Rosemary and Rue (23 page)

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Authors: Seanan McGuire

BOOK: Rosemary and Rue
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We stopped at the audience chamber doors, Quentin releasing my arm. I gave him a quizzical look, and he shrugged, saying, “I don’t have permission to enter with you, milady.”
“Gotcha,” I said. I might have tried to invite him anyway, but I still needed to tell Sylvester about the Queen’s reaction. Smiling, I offered, “I should be around a little more after this. I’ll bring a ball or something. We can have a party, just you and me, where nobody cares whether we’re dignified or not. Cool?”
“I’d like that,” said Quentin. “Cool.”
“Good,” I said, and went back into the audience chamber.
The room seemed even emptier than it had before, now that it was just Sylvester and Luna waiting for me on the dais. They’d abandoned their chairs; Sylvester was sitting on the steps, and Luna was curled next to him, her head resting on his shoulder. Sylvester looked up when he heard me close the doors, and waved, beckoning me forward.
Luna sat up once I was in conversational distance, offering a wan smile. Her ears were still half flat, telegraphing her distress. I couldn’t blame her.
“Toby,” said Sylvester wearily. “Are you all right? Really? I . . . it’s been so long since you’ve come to see us, and when you finally do, you come with news of a murder . . . and Evening. She’s been here since forever. She was over a thousand years old, did you know that? The only one older living in this state is the Luidaeg.”
“I know,” I said, moving to sit down on the bottom step, looking up at the pair of them. I laced my fingers around one knee, resisting the urge to fidget. “I have to find the answers to why all this is happening. I don’t . . . I owe it to her to find out why she died.”
“It’s not just that, is it?”
Unwilling to answer him, I turned my face away.
After several seconds of silence, Sylvester sighed. “This isn’t the first place you came, is it?” I shook my head, looking back as he smacked the top step of the dais. “Dammit, Toby. You went Home, didn’t you? Answer me!”
“Yeah,” I said. “I did.”
“Oak and ash,
why?
You knew I’d help you if you asked. I’ve been waiting for you to ask.”
“We all have,” Luna said. “We’ve been so worried.”
“I didn’t think you would,” I said, lacing my fingers tighter together. “I’m sorry. I just . . . I didn’t think.”
“Oh, Toby.” Sylvester closed his eyes. “What did you promise him?”
“Bill to be settled later.”
“And it’s too late to talk you into telling him you won’t take his help, I suppose.”
I laughed, a little wildly. “Devin could call me on breach of contract if I even tried—and I won’t try unless you order me to. I
have
to find the answers to this.”
“Was there no one else?” Luna placed her hand on Sylvester’s arm, squeezing gently. “Even if you didn’t think you could come here, the Queen . . .”
“Sent me away.” Sylvester opened his eyes, both of them staring as I continued, “I went to her first. She said no one’s allowed to even speak Evening’s name, much less try to find out what happened. She ordered me out of her Court. Frankly, she scared me. I’m afraid she may not be entirely stable.”
“That’s not news, but it’s also not encouraging,” said Sylvester, his tone as grim as my own. There was a new sharpness in his eyes. It can be easy to forget that Sylvester won the right to hold Shadowed Hills; it wasn’t just his heritage that got him his throne. He was a hero once, and he earned everything he has. He changes when there’s a threat to be overcome: it’s like he pulls on a second skin, one he almost forgets the rest of the time, and becomes a hero again. A tired, old hero, one who wields a pen instead of a sword and rides waves of paperwork rather than a white charger, but still a hero. “I’m not happy that you went to Devin when she threw you out. You should have come here.”
“I wasn’t sure of my welcome.”
“Never doubt your welcome in my halls again—and that, Toby, is an order.” The stress on the last word was subtle but firm. He was my liege. He orders, I obey.
“Yes, Your Grace,” I said, inclining my head.
“Good. Now, I want you to stay away from the Queen as much as you can; frankly, I don’t trust her to react rationally. Come back here tomorrow morning, just so I know you haven’t managed to get yourself in more trouble—do you understand?” I nodded. He continued, “It’s clearly too late to stop you from involving yourself with Devin again, but be careful. I don’t want to see you getting hurt.”
“I’m not sure my safety is really a priority right now,” I said, shaking my head before I stood. “I’ll do my best.”
“That’s all I’ve ever been able to ask from you.” Sylvester stood in turn, moving to embrace me. I didn’t pull away. “I’ll send the knights out, and start sending out inquiries. If there’s anything to be learned here, I’ll learn it. And if you need help, call us. We’ll be there.”
“I’ll call,” I said.
Sylvester let me go, looking at me sternly. “Promise, Toby.”
I held up my hands. “I promise! I promise.”
That appeared to be enough to satisfy them. Luna rose as well, and hugged me briefly before giving me a nudge toward the doors. “We’d keep you here all day if we could,” she said. “That’s why you need to go. Finish doing what you’re bound to do, and come back to us.”
“I’ll do what I can,” I said, and forced a smile before turning to make my exit.
Quentin was standing by the door in the hall, back to playing the perfect footman. There were several people waiting for an audience, and so he didn’t move from his position, but he winked as I brushed by. I spared him a tight, pleased smile. He was a good kid, and he was learning. Maybe there’s some hope for us yet.
It was late enough that a steady trickle of people filled the halls, heading toward the audience chamber at a leisurely pace. It’s a good thing Faerie isn’t big on fire marshals: while the traffic wasn’t heavy enough to stop me from making my way to the door, it would have complicated an evacuation. Most of the people I passed gave me odd looks for going against the current, although one fragile-looking Gwragen wedged into a niche on the wall offered me a conspiratorial smile as I passed. I guess she thought she’d found a kindred spirit, someone else who just wanted to get away from the crowd. She was right, in a way, although my urge to get away was born of urgency, and not the natural Gwragen reluctance to get caught up in social niceties. I returned her smile and kept going, rushing down the last stretch of hallway to the knowe’s back exit.
