Shadow's End

  Spinning on his heel, he stalked into his bedroom, dragged on black sweatpants and a sweatshirt with a hood and pockets. Tucking the hard drive into one of the pockets, he strode back into the living room to face his tenacious friend.

  Constantine had stretched out on the couch, boots propped on the coffee table, balancing his hot drink on a flat stomach. He had set another full, steaming mug on a coaster in front of a nearby chair and had put the bottle of scotch beside it.

  Growling underneath his breath, Graydon sat in the chair. He inspected the mug. Constantine had made him a cup of coffee. After having drunk so much coffee already, he almost set it aside. On second thought, he grabbed the neck of the scotch bottle to splash some into the drink.

  He took a swallow. The hot coffee-liquor mixture burned all the way down.

  He said, “I’m giving you fifteen minutes. Not a second more. After that, I’m booting you out and going to bed.”

  “Fair enough, fair enough.” Constantine narrowed one eye at him. After a moment, he said abruptly, “It was Beluviel, wasn’t it? Back then. Even though I said to you at the time that she was the definition of unobtainable, something caused you to fly straight at her like a moth to the flame.”

  Graydon drank his hot drink and said nothing.

  “She was married. She was the Lady of the Elven demesne. She was all kinds of inappropriate.” The other man paused. “Is it Beluviel this time too?”

  Graydon finished his drink.

  “You’re not going to say, are you?” Constantine looked half-admiring and half-annoyed. “What the fuck, Gray? You said you’d give me fifteen minutes.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “Didn’t say I was going to talk. Just said I’d give you that much time.”

  The other man’s wry smile faded. Constantine said, “While I can respect your level of discretion, I’m trying to help you, man.”

  The other gryphon didn’t sound like his feelings had been hurt, but still, his direct, quiet words shook Graydon’s resolve. Shoulders slumping, he rubbed his face.

  Con was one of his oldest friends and coworkers. To say they had a friendship was a misnomer. He was more like a somewhat irritating, good-hearted brother. He was also loyal to the point of death, and while currently he was being intrusive, he didn’t deserve a cold shoulder.

  “Con,” he said, setting aside his mug and leaning his elbows on his knees, “I appreciate you poking your nose into my business.” To make sure his words didn’t carry any sting, he gave the other man a sidelong look and a smile. “I’m trying to keep a strong separation between all this”—he made a vague, all-encompassing gesture that included Constantine and his surroundings—“and a long-standing issue that is really, mostly not mine to tell.”

  Silence fell between them. Then Con shifted his boots off the table, took the scotch bottle and poured more into his empty mug.

  He said, “You know what I think?”

  One corner of Graydon’s mouth lifted reluctantly. “I have a feeling you’re about to tell me.”

  Constantine didn’t even blink. He pointed the top of the bottle at Graydon. “Maybe this has to do with Beluviel, and maybe it doesn’t. After all, whatever happened in London was a long time ago. But I do believe you wouldn’t be trying so hard to compartmentalize if you weren’t involved in something dangerous.”

  Like Graydon had said. Smart as a whip.

  Constantine said softly, “You’re trying to protect everybody, aren’t you?”

  Oh, fuck it. He reached for the bottle again, and the other gryphon surrendered it to his grasp. He muttered, “I’m trying to keep the Wyr demesne from getting involved in any fallout, but I can’t protect everybody.”

  And people were going to die. Closing his eyes, he took a pull straight from the bottle.

  “You’re such a stupid shit,” Constantine told him affectionately. “Every single one of us, including Dragos, Pia and Liam, would go to the mat for you.”

  “But I don’t want you to,” he said in a very quiet voice. “I want you all to thrive and be happy, and totally ignorant of any trouble. I don’t want any of you to get hurt because of something I got involved in a long time ago.”

