The interior lights of Barrons Books and Baubles were at the closed-for-business level when I let myself in, which was enough to keep Shades away but little more.
I moved to the counter, dropped my flashlights, and stripped off my jacket. There were some papers on it that hadn’t been there earlier. I riffled through them. They were receipts for a backup generator, a state-of-the-art security system, and a proposal for installation. The bill was astronomical. An appointment was noted for the work to begin the first week of November.
I didn’t hear him behind me. I felt him. Electric. Wild. One foot in the swamp. Never going to crawl all the way out. And I wanted to have sex with whatever he was. Where was I supposed to put that in my head? I wadded the thought up, stuffed it in my padlocked box, and tested the chains. I was going to need a few more.
I turned and we had one of those wordless conversations that were our specialty.
Nice apology, I said, but not enough.
It’s not an apology. I don’t owe you one.
Our wordless conversation ended there. We’re getting worse at them. Distrust clouds my eyes, and I can’t see past it.
“Do you have news for me, today, Ms. Lane?” said Barrons.
I thrust my hands in my pockets. “No run-ins with the Book.”
“No calls from Jayne?”
I shook my head. He could Voice me on that one, and I’d still be able to say no. He’d asked the wrong question. I took perverse pleasure in that.
“Any contact with V’lane?”
“Aren’t you Question Boy tonight? Why don’t you try judging my actions?” I said. “Speaking of which, I’ve decided I see the wisdom of your advice.”
“Has Hell frozen over?” he said dryly.
“Funny. I’m not going to ask you questions tonight, Barrons. I’m going to ask you for three actions.” It seemed my gut had come up with a plan. I hoped my instincts were sound.
Interest uncoiled like a dark snake in his eyes. “Go on.”
I reached beneath my jacket, removed my spear from the shoulder harness, and held it out to him. “Here. Take this.”
Here it was, the moment of truth. So simple. So telling.
Dark eyes narrowed; the snake in them moved. “Who have you been talking to, Ms. Lane?” he said softly.
“No one.”
“Tell me what you’re after or I won’t play your little game.”
There was no room for negotiation in his voice. I shrugged. It was past time to force this confrontation. “I’ve heard that an Unseelie can’t touch a Seelie Hallow.”
“So, now I’m not eating them,” he said, reminding me of a prior accusation I’d made against him, “I am them? You’ve quite the imagination, Ms. Lane.”
“Just take it,” I said irritably. The suspense was killing me. I knew he wouldn’t. Couldn’t. Barrons was a Gripper. That was all there was to it.
Long, strong, elegant fingers closed around steel. He took the spear.
Astonished, certain his features would be contorted in pain, my gaze flew to his face.
There wasn’t a flicker of a lash, not the smallest shift of a muscle. Nothing. If anything, he looked bored.
He offered it back. “Satisfied?”
I refused to take it. Maybe if he kept holding it, something would happen.
He waited.
I waited.
Eventually I started to feel stupid and took the spear back. He thrust his hands in his pockets and regarded me coolly. I was deflated. Barrons wasn’t Unseelie. Until that moment, I hadn’t realized how completely I’d made my case against him, and convicted him. It explained everything: his longevity, his strength, his knowledge of the Fae, why the Shades left him alone, why V’lane feared him, why the Lord Master had walked away—all of it made sense, if Barrons was an Unseelie. But he wasn’t. I’d just proved it. And now I had to go back to square one and start trying to figure out what he was all over again.
“Try not to look so disappointed. One might almost think you wanted me to be Unseelie, Ms. Lane. What’s your second request?”
I wanted him to be something. I wanted to be able to peg him and put him somewhere and quit being torn in half, one moment believing him my avenging angel, the next, certain he was the devil himself. I couldn’t live like this, not knowing who to trust. Off-kilter, I blurted, “I want you to give me the D’Jai Orb.”
“Why?”
“So I can give it to the sidhe-seers.”
“You trust them?”
“In this,” I qualified. “I believe they’ll use it for the greater good.”
“I despise that phrase, Ms. Lane. Atrocities have been committed in its name. What is the greater good but tyranny’s chameleon? For eons it has changed skins to sate the current ruler’s hunger for political and spiritual dominion.”
He had a point there. But in this case, the greater good was my whole world, as I knew it, and I wanted to keep knowing it. I clarified. “They think they can use it to reinforce the walls on Halloween.”
“Very well. I will bring it to you tomorrow night.”
I almost fell over. “Really?” Two surprises: Barrons wasn’t Unseelie, and he’d just agreed to hand over a priceless relic, asking nothing in return. Why was he being so nice? Was this his apology for last night?
“What’s the third thing you want, Ms. Lane?”
This one was going to be a little trickier. “What do you know about the walls between realms?”
“I know they’re paper-thin at the moment. I know some of the smaller, less powerful Fae have been slipping through the cracks, without the Lord Master’s help. The prison continues to contain the most powerful.”
His comment sidetracked me. “You know, that just doesn’t make sense. Why are the less powerful ones able to escape? I’d think it would be the other way around.”
“The walls were created from a formidable magic,” he said, “which no Fae has been able to match since. At great cost to herself, the queen wove living strands of the Song of Making into the walls of the prison, which slams the magic of the Unseelie back at them. The stronger the Unseelie, the stronger the wall; by attempting to break free, they actually join forces with their gaoler.”
Cool trick. “So, do you know why the walls are so thin?”
“Aren’t you Question Girl tonight?”
I gave him a look.
He smiled faintly. “Why are the walls so thin?”
“Because when the Compact was struck, humans were appointed to help maintain them. But those responsible for keeping them up with their rituals—the most important of which take place every Halloween—have been attacked by dark magic each time they’ve performed it over the past few years. They’ve exhausted the limits of their knowledge and power. If it happens again this year—and there’s every reason to expect it will—the walls will come down completely. Even the prison walls.”
“What does this have to do with me, Ms. Lane?”
“If the walls come down completely, all the Unseelie will get out, Barrons.”
“So?”
“You told me once you didn’t want that to happen.”
“Doesn’t mean it’s my problem.” He was looking bored again.
“This is the third action I want. I want you to make it your problem.”
“In what manner?”