A Local Habitation od-2 Read online

  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.”

  “Am I? Wow, I’m sorry. Try having all your friends die or run and see how cheery you are.” Her eyes narrowed. “You come down here with your little pureblood squire and say you want to ‘help.’ Yeah, right. That won’t last. In the end, you’ll run scared like the others.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.” I shrugged. “And he’s not my squire, just my friend.”

  “Funny taste in friends.” Gordan stood, tucking her notebook under her arm. “I hope you’re a better judge of murder scenes than you are of people.” She turned and stalked away, not bothering to say good-bye.

  “That’s not fair,” Quentin said. “She’s the one insulting us, and she gets to walk away?”

  “Dramatic exits are the last refuge of the infantile personality,” I said. “Now drink your soda and help me think of nasty names to call her next time she shows up.”

  “All right.” Not even being insulted could make him lose his appetite: he was eating his chips with astonishing speed and was starting to filch pieces of fruit cocktail off Gordan’s abandoned tray. Good for him.

  “Told you that you were hungry,” I said, earning an amused snort from Quentin. I ignored my lunch in favor of propping my chin on my knuckles and sipping my coffee. Gordan disliked Quentin on sight. She might just be prejudiced—some changelings really hate purebloods—but that didn’t explain how she justified working for Jan.

  Alex reached the table, pushing Gordan’s now-empty tray aside to make room for his own. “Whoa!” he said, spotting our expressions. “Was the coffee that bad?”

  “We just had a nice talk with Gordan,” I said.

  “Gordan, huh?” Alex sighed, brushing his bangs back with one hand. They immediately flopped back over his eyes. “I’m sorry. She’s always been a little . . .”

  “Nasty?” Quentin said.

  “I was going to say ‘sharp,’ but if you want to go with nasty, we can work with that. It’s not her fault.”

  “So whose fault is it?” I asked. “The Tooth Fairy?”

  Alex shook his head. “No, I mean
it—it’s not her fault. Barbara was her best friend. Losing her . . . I’m surprised Gordan’s holding up as well as she is. That’s all.”

  Some information has the effect of making me feel like a total jerk. “Oh,” I said.

  Alex’s statement didn’t seem to hit Quentin the same way. He scowled, asking, “Why does that make it okay for her to act like I’m the bad guy?”

  “She was a little harsh,” I said. “If she didn’t work for Jan, I’d assume she was racist.”

  “She is, a little,” Alex said. “Being a Coblynau kid isn’t easy. She got knocked around a lot before she hooked up with Barbara, and I think she holds a few grudges. I mean, she was working here for over a year before she stopped being nasty to the purebloods on staff.”

  “So why . . .”

  “Because she’s good, and because she was the only Coblynau who needed the work. Jan needed somebody who could handle iron, at least until we got all the systems fully working. By the time her first contract was finished, she was hooked, and she stayed.” He shrugged. “She’s the one who convinced Jannie to hire Barbara.

  So, I mean, she does settle down.”

  “Well, if she listens to you, you might try telling her we’re just doing our jobs.”

  “We want to help,” Quentin added, wounded pride overcoming his dislike of Alex. I was sure that would be temporary.

  Alex sighed. “I know you’re coming into this cold. I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

  “You’ve been a lot of help so far,” I said.

  “It’s not a problem,” he said. “We’ve been milling around like a flock of sheep—it’s nice to have something to do. And I’m really, really sorry I couldn’t say anything earlier.”

  “Right,” I said.

  “What I’m saying is that if you need help, go ahead and ask me.” Alex grinned. I grinned back, at least until Quentin “accidentally” kicked me in the ankle. I shot him a warning glare. He smiled angelically.

  “. . . and besides,” Alex said, “if I have actual work to do, I can always leave it for Terrie.”

  Quentin brightened. “When does Terrie get here?”

  “Good question,” I said, more slowly. “When does she get in?”

  “What?” Alex blinked.

  “Your sister?” I said. He was a lot less attractive when he looked that confused. “When does she come on shift?”

  “Oh. Uh . . .” He looked at his watch, then at the window. The gesture looked habitual, like he wasn’t sure he could trust the time. “She usually shows up a little past eight.”

  Quentin asked, “Does she come find you, or what?”

  “Oh, no. I’m gone by the time she gets here.”

  “It must be hard, never seeing your sister,” I said.

  “What?” He looked nervous—he didn’t like us asking about Terrie. I hoped it didn’t mean anything. I was really starting to like him. “Oh, yeah. I mean, no. I mean . . . we’re not close.”

  “Okay.” I changed the subject, watching his expression. “What can you tell us about the people here?”

  Quentin looked like he was going to protest the change of topic, and I took great pleasure in “accidentally” kicking him in the ankle. “Ow!”

  “What was that, Quentin?” I asked sweetly.

  “Nothing,” he said, glaring. He wasn’t going to question me in front of Alex, and we both knew it. Knowing the weaknesses of your friends matters as much as knowing the weaknesses of your enemies.

  “Keep eating.” I shoved my tray over to him and turned to Alex. “You were saying?”

  Alex was staring at me, dismayed. “You think it was one of us. Why?”

  “Yui.”

  “What?” Alex said. Quentin looked up from my lunch, frowning.

  I didn’t blame them for not getting it; I would have missed it, too, fifteen years ago, but time has given me a new distance from Faerie. Sometimes that’s a good thing. “Yui was a four-tailed Kitsune. That means she was strong, fast, and had pretty powerful magic, right?”

