Indigo(82)

Indigo stood in the stillness, listening, letting the shadows spin from her like sonar seeking the shapes of Rafe’s magic. Then she heard it—felt it in the shadow—from the second level. A single cry of “No!” cut short, that beat on her shadow-attuned ears as sharp as the sound of breaking glass.

Up the stairs into the silence again. Then a voice, a whisper, words she couldn’t catch. She followed the sibilant sounds to a closed door. A thick wooden door. Nora reached for the knob, but hesitated and bent to listen at the old-fashioned keyhole first.

“You don’t dare kill me,” Graham Edwards was saying. “You want that damned pendant, and I’m the only person who can touch it—Charlotte made sure of that. While I’d love to think she was protecting me, we both know better. She trusted me—she may have been sleeping with you for the power, but she didn’t trust you. And she was right not to. I’ll never give the Wings to you, for my children’s sake.”

Indigo remembered how the pendant had seemed to draw her to touch it, so it was possible that Graham was only partially right; only someone already bound to the pendant would be able to handle it, but that small group must include her, too. She wondered if Rafe knew that.

Graham continued, snarling defiance, “You can go fuck yourself, Rafe. I’m done with this shit. Do whatever you want to me, but I’m not helping you with that damned ritual.”

“Graham … always with the manly posturing.” Rafe sighed. “For your children’s sake, you will help me. You will choose one child to live … or they’ll both die in front of you.”

“No. You won’t do that.” Graham’s voice was quivering. “You need me. You need the pendant. And you need my kids and I won’t give one up to save the other. You’ll leave them both alone. How can you think I would choose—?”

“Then I will. Or, how about this? I’ll grant you a boon—a salve to conscience—in return for your cooperation. You choose, but as far as anyone else will ever know, I did. That way, you can keep your favorite while pretending you had no say in the matter. Fair?”

“Fair?” Graham sputtered. “You’re asking me to give up one of my children.”

“No, no. I’m not asking. I’m demanding. One or both. You choose. I don’t need both, but I’ll take them, if you leave me no other choice.”

“And then what? You expect that I’ll do as you say once they’re dead?”

“Yes. Once one has died, you’ll beg me to spare the other. That’s when you’ll do whatever I want. I’m merely trying to avoid unnecessary unpleasantness.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. While warriors risked—and gave—their lives battling below, these two were locked in an apparently unresolvable debate. Indigo looked back toward the staircase. Should she try to break their impasse by taking Graham? Could she? Rafe had trapped her and turned her own tools against her before. Even if she did beat Rafe, were the shadows enough to whisk Graham out unseen? She’d never moved another person through the shadow, only herself. Well, always a first time—she’d have to make it work.

But there was no sign of Selene, and there were signs—growing, audible ones—that the battle was moving closer. The Androktasiai must have been falling back.… If the Phonoi assassins broke through, they’d help Rafe take Graham, and Indigo doubted she could stop all of them. But she had no doubt that Graham would buckle in the end. So … she had to get Graham away from Rafe long enough to pull him into the shadows with her. That would be the tough part, followed by shadow-walking both of them far away from Scarsdale.

Damastes growled in her head, I want that pendant.

And you’ll help me get it?

It’s in my best interests, is it not?

She nodded and slipped through the keyhole as darkness, leaping along the shaded edges and overhangs of the room. A feeling like the steel tines of a rake scraped over her skin as she passed through. She briefly noted that Rafe and Graham were in the middle of the room, fully lit, which made things more difficult. But they were still arguing, Rafe’s voice losing its smarmy arrogance as his patience frayed. Too distracted to notice her oozing like smoke into the room. Excellent.

It was a dressing room—a huge one—and Nora marveled at the sheer extravagance of having so much space dedicated to getting dressed. It wasn’t even an oversize walk-in closet but a fully decorated room. Rafe stood on the other side of a table lined with empty display boxes and black velvet busts. So madam could lay out jewels from her safe and contemplate her choice for the evening? Nora thought of the shoebox in her closet, filled with a tangle of cheap necklaces and random earrings.

Focus, she reminded herself. This wasn’t HGTV—it was a war.

Rafe stood on the other side of that table, with a knife to Graham’s throat. It was almost laughable—what did a sorcerer need with such a crude threat? But it would make getting Graham into the shadows a whole lot tougher.

Then don’t try, Damastes whispered.

What?

The goal is to stop the ceremony. Without Graham Edwards, it is stopped. Therefore …

No. It’s you he wants to control. Edwards is just the first possible means to that end. I’m sure Rafe has more than one ace up his sleeve.

Damastes issued a dismissive snort while Indigo surveyed the shadows. The table cast one. Not perfect, but good enough. She simply needed to get to it. She took one careful step and—