Chimes at Midnight: An October Daye Novel (22 page)

That sealed it. The Queen was part Siren: her songs had the power to command. It also explained how she’d been able to take Dianda with an Undersea army right there. Unless they’d had a Siren of their own to deploy, the Queen could have walked in and out without meeting any real challenge.

“Goldengreen is worth more than any other noble holding in Golden Gate,” I said, surprised by the venom in my words. I looked toward Dean. “I am sorry. I am sorry to have brought this on your house, and on your family, and I will do my best to get your mother freed.”

“Don’t be.” He straightened. “The Queen of the Mists is a bad regent, and right now, she’s in control of my lands and my people. That means she needs to be deposed. Mom is an Undersea noble. She was committing sedition, even if the Queen had no right to arrest her.”

“So what are you committing?” asked Quentin. It was the first time he’d spoken since we stepped into the courtyard.

Dean smiled. “Treason.”

“Okay. Just as long as we’re all on the same page,” I said.

“We’re not,” said Patrick. He stood. “Pardon my language, October, but what in the name of Titania’s ass happened to you?”

“It’s a long story,” I said. It didn’t help: Patrick continued looking at me expectantly, waiting to hear my answer. Dean and Marcia were doing much the same thing. I sighed. “The Queen arranged to have me exposed to goblin fruit. I think she was hoping she could discredit me by getting me addicted to the stuff. Turns out that because of my particular . . . talents . . . I was able to turn myself almost human in the pursuit of a better high.”

“Why only almost?” asked Dean.

“Because that’s when my magic got too weak for me to keep going. Now I can’t turn myself back without either a hope chest or my mother to help me.” My stomach rumbled. I ignored it. “Did the Queen see Arden? Or did Arden just run?”

“She—the Queen—came in through the cliff entrance,” said Dean. “We were all down by the cove. She and her men used the stairs to get down to us, and they went straight for Mom. Arden was at the back of the crowd. I don’t think the Queen saw her, but after the guards took Mom away, Arden was gone.”

“Okay. So she got spooked. It happens. Has anyone checked the guest room where Nolan is sleeping?”

Blank looks told me that they hadn’t thought of that. I bit my lip before I could say something I’d regret later. Dianda was Dean’s mother and Patrick’s wife. They could be forgiven for being a little off their game. I would normally have expected Marcia to be more on the ball, but seeing the Queen was never easy on changelings. She had the kind of beauty that stopped hearts, and the more human you were, the worse it was.

If I saw her in my current condition, I’d probably drop dead on the spot. Not a pleasant thought, given that she was the one who had the thing I needed to
cure
my current condition.

Please, Tybalt, find Mom,
I thought, not dwelling on the fact that somewhere along the line, I had started thinking of humanity as something to be cured. “Nolan, her brother? The reason she’s been in hiding since her father died? That guy? We put him in one of the guest rooms when we first arrived, remember?”

Marcia paled. “I didn’t even think to check.”

“That’s what I thought you were going to say.” I looked back to Danny. “Wait here. I don’t think the Queen is going to come back, but if she does . . .”

“I start shoutin’ about how I’m so honored by her presence and does she need a ride anywhere,” said Danny. “They’ll be able to hear me in Shadowed Hills.”

“Good.” I smiled before turning to Marcia. “Lead the way.”

Marcia nodded, looking anxious, and walked quickly out of the courtyard. The rest of us followed her, me and Quentin at her heels, Dean and Patrick bringing up the rear. None of us spoke. Until we knew whether Nolan was still in Goldengreen, conversation would be a waste of time.

The guest room Marcia had chosen for the slumbering Prince was at the back of the knowe, small but nicely appointed, with a large, comfortable, and above all else, empty bed at the center of the chamber. I stopped in the doorway and sighed. “Damn.”

“He was right here!” protested Marcia.

“I know.” I turned to Patrick and Quentin. “I need your help.”

Both of them blinked. Patrick spoke first, asking, “What do you need us to do?”

“Look: right now, my magic is basically nonexistent. My body is using all its resources just keeping me on my feet. Either Arden teleported to this room and left with her brother, or the Queen brought a teleporter and used arresting Dianda as a cover for her real goal.”

“The Prince,” said Quentin, sounding horrified. “If she knows about him, she wants him.”

