A Local Habitation (17 page)

Read A Local Habitation Online

Authors: Seanan McGuire

Tags: #Fantasy, #Fiction, #General, #Mystery fiction, #Science Fiction & Fantasy, #Fiction - Fantasy, #Science Fiction And Fantasy, #American Science Fiction And Fantasy, #Fantasy - General, #Fairies, #Women private investigators

BOOK: A Local Habitation
6.46Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
“Please. Unless you think you have enough staff left to send search parties.”
“The place isn’t that bad.”
“Uh-huh.” I spread the sheets back over Barbara and Yui. Maybe they wouldn’t care, but I did. Quentin was tossing the cups into the garbage can, not bothering to empty them first. “Have you ever been to Shadowed Hills?”
“No, I can’t say that I have.”
“Amateur,” Quentin muttered, and started up the stairs.
“Quentin . . .” He didn’t stop. Sighing, I followed.
Alex came along behind me, pausing to close the basement door. It didn’t lock. “So what’s the big deal about Shadowed Hills?”
He was clearly trying to get back into my good graces. I considered the sincere unhappiness in his expression, and gave in, saying, “Shadowed Hills is just about as bad as this place. I guess the Torquills just have a family grudge against linear space. I’m practically a native, and I still get lost there.”
“This place is confusing at first, but it gets better. You’ll catch on.”
“I hope so.” Quentin was ten feet ahead. I called, “If you don’t know where you’re going, stop.” He glared back at me, but stopped, letting us catch up. “That’s better. Come on.”
Alex led us through the halls, choosing what I assumed was the best route through rooms that connected without attention to the laws of architecture or common sense. I was sure the physical buildings were more sanely constructed, but we weren’t
in
the physical buildings: we were in the knowe. Quentin walked in sullen silence, but Alex made up for it by chattering wildly, pointing out interesting quirks of the knowe’s construction and cracking bad jokes. I didn’t pay attention to a word. People were dying.
“Are we there yet?” Quentin demanded.
“Patience, young one!” Alex said. Quentin glared, and he amended, “Almost. The cafeteria’s just ahead.” Then he turned to wink at me, smiling broadly. I smiled back, almost unintentionally. It was hard to stay mad when he was working so hard at winning my approval.
“Good,” Quentin said.
We turned a corner, bringing the cafeteria door into view. Quentin sped up, dashing through, with Alex following at a more sedate pace. When he reached the door, he stopped, opening and holding it for me.
“After
you,
” he said, with exaggerated gallantry.
“After Quentin, you mean.” He was obviously trying to make me feel better. It was almost working. All this would make more sense once I’d eaten. Food would settle the queasiness in my stomach and my head; if it didn’t, it would at least cover up the taste of blood. This looked like it was going to be a long day, and I needed whatever help I could get.
“Right,” he said, and followed me inside.
TEN
A
FTER GETTING MYSELF a cup of coffee, I made my way to the pay phone mounted on the wall. There was no dial tone. I frowned at the receiver before remembering what Jan said about outside lines, and dialed “nine.” Success: the familiar buzz began. I punched in the number for the Japanese Tea Gardens, pumped in quarters until the prerecorded operator stopped prompting me, and waited.
The ringing went long enough that I was starting to lose hope when a soprano voice picked up with a breathless, “Hello?”
I relaxed. “Hey, Marcia. How far did you have to run?”
“Other side of the—Toby? Is that you?”
“That’s me,” I confirmed.
As a quarter-blooded changeling, Marcia is proof that Lily has a generous soul; most purebloods would never think of employing someone like her. She’s too human to have any real magic, too fae to want to live in the human world, and too flaky to do much beyond sitting around and looking decorative. Still, she’d been nice enough, after we got past the part where I introduced myself by enchanting her into letting me in without paying.
“Did you want me to get Lily?” she asked.
“No, actually, I was calling for you. I wanted to ask a favor.”
Now her tone turned wary. “What kind of favor?”
“I know the Court of Cats doesn’t have a phone. Can you go find Tybalt and tell him I need him to call me at ALH Computing? I have the main number, and I need to talk to him.”
“Go find Tybalt? How are you expecting me to do
that
?”
“I don’t know. Get a can of tuna and go around the Park calling ‘Here, kitty, kitty’?” I sighed. “Look, you know I wouldn’t ask this if it weren’t important. Please?”
“All right,” she said, dubiously. “But if he guts me . . .”
“If he threatens you, tell him to take it out on me instead.”
“I will.”
“Good.” We talked for a few minutes, Marcia chattering about the latest gossip while I sipped my coffee and made interested noises at the right places. When she started winding down, I said good-bye and hung up, immediately dialing again. Shadowed Hills, this time; I wanted to keep Sylvester posted.
My call rang straight to voice mail. I frowned, recorded a quick, curt message, and hung up again, turning to look for Quentin and Alex.
Quentin was buying bags of chips from a vending machine, while Alex was loading a plate with donuts from the counter. Ah, the eating habits of the young and healthy. Alex had to be an exercise junkie: there was no other way he could maintain his figure, which definitely didn’t betray the fact that he appeared to live on starch and sugar.
Pulling my attention away from Alex, I surveyed the rest of the cafeteria. There was only one more person present, head bowed over a heap of disorganized-looking notes. I frowned thoughtfully and moved to fill a tray before starting in her direction.
“Mind if I sit down?”
Gordan grunted assent, not looking up. Putting down my tray, I sat, taking the opportunity to study her more carefully. I still couldn’t identify her bloodline; her eyes were throwing me. They were dark gray speckled with flecks of muddy red, like rusty iron. There’s no race in Faerie with those eyes. I’d already pegged her as a changeling—more fae than human, but human enough to be mortal—and those eyes confirmed it. The only question was what her bloodline
