That quickly, the hot water demolished all her defenses. She began to shiver uncontrollably, teeth chattering at a decibel that would be funny if she wasn’t suddenly so frightened. She reached for Alban’s hand, her own shaking so badly it looked like a caricature of cold. “Is there enough room in this thing for two?” She couldn’t control the stutter and bit her tongue harder than she meant to in trying.

Concern lined Alban’s face. “Not with as much water as is in it now.”

Margrit’s gaze skittered around the room, and all the books safely on their shelves. “The f-floor will d-dry. I n-need you t-to w-warm me up. P-p-please, Alban.”

A moment later he climbed in, his own blood-sodden slacks left on the floor behind him. Water cascaded over the tub’s sides as Margrit twisted herself against his chest, hands fisted as she rattled with cold. His arms encompassed her, gentle fingers stroking her temple, and she finally let go of control and fear in terrible, body-wracking sobs.

CHAPTER 30

She had no idea when sleep had taken her, but wakefulness came easily. Margrit rolled over to search for her alarm clock and the time, and found neither in the gray concrete walls surrounding her. Confusion rattled her before memory caught up and rendered Alban’s room into something that made sense. He was crouched in a corner, solid stone protector, and Tony Pulcella, reading a leather-bound book, sat in a chair across from him. “Tony?”

He clapped the book shut as he glanced up. “Hey. Welcome to the world of the li—” Regret for his choice of words spasmed across his face and Margrit found it in herself to laugh.

“Thanks.” She sat up, scrubbing her face with her hands and then scratching them through her hair to send curls bouncing around her shoulders. “What time is it?”

“About two-thirty. Drink this.” He got up and brought her an enormous bottle of water. Margrit wrapped both hands around it and drained it greedily, not stopping for air until more than half the water was gone. Tony’s eyebrows climbed higher and higher as she drank again, and when she finally lowered the nearly empty bottle, said, “Wow. I didn’t mean all at once. You’re going to get water poisoning.”

“You said drink it! Besides, I feel like a mummy.” Her skin was dry, pinched against her bones, and her lips felt cracked and thin. “Do I look like one?”

“You look anemic. On the other hand, that’s a hell of a lot better than you should look, so don’t knock it.”

“I won’t.” She finished the last few sips of water, then shook her head. “Did you say two-thirty? In the morning?” Even as she asked she knew it couldn’t be: Alban was sleeping, and wouldn’t be if it were still night. “Shouldn’t you be at work?”

“I called in sick. Alban asked me to keep an eye on you.” Tony gestured toward the statue, and for a moment they both looked at the gargoyle, words inadequate to the topic.

“And you said yes,” Margrit finally ventured. “Thanks.”

“What else was I gonna say?” Tony sat down on the end of the bed, a few feet away from Margrit. “Margrit, this world—”

“I know. I know I’ve got a lot to tell you, Tony. I don’t even know where to begin.”

“Grace covered most of it.” The detective shrugged at Margrit’s look of surprise. “We spent most of the night talking, until Alban came to ask me to watch out for you. She’s not what I expected. A lot more fragile than I imagined.”

“Grace?” Margrit, remembering Grace’s fist connecting with her face, eyed Tony. “Tall blonde in black leather? That Grace? Fragile?”

Tony studied her a moment or two. “Doesn’t matter. She filled me in on everything. Her world. Their world. And then I watched the gargoyles when the sun came up. It’s magic.” He shook his head. “It’s goddamned magic. I wish you’d told me, Grit.”

Margrit put her head in her hands. “I couldn’t. I’d promised Alban, and then when Cole discovered them, he was so angry. Like he was personally threatened by Alban, by the whole idea of the Old Races. I thought that was how most people would react. I thought it was how you’d react.”

“I might have,” Tony admitted. “I might’ve, if you hadn’t come back from the dead in front of me. But, I mean, dragons, Grit. There are dragons out there. Like all those old maps say.”

“Yeah,” Margrit said absently. “I think those were actually sea serpents they were seeing….”

Tony shouted laughter and Margrit jumped, blinking at him. “Sorry,” he said, still grinning. “You just said that like it was matter-of-fact. Sea serpents, not dragons. Of course. I’m still wrapping my mind around dragons.”

A rueful smile crawled across Margrit’s mouth. “I’ve had a few months to get used to it.”

“Wish I had.” Tony’s laughter faded. “Part of me’s completely freaked out. The other part…it’s like it’s okay if the world doesn’t make sense and stupid shit goes wrong, if there are dragons. Like how the hell can we be in control of anything, if we don’t even know about the dragons.”

Regret rose in Margrit, a physical thing clogging her breath. She put her hand out and Tony caught it, holding on hard as they met eyes. Margrit found herself looking at the life she might have led, if she’d chosen to trust Tony with the impossible. It was more comfortable, no doubt, than her relationship with Alban would prove to be; there would have been no awkward hours, no carefully kept secrets from the world; not, at least, about each other. It would have been a human life, as ordinary and extraordinary as that, and for a moment it shone brilliantly. “I underestimated you. I’m sorry.”

Tony nodded. “So’m I.”

Something physical popped inside her as he spoke, the release of one dream for the pursuit of another. Margrit caught her breath, feeling its loss, and released Tony’s hand. He crooked a smile that said he, too, knew their moment had passed in a more final way than emotional breakups framed. “Guess this is the part where we promise to stay friends, huh?”

“You told me not to say that,” Margrit reminded him.

“You’re not. I am. You’re gonna need friends, Margrit. You’re going to need people who get why you go off fighting dragons.”

“In four years of us dating you never understood that, Tony. I mean, it’s what running through the park was, pretty much. That’s always been my way of fighting dragons.”

“Yeah, but that was before I knew they really existed.” He held up a hand, smiling wryly. “I know it doesn’t make sense. Don’t ask.”

“It makes a kind of sense.”

“Grace told me about these favors you’ve exchanged with Janx,” Tony said abruptly. “Is that my fault?”

Margrit blinked, but shook her head. “It really isn’t. You put his name in my ear, but someone else pointed me at him to talk to about the Old Races. I made my own noose there. Don’t worry about it.”

“I can’t help worrying. I know what kind of guy he is.” Exasperation flitted across Tony’s face. “Except I don’t.”

“No, you do. Just because he’s a dragon doesn’t mean he’s not also a criminal. It just gets complicated when you start looking at it in terms of human justice.”

“No kidding.” Slow realization dawned on Tony’s face. “Shit, Margrit. Tell me you didn’t tip him off the night we raided the House of Cards.”

Margrit’s game face fell into place far too late, a too-honest wince creasing her features long before she could school them into courtroom calm. Tony stared at her, then in genuine dismay, said, “Margrit!”

She winced again. “That sounded way too much like my mother. I’m sorry, Tony. I really am, but I just can’t see him in one of our jails. It’s like caging a lion for hunting.”

“We shoot lions that hunt people!”

Margrit opened her mouth and shut it again on her argument. “All right, good point. Still, I just…I had to warn him. I just…”

Tony leaned back, arms folded across his chest as he glared at her. “Looks like the mighty have fallen.”