―What do you mean?‖
―Why do you think you keep having so many brushes with the Book, when everyone else who‘s searching for it never gets a glimpse of it? Even Darroc, your illustrious master, can‘t get close to it. Word is it‘s been taking its own—Unseelie—chewing them up and spitting them out. But nobody who really wants it can find it. Except you.‖
―I‘m an OOP detector,‖ I reminded him. ―I‘m the only one who can sense it. There‘s potential for you.‖
―Indeed. Potential for what? Has it occurred to you that perhaps you don‘t keep finding the Book— it keeps finding you?‖
―What are you saying?‖
―What do you think the Book wants, Mac?‖
―How should I know? Death. Destruction. Chaos. Same as the rest of the Unseelie.‖
―What would you want if you were a book?‖
―I‘m different, and that‘s easy. I‘d want to not be a book.‖
―Maybe you‘re not so different. Maybe it wants also to not be a book.‖
―It has other forms. It‘s the Beast, too.‖
―Has the Beast ever harmed anyone? Don‘t you think it would if it could? Isn‘t that its nature?‖
I studied his back, pondered his words. ―You‘re saying the Beast is only glamour. That like any Fae, it creates illusion.‖
―What if its only true form is a book? One that can‘t walk, or talk, or move, or do anything on its own?‖
―Are you saying you think it takes people over just to have a body?‖
He glanced up at the LCD screens above his head. ―I don‘t know what I think. I consider everything. You watch them long enough, you see what they want. Unseelie hunger, like starved prisoners, for whatever it is the Unseelie King brought them into existence lacking. What if the Book is after corporeality? A movable form it can use with autonomy? A body it can keep and control? A life of its own?‖
―Then why would it kill the people it takes?‖
―Maybe it doesn‘t. Maybe, like dolls, they break. Or maybe some part of them manages to regain control for a few moments and stop what the Book is doing to them the only way they can. Or maybe it‘s biding time, waiting for just the right moment. Maybe it has the Fae ability of prognosticating possibles, delicately shaping events to achieve certain ends. Has the Book ever spoken to you?‖
―Yes.‖
―Barrons said it called you by name.‖
I‘d never told him that. He must have heard it speak to me that night. I‘d thought it spoke only in my head. ―So? I don‘t know how it knew my name.‖ He liked the ―maybe‖ game. I could play it, too. ―Maybe it knows everybody‘s. I don‘t know what you‘re getting at, but the Book repels me. I can barely get close to it. I‘m too good and it‘s too evil.‖
―Really.‖ He could not have said it more dryly.
―What do you mean, ?really‘?‖ I said defensively.
―Good and evil are merely opposite sides of a coin, Mac. Get tossed in the air enough, it‘s easy to come down on the wrong side. Maybe the Book knows something about you that makes you different. Makes it want you. Makes it think if you flipped sides, you‘d be worth more to it than any of the rest of us.‖
What he was saying didn‘t make sense. And it was creeping me out. ―Like what? And if that was the case, then why wouldn‘t it have taken me already? It‘s had plenty of chances.‖
―Darroc bided his time, waiting for the perfect moment. Maybe you‘re not primed to flip yet. Eternal life breeds eternal patience. If you lived long enough, you might feel that if today amuses, today is good. All sense of right or wrong, all morality, all value, might cease to exist.‖
With the exception of two compartments to hold everything: stasis and change—the classic Fae attitude. Of course, immortality would do that. ―So you think the Book is amusing itself, waiting for the right moment to pounce? Wake up. There‘s never going to be a right moment for it to pounce on me.‖
―Arrogance, like anger, is often a fatal flaw.‖
―Darroc lost me. He didn‘t get what he wanted. I‘m still standing. And I‘m still fighting. And I will never flip sides,‖ I said coldly.
―You‘re still standing because of that one, Mac.‖ He nodded at the room he was staring into.
―Don‘t forget it. Never seen anything like her, and I‘ve seen a lot.‖
I moved to stand beside him, peered into the room. Up close, I could discern shapes. Dani was in the middle of four men, spinning ceaselessly, sword up, snarling.
―You hurt her, I‘ll kill you,‖ I told him. No matter that he was a foot taller than me and twice my mass.
―She said the same about you.‖
Suddenly Dani went into hyperspeed, then they all disappeared, and then there was Dani again, surrounded by four men.
―She hasn‘t stopped trying to get out since I put her in there. I wonder how long she could survive.‖
Not very long without food, but I wasn‘t about to tell him that. I looked up at him. He turned his face to mine, looked down. Handsome, chilling man. His eyes were the clearest I‘d ever seen. This was a man that suffered no conflicts with himself. He had no problems being what he was.
We stared at each other. ―Black looks good on you,‖ he murmured. ―Has Barrons seen you like this?‖
―Eternal patience,‖ I murmured back. His tie was loosened, and in the open collar of his white shirt his neck was a skein of scars, with a long, wicked-looking one stretching up the left side from shoulder to ear. I didn‘t need a nurse to tell me he‘d healed from a wound, long ago, that would have killed most men. How long ago? ―Does today amuse, Ryodan?‖
His lips curved. He looked back at Dani and, after a moment, nodded. ―It does. More than it has in recent … years.‖
―She‘s thirteen.‖
―Time will remedy that.‖
―You worry me, Ryodan.‖
―Back at you. Bit of advice, Mac. Life‘s an ocean, full of waves. All are dangerous. All can drown you. Under the right circumstances, even the gentlest swell can turn tidal. Hopping waves is for the weekend warrior. Choose one, ride it out. It increases your odds of survival.‖ He watched Dani for a moment, then said, ―There are rules in my house.‖
―Your buddies already told me the first two. Neutral ground. Break a rule you die.‖
―No killing Fae inside my club. In my walls means under my protection.‖
―I just watched one of your protected Fae kill a human.‖
―If they‘re stupid enough to be here, they‘re stupid enough to die.‖
―Does that mean I can kill humans, too?‖ I said sweetly. There were two in particular who had just caught my eye. Derek O‘Bannion, the younger brother of the Irish mobster I‘d killed after I stole the Spear of Destiny from him, and current right-hand man to the Lord Master, was crossing the dance floor beneath my feet. Accompanying him was Fiona, the woman who used to run Barrons Books and Baubles, until she‘d tried to kill me; then Barrons had fired her. Now I just needed the LM himself and a few Unseelie Princes to have all my enemies in the same place.
―Special rules for you, Mac. You don‘t get to kill anything in my club, Fae or human. Your fight is outside these walls. And if Barrons‘ belief in you is unfounded, there won‘t be anyplace you can hide. Every last one of us will come after you.‖
I didn‘t dignify his threat with a response.
He knocked on the glass and made a gesture with his left hand. Three of the men disappeared. Dani blinked out. Then suddenly there she was again, and one of his men had her sword pointed at her throat.
―If you ever come into my club carrying again, we‘ll take your weapons and never give them back. Clear?‖
―As the floor beneath my feet.‖