C.E. Mutphy - Hands of Flame

Grace executed an elegant bow, flourishing with her fingers as Margrit looked back to Tony. “What are you two doing here?”

Janx grumbled a warning that Margrit silenced with a look, while Tony fell back a step and shook his head. “Wish to hell I knew. She came out of nowhere and said I had to come with her.”

“When a cadre of gargoyles goes off looking for trouble, Grace knows to call in a ringer. I didn’t know we’d find a mess as bad as this one, but sometimes it takes old-fashioned human ingenuity to get people’s attention. I figured the copper shooting off a round or two would do it.”

“You have a gun,” Margrit said blankly.

Grace wrinkled her nose and slipped the weapon from the small of her back, then knocked open the chamber to shake its contents onto the floor. Nothing fell, and with a semiembarrassed shrug, she said, “No bullets, love.”

Margrit stared at Grace, remembering too vividly the way she’d pressed the gun’s barrel to her forehead. Her stomach lurched with the dismay of discovering old fear had been useless, but before she found words to protest with, Kate, quiet and sullen, said, “I thought we were the ringers,” to Ursula.

Janx turned on them both, clearly glad to have a target for his ire. He was nearly purple with indignation, and a purposeful pair of gargoyles stepped forward to prevent him from launching himself at the girls. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice?” he demanded. “Did you think you could come into my city, my territory, and proclaim yourself without challenge? Did you—”

“How did you even know I was here?” The curiosity behind Kate’s question was clearly genuine, startling Janx and sending a pang of regret through Margrit. The half-blood children of the Old Races were so thoroughly denied their heritages it was no surprise that Ausra had succumbed to madness. Kate and Ursula had fared better, but Margrit doubted either of them truly understood the world their fathers had come from.

“You announced yourself with your transformation.” Janx’s anger lost its grip on him, confusion rising to replace it. “How can you not know that? How can you not know our tongue? Who are you?”

Kate exchanged a panicked glance with her sister, but it was Alban who stood with Margrit gathered in his arms, and replied for all of them. “This is Katherine Hopkins, Janx. Sarah’s daughter, and yours.”

“Daughter.” Janx echoed the word dully, as lacking in animation as Alban had ever seen him.

“They’ve been in New York for years,” Alban said. “Since…”

“Nineteen sixty-two,” Ursula provided. “We’ve lived in all five boroughs. Kate wants to go upstate next.”

Janx shook himself, dragging his gaze from Kate to Ursula. “Daughter.”

“Not me. Just her.” Ursula slid her arm around Kate’s waist, shoring her up. “My father is Eliseo Daisani.”

Janx and Tony made similar sounds of dismay, the former amusing Alban and the latter drawing his attention to the detective. Grace O’Malley offered him a reassuring touch, her long fingers light and gentle over his. They made an attractive pair, almost Alban and Margrit’s mirror opposites, with Grace pale and blond and Tony golden-skinned and dark-haired. The idea traced a smile on Alban’s lips before he turned back to the twins. “I didn’t recognize you,” he said to Kate. “Not at first. I thought you were Janx. Did you know, in all these centuries, I’d never seen your other form?”

“Of course we knew.” Ursula answered for Kate, who stared greedily at Janx. “Mama drilled that into us when we were still girls. Once we could transform to the degree that we wanted, we never did it again. It’s harder to get caught if you don’t flaunt your differences.”

“To the degree you want?” Janx gaped at Ursula, then looked back at the auburn-haired woman who was his daughter. “You have halfway forms?”

“Of course.” Kate looked nonplussed. “Don’t you?”

All of Janx’s cool and nonchalance slipped away. “No!”

Margrit’s voice fluted as high as it could with the injuries to her throat: “These are things that can be argued about later. Where’s Tariq?”

Cara, pinch-faced with pain, looked up from one of her injured podmates. “The vampire ate him.”

“I did not!” Offense shot through Ursula’s voice, mitigated an instant later by the admission, “He got away.”

Margrit stepped forward, relying on Alban’s support and not trying to hide it. A flare of pride burst in his chest, that he should be fortunate enough to have encountered a woman like this one, and that she could see beyond his alien nature and care for him. She was one of the most fiercely independent people he had ever known, and the tastes he’d had of her memories told him that when she chose not to walk beside him or rely upon him, it was to establish herself as worthy of consideration on her own terms. That she was now willing to accept his help said as much about who she was as it did about who they were. Alban fought down a smile that felt silly with delight as Margrit shuffled a step or two closer to Cara.

“Are the selkies satisfied that my death has fulfilled the wergild against Janx and Alban for their part in Malik’s death?”

Cara, bemused, said, “You’re not dead.”

“I was.” Margrit turned her head toward Alban, who felt his insides go cold again as he nodded. “The agreement didn’t stipulate I had to stay that way.”

Humor crowed in Alban’s chest, crowding out the cold. Margrit was still shaking and far too pale from blood loss, and yet determined to drive nails into the coffin of a war still on the edge of burgeoning. Her voice cleared a little as she repeated, “Are the selkies satisfied?”

“The selkies are,” Cara said bitterly. “We give up our claim on Janx’s territory—”

The dragon hissed in triumph and Cara turned a hard look on him, finishing, “And cede it to the djinn with all our support.”

Margrit slumped against Alban, her hand on his arm trembling with the effort of keeping herself upright. He tightened his fingers at her waist, understanding she wanted to show as much strength as possible, and didn’t nestle her close again, for all that it was in his heart to do so.

Using him for steadiness, she turned toward Eldred. “We can’t let war come of this. Will the gargoyles accept the djinn as masters of Janx’s empire?”

“It is of no loss to us,” Eldred said. “If it will keep the peace, then yes, of course.”

“The dragons,” Janx snarled, “will not.”

Margrit glanced at Alban, her smile exhausted, then gave that same weary look to Janx. “You’re not the only dragon here today.” Drawing herself up, ignoring the outrage that flushed Janx’s cheeks, she turned to Kate. “What say the dragons?”

Avarice as powerful as anything Alban had ever seen in Janx’s eyes flashed across Kate’s face. Then she shot her father a glance, and when she spoke, her words were measured, more like Ursula’s than usual. “A dragon and a vampire came here today to support the Negotiator. Neither of us have a stake in Janx’s territory, and we’re willing to accept djinn rule here. We’ll stand together to help them hold it, if necessary.”

Fury contorted Janx’s face. Alban stepped forward, flanking Margrit and ready to push her behind himself if danger sparked. She stayed him with a touch, perhaps still too close to death to fear it. “And you, dragonlord? Do you cede control over your empire to the djinn?”

Janx looked from one face to another, high color still burning his cheeks, and finally brought a venomous look back to Margrit. “You’ve given me no choice. Congratulations, Ms. Knight. It seems you’ve won a round.”

“I’ve won two.” Margrit curled a hand in Alban’s bloody shirt, bracing herself. “Your territory ceded, and Tony’s life. I’m calling in my third favor, Janx. Just to make it clear.”