough time-just-to change from the silver-shot slacks from the night before and wing his way to Margrit’s apartment. The chance to do that, to see her, to speak with her friends again, held the potential of a new life. It was something that a few months ago-a mere scattering of days, to a life as long as his-had been so inconceivable as to have never crossed his mind. His heart-his heart, usually so steady-betrayed him with rapid beats, anathema to a gargoyle’s stolid nature. Laughing at himself was surprisingly easy, another trait unfamiliar to his people. The rueful idea that Margrit was right about too much isolation curled his mouth again, and it was with near jauntiness that he left the tunnels. Grace, unusually, was nowhere to be seen. She often greeted him at sunset, giving him the sense that she’d sat watch over him as much as he watched over her and her ragtag band of children.

He was barely to street level when his phone rang. Expecting Grace’s lilting accent, he answered with a smile, but it was Janx’s sibilance on the phone, more soft-spoken than usual. "It seems I’ve misplaced Malik again. Find him."

"Something else requires my attendance, Janx. Malik’s safe enough under Daisani’s peace." Alban lingered in an alley, watching traffic in the street. "If you’re worried, use Biali."

"How bold you’ve become, Stoneheart. Other plans, indeed. They must include our delightful Margrit, or you’d never shirk a duty you’d agreed to. She’s with me. The sooner you bring Malik to attend me the sooner you’ll see her."

"With you. Why?" Alban folded his hand around the cell phone as if to crush it, though it was Janx, not the phone, that sparked his ire.

"Ah, that would be telling, and it’s much more fun to let you wonder what we all do during the long daylight hours."

Alban kept his voice deliberately low, refusing to rise to the dragonlord’s bait. "Where are you?"

Janx made a delighted sound, as if he could tell by the steadiness of Alban’s reply that he’d hit a mark. "Your old home, Stoneheart. We’re at Trinity Church. Join us, when you’ve found Malik. Someone’s hunting him, and I won’t lose another man. I’ll give your regards to Margrit," he added. "I’m sure she’ll be very understanding."

Alban growled, "Do me no favors, Janx," and clipped the phone shut, again resisting the urge to crush it. Heedless of passersby, he crouched and sprang upward, shifting form midleap as he strove for the sky.

The djinn was in motion, his fogged form impossible to follow, even with the sapphire he carried. Alban cut broad sweeps through the sky above Trinity, waiting for Malik to settle so he could trace him. Until then, city lights winked below him, buildings blocking his view. Blocking the city’s view of him, so he was never visible long enough for any witness to believe what they might have seen.

Margrit was down there, probably one of the dozens spilling out of the sandstone building. From this distance, Alban couldn’t pick her out, but he’d find her soon enough. Malik first, so that duty could be put aside in favor of the dark-haired beauty whose life had changed his. And if duty couldn’t be denied, perhaps Margrit would join him through the small hours of the night, watching over a djinn who wanted no such protection.

As he thought it, Malik’s presence-the stone’s presence-solidified. He turned on a wingtip to follow it, darting above rooftops near the church.

A blur of whiteness on the roofs caught his eye, bright enough to make him expect Biali. A moment later he realized it was Grace, her bleached hair making her a beacon, though the black leather she wore hid her well, otherwise. He dropped down beside her, already wearing his human form. "Grace?"

"Korund." She glanced sideways at him, knowing her name had been a question and obviously enjoying drawing out the answer.

A corner of Alban’s mouth curled, despite himself. "What are you doing here, Grace?"

"Watching over your lawyer, as you asked. But then that bearded devil slipped out, and I thought that was more worth watching. And hello to you, too." She crept toward the building’s edge, beckoning Alban forward.

He followed, suddenly amused. If any two people he knew were less suited for trying to go unnoticed in the darkness than he and Grace, it had to be himself and Biali. Only another gargoyle’s hair rivaled his in glowing whiteness, but Grace’s came close. He murmured, "We should have nightcaps," and Grace shot him a look laced with more flirtatiousness than censure.

"Sure and I’d be glad to share one with you, but I think Margrit might have a thing to say about that. A thing or even two. Now look." She snaked a hand toward the alley below.

Malik paced across its mouth, throttling his cane in one hand. Alban shook his head. "I’m astonished you could follow him. Tracking a djinn is nearly impossible."

"Grace has her tricks," she said absently.

As she spoke, another man, this one carrying a briefcase, stepped into view. Alban inched back with surprise, recognizing the broad-shouldered form. "Kaimana?"

