Chimes at Midnight od-7 Page 20

  “Yeah.” When my mother first changed my blood, she wasn’t trying to make me more fae; she was trying to turn me human, to protect me from whatever lunatic destiny she was afraid lurked for our bloodline. And maybe we have some sort of destiny. I’ve had more than a few soothsayers and prophets predict that I’m going to be involved in something big, whether or not I want to be. She thought that turning me human would save me, and maybe she was right; I don’t really know one way or another. But I do know that when I was elf-shot and would have died immediately, she’d changed the balance of my blood to make me more fae.

  I just wasn’t sure she’d be willing to do it again.

  “What were you hoping I could do for you? I don’t have Amy’s gifts. I can’t make you any more or less mortal than you are right now.” The Luidaeg grimaced. “I could wrap you in a Selkie’s skin, but that’s a step that can’t be taken back. You’d never be Dóchas Sidhe again.”

  My eyes widened. For the Luidaeg to even offer . . . “No. I don’t want that. I was hoping you’d be able to tell us whether there were any hope chests in the Kingdom other than the one the Queen is holding.”

  “Ah.” The Luidaeg looked relieved. I couldn’t blame her. The Selkies were skin-shifters, and the skins they wore had been flayed from the living bodies of the Roane. Every Firstborn had his or her own descendant races. The Roane had been hers.

  The Luidaeg’s relief faded quickly, and she shook her head. “I’m sorry, Toby, but no. The only hope chest in this Kingdom is the one you surrendered to the Queen. If you want it, you need to get access to the treasury.”

  “And we’re back to insurrection.” I sighed. “That’s still the plan, mind you, but I was hoping to be a little more indestructible when I pulled the trigger. Also, alive. Alive figures heavily in my long-term plans.” As human as I was at the moment, I wasn’t even sure the night-haunts would come if I died. The thought filled me with a new form of sick terror. Faerie lives on in the night-haunts. They’re the closest we can come to actual eternity. I’ve never been in a hurry to join them, but the idea that I might not join them at all was . . . unsettling.

  “So what’s next?”

  “There’s a book at the Library. No title, bound in blue samite, written by Antigone of Albany. It has records of where the hope chests went after they were handed out—including the one the Queen has now. Got any ideas on where we could find her? Maybe this Antigone lady can give us some suggestions on where to get our hands on an alternative.”

  The Luidaeg stared at me for a long moment. Then, mirthlessly, she laughed. “Oh, how quickly they forget. Yeah, Toby. I know where to find Antigone.”

  “Great!” I moved to stand. “Where—”

  “That’s the name my parents gave me, after all.”

  I jumped the rest of the way to my feet. “What?”

  “Oh, Toby, Toby, Toby.” The Luidaeg reached over and pushed me gently back into a sitting position. “You didn’t think Maeve looked at me in my cradle and went ‘let’s name her Luidaeg,’ do you? My name—my given name—is Antigone. I was born in Scotland. We called it ‘Albany’ at the time. To be honest, I like that name a lot better, but what kind of vote do I get? I moved out centuries ago.”

  “You—I—what?”

  “All Firstborn have names, Toby. We chose to hide them behind titles a long time ago, when we realized it was time for us to take a big step away from Faerie. Even the strongest of our descendants were weak compared to us, their parents and originals. We didn’t have to leave. But we did have to create a barrier, to remind the children of our children that we were something more than tools to be used.”

  “Blind Michael,” I said, softly.

  “Yes. And Black Annis, and Gentle Annie—her name was Anglides, before she shortened it and turned it into a warning. The Mother of Trees.” The Luidaeg looked at me levelly. “We took titles as a warning. ‘Stay away. Here there be monsters.’”

  “So you can’t help me,” I said quietly.

  “I didn’t say that.” She held out her hand. “Give me one of those chunks of blood.”

  I pulled out the bag, eyeing her warily. “Why?”

  “Because I asked you to, stupid.”

  “Right. Do not argue with the woman who could take your head off.” I pulled one blood gem from the bag and dropped it into her palm.

  “See, if you were always that smart, we’d have a better working relationship.” The Luidaeg closed her hand. “I’ll be right back.” She turned and left the room, leaving the two of us alone.

  Tybalt moved to sit down next to me on the bed. I scooted over so that my leg was pressed against his, and rested my head on his shoulder. He sighed, a sound that was somewhere between exhaustion and relief, and raised a hand to stroke my hair.

  “We will come through this,” he said. “If I have to find your mother myself, and drag her kicking and screaming from whatever hole she is currently hiding in, we will come through this.”

  “And if we don’t?” I twisted so I could see his face. “What if it’s me, and chunks of frozen blood, and a human grave? What then?”

