Hands of Flame

Margrit eyed her. “Are you being fu

“Not at all.” Chelsea’s smile faded. “What happened?” Her expression grew increasingly grim as Margrit explained, and when she finished, Chelsea shook her head. “You have the luck of the devil, Margrit Knight. I’m not sure any other human would have survived that.”

“Any other human.” Margrit pressed her lips together, looking hard at the tiny bookseller. “Chelsea, do you say it that way because you’re one of them?”

Chelsea tilted her head. “Do you not find yourself thinking in terms of humans and gargoyles and vampires now, Margrit? Naming your own race separately, in a way you didn’t before?”

Margrit sighed and slumped in the couch. “Yeah, I do. I thought Hispanic and African-American and all could get confusing enough. I never counted on adding gargoyle-Americans to the mix.” She was silent a moment, wondering if Chelsea’s response answered the question, and then let it go. “What about Vanessa Gray? She had to have had a healing sip to get the second sip, the one for long life.”

“She did, as have done a handful of others. But I believe they came together, two sips at once.”

“Does that make a difference?”

“Vanessa didn’t survive an attack less direct and devastating than a cut throat,” Chelsea pointed out. “I would say it might well make a difference. Think of it this way. You’ve had some three months in which your body has learned to heal itself. Time in which the smallest blemishes could be undone, from pimples to extraneous chromosomes, and whether deliberately or not, you’ve pushed that healing ability to its fullest. Vanessa and the others had no time for their bodies to adapt. They went from mortal to—” Chelsea broke off, drawing a breath as if to give herself time to consider her words. “Immortal,” she finally said, though she didn’t look pleased with it.

“Demi-mortal?” Margrit asked with a half smile. “Demigods are half human, half gods, right? So a human whose lifespan’s been extended beyond the norm would be demi-mortal.”

Chelsea’s smile blossomed. “Demi-mortal. That will do nicely. They went from mortal to demi-mortal inside a few minutes. I would think the flaws they were born with would continue into demi-mortality, having been given no chance to be wiped away. I should think that even without a second sip of Eliseo’s blood, short of traumatic accidents, you might live a very long time indeed.”

Margrit stared at her, then shuddered. “Demi-mortal sounds better on somebody else, Chelsea. I’m only human.”

“Yes, I think that’s true. I suspect that if you underwent examination you would be nothing more than human, but you might very possibly be a perfect specimen. No errors in the template any longer.”

“Wouldn’t that make me sterile, or something?” The idea was so extreme it had almost no meaning as she voiced it. “I mean, isn’t human development born from mutation? How can anything mutate if I don’t have any flaws?”

“I think as long as you intend to reproduce sexually instead of asexually you’re in no danger of flaw-free reproduction,” Chelsea said dryly. “Which, fascinating topic as it is, is probably not why you came here this evening.”

“No, although I’m begi

Chelsea’s feathery eyebrows shot up. “You’re asking me?”

“Well, I can’t exactly ask him for pointers. You…know things,” Margrit said, suddenly aware that was the phrase Grace often used. Putting that aside, too, she added, “And they listen to you. Why?” The word carried stress as she found herself up against the question of whether Chelsea was human or not a second time. “I’ve never seen any of them so much as mock you. They tease me all the time.”

“Margrit.” Amusement warmed Chelsea’s voice. “It’s early April. You’ve been part of their world for three months, and they have, in fact, all jumped at your command. I’m easily twice your age, and have known about them for a very long time. Even if you do no more than hold the place you now stand in, in twenty years you’ll be treated with more reverence, too.”

Margrit regarded Chelsea over the mug of tea, then blew exasperated ripples into it. “Did I sound like I wanted a logical answer? Still, they do listen to you.”

“You think Eliseo Daisani will listen if I suggest he roll over?”

Margrit huffed into her tea again. “No. Just wondering if you know of any…vulnerabilities.”

Chelsea’s eyes darkened to the color of old tea. “How seriously do you intend to disable him, Margrit?”

“Even if I could, I’m not after his life. I won’t go that far, not now, not ever. Not even for Tony.” She put the tea aside to drop her face into her hands. “Good to know I’ve still got boundaries.”

“Did you doubt it?”

Margrit looked up through her fingers. “More and more every day.”

“As long as it’s a matter for concern, you’re probably safe.” Chelsea studied her for long moments. “I have a piece of information that will help you, but it carries a tremendous price. You have undone the strictures that have held the Old Races in place for mille

“Chelsea.” Margrit ducked her head again, fingers laced behind her neck, then craned it to look at the bookshop proprietor. “There’s part of me that’s kidding myself, okay? Part of me that says if I pull this off for Janx, it’s all going to be all right and I’m going to walk away with a happily-ever-after. I need that part to keep going. I need that part because it’s what’s letting me face this at all. I need it because without it, Tony’s going to die, and I can’t live with that. But the truth is, I’m not going to live through this. I’ll manage to orchestrate Eliseo’s fall or I won’t, but if I fail, Janx is going to have to go through me to get to Tony, and I have no doubt he will. If I succeed, Daisani’s not going to let me see another sunrise.” She gave a sharp laugh. “I wanted to change the world. I’m doing it. But I don’t see me being around to admire what the future looks like.”

“I haven’t heard you be that fatalistic before.”

“If I’m wrong, you can tease me for my melodrama. If I’m right, I’d like my tombstone to read, She changed the world. A lot. Either way, I have got to save Tony, and I’ll do whatever it takes. If you can help at all, Chelsea, please.”

Chelsea sat back, silent and contemplative once again before she nodded. “Very well. When the moment comes, Margrit Knight, ask Eliseo Daisani where the bodies are buried.”

CHAPTER 32

“The bodies? What bodies? Come on, Chelsea! You can’t send me after Daisani with just the question! I have to know!”

“I would advise having Alban with you when you ask,” had been Chelsea’s implacable response. She’d invited Margrit to finish her tea, then dismissed her with steely pleasantry that was impossible to stand against. Margrit found herself on the street with an accelerated heartbeat and no answers to her questions.

Wherever the bodies were, whatever they were, asking Daisani a question like that seemed tantamount to suicide. Margrit shot a final glare at the bookstore and stomped away, uncertain of where she was going, but determined to leave Chelsea’s cryptic advice far behind.

Barely a few steps beyond the entryway, Cam’s phone rang, its ringtone so unfamiliar it took Margrit a moment to realize it was her own pocket. She picked up with, “Mom?” and heard Rebecca Knight’s mystified “I’m on the train into the city. What on earth is so important, Margrit? Are you all right?”

“I need financial advice.” The explanation, identical to what she’d left on voice mail earlier, still sounded pathetic. “I’ll explain at your office, okay?”