"Malik came in with the briefcase Kaaiai’s got now. I thought selkies and djinn didn’t play nice. Makes me nervous, it does."

"I didn’t think anything made you nervous." Alban offered a brief smile that earned a snort of laughter from the white-haired woman.

"That’s what you’re supposed to think, love. There he goes, then." She nodded toward Malik, who dissipated in the alley below.

"He’s done his job." Alban leaned thoughtfully on the rooftop’s half-wall. "He’ll return to Janx to report."

"Go on, then." Grace straightened, a slim, curvaceous form in black leather. "Go find out how the world’s changing, and tell me before dawn, if you can."

"You don’t need to worry so much, Grace. I wouldn’t let anything happen to you or the children."

"It’s not a matter of ‘let,’ love. Try as you might, you can’t stop the world from spinning. I know you’ll try, and so will your little lawyer, but it’s better for us if we have a hint of what’s coming."

"When I came to stay in your tunnels, I didn’t realize I’d become a spy for you." Alban pushed away from the wall, deliberately coming to his full height.

Uncowed, Grace shrugged. "You protect us in exchange for safety during daylight hours. Call it spying if you like. I call it doing your part. Protection doesn’t just come in the form of stone and wings. And like every one of my kids, you know where the door is, if you want to use it."

A low chuckle rumbled through Alban’s chest. "It’s difficult to tell the difference between persuasion and bludgeoning with you, Grace."

She answered with a quick and wicked smile, stepping forward to walk fingers up his chest. "I can be very persuasive," she promised in a purr, then smirked when he closed his hand around hers and moved back. "There you are, then. If I bludgeon, it’s only your own fault. Will you go?" she asked more quietly. "Will you watch and learn, and tell me what you know?"

"As long as I’m able." Alban made a half bow, suddenly aware that he’d borrowed the action from Janx. It seemed unlikely he’d influenced the dragonlord similarly. Perhaps someday he would ask. "I’ll see you before sunrise."

At Grace’s nod, Alban took to the skies as if he’d been released from a cage, returning to the pursuit of his duty.

Returning to Margrit.

She’d spoken almost at the last, only the erratically bearded Episcopalian clergyman she’d met once before following her. People began filtering out, escaping the church and its oppressive sorrow in favor of the clear April night. The mood remained restrained, everyone cautious of their behavior, but it was easier to breathe outdoors. As Margrit searched for Janx, she saw Cole and Cam departing, and smiled her thanks. She found Rebecca Knight, relief sweeping away all thoughts of the Old Races as she hugged her mother. "Thanks for coming. Is Daddy here?"

"He was called into surgery," Rebecca said reluctantly. "He’s sorry, sweetheart. We both wanted to be here for you. We didn’t get a chance to say goodbye last night."

"It’s okay. I hope it goes well." Margrit held on a moment longer, then broke the hug to take Rebecca’s hand. "I’m glad you came. It’s a long trip for…"

A brief, wry smile curled Rebecca’s mouth as she, too, opted not to finish the sentence the way it was meant to end: for someone you didn’t like. "But you did," Rebecca said instead. "Despite his flaws."

"Not all of us are lucky enough to be as perfect as you," Margrit said ruefully.

Her mother laughed. "I suppose someone has to be." She squeezed Margrit’s hand, growing more serious. "Will you be all right, sweetheart? I can stay in the city overnight, if you’d like."

"I’ll be okay. You don’t have to-"

"Margrit." Janx, voice full of outrageous charm, cut through the dispersing crowd to stop at her elbow and smile at Rebecca. "Don’t tell me you were going to allow this extraordinary woman to leave without making my acquaintance." He offered a hand, and when Rebecca elevated an eyebrow and took it, he bowed extravagantly. Margrit, caught between dismay and amusement, wished he had a hat to flourish.

"You must be Margrit’s mother, which I say only because I suspect the flattery of suggesting you’re her sister would only set you against me. Instead I’ll say I offered to kidnap you a few days ago in order to provide an excuse for Margrit to talk to me. Now that I’ve met you, I’ll admit that if I were to stoop to such nasty activities, I’d be doing it for my own benefit. My name is Janx. I’m sure Margrit’s gone on about me to no end." He straightened again, no longer holding Rebecca’s fingers, but resting them over the edge of his own. To Margrit’s fresh bemusement, her mother didn’t retreat.