  “Well, you know what? You don’t get to choose that.” Con tilted back his head and tossed off the last of his drink. “Okay, here it is. It’s true enough that some of us have had more than enough shit hit their fans over the last eighteen months. But I’m not one of them. So you cut me in on the secret, and as long as I can help watch your back, I’ll also help you keep it quiet.”

  Moved, he said, “Con, there’s no need for you to get invo—”

  “On the other hand,” said Constantine, cutting him off with a charming, ruthless smile, “if you don’t cut me in, I’ll tell Dragos and the other sentinels everything that I know, or at least everything I’ve surmised thus far. Then you can try fighting your way out of the pile all of us will make as we sit on you until you spill everything.”

  “You wouldn’t,” growled Graydon.

  Con rolled his eyes. “Do you even know me?”

  Anger, affection and worry caused conflicting impulses that held him frozen for a moment. Finally, he snapped, “Are you working tonight?”

  “Nope, I’ve got a date,” Constantine said. His blue eyes were unrepentant. “Actually, I’ve got two dates, back-to-back. I’ll cancel them.”

  “Fine. I’ll let you know when and where,” he said. “Now, get out of here so I can take a nap, will you?”

  “Sure, no problem. Didn’t mean to interrupt.” When he started to growl, the other gryphon gave him a limpid smile as he stood. “What, was that too much?”

  He stood too. Setting aside all his other emotions, he looked into the other man’s eyes. “Thanks, Con.”

  A small smile creased Constantine’s features. He slapped Graydon on the back lightly and left the apartment by way of the hall door.

  Once alone, Graydon rotated his stiff, sore shoulders and went to crash in his bedroom. He was going to be no good to anybody if he didn’t get some rest.

  Plugging his phone in to charge, he stretched out. The hard drive dug into his ribs. He shifted the sweatshirt, stuck his hand in his pocket and fell asleep holding onto the evidence.

  When he woke again, his bedroom had gone dark.

  Rolling over, he snatched his phone off the bedside table.

  He checked the time. It was much later than he had expected, nearly seven o’clock. This close to the winter solstice, sunset had been over two hours ago.

  Quickly, he scrolled through his messages. While he had tons of emails and several voicemail and text messages, he ignored most of them.

  The latest text he had received had been from Julian, almost ten minutes ago.

  We’ve checked in at the Four Seasons. Let me know where we’re meeting.

  Landing a room or suite at the Four Seasons at this time of year was no small feat. Apparently Julian still had plenty of clout, even if he was on hiatus as Nightkind King.

  He double-checked his messages again. No word from Bel. No response to the email he had sent with a hotel reservation. If anything, he should have heard from her first, not Julian, who had flown in from California.

  Equal parts dread and anger coursed through him as he tore off his sweats and dressed. He should never have left her.

  He could feel it in his bones.

  Something had gone wrong.

  • • •

  After a long, stressful day, tension tied Bel’s body in knots.

  Linwe chattered as she pulled clothes out of suitcases and hung them in the closet.

  “I’m so glad you decided to do this,” said the younger woman. “Really, I think getting away for a few days will be wonderfully refreshing. I know you want to keep this visit low-key, but maybe we can slip out to your favorite museums, and attend one or
two parties along with the masque. Nothing elaborate. You know, just saying hi to some of your old friends.”

  When tragedy had struck the Elves in the spring, Linwe had stripped the cheerful blue color off the tips of her short, layered hair.

  Then sometime in November, the color had come back. Now the tips of her hair were neon pink. Bel’s gaze followed the pink as it traveled in and out of her closet.

  Since she had said good-bye to Graydon and made her way back to the Elven abode, she hadn’t been left alone for a moment.

  She had walked into the main hall to get some breakfast, where she almost immediately ran into Ferion with two of his senior advisors, Gerend and Imrathon. They invited her to join them for breakfast. Shortly after, Linwe appeared.

  With an instinct born of long experience, Bel took her time, pretended she had an appetite and joined in the general conversation. In a natural lull, she said, “I think I’ve changed my mind about attending the masque this year.”

