Victory sang through Alban’s blood and he pushed harder, seeking not just to protect his own memories, but to mine Biali’s. Something drove the other gargoyle, some need to possess memories that only Alban held, and of those, only one had the power to set Alban apart from all his people for all his years. He buried thoughts of promises made eighteen score years and more ago, and drove forward into stony memory, searching for Biali’s motivations. Why attack Malik, why raid Alban’s personal histories, why-

An answer broke, flaring bright and sharp on the surface of Biali’s thoughts. No more reason to attack Malik than to draw Alban into battle, though below that lay a stony lack of care as to what happened to the djinn. His life was irrelevant, a trinket to use, as if Biali had learned lessons at Janx’s feet all too well. Alban faltered, shocked, and his rival surged forward again, regaining lost ground.

A new peak shattered up from the earth, bolstering Biali’s confidence, comfortable and uninvited all at once. It lay too close to their memories-to Biali’s, to Hajnal’s, to Alban’s own-to be so unknown, and too far away to be welcomed within the stretch of range that was their own. But its roots went as deep as any other, making it belong whether Alban recognized it or not. Curiosity and caution drove him to reach for it, seeking knowledge of its maker to learn whose memory lay so close to theirs. To learn from whose memory Biali could draw such strength, and to see if it was a source from which his own reserves could be fortified.

Familiarity swept over him once more. The new memories tasted of Hajnal and Biali; and most of all, bitter hate born from insanity.

"Ausra." Alban heard himself speak the name in a scraping voice, and on the physical battlefield saw Biali’s eyes flash with angry triumph. Alban thrust memories of the girl who might have been his daughter away too late; for a bare instant all that he knew of her was laid out before Biali’s silent inquisition. The tragedy of her birth, the madness of her life.

The method of her death.

Biali capitulated so quickly that Alban stumbled forward, off balance. He expected, but didn’t see, the blow that caught him between the wings, and bellowed with pain. Biali skipped to one side with a harsh, derisive bark, not pressing his advantage. Alban scrambled out of reach, then faced his opponent warily.

"Breach." Biali spat the word, then simply turned away, scarred face wrinkled in disgust. As Alban watched, astonished, he opened his wings and caught a gust of wind, letting it carry him away from the Flatiron Building.

Malik, as if riding the same drafts, appeared at Alban’s side, a thin smile beneath a bruise purpling on his cheek. "You’ve done yourself no favors by playing my champion."

Alban straightened, voice heavy in reply. "It’s not a part to play. And no." He turned his focus on the djinn, ignoring the nastiness of Malik’s smile. "I haven’t. Why aren’t you afraid?"

"Of him?" Malik’s lip curled with derision. "What can a gargoyle do to a djinn?"

"That blow could have broken your neck. Djinn are hard to hit, not impossible." His gaze fell to Malik’s cane. "Which it seems you should already know. And if not of Biali in particular, then of whomever it is who’s hunting Janx’s men in general. Djinn are only hard to hit," he repeated thoughtfully.

"Biali won’t land another blow," Malik said through his teeth. "As for the others, they were only human. Humans are my prey, not my predators."

"Humans like Russell Lomax?" The question was born from Margrit’s suspicions, rather than any detail stolen from Biali’s memories, and Alban had no way to force a response. The best he might do was find an answer in Malik’s reaction, and share with Margrit what he learned from that.

Disdain washed over Malik’s face. "You’d like to run back to your human lawyer with all the answers, wouldn’t you? Play her hero, having failed as mine." He began to disappear into an oily black shadow. "Try. You’ll fail again, with no way to stop it. I’ll visit her and hers in the morning. Sleep on that, Stoneheart."

CHAPTER 20

Margrit stood at her own front door, key in hand, oddly reluctant to use it. Beyond that threshold lay her ordinary life, not made up of Old Races’ quorums or gargoyle lovers.

Beyond it lay explanations she didn’t know how to make. She took a breath, then stepped back, abandoning her plan to go home in favor of somewhere-anywhere-else. Chelsea’s, maybe, or even Daisani’s office. Kaimana’s hotel suite. Anywhere that wasn’t home, facing friends who lay on the far side of a divide that seemed to grow deeper by the moment.

"Coward." She whispered that aloud, bringing the heat of another blush to her cheeks. Running was the coward’s way out, an action that belonged to someone else. Finding the heart-pounding desire to escape within herself was an embarrassment. Even in the chaotic first days, when Alban had first come to her for help, she hadn’t run. She’d refused, but it hadn’t been a childish fear of confrontation that had driven her to do so. She thrust her jaw forward now and reached for the doorknob.

It turned under her hand and Cole pulled the door open. He had his coat and shoes on, relief spilling over his features as he stepped back to let her in. "There you are. We were worried. I was about to go look for you."

Margrit squeaked and put her hand over her heart, dragging in a deep breath. "I told you I was going to disappear. Sorry." She came in and toed her shoes off as Cole closed the door behind her.

Cameron appeared from the kitchen to hug her. "Yeah, but I thought you’d introduce us to Mr. Daisani first. Where’d you go?"

"For what it’s worth, he noticed you." Margrit winced at the admission, wishing Daisani hadn’t seen her tall blond friend amongst the selkies, and having no idea how it might’ve been avoided. "He said you were lovely. I had to…work."

Cameron’s smile wobbled. "Tell him thanks. You okay, Grit?"

"No. Not really. It’s been a horrible few days. Tony broke up with me." The last words came out randomly, surprising her. Margrit stared down the hallway, afraid to look at either of her housemates as she tried to sort out her emotions. She felt numb, primarily, as if someone could bounce coins off her skin and she’d only detect a distant thud of impact. Buried beneath the safety of that anesthesia lay an ugly worm of relief, and she didn’t want to face that yet.

"Oh. Oh, no, honey, I’m so sorry." Cam walked her down to the kitchen and put her hands on Margrit’s shoulders, slouching to get a look at her expression. "Are you okay?"

"I’m…" Margrit shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. "I’m okay. I’m fine. This’s been coming since January. I just…do we have any ice cream?"

"I can send Cole out for some," Cameron’s voice was already rising as she spoke.

"No. No, it’s okay. I’m okay, really. I’m just…I don’t know." She looked back at the front door. "We’ve been off and on for so many years, I think now that it’s real I don’t know how to…" Words failed her again and she ducked beneath Cameron’s arm to pull open the freezer door. "How can I be out of ice cream?"

"Maybe because you eat it a pint at a time?" Cam asked. Margrit looked over her shoulder to find a gentle smile on her friend’s face, and closed the fridge door again.

"Yeah. Yeah, okay, I guess that might be why. I should buy stock in Häagen-Dazs."

"You mean you don’t own controlling interest by now?" Cameron crossed the kitchen to hug her. "What happened tonight?" she asked more quietly.

Margrit put her forehead against Cam’s shoulder for a moment, hanging on. "It was a business meeting. I didn’t know Alban would be there. I didn’t know Tony would be there."

"Would it have changed anything if you had?"