“Yeah.” I nodded grimly. “I still don’t know how she knows about
any
of this, but we have to assume she may know we’ve found Arden and Nolan. So what I need to know is who took him.”

“There’s no blood,” protested Patrick. “I can’t do blood magic without blood.”

“Ah, but you
can
look for traces of other spells. Daoine Sidhe aren’t as good as Dóchas Sidhe, maybe, but you’re better than anything else Faerie has on tap. So come on, you two. Dig deep, and use what Titania gave you. Tell me who took the Prince.” I stepped to the side, motioning them into the room.

Patrick squared his shoulders and stepped past me. Quentin hesitated.

“I’m not sure . . .”

“Quentin. You’re my squire. You’ve followed me into Blind Michael’s lands. You’ve survived being shot, being transported to Annwn, and riding in a car with May. I’ve overseen your education gladly, and I’ve been perpetually amazed by the man you’re growing up to be. You can do this. And if you refuse to even try, I’ll kick your ass.” I put a hand on his shoulder, shoving him after Patrick. He stumbled, but not for long. Glancing back at me, he smiled anxiously, and then hurried to join the other pureblood.

I took a step backward, getting out of the way. What came next would have nothing to do with me, and everything to do with the two of them. Marcia and Dean moved to flank me.

“Do you really think this will work?” asked Marcia.

“I don’t have a damn clue,” I said. “I also don’t have a better idea.” I dug the baggie of blood gems out of my pocket almost without thinking about what my hands were doing and popped one into my mouth. It dissolved like the others, but my stomach didn’t stop growling. I pulled out another one. That dulled the hunger, and replaced it with a new, gnawing worry.

Walther said these wouldn’t last forever. Just how short was “not forever” going to be?

“What are those?” asked Dean.

“All that stands between me and wasting away for want of goblin fruits,” I said, tucking the bag back into my pocket. “So let’s hope this gets taken care of fast, shall we?”

Inside the guest room, Quentin was pacing, while Patrick was standing frozen at the center of the floor. His eyes were closed, and his chin was tilted back, allowing him to sniff the air. Quentin, meanwhile, was peering at every crack in the wall and every bit of pixie dust on the tapestries. It would have been a comic scene if they hadn’t looked so damn serious. This wasn’t a game. People were going to get hurt if we didn’t figure out where Nolan was. This was my strength: tracking people through their magic. And I was benched for the duration.

Patrick spoke first, saying uncertainly, “I smell . . . clover.”

“I have dry grass,” said Quentin. He looked toward me. “I don’t know what kind.”

“Okay,” I said. “Focus, both of you. Patrick, is there anything special about the clover?”

“No. I’m not you, October. I can’t sniff the air and go ‘oh, it smells like red clover from the cliffs of Oregon.’ That’s your line. All I can give you is ‘wet clover,’ and that’s almost guessing.”

I smiled, just a little. “See, Patrick, you’re better at this than you think you are.”

He frowned. “Come again?”

“Wet clover, and dry grass. We’re looking for a Tuatha teleporter. But not Arden.” My smile died as fast as it had come. “Arden’s magic smells like blackberry flowers and redwoods. She didn’t take Nolan. That doesn’t mean she won’t be looking for him.” My fingers itched with the almost undeniable urge to punch something. Arden had hidden for decades. She’d kept her brother safe and out of the Queen’s reach. And I, in my efforts to fix things, might as well have handed him to the very thing his sister had been trying to avoid.

“So what do we do now?” asked Quentin.

I took a deep breath. “Patrick, I need to ask you for the sort of favor that isn’t just unreasonable: it verges on obscene. Will you please not hit me until I can explain?”

“You want me to keep the news of my wife’s arrest from the Undersea,” he said.

“Yes,” I said, meeting his cold gaze with my own pleading one. “For now. Just long enough for us to find Arden. If we can give her the throne . . .”

“You understand that this could get me banished.”

“You understand that a war, right now, serves no one’s interests but the Queen’s.”

Patrick took a breath, as if to object. Then he stopped and slowly nodded. “I will talk to the soldiers we brought with us. They’re still in the cove, waiting for instructions. If I can convince them, I will do so. But I make no promises.”