  “Then I stay beside you for as long as we have.” He kept stroking my hair. Cats like to be petted. Cait Sidhe like to pet. “October, I meant it when I told you I was not leaving you. I will never leave you while both of us are living. You were not quite this human when I met you, and you were far less human when I finally allowed myself to love you. But the essential core of your being has remained the same no matter what the balance of your blood.”

  “How is it that you always know the exact right stupid romance novel thing to say?” I asked, leaning up to kiss him.

  He smiled against my lips. When I pulled back, he said, “I was a student of Shakespeare centuries before the romance novel was even dreamt. Be glad I do not leave you horrible poetry on your pillow, wrapped securely around the bodies of dead rats.”

  “Cait Sidhe romance,” I said, and laughed. “It’s definitely different.”

  “I simply wish to ensure you are never bored.”

  “Toby doesn’t do ‘bored,’” said the Luidaeg, walking back into the room. She was carrying a baggie of her own. This one was smaller, and contained what looked like a handful of black cherry cough drops, larger and darker than the blood gems I’d gotten from Walther. She thrust it toward me. “Here.”

  “What—?” I took the bag.

  “I can’t transform your blood into something that can sustain you, but I can freeze mine. If things get desperate, try one of these. Just . . . make sure things are bad, okay? They’re going to have a hell of a kick.”

  I looked at the lozenges with newfound respect, and more than a little wariness. “You froze your own blood?” My magic drew power from blood—any blood. But the blood of a Firstborn wasn’t something to mess around with. I could do myself some serious damage with her blood, if I took too much of it, if the power overwhelmed me.

  And that was a risk worth taking, if the Luidaeg really thought that it would help.

  “I have plans for you, October Daye. They don’t include you dying human of a stupid addiction.” The Luidaeg shook her head. “I can’t help you get a hope chest. I can’t even necessarily help you find your mother—although I can go looking for her, and I will, as soon as you people get the hell out of my bedroom. Don’t come looking for me. I’ll find you.”

  “On that terrifying thought . . .” I stood, tucking the bag of lozenges into my jacket. Both my inside pockets were filled with solidified blood now: mine and the Luidaeg’s. I just hoped I wouldn’t confuse the two. “Tybalt, you good for a trip back to my car? It’s time for me to go back onto the grid, and stop wanting to pass out every time we move from point A to point B.”

  “Or you could call your friend the taxi driver,” said the Luidaeg. “Don’t exhaust your allies, Toby. You’re going to need them before the night is through. Now get out.”

  I considered asking what she meant, but knew I wouldn’t get anything bu
t vague implications of danger to come and maybe some profanity I hadn’t heard in a while. So I just nodded, and said, “I’ll call if anything changes,” before following Tybalt out of the bedroom and heading for the front door.

  I was about to step out when a hand descended on my shoulder. I looked back to see the Luidaeg standing behind me, concern written baldly on her face.

  “You’re fragile right now,” she said. “Try to be careful, okay? You’re the only niece I’m actually speaking to these days. I’m not in the mood to see you dead.”

  “I’ll try,” I said.

  She scowled. “Next time, say it like you mean it. Now out.” She pushed me over the threshold, slamming the door behind me.

  Tybalt blinked.

  I looked at him, and smiled. “She really does care,” I said, before digging my phone out of my pocket. I flipped it open, scrolled through my contact list, and raised it to my ear. A few seconds later, I said, “Hello, Danny? It’s October. I need a ride . . .”

  SEVENTEEN

  DANNY’S CAB SCREECHED around the corner at a speed somewhere between “unsafe” and “suicidal.” He got extra points for driving that fast through the thick fog that had risen to shroud the entire block while Tybalt and I waited for him to arrive. I hoped it was the Luidaeg trying to give us a little extra cover, and not some sort of nasty present from the Queen. Standing there in the chilly night air, I was very aware that the Queen—illegitimate or not—was part Sea Wight, and I had no idea whether she had access to Sea Wight weather magic.

  Then the cab door was slamming shut, and the mountain that was Danny McReady was storming toward us through the fog. “Somebody call for a—Oberon’s scrotum, girl, what did you do to yourself this time?”

  “Hi, Danny,” I said, the ghost of a smile on my face. I couldn’t see his expression, but I knew that tone. He’d be looking at me with raw, almost offended incredulity, like he was sure he could figure out the trick if he just stared hard enough. “You like my new look? I’m calling it ‘mortality chic.’”

  “It is a good thing fashions change so quickly these days,” said Tybalt. He raised a forefinger. “A point of order—did you just swear by Oberon’s scrotum?”

  “Situation demanded it.” Danny stepped closer, and now I could see his face. The incredulity was there, mixed in equal measure with concern. It was like being worried at by a statue. “You okay?”

  “Just don’t hug me, and I’ll be fine,” I said, reaching out to rest a hand against his arm.

