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.
Malik paced across its mouth, throttling his cane in one hand. Alban shook his head. 'I’m astonished you could follow him. Tracking a djinn is nearly impossible.'
'Grace has her tricks,' she said absently.
As she spoke, another man, this one carrying a briefcase, stepped into view. Alban inched back with surprise, recognizing the broad-shouldered form. 'Kaimana?'
'Malik came in with the briefcase Kaaiai’s got now. I thought selkies and djinn didn’t play nice. Makes me nervous, it does.'
'I didn’t think anything made you nervous.' Alban offered a brief smile that earned a snort of laughter from the white-haired woman.
'That’s what you’re supposed to think, love. There he goes, then.' She nodded toward Malik, who dissipated in the alley below.
'He’s done his job.' Alban leaned thoughtfully on the rooftop’s half-wall. 'He’ll return to Janx to report.'
'Go on, then.' Grace straightened, a slim, curvaceous form in black leather. 'Go find out how the world’s changing, and tell me before dawn, if you can.'
'You don’t need to worry so much, Grace. I wouldn’t let anything happen to you or the children.'
'It’s not a matter of ‘let,’ love. Try as you might, you can’t stop the world from spinning. I know you’ll try, and so will your little lawyer, but it’s better for us if we have a hint of what’s coming.'
'When I came to stay in your tunnels, I didn’t realize I’d become a spy for you.' Alban pushed away from the wall, deliberately coming to his full height.
Uncowed, Grace shrugged. 'You protect us in exchange for safety during daylight hours. Call it spying if you like. I call it doing your part. Protection doesn’t just come in the form of stone and wings. And like every one of my kids, you know where the door is, if you want to use it.'
A low chuckle rumbled through Alban’s chest. 'It’s difficult to tell the difference between persuasion and bludgeoning with you, Grace.'
She answered with a quick and wicked smile, stepping forward to walk fingers up his chest. 'I can be very persuasive,' she promised in a purr, then smirked when he closed his hand around hers and moved back. 'There you are, then. If I bludgeon, it’s only your own fault. Will you go?' she asked more quietly. 'Will you watch and learn, and tell me what you know?'
'As long as I’m able.' Alban made a half bow, suddenly aware that he’d borrowed the action from Janx. It seemed unlikely he’d influenced the dragonlord similarly. Perhaps someday he would ask. 'I’ll see you before sunrise.'
At Grace’s nod, Alban took to the skies as if he’d been released from a cage, returning to the pursuit of his duty.
Returning to Margrit.
She’d spoken almost at the last, only the erratically bearded Episcopalian clergyman she’d met once before following her. People began filtering out, escaping the church and its oppressive sorrow in favor of the clear April night. The mood remained restrained, everyone cautious of their behavior, but it was easier to breathe outdoors. As Margrit searched for Janx, she saw Cole and Cam departing, and smiled her thanks. She found Rebecca Knight, relief sweeping away all thoughts of the Old Races as she hugged her mother. 'Thanks for coming. Is Daddy here?'
'He was called into surgery,' Rebecca said reluctantly. 'He’s sorry, sweetheart. We both wanted to be here for you. We didn’t get a chance to say goodbye last night.'
'It’s okay. I hope it goes well.' Margrit held on a moment longer, then broke the hug to take Rebecca’s hand. 'I’m glad you came. It’s a long trip for…'
A brief, wry smile curled Rebecca’s mouth as she, too, opted not to finish the sentence the way it was meant to end: for someone you didn’t like. 'But you did,' Rebecca said instead. 'Despite his flaws.'
'Not all of us are lucky enough to be as perfect as you,' Margrit said ruefully.
Her mother laughed. 'I suppose someone has to be.' She squeezed Margrit’s hand, growing more serious. 'Will you be all right, sweetheart? I can stay in the city overnight, if you’d like.'
'I’ll be okay. You don’t have to-'
'Margrit.' Janx, voice full of outrageous charm, cut through the dispersing crowd to stop at her elbow and smile at Rebecca. 'Don’t tell me you were going to allow this extraordinary woman to leave without making my acquaintance.' He offered a hand, and when Rebecca elevated an eyebrow and took it, he bowed extravagantly. Margrit, caught between dismay and amusement, wished he had a hat to flourish.
'You must be Margrit’s mother, which I say only because I suspect the flattery of suggesting you’re her
