Description:
Just when her new life as a TouchStone – a mortal bound to help OtherFolk cross between Faery and human worlds – seems to be settling down, Abby Sinclair is left in charge when the Protectorate, Moira, leaves for the Faery Court. And when the Protectorate’s away…let’s just say things spiral out of control when a spell on Abby backfires and the Faery Queen declares the Doors between their worlds officially closed.
The results are disastrous for both sides: OtherFolk trapped in the mortal world are beginning to fade, while Faerie is on the brink of war with the daemons of Hell. Along with her brooding eleven prince Talivar and sexy incubus Brystion, Abby ventures to the CrossRoads in an attempt to override the Queen’s magic. But nothing in this beautiful, dangerous realm will compare to the discoveries she’s making about her past, her destiny, and what she will sacrifice for those she loves.
Excerpt:
Chapter 1
“Run, Abby.”
Sonja’s warning slid around me with a wash of power.
Startled, I shot up from where I huddled beneath a cluster of fallen logs,
decayed bark scattering as a set of claws shredded my hiding place. 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 to propel 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 shape of a barred owl.
She wheeled, but I bolted, aiming for the tinkling
stream nearby. Shedding the last vestige of the hare, I leapt toward the
surface, my skin sluicing into scales as I slithered into the depths. My gills
opened to shunt out the water, gravel scraping my pink salmon belly.
“Good! Very good.” Sonja applauded from the banks.
The succubus had shifted into her more human form, the bloodred feathers of her
wings shining in the moonlight of the Dreaming. Her skin had an alabaster
purity that could never be matched by anything mortal. Between the hidden
depths of her dark eyes and the scarlet wings, she seemed more fallen angel
waif than daemon seductress. “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 pushed it from my face. “I’m getting
better.” I wrapped the Dreaming around me until I was dressed in a pair of
jeans and a shirt.
Sonja nodded cautiously, smoothing out the wrinkles
of her own tank dress. “You are, but you’re still barely tapping your
potential.” She gestured around us with a hint of irritation. “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?” She yanked on a damp ringlet of my hair. “Why waste time
with this when you could instantly dry it? 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 concentrated on the water flowing 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. I’d been banging my head against
the metaphysical equivalent of a brick wall in my attempts to break free from
the confines of everything I’d ever known in an effort to make sense of the
dark shadows of my inner psyche—which often took the form of vicious,
man-eating sharks.
My nightmares certainly hadn’t paid the slightest
bit of attention either way.
If it hadn’t been for a certain incubus awakening me
to the existence of the Dreaming nearly eight months ago, I would have
continued to experience my familiar nightly cycle of waking up from the
intimate practice of having the flesh shredded from my bones. That should have
meant something.
On the other hand, sometimes ignorance really was
bliss. Discovering that I could visit the place where my dreams occurred was
one thing. Being told I could potentially bring my nightmares to life was
something else entirely.
I understood Brystion’s motivation of having his
sister teach me the finer points of
Dreaming—we weren’t exactly dating anymore, and my chances of focusing
long enough past the hurt of his
leaving was a bit of a toss-up. I couldn’t argue
against the need to control myself better, though I wasn’t sure Sonja saw me as
anything more than a chore.
Still. The faint scent of the sea rolled past us as
though to emphasize the point and I shuddered. Dreams or not, I had no wish to
see the sharks again anytime soon.
The succubus sighed at my woeful expression. “You’ll
get there. You just need to concentrate.”
I waggled my nose, annoyed. I might not quite grasp
everything she tried to teach me, but I wasn’t completely ignorant. “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.
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 into others as well.”
“Planning on having me go all Dom Cobb on someone?
Let me dig up a top.” Despite my words, I couldn’t even begin to grasp the sort
of power that might take. Hell, I could barely manage to keep from being
devoured by my own nightmares—and I knew what caused them. What would my
chances be against someone else’s private despair? It wasn’t any of my
business, anyway.
She picked up a stick, sketching out a series of
circles on the ground. “Nearly everything that sleeps visits the Dreaming in
one form or another. Whether they remember it or not is another story, but I’m
sure you’ve heard of people who have prophetic dreams or astral body
projections or some such?”
“Well, sure. But the one time I actually attempted
to leave the Dreaming without waking up, I ended up getting lost on the
CrossRoads. And attacked by daemons.” I frowned at her. The silver roads
granted passage between the mortal realm and Faerie and I’d never really
figured them out. “Brystion was pissed.”