“That’s all I can ask for.” I turned to Dean. “The next part is yours. I’m asking your father to help me avoid a war. I’m asking you to plan for one. The Queen will take Goldengreen if she has to. Don’t let her.”

Dean frowned. “What are you going to do?”

“Me? I’m going to find Arden and convince her there’s only one way this can end well for any of us. We’re going to find her brother. We’re going to get him back. And then we’re going to take the throne of the Kingdom of the Mists and give it back to the Windermere family, because it’s pretty damn clear that the current government isn’t working out.”

“But you’re
human
,” said Dean.

I looked at him, trying to project a calm I didn’t feel. “Only mostly,” I said. “I guess the universe decided it was time the Queen had a fighting chance. Now if you’re with me, it’s time to kick her ass out of this Kingdom.” I extended my hand. After a moment’s pause, he took it.

Dianda was the only one who’d been arrested; she was the only one viewed as a threat. The Queen should have thought bigger. Because as long as any of us were free, she was finished.

Hopefully. Assuming we could all stay alive that long.

“W
HERE ARE WE GOING?” asked Danny. He didn’t slow down the car; he just kept going, rocketing out of the parking lot at a speed that made his previous unsafe driving seem like child’s play. I clung to the oh-shit handle above the door, trying to keep my ass in contact with the seat. Quentin was rattling around in the backseat like a bouncy ball.

Oh, well. He was a teenage boy. A few bruises were good for him. “Valencia,” I said. “We want a bookstore you’ve probably never noticed before, across the street from an Irish pub that you probably have.”

“Dog Eared Books isn’t across the street,” protested Danny, taking a corner sharply enough that I would have sworn the back tires actually lifted off the pavement. “It’s down the block a ways.”

“Yes, but we’re not
going
to Dog Eared Books,” I said. “We’re going to a place called Borderlands.”

“No such place.”

I gave him a sidelong look, or as much of one as I dared when we were moving that fast. “Danny. You’re a Troll, driving a cab. Yesterday, I was a superhero, and today I’m addicted to jam.
Jam
. Do you really think we get to pass judgment on what does and does not get to exist? There’s a bookstore on Valencia that you’ve never seen. I promise.”

“If you say so,” he muttered, and eased off the gas.

“I do,” I said, breathing a near-silent sigh of relief. Finding Arden wasn’t going to do us any good if we got pancaked in the process.

Silence from the backseat reminded me that Danny wasn’t the only one who’d never been to Borderlands. I twisted to see Quentin looking at me dubiously.

“You want to say something?”

“Yeah . . . are you
sure
there’s a bookstore there?” He at least had the good grace to look faintly abashed as he continued, “You might have dreamt it.”

Anger rose in my throat like bile. I swallowed it back down and said, “I can understand why you might be concerned about that, but Tybalt and I went to Borderlands
before
I was hit with the evil pie.” No matter how many times I said “evil pie,” it never started sounding normal. “The store is there, it’s just hidden from anyone who claims allegiance to the Mists. Arden has been hiding there for a while. It may not be where she went to ground, but it’s the best lead we have.”

“And if she’s not there?” rumbled Danny.

Her magic smelled like redwood trees and blackberries. So did the place where I had heard her name spoken to open a shallowing that had been holding itself closed for decades. “If she’s not there, we head for Muir Woods,” I said. “She’s connected to the shallowing there, somehow. She might try running for it. It seems like less of a sure bet, but again. We take the leads we have when we’re dealing with something like this.”

“I don’t like it,” said Danny.

“Join the club,” I replied.

We were in the strange hours of the night, where traffic became unpredictable, here heavy, there nonexistent. The route Danny was plotting took us straight through San Francisco, ignoring the daily logic of the city in favor of a more personal approach. He never slowed down. Somehow, he managed not to run any red lights or hit any pedestrians, either. Those Gremlin charms were worth their weight in whatever he had paid for them.

When we reached Valencia, he took his weight off the gas, reducing our speed until we were almost obeying the law. “Now where?” he demanded.

“Hang on.” I took the flask of fireflies out of my pocket, using my finger to coax one of the brightly-shining insects out. Carefully, I transferred it to his shoulder, where it settled into a pose of apparent contentment. “Look down the street until you see something you don’t recognize, and park there.”

