Authors: Seanan McGuire

Late Eclipses (24 page)

BOOK: Late Eclipses

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“Just a second.” He waved his free hand over the jar, muttering in Welsh. His magic rose, filling the air with the taste of ice and yarrow, and the ghostly image of a branch of oleander flowers appeared in front of him. He lowered his hand, even as the brush fell from my suddenly nerveless fingers and clattered to the counter. “Well. That’s an unpleasant piece of work.”

“Oleander,” I whispered, not taking my eyes off the flowers.

“Exactly,” said Walther, clearly missing the importance of the word. “Someone spiked the meat with oleander extract. I’ve never seen the stuff so refined. It’s practically pure—” He stopped, catching the look on my face. “What’s wrong? I can cure oleander poisoning.”

“That’s Oleander,” I said. My head was pounding again. I was too relieved to care. Oleander’s always had a preference for using her namesake—call it hubris or plain old evil—but I don’t know how to distill the stuff. I wouldn’t know where to start; with Devin gone, I wouldn’t even know who to buy it from. She was real, and I wasn’t crazy.

“Yes, oleanders.” I could tell he didn’t have any clue Oleander de Merelands might be involved. She was ancient history for most people, just another boogeyman beneath our racial bed. I’d been starting to think I was the only one who couldn’t let her go. “They’re poisonous.”

“I know.” I picked up the brush and turned back to the cup, resuming my dusting. “I’ve seen them before.”

“I’m not surprised. They’re stupidly common in Californian landscaping. What did you say happened to your hands?”

“Hawthorn bush.”

“Uh-huh,” he said. “When you finish with that, I want a blood sample.”

“What?” I glanced back over my shoulder, eyeing him. “You didn’t say what I think you just said.”

“Do you think what I said was ‘can I have a blood sample?’ ”

“Does it have to be from me?” I’ve always hated the sight of my own blood. The thought of sharing it didn’t appeal, especially not with my hands already beaten raw.

“Since you’re the only other person here for me to ask, yes, it does.”

“Take it from yourself.” I squinted at the cup. “The only prints here are Luna’s.”

“You know what Duchess Torquill’s fingerprints look like?” Walther removed his gloves and tossed them into the trash can.

“I can be pretty persistent when I want to be.”

“Really,” he said, dryly. He picked up a lancet, walking over to me.

I decided to ignore both his sarcasm and the sharp object he was carrying. “I went through a forensics phase, so I hassled her into letting me take her prints. They’re unique enough that I remembered them—see?” I indicated the scalloped flower-petal whorls of one print. “Never seen anything else like it.” I gave him a sidelong look. “I’d rather not give blood today. I feel fine.”

Walther sighed. “Toby, your pupils are dilated, your pulse is up, and you keep staring at your hands—which, by the way, you’ve managed to hurt in some way that makes no sense to me. You’ve brought me meat spiked with enough refined oleander to kill dragons, and a cup covered in Duchess Torquill’s fingerprints. Please excuse me if I don’t believe you ‘feel fine.’ ”

“Dragons?” I echoed, momentarily distracted from the lancet. “This stuff could kill dragons?”

“Tybalt’s lucky any of his subjects ate this and survived.”

“It’s a little early to say they survived,” I said. “Can you make some sort of antitoxin for the ones that are still alive?”

“Cait Sidhe are odd, biologically speaking, but I should be able to come up with something.”

“We don’t have much time.”

“I know. That’s why I need you to let me take a blood sample before you drop dead and force me to explain your corpse to the administration.” His voice stayed level and soothing. “Chemistry professors who wind up with dead women in their labs don’t get tenure, and I don’t want to change jobs for at least another thirty years.”

“How do you know my pulse is up?” I felt my wrist. He was right—my pulse was racing like I’d been running a marathon. I frowned. Finding Walther’s office wasn’t that stressful, and watching him play with the chemicals had been almost soothing.

“Trade secret.” He paused. “You’re breathing too fast. You’ve been practically panting since you got here, and that forces your pulse up. That can’t be good, especially since you may have been exposed to some sort of toxin.”