She waved me off. “And rightfully so, but you
wouldn’t be on the CrossRoads for this. Here . . . each circle represents a single
person’s Dreaming Heart. Let’s say this one is yours.” She tapped the one
closest to me. “Now, the Heart of your Dreaming is sacred space, particularly
for mortals. No one can enter it without permission.” Her mouth pursed.“Or in
my brother’s case, invitation?”
I scowled at her. “It seemed like a good idea at the
time.”
“Indeed. Anyway, that’s a bit more than the average
sleeping person would normally allow, but people who are close to each other
tend to form bonds . . .” She drew a few squiggles from my circle to the ones
closest around it. “Friends and family, perhaps. Lovers.” Her eyes met mine
with a hint of amusement. “TouchStones. As a Dreamer, you could follow these
pathways into their dreams.”
I shuddered in distaste as visions of accidentally
stumbling into Phin’s personal unicorn-porn theater crossed my mind. “And what
about enemies? Could they traverse those bonds to me?”
“It is possible,” she admitted. “But that’s one of
the reasons why you need more training.” She gestured at the thick iron gate
surrounding my Heart. “The unwary have their own defenses built in—but Dreamers
have defenses of a different sort at their disposal. The Dreaming itself can
become a weapon if you know how to use it.”
“Ah. Yeah. You know, I’m not really trying for that
sort of thing.” I had no desire to become any sort of neoshaman and messing
with people’s dreams was tricky stuff. “I’ll stick with the blue pill, thanks.”
“Suit yourself, but you might change your mind
someday.It wouldn’t hurt to at least understand the basics.” She held out a
hand to help me out of the stream, and we slowly ambled in the direction of my
Heart. The inner sanctum of my dreams lay behind the gate in the form of the
old Victorian I’d grown up in. Brystion had told me it couldn’t be breached—as
long as I stayed within its confines, I would be safe. Even from him.
I scanned the dark forest behind the house. My
former lover had made good on his promise to be scarce and I’d barely seen any
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 nightclub 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.
The whole point of TouchStones was to give OtherFolk
the ability to stay in the mortal world without limitations . . .and to travel
the CrossRoads at will, usually in return for some sort of gift. The sacred
bonds between mortals and OtherFolk didn’t always involve sex, but in his case
it had to. Knowing that didn’t make it hurt any less. Knowing that after six
months he probably wasn’t going to come back to me hurt a lot more.
Sonja arched a brow at me and I flushed. “Have a
good night. We’ll try again tomorrow.” I waved at her, watching as she passed
through the gate to fade away in a slurry of silver. I often wondered how she
could manage the CrossRoads directly like that, but Brystion had the same
talent.
I reached out and stroked the gate 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. . .
I glanced over at the rocky path that led to the
sea. So far I’d managed to keep the worst of the memories at bay. It was
chickenshit of me, but the worse the memory, the larger the shark. I wasn’t any
sort of hero to go facing them down. The sharks paid no mind to my efforts.
They would continue to lurk in all their sharp-toothed glory, regardless.
“Always the coward.” I rubbed my face before
shutting the gate and locking it tight. I didn’t mind keeping it open when I
was here, but now that I knew there were other beings actually wandering around
in the Dreaming, I disliked leaving it gaping in my absence.
The fact that I might have been locking the incubus
inside didn’t bother me so much. He certainly could make his own way through if
he wanted to. My gaze drifted over the thick cluster of hemlock behind the
garden and the heady taste of jasmine suddenly grew heavy on my tongue. I took
a step toward the trees, the scent growing stronger.
Brystion.
Tempted, I gave the darkness a wry smile. “No games
tonight.” And I meant it.
The one time I’d actually given in, I’d wandered for
hours, emerging to find myself richer only by the number of brambles stuck in
my hair. I debated mooning the woods, but in the end I merely entered the
house, gently closing the door behind me. And if I thought I caught my name
whispered
on the breeze, I chose not to acknowledge it.
Poke.
Something sharp prodded my back. Bleary, I shifted
away from it.
Poke.
“Phin, if that’s you, you’d better have a damn good
reason for pulling me out of my training.” I yawned the words and attempted to
roll over.
“I thought you might want to know he’s awake again.”
The cat-size unicorn clambered over my hip to dig his cloven hooves into my
thigh.
“And he won’t go to sleep for you?”