  Naturally, that got everyone’s attention, but everything else fell away as she raised her eyes from her meal to meet Ferion’s. His gray gaze rested on her thoughtfully, while his face remained impenetrably neutral.

  As she regarded him, she thought, I have no idea what you’re thinking. I have no idea who you are any longer.

  Only this time, instead of the thought causing her mere pain, she had felt a pulse of fear.

  The memory from that morning made her swallow hard. Walking over to the phone on the antique desk, she lifted the receiver.

  “Yes, my lady?” a pleasant Elven voice said.

  She recognized the voice immediately. “Vilael, please send up tea.”

  “Right away, my lady,” Vilael promised.

  Vilael was one of Ferion’s people, and Linwe—Linwe was affectionate and loyal. She was supposed to be Beluviel’s, but with the way the younger woman was acting, Bel was almost convinced that Ferion had said something to her.

  He could have said something innocuous-sounding, like: I’m worried about her. Keep an eye on her. Let me know what she does and where she goes. We all want my mother to be happy and healthy.

  It wouldn’t have taken much. And Linwe, the gods love her passionate heart, would have thrown herself at the assignment wholeheartedly.

  When the tea tray arrived, Vilael set it on the antique desk. He gave her a small bow. “I put a few small cakes on the tray, in case you might be hungry, my lady. I know you didn’t have any supper, but I thought you might like something to nibble on.”

  “Thank you.” She waited for him to leave. Then she turned to Linwe. “You’ve been with me all day, and you must be tired too. Don’t bother with the rest of the clothes.”

  “It’s no trouble,” Linwe said with a quick smile.

  “It is for me,” Bel said quietly. “I’m tired and ready to be alone. Just because I chose not to go down to supper doesn’t mean you should skip a meal. Go get a bite to eat, and unpack your own suitcase. I’ll take care of the rest of my things, and I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Linwe’s shoulders drooped. “Yes, ma’am.”

  She knew the younger Elf loved her and meant no harm. Bel touched her shoulder as she walked past, and the small gesture lifted Linwe’s head. Giving Bel a grateful look, she slipped out and shut the door quietly behind her.

  Finally, finally Bel was alone. She stretched the stiff muscles in her neck and surreptitiously looked around her bedroom.

  Handpicked antiques from all over the world decorated the room, and luxurious bedding adorned her bed. Everything about the room was designed to bring the occupant pleasure and relaxation, but for once, she couldn’t enjoy the décor.

  She looked carefully at the wainscoting and crown molding in the corners of the ceiling.

  Are there any hidden cameras? she wondered. How am I being watched?

  Because she knew she was being watched. Somehow.

  Since she didn’t know how, or from what angle, she still didn’t feel secure enough to pull out her cell phone to text Graydon. Perhaps she could slip outside to the gardens and text from there, but she needed for everything she did, every move she made, every expression on her face, to appear entirely normal.

  She looked at the tray of food. Could she eat the food? How paranoid should she be?

  It wouldn’t be poisoned. She was certain of that. Not with anything lethal.

  But what if a sedative had been slipped into the tea, or baked into the delicious cakes?

  Again, it wouldn’t take much, just something innocuous. And it could have been presented in such a way to well-meaning attendants that it would help her relax . . . while the drug would also keep her docile and compliant.

  She felt like she was building a conspiracy from nothing. There was no basis for any of her fears, and yet, it was all entirely possible. It could all be true.

  Bel, Graydon’s deep, gentle voice sounded in her head. Are you all right?

  Despite her best intentions to remain as normal-looking as possible, she startled. There was no way to recover from that, so she didn’t even try.

  She walked into her bathroom to splash water on her face and drink fresh water from the running faucet.

  She said to Graydon, You nearly gave me a heart attack. What are you doing here? Where on earth are you?

  I’m in the air, circling your building.

  She couldn’t imagine the kind of tight maneuvering he had to be doing in order to fly close enough so that he could telepathize with her without setting foot on either the roof or the grounds.

