Hands of Flame

She was gone, her scent faded enough to say it had been some hours since she’d slept in his rarely used cot. Regret slipped through him and fell away again: it was enough to let dawn and stone take him with Margrit at his side. She could and did live in a daylight world; to hope she would be there when he woke was too much. He, after all, would never be there when she woke.

A rap sounded at the door. Alban unfolded from his crouch, wings stretching, then disappearing as he changed to human form before saying, “Come in.”

For some reason it surprised him when Grace entered. Aside from Margrit, she was the most likely, but Alban had half-consciously expected Tony Pulcella.

“Janx isn’t understanding Margrit’s orders to leave this place to me now,” Grace said without preamble. “And I’m talented, love, but I can’t shoo a dragon from my doorstep. Maybe a word in his ear?”

Doubt made Alban lift an eyebrow. “Didn’t I watch you face that dragon down only last night?”

“You’ve mistaken me for Margrit,” Grace said blithely. “Maybe a bit of her spark carried over, that’s all. And for all my boldness I’m no good pushing him around, much less two of them and that vampire lass. Gives me the creeps, she does.”

“Ursula? I always thought she was the calmer of the two.”

“Aye, and it’s always the quiet ones to watch out for, now, isn’t it? You saw what she did.” Grace shuddered. “Thought you’d have taught them better, Stoneheart. Thought you’d have taught them the laws that bind you all.”

“I would not have imagined them to be so careless with our lives,” Alban murmured. “But they’ve lived apart from the Old Races since they were born. How constrained by our laws would you feel if you were they?”

“Not at all, but then, laws and Grace, we’ve never been on speaking terms. What will they do to them?”

“I have no idea,” Alban admitted, “but change has run rough over our world. We’ll find room and a way to make it work. After all, it’s hard to exile a pair who’ve never belonged, and I doubt their fathers will allow them to feel unwelcome.”

Wicked interest glittered in Grace’s eyes. “Fathers, indeed, and how does that work? Which of them was being cuckolded, and which was the cock, do you suppose? Or did they share a woman gracefully, mmm? Don’t tell me their fair lady had them fooled. None of you have a weak nose for scent, and not even the nobility scrubbed clean often in that day and age.”

Alban rumbled, “I would never dream of asking,” and Grace laughed aloud, clapping her hands like a pleased child.

“No, and of course you wouldn’t, solid, stolid, stone thing that you are. Well, and maybe I’ll have a chance to ask myself, someday. But go on, Stoneheart.” Grace sobered. “Rid me of the dragon, will you? He’s only stalling anyway. Your Margrit laid it out for him clear enough, and I’ve never seen one such as he tuck tail and turn that readily. What was the task?” she asked, curiosity and caution turning her voice sharp. “What’d he set Margrit to do?”

“I don’t know. It seemed Margrit did, but I wasn’t privy to whatever favor he asked.”

“Ah.” Curiosity lit Grace’s eyes before she waved him down the hall. “Well, go on, then. Go find out, and then send him packing. The sooner these tu

Amusement washed through him. “Where do you come by your command, Grace? Even I find myself inclined to leap before realizing I’ve been given an order.”

“Born to it, love, and you’re not meant to notice. Gargoyles,” she said with a sniff. “You pay too much attention. I’ll be glad to have the lot of you gone from my territory, so I will, and yes, that means you, too, Alban Korund. I’ve had enough trouble from the Old Races. My kids and I need our peace.”

“So you haven’t set your cap for Eldred?” Alban asked, still amused, and Grace mimed adjusting one.

“Not at all. There’s a fine man out there for Grái

Tariq had shown an iota more subtlety than Margrit had expected, and had waited until he’d left Rebecca’s office on foot before dissipating. Margrit had stared at where he’d been, wondering why discretion mattered now, when he’d materialized in front of Rebecca, but had restrained from casting the question into the apparently empty hallway. He’d spared her life and given his word against further attempts, but where she would have trusted Janx or even Daisani on that promise, she was reluctant to test the dji

When she was certain he was gone, she’d turned back to her mother’s office, about to enter and offer…solace, or penance. In the end, both had seemed somehow arrogant, and she’d walked away, then begun to run once she’d left the building.

Within minutes she’d brought herself to one of the handful of entrances to Grace’s under-city haunts that she’d finally learned in the past few days. That, at least, was one good thing that had come of the exhausting week, though that it qualified as “one good thing” filled her with rue.

She was more confident of finding her way to the central hub where the trial had been held than Janx’s off-the-path lair, but she risked trying to pick her way through the tu

“When first we practice to deceive. Where do you think you’re going, Margrit?” Grace came out of the shadows, ethereal as always. More than usual, even, as slightly detached from the world as she’d been when Margrit had first awakened in the docking garage.

Margrit stopped, not quite looking at her and half expecting that she’d fade away, nothing more than an illusion. “To Janx’s place. Or I hoped I was. It’s fu

“Getting lost finding the dragonlord’s chambers is fu

“Do you think I was dead?” The question felt like a non sequitur even to Margrit, thoughts and speech not quite in tandem with one another.

Grace, at the corner of Margrit’s vision, looked startled. “Near enough to it, love. Why?”

“Because you’ve looked different since I came back.” Margrit risked a full-on glance at the blonde, then shuttered her gaze away again, watching Grace all but shimmer in her peripheral vision. “Because I keep thinking, only not really thinking, because when I think, it gets cloudy. I just have this idea down in the back of my brain. About how you always turn up places faster than you should be able to. About how sometimes in that fight I was sure I’d hit you but it kind of shivered off. About how you got Alban out of those chains, and how you got through my locked front door.”

Margrit blinked hard and turned her full attention to Grace. “And about why a modern-day folk hero would name herself after a centuries-old pirate and brigand. You’re human, aren’t you. But you’re not…alive. And the only reason I can see it is because I died myself.”

“It’s been a long time since anyone’s seen Grace so clearly.” The tall vigilante disappeared from sight as she spoke, not in the coalescing ma

Margrit spun around, heartbeat high with excitement and confusion. “What are—Are you a ghost? How—?”

Grace spread long fingers in a move both dismissive and accepting. “Cursed, love. Making up for old sins, I told you that once and again. Grace O’Malley spilled a fair lot of blood in her day, and some of it should have stayed in the veins it fell from. What will you do, now that you have the truth of me?”