“Abby, in case you haven’t noticed, I don’t have
hands. But I do have teeth, so unless you want that delicious ass of yours
blemished, I suggest you get your butt out of bed. Little angel wants his
mamma.”
I groaned. Normally Talivar took the night shift but
he’d gone to Faerie before I’d crashed. Apparently he hadn’t returned yet. Some
bodyguard. “What time is it?” I cracked an eye at the clock—4 a.m.
Shit.
“Fine. But I’m not his mamma.” I sat up and snarled
when my toes hit the chilly floor.
“You’re the only thing here with tits. Close
enough.” Phineas grinned, wriggling under the warmth of the sheets I left
behind. “Mmm . . . cozy,” he said with a sigh.
“Don’t push your luck.” I glared at him, gathering
my robe around my shoulders. Sure enough, now that I’d managed to pull myself
out of the hazy state between awake and Dreaming, I could hear Benjamin’s
wailing cry down the hallway. “I’m not sure I get paid enough for this,” I
muttered. But who was I kidding? Moira said jump, and I jumped. Why should the
job stop at a little thing like child care? Especially when it came to the
Faery princess’s son.
I padded down the hall with a yawn. “I’m coming,
sweetie.” I winced as his voice jumped two notches from slightly pissy to
full-on megahowl. Upon entering the room and switching on the nightlight, the
reason was quickly evident. Wedged up in one corner of the crib, Benjamin had
managed to get one of his limbs wrapped around the
bars. The fact that the limb in question was a neatly feathered wing made very
little difference to the furious little eyes peering at me from a squinched-up
face.
Angel, indeed. Spitting image of his father.
Startled by how much he looked like Robert when he
thrust out that chin, I tsked at him soothingly, gently extricating the wing
without knocking any feathers loose. His volume lowered about two decibels and
I picked him up to rest his head on my shoulder. He snuffled, dark hair damp
against my neck, his mouth rooting to take hold of my collarbone. “That time
again, is it?” I patted his back and covered him with a blanket, starting up what
had become a twice-nightly ritual of pacing.
This time Benjamin wasn’t having any of it, though.
I quickly changed his diaper for good measure and then the two of us headed
into the kitchen so that I could warm up a bottle. I continued rocking side to
side as the pot on the stove heated up. My enchanted fridge always had his milk
in good supply, though what it was, I wasn’t entirely sure. Moira wouldn’t hear
of giving him mortal formula, but I’d never actually seen her carrying a breast
pump either. In the end, I supposed it didn’t matter. Whatever it was seemed to
keep him healthy and it’s not as if I’d even know where to begin to find food
for a half-angel/half-Fae child anyway. Based on the amount the little booger
was going through, I could only imagine his metabolism was higher than a mortal
child’s, although his somewhat limited development was troubling. At eight
months, a human baby would have been at least starting to wean, and certainly
wouldn’t require two feedings a night. On the other hand, human babies couldn’t
fly, so maybe the comparison was unfair.
Two weeks ago, Moira had been called away to the
Faery Court to give her testimony about Maurice’s betrayal. Consumed by
jealousy, Maurice had concocted an elaborate scheme to remove his former lover
from power in a last-ditch bid to land himself a place in Faerie—a plan I had
somehow managed to thwart, although that was mostly just dumb luck on my part.
Of course, the offshoot of that had nearly been my death, so it wasn’t like I’d
gotten away unscathed.
Undoubtedly I was on his ultimate shitlist, but I’d
been spared the testimony requirement and acquired a bodyguard in the form of
Moira’s brother, so some things had worked out. On the other hand, staying
behind meant I had to run things on my own—including the task of being
Benjamin’s
nanny.
Talivar had been happy enough to take the night
shift, but when the infant had sprouted wings a few days ago, the prince had
decided it was worth the risk of leaving us behind to tell his sister directly.
Regardless of what Moira had told me, the knowledge
of who was Benjamin’s father wasn’t for public consumption,but feathers would
be hard to hide for too long.
Benjamin began to whimper. The bottle was nearly
warm now, so I shushed him until it was the right temperature. I retreated into
the living room, and curled up on the sofa. He smacked his lips at the sight of
the bottle and suckled greedily. “Better be careful,” I warned him. “Keep
eating like this and you’ll be too heavy to fly.”
