Grace snorted, unladylike. “I prefer belowground. It’s hard to fall off a tunnel.” She studied Grace, then Alban. “I can’t afford to let people who can’t keep a secret go.”
Margrit glanced at Alban. “We can keep a secret.”
“Talk is cheap, love. Try again.” Grace stood up and pulled a gun from the small of her back, cocking it so casually that Margrit felt no sense of danger until the warm metal pressed against her forehead.
“Wait,” Alban said.
“Alban, no.” The words were out before Margrit considered how foolish it was to protest an action that might save her life. Ignoring her, Alban slowly came to his feet.
“Send the children out,” he said. Grace’s eyebrows arched. “Send them out,” he repeated. “You’ve got the gun. I offer an exchange of secrets, but not in front of the children.”
Grace studied him a fraction of a second longer, then jerked her chin. The teens filed from the room, a few looking back over their shoulders. Margrit, shivering from trying to hold still, whispered, “Don’t they have any curiosity?”
“They trust me,” Grace said. “I trust them. It’s all we’ve got down here. I’ll shoot your pretty girlfriend, love, if you make one move toward me.”
“I believe you,” Alban said. “I would like to ask that you not shoot me when the secret has been exchanged.”
Grace laughed, a sharp clap of sound like a gunshot. “That’s not a promise I’m willing to make, love.”
“Alban, don’t, ” Margrit whispered.
“I have to.” With the words, he shifted, the ripple in space tearing at the corner of Margrit’s eye. Inches from her face, Margrit saw Grace’s finger tighten against the trigger as she took in the gargoyle’s height and breadth, the wings that half opened, then closed again to make him smaller.
Very slowly, Grace lifted the gun away from Margrit’s forehead, cupping the butt in both hands, muzzle pointed at the ceiling. Alban stood motionless, Margrit on the floor beside them, heart hammering in her throat.
“All right,” Grace said, after seconds stretched until they felt like minutes. “All right, then, love.” She nodded once and uncocked the gun, sliding it back into her pants beneath the hem of her coat. “There’s dinner in the making. Are you hungry?”
CHAPTER 20
“THAT’S IT?” MARGRIT asked with a dry throat as Alban shimmered back into his human form. Grace whistled sharply and the doors opened again, children filing back in and settling into their places.
“That’s it, love,” she replied. “Miriah cooks up a good pot of chili. You’re welcome to eat with us, and you can tell me why you’re running from the coppers. Here.” She fanned out the money she’d taken from Margrit’s pocket. “Suppose you’ll be needing this, if you’re not going to be dead.”
Margrit exhaled a shaky laugh and took the cash. “Thanks. I’ll tell you about the cops if you tell us why Janx put you on Alban’s list of enemies.”
The blonde blanched, waving one of her kids away as her voice dropped. “Janx?”
“He’s a…” Margrit threw a glance at Alban, who shook his head minutely. “A gangster.”
Grace shook her head. “I’m not asking who he is, love. I know that already. Bad business, is what he is, and more trouble than me and my little gang are worth.” She shifted her shoulders uncomfortably, moving a few steps farther away from the children. “There’s a hundred stories about me, and none of them are true, but I’m not in that league and I don’t want to be.”
Margrit smiled. “The tabloids-”
“I’m not,” Grace said sharply. “The things the tabloids make me out to be, I’m not. They want me to be some kind of superhero, but I’m a long way from it.”
“Then what about all the amazing stuff you’re supposed to do?” Margrit couldn’t keep the crooked smile off her face. She felt Alban turn to her, examining her, but didn’t look back, afraid he’d see a light of glee in her eyes that she neither could nor wanted to hide.
Grace made a swift dismissive motion. “Once,” she said. “Once, four years ago, a bloke grabbed one of my girls. Not even mine, yet. I’d been trying to talk her into coming here. Her brother was running with a gang and she had nobody else. This johnny comes out of nowhere, down on the street. I pick up a tire iron and crack his skull, and a week later I’m looking in the paper and there’s three men apprehended by Grace O’Malley what’ve been arrested and put in jail. Inside a year, whenever somebody’s left broken in a place the coppers can find him? It’s me. On one hand, it’s grand. The boys on the street don’t play hardball with me and mine as long as we keep a low profile. On the other? The cops are always itching to bust me. They’re not much for vigilantes.”
She waved her hand dismissively, and a note of fear entered her voice, invading the brash confidence. “But Janx. That’s a man I’ll not tangle with for life and limb. What’s he doing, waving my name about?” Her hand drifted to her waistband. “This place I’ve got here, it’s fragile, you understand? I’m not afraid for me. Grace is harder to hurt than she looks.”
Alban rumbled, a soft sound of curiosity that brought Grace’s attention back to him. “Used to hearing a bit of stuff say that, are you, big man? It’s true. I wouldn’t survive down here if it weren’t. I think you know a thing or two about that, don’t you.”
“I do. It is-” The gargoyle broke off, a smile so faint it might have been imagined creasing the clean lines of his face. “It’s good to see people surviving. Doing more than surviving.” He gestured, encompassing the room, and Grace gave him an open smile that made Margrit’s spine stiffen.
At a glance, Grace fit into Alban’s world in a way she never would. The underground vigilante belonged to dark places and hard living, a life eked out beneath the streets. Alban’s world might lie above them, but it was as much enclosed in darkness as Grace’s. For an instant Margrit saw them from the outside, both tall and pale, Grace’s platinum hair nearly as pure a white as Alban’s. They might have been made to fit together.
And Margrit had no claim on Alban.
She twisted a hand behind her back, closing it into a slow fist as she tried to bring Tony’s image to mind. The pairing of Grace and Alban overwhelmed it, and Margrit looked away, making herself focus on the contained anger that came into Grace’s voice as she answered the gargoyle. “I’ll survive. It’s the kids I worry for. Maybe it don’t look like much, but they’re off the street here. It’s a chance to find a way into the world.”
“It’s a strange place to do it from.” Margrit’s voice was soft but easy, the calm she needed in the courtroom serving her well in Grace’s home.
The blond woman spread one hand, the other staying near the gun at the small of her back. The confidence in her tone was back, but her eyes were still too dark, concern coloring them. “Mostly they try to fix problems from the top, love, but you’ve got to get to the root. I don’t have a church or a lot of money to back me up. The only way I can see to do it is to climb into the guts of the thing and start lifting people out.” She made a stirrup with her hands and jerked upward, as if boosting a rider, then broke her fingers apart with a shrug. “Janx is everything these kids need to stay away from. And he could destroy this with a word.” She turned to survey the boys and girls, some sleeping already, others gathered into quiet groups, studying or reading. “I’ve got books and dreams for them. Janx has got video games and flash. Most days I wouldn’t blame them for taking the glitter. But we hold together with what we’ve got.”
“Like great outfits,” Margrit said with a tentative grin.
Grace turned a wry smile back at her. “All the cool kids dress in leather. Besides, it wears well, love.”
“We have no quarrel,” Alban said, making it a question.
Grace’s eyebrows, much darker than her hair, shot up. “I’ve never seen you before. I’ve got nothing against you, though…” She looked him up and down, ending with an appreciative leer. “Now that you mention it, I wouldn’t mind having a bit of something against you, at that.”