  Leaning her elbows on the edges of the sink, she hung her head. I hope you’re cloaking yourself hard.

  I am, don’t worry. Why are you here at the Elven residence? Why didn’t you go to the hotel like we had planned, and why haven’t you gotten in touch?

  Things didn’t go quite the way we planned. Taking her time, she dried her face and hands on a towel. The possibility that she was being surveilled even in her own bathroom sent a burst of rage through her. Her hands clenched in the towel. Ferion insisted on coming with me to New York, and this is literally the first moment I’ve had to myself since I got back to the Elven abode this morning. Graydon, I feel like I’m going crazy. I think I’m being watched, but I’m not sure. Everybody has been hovering around me.

  There was a pause. Just when she had started to think that he had left telepathic range, he said, You should trust your gut. If you think you’re being watched, you probably are. This is going to be more complicated than we had expected.

  Yes. I don’t know if Ferion is acting out of concern, or if something else—someone else—is driving him to do all this. Gray, I can’t read him anymore, and it might have been out of character enough for me to want to come to New York to spark some kind of trigger.

  It didn’t help that she hadn’t gotten any sleep since she had first awakened in the early hours of the morning. She was exhausted and not at all convinced she was thinking clearly.

  He might be acting out of concern, Graydon said. But we have to assume otherwise. Do you feel unsafe?

  Going back into her bedroom, she pulled the rest of her clothes out of her suitcases and hung them in the walk-in closet. No, not quite that. I don’t think. I don’t believe for a moment that Linwe, or almost any of the others, would do anything to hurt me.

  But one or two might.

  If Ferion ordered them to, they really might.

  For the first time, she weighed the value of her life against the value of Ferion’s, and she realized that she came up wanting.

  Yes, she was prominent in the Elven demesne. Yes, she had social standing outside in the inter-demesne community. None of that came close to holding the power to shape new law and strike inter-demesne agreements, and to carve out policy in the international arena.

  How much would it mean to Malphas to maintain c
ontrol of the Elven High Lord? Would he kill to maintain it?

  If both she and Graydon died, their bargain disappeared, and Malphas could do anything he wanted with Ferion. Anything at all.

  She shuddered.

  You said “almost,” Graydon said softly. You didn’t say nobody would hurt you. You said almost nobody would.

  There are some Elves who would do anything their Lord commanded. She added wryly, Normally, that’s a good thing.

  I want you out of there, he growled.

  Her suite in the New York Elven residence had a balcony that overlooked a half acre garden, surrounded by a high stone wall. She had insisted upon it. Every opportunity to get into the fresh, open air was important to her.

  Abandoning her wardrobe, she went to the balcony doors to throw them open. Snow covered the floor of the balcony, and the bitter December wind whipped into the rooms. The icy shock was like a welcome tonic, shaking loose the tired fog that had begun to take over her thinking.

  She stepped outside and looked up at the heavy, overcast sky. She wanted to do so much more than merely talk with Graydon. She needed to look into his eyes, touch his face, wrap her arms around him and hold him tight again.

  She said, Gray, I think you and I might be in danger. Now that Ferion’s become Lord of the demesne, his value to Malphas has increased exponentially.

  A rush of wind blasted her. She fell back a step, staring as Graydon’s cloaking spell fell away, and the boiling air in front of her transformed into his massive human form.

  He wore black fatigues, a black long-sleeved shirt, and a black vest. His rough features were set and hard. He looked as he had that terrible morning so long ago, full of icy, unpredictable rage.

  “Dear gods,” she breathed. He wasn’t supposed to be here. He had just triggered every alarm the Elves had on the property. They had less than a minute before any number of guards burst in on them.

  “Come with me now,” he said. His stormy gray eyes were intent, fierce. He held his hand out to her.

  Her heart hammered. She couldn’t do something so simple and revolutionary, could she?