If he heard my words, he ignored them, eyes closing
in contentment. “Silly boy,” I murmured, shifting him so that he was crooked in
my elbow. Now that his needs were fully taken care of, I blinked sleepily
myself, my gritty eyes burning. “Not yet. Gotta get you all tucked in first,
eh?” I glanced down at the pile of loose papers on the coffee table and turned
the lamp to its dimmest setting, grabbing the top few sheets.
Might as well try to get some work in.
Dear Abby . . .
I rolled my eyes. Just my luck to be stuck with the
same name as the columnist. I couldn’t recall exactly when the first letters
started showing up, but shortly after the whole Maurice debacle, I began to
find them. At first, they’d be randomly slipped under the door of the Midnight
Marketplace, or even sometimes at the Pit, the used bookstore where I worked. I
wasn’t foolish enough to think the letters were meant for me. Not really.
Moira was the Protectorate of Portsmyth. Part of her
job was to oversee disputes and issues of the OtherFolk living here. As her
mortal TouchStone, I was simply a conduit to possibly getting her attention
faster.
But as I tentatively began to read the letters,
Moira decided I could use the practice and allowed me to try to answer. Like a
floodgate opening, they started showing up on my pillow, in my bathroom, taped
to the fridge. I drew the line when I found the one in my underwear drawer.
Or really, Phineas blew a gasket.
“I don’t mind you having your hobbies,” he’d
exploded at me that morning, “but goddamn if you could keep them out of your
lingerie?”
Even aside from the fact that he wasn’t actually
supposed to be in my underwear drawer
either, this was one time I agreed with him.
I formally set up a separate address at the
Marketplace, with occasional diversions to the Hallows, and made it clear that
any letters showing up in my sheets were going to be burned.
Still, the flow kept on here and there; how useful
my answers were was up for debate.
I was hoping you could settle a little issue between
me and this ghost I’m living with.
“Not bloody likely.”
I’m a brownie, and I used to work for Mr. Jefferson.
Now, technically, brownies work until their chosen masters pass on and then we
are set free. But in this case, Mr. Jefferson did not fully move into the light
and his ghost haunts the place and refuses to let me go . . .
I groaned, placing the letter on the cushion beside
me. I hated these kinds of questions. Not as much as the TouchStone or the
star-crossed lover ones, but without knowing both sides of the story, how was I
supposed to answer this?
Even if I meant well, there was no telling what the
repercussions would be if I gave them the wrong advice. “Have to find a ghost
whisperer, Benjamin.” Benjamin’s jaw was slack now, the nipple hanging off his
lower lip, milk in the corners of his mouth. “All right, little man. Back to
bed with you. And Auntie,” I amended as the front door creaked open.
“Here, I’ll take him.” Talivar emerged from the
darkness with a quiet grace. The elven prince-cum-bodyguard had finally relaxed
his rather minimal dress code of tunics and torcs a few months ago, even as he
had relaxed his vigilance.
With a little shopping help from me, he had taken
casual chic to an entirely new level.
Dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt, he cut a nice figure in the dim
light, his long hair tied in a loose queue and a bit of hipster scruff on his
chin setting off the strong jaw. Frankly, I found that the oddest thing about
him, given that I’d always thought elves couldn’t actually grow facial hair, but
I was hardly an expert.
Besides, I liked it.
The delicate points of his ears poked between the
sable strands of his hair, silver hoops gleaming near the tips like tiny stars.
He still retained the leather eye patch, though. My threats to glitter it up had
been met with a slightly chilly smile, and in the end I’d decided to leave well
enough alone.
“Ah. I didn’t hear you come in.” I peered up at him.
“Good trip?”
“There is much to discuss, but I think it can wait
until tomorrow.” He watched the baby, a strange expression ghosting over his
face. “My sister wasn’t overly happy to hear about the wings, as you can
imagine, but she’ll manage.”
I grunted, not really sure I cared about anything
other than getting back to my bed. Not at this hour, anyway. “When do you think
the trial will wrap up?”
He gently took Benjamin from me, cradling his
nephew’s head with a careful hand. “Maurice is not being cooperative, as we
suspected. His refusal to explain how he removed all that succubus blood is
becoming most . . . vexing.” Talivar’s mouth compressed in a way that left
little doubt that vexing probably wasn’t the word he was looking for, but it
curved into a crooked smile a moment later as he shrugged at me.
“I don’t think it’s the removal so much as what he
did with it.” Although probably insane on some level, Maurice had somehow
discovered a way to use the blood of succubi in the form of paint. Which sounds
harmless enough—until he used it on Moira and myself, among others, to trap us
in portraits made of our own nightmares.