“What?” Danny frowned at me before turning to scan Valencia. “That’s about the dumbest thing I’ve ever—holy shit, girl, there’s a
bookstore
there. What the hell? When did they build a bookstore?”

“Since the building is like a hundred years old, a while ago,” I said. “Can you park?”

“I’m on it.” He twisted the wheel abruptly enough to make the tires squeal in protest. Somehow, this ended with us wedged into a space that had just opened in front of the Phoenix, the Irish pub almost directly across the street from Borderlands. “We’re here,” he said smugly, and turned off the engine.

Other things that had happened during our unexpected hairpin turn in the middle of a San Francisco street: my hands were pressed flat against the dashboard, although I didn’t remember putting them there, and Quentin was bent almost double, his arms wrapped against my seat’s headrest. I forced the muscles in my arms to unlock. It wasn’t easy. Adrenaline had everything confused, and my body really wasn’t interested in listening to me.

“Danny?”

“Yeah, Tobes?”

“If you kill us trying to protect me, Tybalt will figure out a way to get through that skin of yours and introduce you to your own internal organs. He’s Cait Sidhe. He can do it.”

To my surprise, Danny laughed. I blinked. He grinned. “See, as long as you’re capable of gettin’ pissed at me, I know you’re gonna be okay. You may not like what comes between here and actually getting to that point, and the rest of us will pretty much hate it, ’cause you can be nasty when you want to, but you’re gonna be okay.”

I blinked again. Then I smiled. “I didn’t think of it that way.”

“’Course not. You’re the hero. You’re never supposed to think about your own mental health.” Danny wrapped a human disguise around himself and slid out of the car before I could answer him. Stifling a snicker, Quentin did the same.

I reached for my seatbelt. My hands were shaking too badly for me to undo the latch.

Slowly, I raised them to a level with my face, trying to make the shaking stop. If I really focused, I could stop the worst of it, but a fine tremor remained, like my body was caught in its own private earthquake.

Danny knocked on the window. I jumped.

“You okay in there?” he asked. His concern was visible; he knew something was wrong.

All I had to do was admit it. All I had to do was say, “I’m sorry, I’m done, I’m starting to break down,” and he’d take me back to Shadowed Hills. Jin could put me to sleep until Tybalt or the Luidaeg got back with Mom, however long that took, and I’d be okay, or at least I’d have a shot at it, which was more than I had now. All I had to do was say the word.

And Nolan would die, if he wasn’t dead already. Because there was no chance that anyone other than the Queen had taken him, and there was less than no chance that she was going to let him live a second time. His life had been the coin she used to buy Arden’s silence. Well, Arden wasn’t silent anymore. Not even running away would save him now. And then there were all the humans and changelings who would waste away yearning for goblin fruit . . .

I lowered my hands and plastered a smile across my face, hoping the unfamiliar humanity of my features would make it harder for him to know that I was lying. “I got a splinter from the protection charms on your stupid dashboard,” I said. “I’ll be right there.”

Danny didn’t look like he believed me, but he said, “If you’re sure,” before straightening again.

I wasn’t sure. I was so far from sure that we weren’t even in the same time zone. But I was doing the best I could. I raked my shaking hands through my hair, trying to catch my breath. Then I reached into my jacket and pulled out the second baggie. I wasn’t sure about this, either. I didn’t see any other way.

Opening the baggie, I reached in, pulled out a frozen piece of the Luidaeg’s blood, and dropped it onto my tongue.

There was no taste of mint and lavender this time, no soothing feeling that I was somehow repairing myself. Instead, it felt like my entire mouth was freezing solid, a cold so profound that it actually crossed some unmarked internal line and started to burn. I gasped and folded forward, clutching my stomach.

Somewhere outside the car, Danny and Quentin were shouting my name. I managed to peel one hand free and wave to them, trying to signal that I was okay. It was hard to focus through the burning chill. Slowly, it was replaced by the taste of loam, the smell of bonfires in the night. I tried to pull myself out of the memory I could feel building around me, but it was too late; I was already lost. And then . . .

And then . . .

“Dammit, Amy, you’re not
listening
to me!” I’m angry with her, and with myself. This is my fault as much as it is hers. She’s the youngest. She should never have been given so much freedom, never allowed to make so many poor decisions. But we were scattered, broken by what had happened to our parents, and we left her free for so long. Too long. This is my fault.