was
.
She looked up, scowling. “Coblynau.”
I lowered my coffee mug. “What?”
“You were going to ask—I saw you staring. My mother was Coblynau; my father wasn’t.” Her brows knotted together. “And yes, he was half- human. Happy now?”
“Oh. Sorry.” I felt the blush run up the back of my neck. I hadn’t realized how obvious I was being.
“Yeah, you better be. You corpse- lickers having any luck with the dead?”
“Better than you would, metal-whore,” I replied, genially.
There are derogatory terms for every race in Faerie; it would be more surprising if there weren’t. What
is
surprising is how rarely most of them are used—but then, the fae usually get insulting with spears and siege engines. “Corpse-licker” is one of the more pleasant insults. The less civil ones delve into the nature of the night-haunts and exactly where we spend our nights. Those are fighting words. “Corpse-licker” is just casual profanity.
The Coblynau are the best smiths in Faerie. They can trap enchantment in living metal, creating spells that last for years; they’re artists in a world with little art that it doesn’t steal, creating beauty for the joy of it. They’re also tiny, twisted, ugly people, scarred by the iron that stains their blood. Some spend their lives in darkness, pretending they don’t care what goes on above, while others come to the faerie markets and barter their masterworks for the types of favor only Faerie’s more beautiful children can provide. They’re metal’s whores. Supposedly, it’s a fair trade on both sides. Sometimes, anyway.
Gordan’s scowl vanished, replaced by a grin that transformed her face into a mask of cheerful wrinkles. I couldn’t help wondering what her mother paid for the pleasure of bearing a mixed-blood child. “All right, you can stay,” she said.
“How nice of you,” I said. Quentin walked up, expression curious, and I nodded to the seat next to me. He put down his tray and sat, moving with an almost exaggerated care.
“I thought so.” Gordan’s smile faded when Quentin sat, hardening into something less pleasant. “Who’s the pretty boy? We have sheltered jerks in town already—you didn’t have to bring your own.”
I looked at her impassively, not rising to the bait. “Quentin, meet Gordan. Gordan, this is my assistant, Quentin. He’s a foster at Shadowed Hills.”
“Ooh, a
courtly
pretty boy.” Her lips pursed in a moue of distaste. “How much did they pay you to baby-sit? Because it wasn’t enough.”
Quentin bristled. I put a hand on his shoulder. “They’re not paying me. He’s here because Duke Torquill thought he might be able to learn something from working with me for a while.” I nodded toward his tray, and he started picking at his lunch, still glowering.
“Huh,” said Gordan. “Looks like you got screwed on
that
deal.”
“Maybe, maybe not,” I said, shrugging. “What are you working on?”
She held up her notebook, shooting a sour look at Quentin as she displayed a snarl of notes interspersed with thumbnail sketches of machine parts. It looked like an illustration from
Alice in Wonderland
interpreted by Picasso. “I’m rebuilding one of the routers.”
“Okay . . .”
She sighed, recognizing my feeble reply as an admission of ignorance. “Look. Routers move information—data—around. I think I can change the hardware, and make that data move twice as fast.”
“Right,” I said, nodding. “I think that makes sense.”
“Good.” Her tone shifted. “Do you two morons have any clue what you’re doing?”
“What do you mean?” said Quentin.
Gordan leaned back in her chair, splitting her attention between us. Her eyes were cold. “Either Jan’s uncle sent you, like you say, or you’re here for Riordan and lying about it. I don’t care. What I want to know is whether you’re going to make people stop dying. Do you know what you’re doing, or are you going to string us along until you can run?”
An interrogation over lunch—just what I always wanted. “We’re here by order of Duke Sylvester Torquill, and yes, we’re staying until it’s over.”
“Brave souls. Stupid, but brave. How long before your little boy runs back to the nursery? We probably don’t meet his lofty standards.”
“At least I
have
standards,” Quentin snapped.
“Quentin, be quiet. I don’t see you going anywhere, Gordan. Why should we?”
She smiled again, bitterly this time. “Where would I go? This is my home.” She had a point. That didn’t explain why she was being so nasty to Quentin.
“You’re right,” I said. “So, since you’re a native, care to share any ideas you might have on who could have done this?”
“What?” She laughed. “Not one. I’d blame Yui if she hadn’t been the second one down—the little fox always had a vicious turn of mind. But no. We’re down to the dregs, and none of the chumps we have left would have the brains to start killing people.”
“Not one of them?”
“No.” She put her notebook down, looking disgusted. “Let’s guess. You’re expecting me to think for a minute and then go ‘Hmmm, Alex is very quiet except for his collection of ice picks and hammers,’ aren’t you? You hoping to get this wrapped up before the commercials?”
“Actually, no. I just wanted your opinion.”
“My opinion? Fine: you’re wasting your time if you’re looking for a killer in this company. We’re a family.”
“Does that go for the ones that have run out on you?”
“Maybe they ran, but that just means they had something to live for. It doesn’t mean they betrayed us. If you want to find a killer, look outside. Or don’t bother, and die here with the rest of us.” She picked up her fork, jabbing it into a piece of cantaloupe. “Send the kid home if you decide to do that. Dying would mess up his hair.”
Quentin glared at her, but focused on his chips. Good boy. I picked up my coffee, saying, “You’re a little pessimistic.”

Other books

Ruth's First Christmas Tree by Elly Griffiths
Bushel Full of Murder by Paige Shelton
Rise of the Lost Prince by London Saint James
09 Lion Adventure by Willard Price
Strawberry Sisters by Candy Harper