“No doubt. And Moira has given her testimony, but .
. .” He hesitated. “Well, the truth is our mother is not doing as well as she
might. Moira is keeping an eye on her.”
“Translation: Things are fucked,” I quipped with a
sigh. “I already know where this is going.” Visions of raising Benjamin to his
college years filled me with a weary sort of resignation. “What are the chances I’ll be seeing Moira
again before my Contract is up?”
“Well enough, I’m thinking. The Queen won’t keep her
there forever.” Easy for him to say. Maybe six years didn’t seem like much to a
nearly ageless elf, but it might as well have been forever as far as I was
concerned.
“I still think we need to tell Robert. Benjamin is
his son, and however uncomfortable that makes people, he should know. After
all,” I said dryly, “who’s going to teach him to fly?”
Talivar shifted Benjamin to his shoulder and shook
his head. “We do not recognize paternal claims in Faerie, Abby. All lineages
are drawn through the mother. By that logic, I’m actually more closely related to my nephew
than Robert is.”
“Yeah, I can tell, what with those wings and all.
Still makes no damn sense.”
“Yes, well, we’re a rather promiscuous bunch. We
cannot trust our wives to be faithful, any more than our wives could trust us.
At least this way I know my sister’s children are related to me. But my wife?”
He shrugged at my raised brow, a wan smile on his lips. “My hypothetical wife,
anyway. She could take a hundred lovers over the course of our marriage and I would
have no right to gainsay her that.”
“And that doesn’t bother you? Knowing that you have
no real acknowledgement of your own children?”
“Children are rare and precious to our kind. We tend
not to look too closely at where they come from. Usually.” He looked down at
the baby, his gaze distant. “And that, I think, is enough for one evening. Or
morning, as the case may be,” he noted, glancing at the false dawn through the
blinds. “I’ll tend to him now. Hopefully your rest wasn’t disturbed much.”
“Mmm . . . you’re assuming I like to be awakened by
a horn half up my ass.”
“Probably depends on the horn.” A smirk crossed his
face before he slipped through the kitchen and down the hallway to the baby’s
room. I watched him go, rubbing my eyes again. He didn’t have Brystion’s
blatant sexuality, but there was an ethereal beauty to him that sometimes
stunned me.
A pang of sadness twisted in my chest and I told it
to shut the hell up, ambling to my bedroom to try to catch a few more hours of
shut-eye. Today was Katy’s eighteenth birthday, after all, and I had things to
do—party plans to set in motion and her werewolf boyfriend to keep under
control. My duties didn’t get put on hold simply because I had a messy personal
life.
Phineas was unabashedly drooling on my pillow, his
equine mouth half open. “Lovely.” I grimaced, snatching up a spare from the
closet. I hunched beneath the blankets, wrapping them partway about my head as
though I might shut out the memories.
The unicorn snuggled closer, making kissy sounds. I
shoved him beneath the blanket. “You’re an ass. See if I make you any
breakfast.”
“Be still my wounded heart,” he retorted. “However
shall I manage without a plate of burned bacon?” There was a snuffling sound
and a sigh, and then a miniature chainsaw
revving next to my ear.
Out of a perverse sense of revenge I nudged him with
my shoulder. “I’ve got to try to find a ghost whisperer today, if I can. Remind
me when you wake me up again.”
There was a sudden silence. On instinct, I jerked my
backside away from him, peering out of my nest to catch his teeth clicking shut
on the space where my ass had just been. The unicorn gave me a sour look.
“Almost got you,”he mumbled, flopping onto his back with his legs spread
obscenely.“Ask Charlie. She’s always talking to dead people.”
I frowned. I hadn’t spoken to Charlie in quite a
while.
At least not about anything that didn’t end up being
awkwardly. . . awkward. “Charlie as in ‘the girlfriend of the angel who cheated
on her with my boss and whose baby I’m taking care of’?”
“Yeah.” His mouth pursed. “Hmm . . . I guess I could
see where that might be a problem. Good thing I don’t have to talk to her.”
“Nice.” I slouched down and rearranged the blankets,
rolling to the other side to keep my posterior out of range. “Whose side are
you on anyway?”
“Thought you’d have figured that out by now.” He
yawned, one eye cocking open to wink at me. “Mine.”
About
the Author:
