House of Cards

CHAPTER 17

"Tony." Margrit stared at him, numbness radiating out from the trickle of cold at her core. "Tony, what are you doing here?" She cringed as she spoke, recognizing the question as the worst thing she could have said.

"Kaaiai sent me." His answer came from miles away, cool and hard. "He knew you were uncomfortable with whatever’s going on tonight and he thought it might make you feel better to have me around. What are you doing with him, Margrit?"

"I’m not with him. I didn’t even know he’d be here." She threw a frustrated look at Alban, who stood still and silent as the stone he could wrap himself in. There was no help in his expression, no offer of explanation, only a neutrality as terrible as Tony’s own.

"Has this been going on since January? Anthony Pulcella," Tony said, directing the introduction beyond Margrit, his voice tight with anger and hurt. "We haven’t met formally."

"Nothing’s been going on, Tony. I just re-met Alban a few days ago."

"Alban Korund." The gargoyle nodded a greeting, never breaking his gaze from Tony’s. "We haven’t, and I regret the circumstances by which you know me informally. Had there been a way to come forward and clear my name, I promise you I would have taken it. Margrit spoke highly of you as a good man."

"Just not good enough." Tony transferred the weight of his hurt to Margrit. "Not good enough to tell when I’m being cheated on."

"Tony, there’s been nothing to tell!" Margrit felt Alban shift minutely beside her, as if he detected the scent of her half-truth, and shame heated her face. She clenched her hands, tears of frustration stinging her eyes, though she wouldn’t let them fall. "I’m sorry. I should’ve told you I was-that I’d-shit! Goddammit, I’m not seeing him!"

"He’s why you’ve been running so cold. Not just the last few days, but since January. What’s he got that I don’t, Margrit? Money? Good WASP breeding? Your mom’s going to love it when you bring him home. Can I sit in on that one?"

"He lets me fly." Margrit barely heard her own whisper, but Alban relaxed again at her side. Tony saw it and stepped forward with a snarl.

"You know, maybe good breeding means I oughta step back and let the lady make her choice, but I’m from Brooklyn. I believe in fighting for what I want."

"Tony, don’t you dare. Tony, don’t you-!" Margrit surged forward, putting herself directly in front of the police detective. "Don’t you dare start a fight over me. How many times do I have to tell you this isn’t a John Wayne movie? It’s my life, our lives-"

"Our?" Tony stared down at her, then cast a nasty look at Alban. "Funny, Grit, but our lives look a lot more crowded than they used to."

"Margrit." Alban touched her shoulder. "You’re going to be furious with both of us either way. Perhaps you ought to allow us to settle at least some of this as men prefer to." The faintest strain lay on the antepenultimate word, startling Margrit into looking at the tall blond man.

"Alban, what-" Turning moved her just far enough from the way. Tony threw a punch she saw from the corner of her eye. "Tony!"

Knuckles smashed into meaty flesh as Alban brought his hand up, catching the hit in his palm with such immense grace it seemed slow and elegant. Astonished rage lit Tony’s eyes as Alban held the detective without strain. "I will not fight you, Detective Pulcella," he said quietly. "I am stronger than you, and faster, and it would solve nothing. Women are not trinkets to be battled over. I have learned that the hard way, by nearly losing a wife over just such foolishness, and I will not do it again. Margrit will make her choices and we will respect them by treating one another as gentlemen might, not roughhousing schoolboys. Do we have an agreement?"

Lazy clapping, sharp staccato sounds, shattered the impasse. Tony stopped struggling against Alban’s hold, staggering back a step or two when the resistance was broken. The gargoyle caught the detective’s wrist to make certain his rival didn’t suffer the indignity of falling, then released him almost as quickly.

"Oh, bravo, bravo, well done indeed." Janx’s delighted tenor sailed over the trio. "Such chivalry, Stoneheart. Perhaps that heart isn’t so stony, after all. Margrit, my dear." The redheaded dragonlord insinuated himself between Alban and Tony, taking her hand and bowing over it. "I had no idea you’d be arranging such a performance for me this evening. It makes leaving home worth the journey. And Detective Pulcella." Janx turned from Margrit, holding her fingertips with his own a moment longer than necessary. She shivered, withdrawing her hand and glancing toward the ice rink. Cameron and Cole were at the head of a short chain of skaters playing crack the whip, weaving in and out of the crowd. "How delightful to see you in a social context. This will go over well with your superiors, don’t you think?"

"Margrit?" Tony’s voice cracked with outrage, and she bit back the curse she wanted to lay at Kaaiai for sending the detective to her side. "Margrit, what’ve you gotten yourself into?"

"Margrit." Janx clasped a hand over his heart, turning to her with injured eyes. "You haven’t told him about us? I’m wounded. I thought we’d agreed the time for secrecy had ended."

A bubble of absurdity broke inside Margrit, thawing cold dismay and anger. "I’m afraid Janx is right. So are you. I’ve been keeping secrets, Tony. The truth is, you can’t put a successful bug on Janx to bring him down because Malik can disrupt electronics by phasing them into air molecules and back again. Where is Malik, Janx? He must be around here somewhere." She glanced around, finding Malik only a dozen feet away, unobtrusive but close enough to overhear the conversation. He glowered as she waggled her fingers in greeting, the fine line she trod making her heady. "That’s what happened to my phone back in January. Janx is actually a dragon, and that gargoyle costume Alban hid in at the Blue Room is really his natural form."

Tony’s countenance darkened with insult and injury as Margrit rattled blithely on, while Janx kept light amusement on his features as he watched her. Alban, behind her, radiated disapproval, though Margrit was certain if she turned to look at him she’d see none of it on his face. She was glad Janx had released her fingers, or his reptile-cool skin might have shattered her composure. She held on to what nerve she had left, finishing, "I’m here tonight because Mr. Kaaiai asked me to arrange a meeting. I had no idea it was going to turn into a circus sideshow." She smiled up at Janx, her heart leaping with a sudden awareness of the size of the men-human and otherwise-surrounding her. "Have I missed anything?"

"I believe you’ve touched on nearly everything of relevance." Janx’s green eyes were hard, none of the humor in his voice reflected there. "Where, pray tell, is Kaaiai?"

"You could at least tell me the truth, Margrit." Tony’s voice shook with emotion. "I don’t know who you are anymore."

"She is precisely who she has always been." Eliseo Daisani came lately to the match, his overcoat snapping in the wind. "A young woman of unusual audacity and self-confidence who, when forced into a corner, lashes out with all the weapons she can lay hands on. You lied to me, Miss Knight. Very few people are capable of doing that." Censure in his voice was tempered by respect that made Janx twist his mouth in what looked like agreement.

Margrit muttered, "Trust me, I amaze even myself," and then, more clearly, added, "I didn’t lie to anybody. I was just selective with my truth. Sorry. Tony, this is Eliseo Daisani. I think you know everyone else here."

Daisani offered a hand. "The young man who sat vigil over Margrit’s bedside so diligently it was difficult for the rest of us to see her. I admire your dedication." Tony, too stunned to do otherwise, shook Daisani’s hand, then looked pained.

"Margrit! Hey, Margrit!" Cam waved with cheerful abandon as she led the whip around rink’s corner, innumerable skaters stretched behind her. As one, Margrit’s group of conspirators turned to watch her skim by with Cole immediately behind her. Over the scrape of blades on ice, his watch beeped, marking the hour.

The woman behind him dropped his hand and grated to a stop ten inches from the guardrail. No one behind her stumbled or tripped, though Cole let out a startled yell as he and Cameron, no longer weighted by the whip, went flying off balance. The noise of their skidding tumble was drowned out by the scrape and crunch as each skater in the whip came to a flawless, sudden halt.

Not only they came to a stop. A ripple shuddered the length and breadth of the rink, figures overwhelming the bright clear surface of frozen water. Hundreds of people spread across the rink, so many that Margrit could hardly see how they’d managed to move without creating chaos.

And the wave continued, gathering mass and spreading beyond the rink, until it seemed that every visitor to the Center had come to a stop and turned, eyes downcast, to face Margrit’s little group at the end of the ice rink.

Daisani murmured, "No," in astonished disbelief. As if his whisper triggered action, every downcast glance lifted. Dark eyes, pupils swallowed whole by black irises, were revealed as the weight of hundreds of selkie gazes fixed on Margrit and her companions.

Cara Delaney glided one step forward from where she’d abandoned Cole on the ice, and lifted her voice, clear and pure over the silent rink.

"We are here to tell you that there is strength in numbers, and that a balance has changed."

Tightly controlled chaos erupted within Margrit’s group. She all but felt Alban’s muscles bunch, as if he might leave behind his limited human form and spring into the sky, too full of shock and excitement to hold himself still. She reached for his hand, staying him, and he knotted his fingers around hers, agreeing to closeness for the first time since he’d re-entered her life. Hope shuddered through her, stealing her breath and leaving a foolish smile curving her mouth.

A wash of memory swept over her with Alban’s touch, his vivid recollection of an aging selkie man disappearing into the sea, the last of his people. As though the memory triggered Janx into life, the dragon turned on Alban with a snarl.

"You said they were-"

"It was the best of our knowledge." Alban’s deep voice rolled over Janx’s without pity, quashing his protest before he said anything damning to the one uninformed human in the group. "It was the best I could do."

"So many," Daisani breathed. "So many. All here, all in one place. How? How is it possible? If so many can be here-"

Cara came from the ice rink, walking with improbable smoothness despite the blades on her feet. She held her chin high, shoulders back, confidence and pride in her every movement. "Eliseo." Margrit’s mouth fell open at the contempt in the selkie girl’s tone. "Janx. Alban." The last name was accompanied by a raking glance. "Do you speak for your people?"

"I have no right to do so." Alban kept his voice steady, though he tightened his hand on Margrit’s, and she thought she heard a note of reluctance in his words.

Tony, bewildered, stared from one face to another. "What the hell is going on? Who are these people, Grit?"

"This is Cara," Margrit answered softly. "Cara Delaney. The girl who went missing from her apartment in January, the one I asked you to help me find. She’d gone to a friend. To a lot of friends, it looks like."

"Then your people will have no spokesman at our table." Cara ignored the humans and dismissed Alban, glancing beyond the group toward Malik. "And you?" Her voice rose to carry to him, though Margrit had no doubt he’d hear even a whisper.

"Alban, you have to go." Margrit looked up at the pale gargoyle. "Better you than nobody."

"Margrit, what-?"

"I have no right, Margrit."

"Tony-"

Everyone spoke at once, Tony’s frustrated tones the loudest, and Margrit’s useless attempt to find words to reassure him drowned out beneath Alban’s certainty.

"Right is what you make of it." Malik used human locomotion to move to Cara’s side, but for all the attention Margrit paid, he might have simply dissipated and reappeared. "I’ll sit for my people." The glance he darted at Janx was laden with ambition, though avarice was wiped away again within an instant.

Her attention drawn to the dragonlord, Margrit saw the slow curl of smile that revealed too-long, sharp eyeteeth well after Malik had looked away again.

"Much as I hate to say it, Malik’s right, Alban." She turned from the gargoyle, releasing his hand to face Tony. She caught a glimpse of Cameron and Cole standing with human awkwardness amidst a throng of beings able to do something as mundane as wait with grace and patience. "Tony, I’ve got to go with these people."

"Excuse me?" Janx asked, amusement clear in his voice.

Margrit looked toward him, brazen confidence worn down by sudden tiredness. "One of each, don’t you think?"

"Oh, I insist." Daisani broke off from his fascinated study of the selkies with panache, as if the conversation had only just become interesting enough to bother with. "Margrit’s gotten us into this fine mess. I wouldn’t let her go now for any price."

"Nor would we," Cara said. There was a formality to her voice Margrit had never heard before, as if she was taking part in a ritual translated to English for Margrit’s benefit. "You three, then, to speak for your own." She nodded at Janx, Daisani and Malik. "The fifth will go unspoken for."

"If there’s a little time," Janx offered, with a sideways smile at Alban, "I could call Biali to the table."

"That would-"

"No." Alban’s voice rumbled over Janx’s with a heavy note of finality. "I’ll take our place at the quorum."

"For Margrit’s sake or your own?" Janx turned from Alban, to watch dark confusion and anger crease Tony’s face. "My dear detective, I’m afraid you’re no longer needed here. It’s been a pleasure."

"There’s no way I’m-"

"Tony." Margrit broke free from the little group, as if a few steps constituted privacy. "Tony, I promise I’ll explain all of this later, but right now I need to go with them. I know I’m asking too much, okay? But I’m asking it anyway. I need you to trust me and to let this go. I need you to tell Cam and Cole I’m all right and that I don’t know when I’ll be home, but not to worry."

"I can’t do that, Margrit."

"You have to. You have to, Tony. I’ve never needed anything from you as much as I need this right now. Please. For me, this one time. I’ll explain when I can."

"No." Tony shook his head, resignation mixed with bitter unhappiness. "No, you won’t. Forget it, Margrit. I’ve heard that promise too many times. You’re not gonna explain, and I’m tired of waiting."

"Tony." She reached for his hand. He pulled back, and prickles of embarrassment swept over her. "Tony, I will. I swear."

"You mean it now, but something’s gonna change. It keeps happening. I’m sorry, Grit. I can’t do this anymore." He took another step back, jaw clenched with resolution. "I love you, but this isn’t working, and I don’t see how it’s ever going to. You go on. Do what you have to do." He hesitated a moment, then shrugged helplessly. "Goodbye."

She shut her eyes in defeat as he walked away. Warmth stirred the air a moment later, and she looked up to find that the members of the Old Races had closed ranks around her. "All of you," she said with a thin note of bitterness. "All of you with your different shapes and your amazing skills, and you can’t even do something like alter somebody’s memory a little so this kind of mess doesn’t happen? What the hell good is being stuck in a fairy tale if you can’t even magic away some of the trouble you cause in mortal lives?"

Malik offered a sharp smile. "Fairies rarely made life easy for those in their tales. And you’ve just told him the truth about all of us. You know the consequences."

"Oh, don’t threaten me," Margrit said in disgust. She was glad for the emotion, letting it bury hurt and sorrow. "I’m happy to play Dorothy to your Wicked Witch, so just lay off."

"What were you thinking, Ms. Knight?" Janx hissed. "Telling him the truth?"

"It’s not like he could possibly believe it. You’re angry." Margrit laughed with more dismay than humor. "You haven’t called me ‘Ms.’ in ages. I was thinking-"

"It doesn’t matter." Defense came from an unexpected source, Daisani interrupting the bickering with controlled calm. "He neither could nor did believe her, and we have an enclave to call to order. Miss Delaney." He turned his attention to the selkie girl, who met his gaze without a hint of the shyness Margrit was accustomed to seeing from her. "If you could escort us to whatever quarters Kaimana has arranged for this meeting, we would all be deeply appreciative."