Small Favor

Both of them moved in a tense, precise, professionally concerned cadence.

The third man out of the car was Marcone himself, a man of medium height and build, wearing a suit that cost more than my car, and he looked as relaxed and calm as he always did. Marcone was criminal scum, but I’ll give the rat his due-he’s got balls that drag the ground when he walks.

Marcone’s head whipped around abruptly, back down the alley the way they’d just come, though neither Hendricks nor Gard reacted with a similar motion. He produced a gun with such speed that it almost seemed magical, and little puffs of frost blazed out from the muzzle of the snow-sculpted weapon.

Hendricks reacted immediately, turning to bring that monster weapon to bear, and tiny motes of blue light flashed down the alley, representing tracer fire. Gard put her shield and her body between Marcone and whatever was at the end of the alley. They hurried into a side door of the building, one that had been destroyed in the collapse. Hendricks followed, still spraying bursts of fire down the alley. He, too, vanished into the building.

"Hell’s bells," I breathed. "Marcone was inside?"

Mab flicked her hand in a slashing gesture, and the top two-thirds of the little snow building disintegrated under a miniature arctic gale. I was left with a cutaway image of the building’s interior. Marcone and his bodyguards moved through the place like rats through a maze. They sprinted down a flight of stairs. At the bottom Marcone stabbed at some kind of keypad with short, sharp, precise motions and then looked up.

Heavy sheets of what looked like steel fell into place at the top and bottom of the stairs simultaneously, and I could all but hear the ominous boom! as they settled into place. Gard reached up and touched the center of the near door, and there was a flash of light bright enough to leave little spots in my vision. Then they hurried down a short hallway to another keypad and repeated the process. More doors, more flashes of light.

"Locking himself in…" I muttered, frowning. Then I got it. "Wards. Blast doors. It’s a panic room. He built a panic room."

Grimalkin made a low, lazy yowling sound that I took for a murmur of agreement.

My own apartment was set up with a similar set of protections, which I could invoke if absolutely necessary-though, granted, my setup was a little more Merlin and a little less Bond. But I had to wonder what the hell had rattled Marcone enough to send him scurrying for a deep hole.

Then Gard’s head snapped up, looking directly at where Mab currently stood, as if the little snow sculpture could somehow see the titanic form of the Winter Queen looking down upon her. Gard reached into her suit pocket, drew out what looked like a slender wooden box, the kind that really high-end pen sets come in sometimes, and took a small, rectangular plaque of some kind from the box. She lifted it, facing Mab again, and snapped the little plaque in her fingers.

The entire snow sculpture collapsed on itself and was gone.

"They saw the hidden camera," I muttered.

"Within her limits, the Chooser is resourceful and clever," Mab replied. "The Baron was wise to acquire her services."

I glanced up at Mab. "What happened?"

"All Sight was clouded for several moments. Then this."

At another gesture the building re-formed-but this time little clouds of frost simulated thick smoke roiling all around it, obscuring many details. The whole image, in fact, looked hazier, grainier, as if Mab had chosen to form it out of snowflakes a few sizes too large to illustrate details.

Even so, I recognized Marcone when he came stumbling out the front door of the building. Several forms hurried out behind him. They surrounded him. A plain van appeared out of the night, and the unknown figures cast him through its open doors. Then they entered and were gone.

As the van pulled away, the building shuddered and collapsed in on itself, sliding down into the wreckage and ruin I’d seen.

"I have chosen you to be my Emissary," Mab said to me. "You will repay me a favor owed. You will find the Baron."

"The hell I will," I said before my brain had time to weigh in on the sentiment.

Mab let out a low, throaty laugh. "You will, wizard child. An you wish to survive, you have no choice."

Anger flared in my chest and shoved my brain aside on its way to my mouth. "That wasn’t our deal," I snapped. "Our bargain stipulated that I would choose which favors to repay and that you would not coerce me."

Mab’s frozen-berry lips lifted in a silent snarl, and the world turned into a curtain of white agony that centered on my eyes. Nothing had ever hurt so much. I fell down, but I wasn’t lucky enough to hit my head and knock myself unconscious. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t scream.

Then there was something cold beside me. And something very soft and very cold touched my ear. I recognized the sensation, from the far side of the pain. Lips. Mab’s lips. The Queen of Air and Darkness placed a gentle row of kisses down the outside ridge of my ear, then sucked the lobe into her mouth and bit down quite gently.

In the other ear I heard Grimalkin’s voice speaking in a low, tense, hungry whisper. "Mortal brute. Whatever your past, whatever your future, know this: I am Mab, and I keep my bargains. Question my given word again, ape, and I will finish freezing the water in your eyes."

The pain receded to something merely torturous, and I clenched my teeth down hard over a scream. I could move again. I flinched away from her, scrambling until my back hit a wall. I covered my eyes with my hands and felt some of my frozen eyelashes snap.

I sat there for a minute, struggling to control the pain, and my vision gradually faded from white to a deep red, and then to black. I opened my eyes. I could barely focus them. I felt a wetness on my face, touched it with a finger. There was blood in my tears.

"I have not coerced you, nor dispatched any agent of mine to do so," Mab continued, as if the break in the conversation had never happened. "Nonetheless, if you wish to survive, you will serve me. I assure you that Summer’s agents will not rest until you are dead."

I stared at her for a second, still half-dazed from the pain and once again deeply, sincerely, and wisely frightened. "This is another point of contention between you and Titania."

"When one Court moves, the other perforce moves with it," Mab said.

I croaked, "Titania wants Marcone dead?"

"Put simply," she replied. "And her Emissary will continue to seek your death. Only by finding and saving the Baron’s life will you preserve your own." She paused. "Unless…"

"Unless?"