For a moment she could hear herself talking quietly about what she’d learned from Russell Lomax, wryly admitting to the tricks that infuriated her even as she made use of them herself. Then her thoughts darted to places her voice and words didn’t go: if Janx was there, then Malik would be.
The djinn was harder to see, a thing of shadows himself, but light finally caught his cane and drew Margrit’s eyes to him. He stood farther from Janx than she might have expected, staking his own territory, making his own place. Whatever he’d done to earn the right to vote for his people had infused him with confidence. Cold bubbled up inside her. Malik had lacked neither confidence nor arrogance to begin with. She had no desire to learn what new heights he might reach for now that he reckoned himself a force, but was certain she’d find out.
Of all the Old Races attending, Kaimana Kaaiai sat front and forward, at the end of a pew near the governor. His presence was a political choice, a clear decision to be seen. Tony sat beside him, one of three bodyguards. As Margrit watched, Kaimana tilted his head toward the detective and murmured something.
Disapproval contorted Tony’s face, but he nodded, and Kaaiai stood up quietly, padding toward the back of the church. His shoes made no sound on the stone floor, his exit distracting from her speech as little as possible. Very few people glanced at him as he left, though Margrit thought her own gaze on his shoulders would make everyone turn to see what she was looking at.
Instead they watched her, intent on words she once more couldn’t hear herself saying. Gladness at having worked with Russell, sorrow at losing his wisdom and guidance. Sick humor shot through her with an impulse to add, carelessly, that she would be leaving Legal Aid in a few weeks, to go to work for Daisani. She squashed it, swallowing as she finished speaking. A brief, unhappy smile flitted over her face and she dropped her gaze, gathering herself to leave the podium.
When she looked up an instant later, Kaimana was gone, the door closing silently behind him. She took stock of the Old Races once more, knowing the attendance of each was dictated for each by another’s presence: Daisani for Russell, but Janx for Daisani, and Malik for Janx. Only Kaimana stood outside that cascade of dependency, the only one able to leave without setting the others askew. As Margrit expected, Daisani remained where he was, half-cloaked by his own quietude. Janx watched the vampire rather than Margrit, as if aware of the steps to the dance they shared.
Margrit’s shoulders dropped as she found a kind of relief in that. For all the changes that were coming, the structure she’d come to recognize among New York’s Old Races seemed unscathed. That would be something to reassure Grace with. She worked her way back to her seat, glancing Malik’s way only as an afterthought.
The corner where he’d waited was empty.
CHAPTER 31
Stone shuddered and fell away, sunset’s gift even when the sky lay many levels of tunnels and streets above him. Waking rarely brought such a sense of anticipation, and Alban pushed out of his crouch with a smile. There was enough time-just-to change from the silver-shot slacks from the night before and wing his way to Margrit’s apartment. The chance to do that, to see her, to speak with her friends again, held the potential of a new life. It was something that a few months ago-a mere scattering of days, to a life as long as his-had been so inconceivable as to have never crossed his mind. His heart-his heart, usually so steady-betrayed him with rapid beats, anathema to a gargoyle’s stolid nature. Laughing at himself was surprisingly easy, another trait unfamiliar to his people. The rueful idea that Margrit was right about too much isolation curled his mouth again, and it was with near jauntiness that he left the tunnels. Grace, unusually, was nowhere to be seen. She often greeted him at sunset, giving him the sense that she’d sat watch over him as much as he watched over her and her ragtag band of children.
He was barely to street level when his phone rang. Expecting Grace’s lilting accent, he answered with a smile, but it was Janx’s sibilance on the phone, more soft-spoken than usual. "It seems I’ve misplaced Malik again. Find him."
"Something else requires my attendance, Janx. Malik’s safe enough under Daisani’s peace." Alban lingered in an alley, watching traffic in the street. "If you’re worried, use Biali."
"How bold you’ve become, Stoneheart. Other plans, indeed. They must include our delightful Margrit, or you’d never shirk a duty you’d agreed to. She’s with me. The sooner you bring Malik to attend me the sooner you’ll see her."
"With you. Why?" Alban folded his hand around the cell phone as if to crush it, though it was Janx, not the phone, that sparked his ire.
"Ah, that would be telling, and it’s much more fun to let you wonder what we all do during the long daylight hours."
Alban kept his voice deliberately low, refusing to rise to the dragonlord’s bait. "Where are you?"
Janx made a delighted sound, as if he could tell by the steadiness of Alban’s reply that he’d hit a mark. "Your old home, Stoneheart. We’re at Trinity Church. Join us, when you’ve found Malik. Someone’s hunting him, and I won’t lose another man. I’ll give your regards to Margrit," he added. "I’m sure she’ll be very understanding."
Alban growled, "Do me no favors, Janx," and clipped the phone shut, again resisting the urge to crush it. Heedless of passersby, he crouched and sprang upward, shifting form midleap as he strove for the sky.
The djinn was in motion, his fogged form impossible to follow, even with the sapphire he carried. Alban cut broad sweeps through the sky above Trinity, waiting for Malik to settle so he could trace him. Until then, city lights winked below him, buildings blocking his view. Blocking the city’s view of him, so he was never visible long enough for any witness to believe what they might have seen.
Margrit was down there, probably one of the dozens spilling out of the sandstone building. From this distance, Alban couldn’t pick her out, but he’d find her soon enough. Malik first, so that duty could be put aside in favor of the dark-haired beauty whose life had changed his. And if duty couldn’t be denied, perhaps Margrit would join him through the small hours of the night, watching over a djinn who wanted no such protection.
As he thought it, Malik’s presence-the stone’s presence-solidified. He turned on a wingtip to follow it, darting above rooftops near the church.
A blur of whiteness on the roofs caught his eye, bright enough to make him expect Biali. A moment later he realized it was Grace, her bleached hair making her a beacon, though the black leather she wore hid her well, otherwise. He dropped down beside her, already wearing his human form. "Grace?"
"Korund." She glanced sideways at him, knowing her name had been a question and obviously enjoying drawing out the answer.
A corner of Alban’s mouth curled, despite himself. "What are you doing here, Grace?"
"Watching over your lawyer, as you asked. But then that bearded devil slipped out, and I thought that was more worth watching. And hello to you, too." She crept toward the building’s edge, beckoning Alban forward.
He followed, suddenly amused. If any two people he knew were less suited for trying to go unnoticed in the darkness than he and Grace, it had to be himself and Biali. Only another gargoyle’s hair rivaled his in glowing whiteness, but Grace’s came close. He murmured, "We should have nightcaps," and Grace shot him a look laced with more flirtatiousness than censure.
"Sure and I’d be glad to share one with you, but I think Margrit might have a thing to say about that. A thing or even two. Now look." She snaked a hand toward the alley below.