C.E. Mutphy - Hands of Flame

Janx peeled his lips back from his teeth, far less a smile than a threat. “Are you so very certain this is how you wish to use that last wish, Margrit Knight? You have many years ahead of you, and may yet need a dragon’s favor. And then there is the matter of Grace O’Malley and her children, is there not? Think carefully, Negotiator. Choose wisely.”

Triumph jolted her, burning up too much of what little energy she had, but a smile flashed over Margrit’s face regardless. She had won already, even if Janx didn’t know it yet: he had accorded her a title, and that meant she had a place amongst the Old Races. “We’ve already made the exchange for Grace’s tunnels, Janx. Don’t cloud the issue. Of course I’m sure. Maybe it’s terribly human of me, but my friends are not pieces for you to push around on your chess board or knock aside as it pleases you. Tony’s life is mine.”

She heard the detective catch his breath and a burst of humor cut through her triumph. Being alive made it easy to laugh. She hoped that would stay: it seemed as if her laughter was too often edged with cynicism. And she knew what caused Tony to protest, even if he didn’t do so aloud. She’d made a claim on his life, staking it as hers. If, heaven forbid, he had made the same statement, she would have lashed out at him with any attack in her repertoire. She was autonomous, and so, too, was he.

On the other hand, at least once, very recently, she’d had the presence of mind to keep her mouth shut over just such a claim, and she hoped Tony would, too. It was a matter of principle in a relationship or at the office. Here, now, it was literally a matter of life and death.

“Am I to walk away with nothing?” Janx demanded. “My empire lost, cast from my temporary home, the lives of all responsible safe from my retribution? Is this your way of smoothing the waters in our world, Margrit Knight?”

“You can walk away with your daughter.” Margrit sounded implacable to her own ears, the roughness of her voice gone. “I’d think that was worth any price.”

For an instant—just an instant—Janx softened as he looked toward Kate. Her lips parted, another ingenue’s look of sweet hope, but this time Margrit saw raw emotion behind it, the expression no longer an act.

“It is more than a trinket,” Janx conceded, but then his expression hardened again. Kate’s shoulders dropped in dismay, and Ursula hugged her harder, the two making miscolored shadows of one another. “More than a trinket, but not enough. I set a third task to you weeks ago, Margrit Knight. I would see it done. Then, and only then, are we even and is the slate between us cleared. Heed my wish and I’ll heed yours.” He finally smiled, sharp-toothed and angry. “Do we have an accord?”

“We do.” Margrit whispered the words even as she shied away from the thought. Janx had set her a task, and she’d thrown it in his face in much the same way he’d just tried to do with her. Had warned him that it was his last favor, and he should be well aware of how he spent it.

She had acted to spare a life. Janx was acting to end one.

Eliseo Daisani would be destroyed. Not the vampire himself, but his persona, the business mogul who’d reigned over New York for the past thirty years. If Janx was to lose his empire, then Daisani would, too, and they would move elsewhere, begin their game anew. It would be hard enough for Janx, but nearly impossible for Daisani, whose face was known all over the world. A century earlier slipping from one life to another must have been easy, but Margrit had no idea how a well-known person would even begin to do so in the modern world.

“We do,” she said again, more clearly. “You’re a son of a bitch, Janx, but we have a deal.”

“Why, Margrit.” Janx made himself the picture of injured feelings. “I thought that was what you liked about me.”

“I don’t think I like any of you very much right now.” The adrenaline high was beginning to burn off, leaving Margrit weaker than she wanted to be. “Get out of here, Janx. Go pack your things and leave Grace’s tunnels and her children. Go somewhere with Kate. Get to know your daughter. Try to be a good guy for a while. It’d help me sleep easier.”

“Your wish, my dear, is my command. Katherine?” Janx, with consummate showmanship, offered Kate an elbow, then cocked the other and said, “Ursula?” in equally inviting tones.

The twins exchanged glances, first with each other, then with Margrit, who nodded and lifted her hand, fingers spread to represent a phone, toward her ear. She mouthed, “Call me,” and both the women smiled brightly, Kate nodding agreement before they each took one of Janx’s elbows and allowed him to escort them away from the loading dock.

“Are you certain it’s wise to encourage Daisani’s daughter to walk with Janx?” Alban murmured.

Margrit turned toward him, the movement making her dizzy, and put a hand on his arm to steady herself. “I’ll tell Eliseo, don’t worry. I thought you didn’t know who their fathers were.”

“I didn’t,” Alban said dryly, “until I saw them in action. It became obvious, Margrit.”

“Oh.” Light-headedness replaced what she would normally have thought of as the sensation of a blush. Nausea followed it and she clutched Alban’s sleeve, teeth set together against illness.

“Margrit?”

Her name came from two directions, Tony and Alban both voicing concern. She managed a weak smile at them, amused by the way they scowled, uncertain which of them should take precedence. After a few seconds Tony stepped back. Grace, looking surprisingly satisfied, tucked her arm through the detective’s as Alban asked, “Are you well, Margrit?”

“Honestly? At the very least I need about a gallon of water, and a blood transfusion probably wouldn’t hurt. But I don’t think I have time for that.” Margrit shrugged and straightened away from Alban. “There’s too much else to do.”

She managed three steps before her eyes rolled back and she collapsed to the concrete in a faint.

Despite what happened in films, it was rare indeed that anyone was quick enough to catch someone as she fainted. Daisani might have done it; Alban could not. He and Tony lurched simultaneously, and Grace’s face wrinkled in horrified sympathy as Margrit crashed to the floor.

Alban scooped her up cautiously, concerned she might have injured herself further, then wondered how much more badly she could be hurt than having her throat cut. “She needs fluids.”

“She needs a hospital,” Tony said at the same time, then glowered at Alban.

“Hospitals will only ask complicated questions such as how she survived so much blood loss, and will want to do blood work. I don’t know what they’ll find.”

“The same thing they found in January!”

“Perhaps. But it’s been months now, and her ability to heal has adapted and increased remarkably. A doctor might discover she is no longer fully human.”

“Then what the hell is she?”

Alban looked up from Margrit, who breathed shallowly but steadily, and felt sympathy draw his features long. “Unique.”

Tony’s expression went bitter. “She was always that.”

“Yes.” Alban’s voice softened and he glanced at the woman he held. “For what little it’s worth, I had not meant to take her from you.”

“Margrit doesn’t get taken anywhere. She goes where she wants.” The same bitterness colored his tone. “She didn’t want me anymore.”

“You’re taking this very well, detective. All of it.”

“All of it…You mean, all of you? I told you, it almost makes sense. Margrit doesn’t hide things without a good reason, and I guess you people are as good a reason to keep secrets as I’ve ever seen. Besides,” Tony added flatly, “she needs me to.”