"To no end at all." Rebecca’s eyes sparkled and Margrit’s heart sank with helpless laughter. Bad enough that Janx could charm her against all good sense. If even Rebecca was susceptible to his shameless blarney, it seemed unlikely there was anyone who could withstand him. "Rebecca Knight. It’s a pleasure, Mr. Janx, and you’re quite right. False flattery only annoys me."

"Your daughter is more like you than she suspects."

Rebecca shot a look toward Margrit, who turned her palms up, unsure if she was ceding control of the conversation to Janx, or simply unable to take it back.

"I try not to point that out to her," her mother murmured. "She’s doing a fine job of realizing it on her own."

Janx turned from Rebecca to Margrit, offering another bow, this time mockingly apologetic. "Do forgive me, my dear. I should hate to be a bump in the road on your path to self-actualization."

"Did you really just say ‘self-actualization’?"

"I did." Janx sounded inordinately pleased with himself. Rebecca caught her eye and Margrit clenched her jaw, trying not to let a laugh escape.

"I think while you’re trying to recover from the horror, I’ll do my best to whisk your mother away for an illicit affair."

"You certainly will not." Rebecca sniffed at the redheaded man. "I’m sure being kidnapped wouldn’t agree with me at all."

Janx snapped theatrically, about to speak again when a fourth voice joined the discussion.

"You’re quite the vortex tonight, aren’t you, Margrit? Rebecca." Eliseo Daisani nodded toward the older Knight woman, looking all the more dignified in comparison to Janx’s dramatics. Margrit’s shoulder blades pinched together in anticipation of disaster, though she had no idea what form it might take. Janx, though, only twisted his mouth in teasing disappointment, and Rebecca inclined her head, murmuring Daisani’s name in turn. Then all three of them turned their attention to Margrit, as though she was responsible for calling them there.

In a way, she supposed she was. "I seem to be developing a knack for that," she admitted beneath her breath. "I’m surprised you’re here tonight."

"Should auld acquaintance be forgot?" Daisani infused the line with genuine compassion, no hint of music or mockery to his voice. "Where else would I be?" He glanced around, elevating one eyebrow. "But where are the rest of us?"

Margrit kept herself from saying, That’s what I wanted to ask Janx. She could think of no reason Kaimana and Malik might slip away, one after the other, except to keep some arrangement made by the dragonlord. But she felt oddly reticent to ask in front of Daisani, as if her loyalties were torn between the two ancient rivals.

Janx followed Daisani’s gaze and expanded on it, turning to search the church grounds with an air of concern. "I set Stoneheart searching for Malik a few minutes ago. I hadn’t realized, until these proceedings sent him skittering for the shadows, how accustomed I was to his sour countenance haunting me. I’ve seen less of my so-called bodyguard in the past week than in the past five years, I think." A moment passed before he shook off heaviness and looked back to Rebecca. "Do forgive me. I don’t mean to be such a bore as to bring business into a social occasion."

Her eyebrows flickered upward. "Is that what this is?"

"Not a merry one, and perhaps also an obligation, but also an occasion. The one hardly precludes the other."

"They left together. I thought-" Margrit broke off, staring at Janx.

He tilted his head, mouth quirked with a lack of comprehension. He was a consummate actor; he had to be, and yet his jade eyes held none of their usual taunting mirth. "Who did, my dear?"

Margrit’s heart rate leaped. No doubt she shouldn’t believe what she read in Janx’s gaze; no doubt she shouldn’t trust the all-too-human impulse that told her to. But human or not, emotion rode all of them, and Margrit blurted, "I thought you knew. I thought-You didn’t send Malik after Kaimana?"

"Margrit," Janx said, full of gentle sarcasm, "if you had a golden slipper with which to tempt the prince, would you send a lackey in your place to do so? We all know how fairy tales go. It is the servant girl bearing the gift who catches the hero’s eye. Her cruel mistress is banished to the forest, and she is lifted to the throne to be good and generous and wise for all of her days. If I was putting on a ball, I would not send Malik with the invitations."

"Then what-"

"Margrit." Rebecca’s voice was thready and washed out, utterly drained of the vibrancy she’d had only moments earlier. Mist danced behind her, as she put a hand over her chest, her eyes clouded with confusion. "I think there’s something wrong with me, Margrit. Something wrong with my…"

A sleek black-haired man Margrit had never before seen coalesced behind her mother, one hand thrust out. Thrust in to Rebecca, from behind, his arm turned up to suggest he held something in the palm of his hand. His smile was sharper than Malik’s, more deadly, and he finished Rebecca’s sentence for her with one soft word: "Heart."