  Alex nodded. I continued, “Whatever killed her took her by surprise—we know she didn’t struggle. We also know she was strong enough to defend herself: she could have fought back, and the amount of power she had would have stopped most people. It would definitely have stopped someone like me. That means one of two things. Either her killer was something so nasty that it could take down a four-tailed Kitsune without a fight, or . . .”

  “Or it was someone she knew,” Alex said, horrified. “I didn’t even think of that.”

  “Most people wouldn’t.” Most people don’t spend as much time dealing with death as I do. Lucky them.

  “If it was a monster, would the bodies have been there?” Quentin asked.

  “That depends on what it eats. The best answer is ‘probably not’—we could be dealing with something that killed in self- defense, but killing for food is more likely, and I’ve never heard of something that can kill a Kitsune but wouldn’t eat the body. Have there been any unexplained disappearances in the County that you haven’t reported to the Crown?”

  “What? No. We report all deaths and disappearances to the Queen’s Court.”

  “Up until this most recent batch, you mean,” I said.

  “Yes. No. I . . . Jan tried to report those!”

  “To her uncle, not the Queen, but whatever. I’m not going to fight with you. I’m just going to trust that if you think of any deaths I’m missing, you’ll tell me. Have you found any unusual tracks or spoor? Animal markings? We might have a shapeshifter on our hands.”

  “Not that I’ve heard of.” He leaned forward, putting his hands over his face. “I can’t believe one of us is doing this. I just can’t.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, and I meant it; it hurts when your family betrays you.

  “You could be wrong,” Alex said, through his fingers.

  “We could be,” I agreed. “How long has the company been here?”

  Alex lifted his head. He wasn’t crying, but it was only a matter of time. “Seven years.”

  “Where was the company before it was here?”

  “Uptown, near the Dreamer’s Glass border. We found land we could connect to the Summerlands about eight years ago, and we wanted to get farther away from Duchess Riordan, so we started construction.”

  “But you could only open a Shallowing?”

  “The ley lines weren’t deep enough to allow for anything else.”

  “Maybe you woke something up, and it just took a while to realize dinner was right above it. If you did, a lot more people will die before we find out what it is and how to stop it.” I wasn’t pulling punches. There’s a time for mercy, but it’s never on the killing grounds.

  “If it was one of us,” he said, slowly, “the worst thing you’re facing is . . . one of us.”

  “That, or a shapeshifter impersonating one of the employees.” I took a sip of my coffee. “I’m not happy with either choice, but they’re the options we have.” Quentin had fallen silent again, eating my sandwich as he watched Alex.

  “I see,” Alex said.

  “Now. What do we need to know?”

  Alex was quiet for a long moment. Then, taking a deep breath, he said, “ALH was Jan’s idea—she provided the working capital and hired the original crew. We’re part of the County, but that’s a formality; we get paid for working here, we all have steady jobs, and the last time we held Court was at the company barbecue back in May.”

  “Was she already a Countess when she founded ALH?”

  “Yes. She was titled but landless until we broke away from Dreamer’s Glass.”

  “So how long have you worked here?”

  “About twelve years. Terrie and I came from Cincinnati when Jan held the first inter- Kingdom job fair, and I’ve—we’ve—been here ever since.”

  I frowned. From the way he said that, I wasn’t sure Terrie had been there the entire time. Resolving to get my hands on her personnel files, I asked, “Has Jan been a
good leader?”

  “One of the best.” Alex leaned forward, suddenly earnest. “She doesn’t think like most people. She’s still good at what she does. You just have to give her a chance.”

  I don’t usually give chances when people are dying. On the other hand . . . I once made a similar speech before the Queen’s Court, when a Royal Commission was reviewing the actions of a local Duke. I said they had to give him the benefit of the doubt: that they couldn’t judge him when they didn’t know him. Sylvester didn’t do things the way people expected, but he did well. If Alex gave Jan the same testimony, I had to give her a shot. And maybe he was right. Maybe Jan and Sylvester shared more than just the color of their eyes.

  I just hoped she wasn’t going to disappoint us all. “So Jan called you here,” I said. “Is there anything else I should know?”

  “I don’t know what you consider a ‘should know.’ Jan does her job. Normally, she has Elliot to take care of the details, but he’s been shaky lately. Death isn’t his strong point.”

  “It’s not a strong point for a lot of people.”

  “You handle yourselves okay.”

  Quentin gave him a disbelieving look. I shook my head, and said, “I’ve had a lot of practice,” hoping that my bitterness wouldn’t show. I was sure it would. “Is there anyone else you think I should know about?”

  “Huh.” He tilted his head to one side. “You’ve met Gordan, Elliot, and Jan—Peter’s locked in his office working on a deadline, and Terrie’s on the night shift.”

  “And then there’s April.”

  Alex almost smiled, agreeing, “And then there’s April. I take it you met?”

  “Blonde kid, glasses, talks like the Oracle at Delphi when she was in junior high. Yeah, we met.”

  “She’s creepy,” Quentin added.

  “Dryads generally are,” I said, offhandedly, and paused. “That’s how she disappeared.” Dryads are one of the only races that can teleport entirely on their own. The normal ones need to be close to their trees, but if April had been integrated with the company network, she probably just needed to be close to a power outlet.