“I’ve barely eaten today,” I protested. “I’ve been running in circles since last night.”

“Food and drink aren’t the only ways to poison someone. You can use inhalants, contact poisons—want the list? Unless you can prove you’ve managed to go without breathing all day, you’re at risk, and since you’re not a Gnome, you’ve been breathing.”

“Fine.” I offered my less-battered hand and turned my face away, squeezing my eyes shut. “Just make it quick.”

“I only need a little—it won’t even hurt. Tell me, are all Daoine Sidhe as squeamish as you?” He took my hand. “Not that you look like any of the Daoine Sidhe I’ve known, but I thought your people specialized in blood.”

“I don’t mind
most
blood, just mine.” Something pricked my finger. It wasn’t any worse than being clawed by one of the cats or stroking Spike the wrong way. I still winced.

“That’s it,” said Walther.

I looked back to see him wiping my fingertip with a cotton ball. I blinked. “Really?”

He smiled, holding up a test tube with a few drops of blood at the bottom. “This is all I’ll need.”

“Good.” I shuddered.

“You must’ve been hell as a kid,” he said, turning to drop the test tube into a rack. “I’d have hated being your family doctor. Imagine trying to give you a shot!”

“I mostly grew up in the Summerlands.”

“That explains a few things.” He added some clear liquid to the test tube, flicking it gently with his forefinger. “What and where have you eaten today?”

“A few Pop-Tarts and some coffee, in the car. May made the coffee. Oh, and some coffee from the snack bar in Golden Gate Park, but I didn’t get to drink much of that before Tybalt froze it solid.” I paused. “Long story.”

Walther looked up. “I’ll take your word for that. You said May made the first batch of coffee—you mean your Fetch?” I nodded. He frowned. “She lives with you?”

“Why not? She pays half the rent, and she does dishes.”

“But isn’t she supposed to, well, kill you?”

I almost laughed. “If anyone’s interested in keeping me alive, it’s May. She’s the one who ceases to exist when I die.”

“I see.” Walther held up the test tube. Somehow my blood and the clear liquid had combined to make something bright purple. He shook it, and the contents turned green. He frowned. “That’s strange.”

I moved to stand behind him. “Is that supposed to happen?”

“No.” He dropped the test tube back into the rack, starting to chant in Welsh. The liquid flared incandescent white before dimming to a dark gray.

“What does it mean?”

“It means you were poisoned more than twenty-four hours ago, with a recent ‘booster.’ ” The liquid kept getting paler. “If you didn’t eat anything questionable, did you drink? Touch anything unusual? Get something in your eye?”

“No—wait. Yes. A goose splashed water in my eyes. How can you tell I’ve been poisoned?” I’d almost been expecting him to say it, but it was still jarring.

“Are you sure it was a goose?” He looked at me levelly until I shook my head. I
couldn’t
be sure. Life in Faerie doesn’t work that way. “What I’m doing isn’t exactly chemistry; it’s a sort of cheater’s alchemy, a mix of science and magic. I get faster results, and science can’t handle most Faerie things, anyway.”

“You should meet my friend Stacy’s eldest daughter,” I said. Cassandra would love this guy. “But how do you know I’ve been poisoned? Or when?”

“The colors tell me.” The stuff in the test tube was almost white now. “I don’t know everything they used, but there’s absinthe and gentians in here, and maybe some lavender. This wasn’t supposed to kill you, just confuse you. Probably also give you one mother of a headache.”

“You’re doing a pretty good job of confusing me right now,” I said. “Aren’t gentians for protection?”

“In magic, yes; when you ingest them, no. Everything I can identify here acts as a mild hallucinogen to the fae. This should make you more susceptible to suggestion and less likely to understand what’s going on around you. Have you been seeing things?”

“I think so.” Oleander laughing; my headache; the scent of sulfuric acid and oleanders on the wind; hallucinogenic poison in my blood. Things were making sense. Bad sense, but sense. “Does this stuff make it easier for me to get caught in a glamour?”

“Definitely. Anybody with halfway decent illusions could ensnare you. Hell,
I
might be able to do it.” Walther turned, squinting into my eyes before I could move away. “How long have you had the headache?”