The late afternoon light was momentarily blinding as I stepped back into the mortal world. I raised an arm to cover my eyes, waiting for the brightness to fade. When it did, I looked around to find myself at the bottom of the hill, dressed in my own clothes, with a warm buzzing in the air that told me my human disguise was back in place. I reached back to check the tip of one ear, confirming that it was round. It was. I shoved my hands into my pockets, looking up the hill toward the oak that served as the door in, before I sighed and started across the parking lot.
My car was where I’d left it, apparently undisturbed, despite the fact that I’d left it unlocked; no real surprise there. Pleasant Hill isn’t a big crime town—the worst they usually get is groups of teenagers pushing each other around and saying “you suck.” It’s a nice change, especially after San Francisco, where it’s perfectly acceptable to give your girlfriend an ear as a courting gift in some of the less reputable neighborhoods.
I opened the door and got in, fastening my seat belt. The radio came on when I turned the key, and I hit the scan button until it found the local eighties channel. I prefer listening to music I can recognize, and that doesn’t include most of the stuff that makes the current top forty.
Thoughts about the case and Shadowed Hills kept me occupied until I reached the Bay Bridge and needed to pay attention to the traffic. Even with the other cars to deal with, it wasn’t a difficult merge—not unless you counted the two tailgaters and the little old lady who seemed convinced that the speed limit was fifteen miles an hour—and I wasn’t in a hurry. I had plenty to think about while I waited to reach the tollgate. I inched forward, following the flow of traffic, and shook my head. I’d just think about it until the puzzle came together and everything made sense. Then I’d find Evening’s killers, bring them to justice, and go to bed for a week.
The toll taker at the tollbooth didn’t even look at me as he held out his hand, saying blandly, “Four dollars.”
Smiling, I reached into my pocket and slipped him four of the mushrooms I’d plucked from the grass under my window. “Miss Suzy had a steamboat, the steamboat had a bell,” I said to him. He started to protest, and I finished, “Miss Suzy went to heaven, the steamboat went to New Jersey where it enjoyed a lucrative career in children’s programming.” The smell of copper and cut grass rose around me, twining around the toll taker’s head.
A brief, stabbing pain hit me behind the eyes, and I tightened my grip on the steering wheel. The illusion seemed to have worked, because the toll taker dropped the mushrooms into the fare box, waving me through. I smiled wanly, tipped an imaginary hat, and drove on. Yes, it was mean and petty and something I probably shouldn’t do. On the other hand, substituting random pieces of greenery for human money is a long-standing tradition, and the fae are supposed to revere and uphold tradition, right? Besides, I only do it when they’re rude to me. And when I don’t have exact change.
Traffic on the bridge was light, and I was beginning to think that I was going to make it the rest of the way home without incident. I smiled, anticipating a smooth trip to my apartment, followed by a pause where I could start assembling clues into something that resembled a coherent picture. The temptation to blame it on the Queen was pretty strong, even though it would probably get me executed. Unfortunately, I didn’t think that theory would get me very far; something wasn’t right there. Oh, well. There was time for me to think about it.
I’m sure it’s written somewhere, possibly in Fate’s day planner: “October Daye is never to be given enough time to actually think about what she’s going to do next.” I was exactly halfway over the bridge, surrounded by water, when a deep, rumbling chuckle rolled out of the backseat, and a figure loomed up in the rearview mirror.
There was someone else in the car.
FOURTEEN
MY FINGERS CLENCHED ON THE WHEEL as I stiffened, forcing myself to keep looking straight ahead. This was just great. Positively peachy. Finding an intruder in my car when I was on a bridge, driving over more water than I cared to think about? Exactly what my day
didn’t
need. I searched frantically for options and couldn’t find any. There was nothing I could do but keep on driving.
After a moment I cleared my throat, and said, “You realize that if I go off the bridge here, we’re both going to die.”
I don’t know what kind of reply I was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t what I got: a deep, rolling chuckle, one that was almost closer to a growl. Laughter over the idea of a watery grave is never precisely a sign that you’re dealing with a sane individual.
Swallowing, I tried again. “I’ve got to admit, you’ve got the advantage. I’m pretty sure you know who I am, or else you wouldn’t be here. You mind telling me why you’re in my car?”
The only answer was another chuckle. I fought the urge to turn around for a better look. Even if he was unarmed, which I doubted, you should never give up any degree of control over your car when you’re on the Bay Bridge. It’s a form of Darwinism: if you’re dumb enough to take your eyes off the road while crossing part of one of the largest bodies of water in the world, you’re too dumb to be allowed to live. Then again, if the guy in the backseat killed me, that would also be a form of Darwinism. This situation seemed less escapable by the moment.
“My patience isn’t eternal, you know,” I said, calm fading from my voice. I was scared and I was angry, and there was no sense in trying to hide it. “If you’re going to threaten me, can you hurry and do it before we crash? I just got this rust bucket paid off, and I
really
don’t feel like looking for another car.”
This time, he didn’t laugh; he just loomed even larger in my rearview mirror, edges blurred by a block-me illusion and his silence telegraphing the fact that one way or another, he didn’t expect me to be shopping for a new car anytime soon.

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