She whirls, blonde hair flying, hands balled into fists, and shouts, “You had no right!”

The Luidaeg’s memory was showing me my mother, back when she was vital and engaged and not hiding from the world for some reason she’d never shared with me. I gasped and stopped fighting the blood. If the Luidaeg’s memory had been focused on my mother when she was bleeding for me, there must have been a reason. Maybe this would tell me what it was.

And maybe it would kill me. Too late now.

“I had every right, Amy; I had
every
right. That little girl deserves better than what you were trying to do to her, and you know it.”

“She deserves a life!”

“She’s not human! No matter what you do to her, no matter how deep you go, Faerie will
always
know her as its own. Do you understand? You can’t free her. All you can do is make her defenseless. She’ll belong to Faerie until she dies. You’re making sure that happens sooner.”

She looks at me, my pretty Amy, and her broken heart is shining in her eyes. Finally, she
shakes her head, and speaks. “So be it,” she says, and I know.

I know she’s given up again
.

The blood haze was starting to loosen, and with it, the bands constricting my lungs and gut. I took a great, gasping breath, and the bands loosened further. Scrabbling along the door with one hand, I found the handle and wrenched it open. Only my still-fastened seatbelt stopped me from fully spilling out into the street.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Massive hands were suddenly there to support me as Danny interrupted my fall and hoisted me back into the seat. “What’n the hell was that all about? You need a cup of coffee or somethin’?”

“Coffee doesn’t cure all ills, Danny.” My hands were steady enough now that I could undo the seatbelt. Score one for the Luidaeg and her weirdly invasive style of magic. Using Danny’s arm to steady myself, I stood. “I haven’t had a cup of coffee since the pie.”

“Huh,” he said, looking impressed. “Maybe you can kick caffeine and goblin fruit at the same time.”

“I doubt it.” I looked across the car to Quentin. He was pale, and his lips were pressed into a thin line—something he only did when he was really concerned. “I’m okay. I just wasn’t prepared for the remedy the Luidaeg made me to kick as hard as it did.”

He blinked as he looked at me, and said, “Maybe you should fix your hair.”

“What?” I reached up to feel it with one hand. “It’s my hair. It’s fine. It always looks like this.”

“Yeah, but your ears don’t.”

Now it was my turn to blink. I dropped my hand lower, to where the edge of my right ear was just visible through the tangled strands of my hair. It was still mostly rounded . . . but the edge was more pointed than it had been at the start of the evening. “Oh,” I said.

“Yeah,” Quentin said.

My magic—which was currently way too willing to act outside my conscious control—must have decided I needed help focusing on the Luidaeg’s borrowed memory, and so inched a little closer to fae. Not enough closer; I still couldn’t taste Danny or Quentin’s heritage, and I knew from the depth of the shadows across the street that if I lost the firefly, I’d be fae-blind once again. But enough to stop the shaking.

Enough to buy me a little more time.

“Luidaeg, you are a fabulous monster, and an even better bitch,” I muttered.

“What’s that?”

“Nothing.” I smoothed my hair down over my ears, looking back to Quentin. “Better?”

“Better,” he said. “You still don’t need, um . . .” He waved his hands, encompassing the length of my body.

I decided to show mercy for once. Taking my hand off Danny’s arm, I said, “I’m still human-looking enough that I don’t need to worry about a full-body disguise, huh?”

Cheeks flaming red, Quentin nodded.

“Okay. At least we know what we’re working with. Come on. Quentin, you need to stay close to either me or Danny, since otherwise I don’t think you’re going to be able to see the place.” I could have given him a firefly of his own, but I was starting to do the mental math, and I didn’t like the numbers. I’d started with ten. We lost one finding Arden; I had one on me, and so did Danny. They could fly away at any time. As long as they were my only reliable way of seeing into Faerie, I was going to hold onto the seven I still had with an iron fist.

“Okay,” said Quentin, and took my elbow as we jaywalked across Valencia Street.

Jaywalking is common in San Francisco. It’s not that there aren’t crosswalks—there are—it’s just that as a populace, we’re all too damn lazy to walk to the end of the block when we can see our destination right across the street. So it wasn’t until we were halfway across the street that I realized what was wrong.