“Since the Beltane Ball at Shadowed Hills,” I answered. “How—?”

“That’s probably when you were first dosed. As for how I know you have a headache, you wince every time I raise my voice. I can make an antitoxin for this, but it’s going to take longer than the cure for Tybalt’s people. Hell, if I were working with a mortal lab, I wouldn’t be able to make you an antitoxin at all. Without magic . . . ”

“Am I in immediate danger?”

“It’s not going to kill you, if that’s what you mean. You should take some Tylenol and try to avoid getting poisoned again.”

“Good.” I stepped back, raking my hair away from my face with both hands. “The Cat’s Court comes first. No deaths because you were busy trying to cure me.”

“I knew you’d say that.” He sighed. “I’ll take care of the Cait Sidhe first, but you shouldn’t make major decisions or operate motor vehicles while you’re like this.”

“I’ll take that under advisement,” I said. “How long will the antitoxins take?”

“A few hours for the Cat’s Court; longer for yours. I have to figure out exactly what I’m countering. And I’m going to need more blood.”

“Do whatever it takes.” I held out my hand, not looking away this time.

“Toby . . . ” Walther took my hand, reaching for a clean lancet. “Whoever did this didn’t want you dead, just confused.”

“I figured that part out for myself.”

“They could be . . . ” He paused, slow horror creeping across his face. “They could be planning to frame you for Lily’s murder.”

“They’re probably going to frame me for more than Lily; there’s also Luna and the Cat’s Court.” I managed not to wince as he pricked my index finger and pressed it against the side of a jar. “I figure they plan to set me up and have me executed.”

“How can you be so calm?” he asked. “This is dangerous!”

“That’s why I have to get back to Shadowed Hills. Sylvester needs to know what’s going on.” Assuming he’d understand what I was trying to say; assuming Luna was still alive. Those were some pretty big assumptions, but they were what I had.

“What?” Walther frowned. “You’re not driving
anywhere
. You could kill yourself if you got behind the wheel of a car. Doesn’t Shadowed Hills have telephones? Just call them. And don’t argue with me. You’re not safe to drive, and I don’t want to be forced to shake my finger at you in a threatening manner.”

“Walther, Rayseline has decided I’m trying to kill her mother. What makes you think Sylvester will get any message I try to give him?” He was still holding the hand he’d pricked. I had to fight the urge to pull it away from him and use it to shove my hair back. “If I want him to hear what I need to tell him, I have to tell him myself.”

Walther frowned. “I don’t like this.”

“I don’t expect you to. When do you think you can have results on that cup?”

“I can start testing it while the antitoxin for the Cat’s Court is brewing. Will you be careful, at least?” He put the jar down and reached for a scrap of gauze, wrapping it over the dressing Marcia had already taped in place.

“I’ll be as careful as I can. It’s not my first priority.”

“Not being careful doesn’t mean you have to be stupid.” He turned back to the flasks of chemicals littering the counter, beginning to mix something rapidly together.

“You’re right. It doesn’t, and I try not to be. What are you doing?”

“Helping.” He picked up the result of his efforts: a beaker half-filled with clear liquid. “Rinse your eyes with this.”

“What is it?” I asked, taking the beaker from his hand.

“Willow bark, rose oil, and a few other things, mixed together with a hedge charm whammy. It won’t counter the poison completely, but it should help a little.”

“Right.” I tilted my head back, drizzling the liquid into my eyes. “Ow. Stingy.”

“But good for you.”

I offered a smile instead of the forbidden thanks, blinking the excess liquid from my eyes as I handed the beaker back to him. “Find Tybalt when the antidote is ready. The Court of Cats usually has an anchor in the alley next to the Kabuki Theater outside Golden Gate Park. Failing that, ask Marcia. I’ll call when I finish dealing with Sylvester, and I’ll try to be careful.”

Walther nodded. “Deal. Open roads. If you have an accident, I’ll kick your ass.”

“Open roads,” I echoed. It was time to get moving. Oberon protect us all.