C.E. Murphy - House of Cards

A corner of Alban’s mouth curled, despite himself. "What are you doing here, Grace?"

"Watching over your lawyer, as you asked. But then that bearded devil slipped out, and I thought that was more worth watching. And hello to you, too." She crept toward the building’s edge, beckoning Alban forward.

He followed, suddenly amused. If any two people he knew were less suited for trying to go unnoticed in the darkness than he and Grace, it had to be himself and Biali. Only another gargoyle’s hair rivaled his in glowing whiteness, but Grace’s came close. He murmured, "We should have nightcaps," and Grace shot him a look laced with more flirtatiousness than censure.

"Sure and I’d be glad to share one with you, but I think Margrit might have a thing to say about that. A thing or even two. Now look." She snaked a hand toward the alley below.

Malik paced across its mouth, throttling his cane in one hand. Alban shook his head. "I’m astonished you could follow him. Tracking a djinn is nearly impossible."

"Grace has her tricks," she said absently.

As she spoke, another man, this one carrying a briefcase, stepped into view. Alban inched back with surprise, recognizing the broad-shouldered form. "Kaimana?"

"Malik came in with the briefcase Kaaiai’s got now. I thought selkies and djinn didn’t play nice. Makes me nervous, it does."

"I didn’t think anything made you nervous." Alban offered a brief smile that earned a snort of laughter from the white-haired woman.

"That’s what you’re supposed to think, love. There he goes, then." She nodded toward Malik, who dissipated in the alley below.

"He’s done his job." Alban leaned thoughtfully on the rooftop’s half-wall. "He’ll return to Janx to report."

"Go on, then." Grace straightened, a slim, curvaceous form in black leather. "Go find out how the world’s changing, and tell me before dawn, if you can."

"You don’t need to worry so much, Grace. I wouldn’t let anything happen to you or the children."

"It’s not a matter of ‘let,’ love. Try as you might, you can’t stop the world from spinning. I know you’ll try, and so will your little lawyer, but it’s better for us if we have a hint of what’s coming."

"When I came to stay in your tunnels, I didn’t realize I’d become a spy for you." Alban pushed away from the wall, deliberately coming to his full height.

Uncowed, Grace shrugged. "You protect us in exchange for safety during daylight hours. Call it spying if you like. I call it doing your part. Protection doesn’t just come in the form of stone and wings. And like every one of my kids, you know where the door is, if you want to use it."

A low chuckle rumbled through Alban’s chest. "It’s difficult to tell the difference between persuasion and bludgeoning with you, Grace."

She answered with a quick and wicked smile, stepping forward to walk fingers up his chest. "I can be very persuasive," she promised in a purr, then smirked when he closed his hand around hers and moved back. "There you are, then. If I bludgeon, it’s only your own fault. Will you go?" she asked more quietly. "Will you watch and learn, and tell me what you know?"

"As long as I’m able." Alban made a half bow, suddenly aware that he’d borrowed the action from Janx. It seemed unlikely he’d influenced the dragonlord similarly. Perhaps someday he would ask. "I’ll see you before sunrise."

At Grace’s nod, Alban took to the skies as if he’d been released from a cage, returning to the pursuit of his duty.

Returning to Margrit.

She’d spoken almost at the last, only the erratically bearded Episcopalian clergyman she’d met once before following her. People began filtering out, escaping the church and its oppressive sorrow in favor of the clear April night. The mood remained restrained, everyone cautious of their behavior, but it was easier to breathe outdoors. As Margrit searched for Janx, she saw Cole and Cam departing, and smiled her thanks. She found Rebecca Knight, relief sweeping away all thoughts of the Old Races as she hugged her mother. "Thanks for coming. Is Daddy here?"

"He was called into surgery," Rebecca said reluctantly. "He’s sorry, sweetheart. We both wanted to be here for you. We didn’t get a chance to say goodbye last night."

"It’s okay. I hope it goes well." Margrit held on a moment longer, then broke the hug to take Rebecca’s hand. "I’m glad you came. It’s a long trip for…"

A brief, wry smile curled Rebecca’s mouth as she, too, opted not to finish the sentence the way it was meant to end: for someone you didn’t like. "But you did," Rebecca said instead. "Despite his flaws."

"Not all of us are lucky enough to be as perfect as you," Margrit said ruefully.

Her mother laughed. "I suppose someone has to be." She squeezed Margrit’s hand, growing more serious. "Will you be all right, sweetheart? I can stay in the city overnight, if you’d like."

"I’ll be okay. You don’t have to-"

"Margrit." Janx, voice full of outrageous charm, cut through the dispersing crowd to stop at her elbow and smile at Rebecca. "Don’t tell me you were going to allow this extraordinary woman to leave without making my acquaintance." He offered a hand, and when Rebecca elevated an eyebrow and took it, he bowed extravagantly. Margrit, caught between dismay and amusement, wished he had a hat to flourish.

"You must be Margrit’s mother, which I say only because I suspect the flattery of suggesting you’re her sister would only set you against me. Instead I’ll say I offered to kidnap you a few days ago in order to provide an excuse for Margrit to talk to me. Now that I’ve met you, I’ll admit that if I were to stoop to such nasty activities, I’d be doing it for my own benefit. My name is Janx. I’m sure Margrit’s gone on about me to no end." He straightened again, no longer holding Rebecca’s fingers, but resting them over the edge of his own. To Margrit’s fresh bemusement, her mother didn’t retreat.

"To no end at all." Rebecca’s eyes sparkled and Margrit’s heart sank with helpless laughter. Bad enough that Janx could charm her against all good sense. If even Rebecca was susceptible to his shameless blarney, it seemed unlikely there was anyone who could withstand him. "Rebecca Knight. It’s a pleasure, Mr. Janx, and you’re quite right. False flattery only annoys me."

"Your daughter is more like you than she suspects."

Rebecca shot a look toward Margrit, who turned her palms up, unsure if she was ceding control of the conversation to Janx, or simply unable to take it back.

"I try not to point that out to her," her mother murmured. "She’s doing a fine job of realizing it on her own."

Janx turned from Rebecca to Margrit, offering another bow, this time mockingly apologetic. "Do forgive me, my dear. I should hate to be a bump in the road on your path to self-actualization."

"Did you really just say ‘self-actualization’?"

"I did." Janx sounded inordinately pleased with himself. Rebecca caught her eye and Margrit clenched her jaw, trying not to let a laugh escape.

"I think while you’re trying to recover from the horror, I’ll do my best to whisk your mother away for an illicit affair."

"You certainly will not." Rebecca sniffed at the redheaded man. "I’m sure being kidnapped wouldn’t agree with me at all."

Janx snapped theatrically, about to speak again when a fourth voice joined the discussion.

"You’re quite the vortex tonight, aren’t you, Margrit? Rebecca." Eliseo Daisani nodded toward the older Knight woman, looking all the more dignified in comparison to Janx’s dramatics. Margrit’s shoulder blades pinched together in anticipation of disaster, though she had no idea what form it might take. Janx, though, only twisted his mouth in teasing disappointment, and Rebecca inclined her head, murmuring Daisani’s name in turn. Then all three of them turned their attention to Margrit, as though she was responsible for calling them there.