  Danny McReady is a Bridge Troll—eight feet tall if he’s an inch, with skin the color and consistency of granite, and the sort of natural strength that would allow him to fling a Buick, if he wanted to. A hug from him would probably have resulted in my mostly-human guts coming out of my mostly-human eyes. And nobody wanted that.

  “Yeah.” Danny frowned before taking an exaggerated step backward, like he’d just realized how fragile I really was. “You guys needed a ride?”

  “We do,” I confirmed, and started for the cab. Looking displeased about the whole situation, Tybalt followed. I smiled at him, and smiled again when I saw that the cab was blessedly free of Barghests. “You left the kids at home!”

  “I was taking some mor—I mean, I was picking up hu—I wasn’t workin’ with a Barghest-friendly clientele.” Every self-correction made Danny look more miserable, until his face was practically a grimace. “Aw, shit, Tobes, don’t listen to me. I run my mouth.”

  “It’s okay, Danny. Honest.” I got into the front passenger seat. Danny was going to need an update on the situation, and it would be easier if I wasn’t shouting from the back of the cab. “Tybalt, do you want to ride in cat form, or do you want to be a part of this conversation?”

  “I want to shift into something smaller more than you can possibly know,” he said, getting into the back with exaggerated offense. “Sadly, the smell of Barghest is near-overwhelming with my nose in its current configuration. If I were to become more sensitive, I fear I would black out from the stench.”

  “Don’t cats lick their own assholes?” asked Danny mildly, as he wedged himself behind the wheel. Despite the fact that he had to weigh several hundred pounds, the car didn’t even shift. Danny’s cab was so tricked out with charms and customizations by his Gremlin mechanic that it probably handled better with the ballast. “I’m just sayin’.”

  “I will not dignify that with a response,” said Tybalt.

  Danny snickered as he started the engine. He sobered quickly, glancing to me as we pulled away from the curb. “Where we going?”

  “The Library of Stars, to get Quentin—I have directions, and the Librarian promised it wouldn’t move until we were done—and then to Shadowed Hills, if that won’t take you away from your fares for too long. I need to pick up my car.”

  “Nope,” said Danny imperturbably.

  “What?” I blinked at him.

  “I’ll take you to the Library, but I’m not taking you to your car. I’ll take you to Shadowed Hills, if you want. Maybe you could do with checking in, I dunno. Doesn’t mean you’re getting your car back.”

  “What are you talking—Danny.” I folded my arms. “Tell me you’re not refusing to take me to my car because you think I’m too human to drive.”

  “Can’t. I don’t lie to friends.” He took a sharp turn. “You don’t need a car, Tobes, you need a driver, and muscle to keep you from doing whatever ass-crazy thing pops into your head. You’re too used to being invincible, and right now, you’re not. Me, I sort of am invincible, as long as you’re not coming at me with dynamite and blasting caps. Let me be invincible for you. I can stand between you and the shit that’s trying to make you stop breathing.”

  “Much as I hate to add to the size of our company, he has a valid point,” said Tybalt. “I would gladly take a bullet for you. I would even more gladly stand behind a man of living stone and allow him to take the bullet for the both of us.”

  “This is macho bullcrap,” I said sourly. It wasn’t—it actually made sense—but I didn’t care. I hated the idea of needing protection.

  “So is getting yourself killed to prove that you’re still unkillable,” said Danny. “I ain’t taking you to your car, and that’s final. Now what in Maeve’s name happened?”

  The fact that he’d managed to go this long without asking was something of a miracle all by itself. I took a breath, and began, “We found a dead changeling girl lying in an alley . . .”

  It took most of the drive for me to explain what had happened since we found the dead girl in the alley, especially since I kept having to pause to give Danny directions. Tybalt interjected when necessary, mostly to make dire predictions about the Queen’s reign and Sylvester’s future health. I didn’t ask him to stop threatening my liege. Maybe I should have, but Sylvester should have known what he was getting into when he barred my Cait Sidhe boyfriend from my bedside. In the future, he might think twice before doing something that stupid.

  Silence fell over the car when we were done. Danny kept driving, his brows knitting into a rocky shelf above his eyes. Finally, he took a breath, and passed judgment:

  “Damn.”

  “I know.”

  “I mean, seriously . . . damn.”

  “Yeah.”

  “When you decide it’s time to up the ante on getting into deep shit, you don’t mess around, do you? You’re just like, hey, what’s the worst that can happen? That’s the worst that can happen? Great. Let’s do that.”

  “That’s not fair,” I protested.

  “Says the more-mortal-than-not girl with the goblin fruit addiction she got from being hit in the face with a pie,” Danny shot back. “You sure that chick from Dreamer’s Glass hasn’t been playing with your luck again?”

  “I’m sure,” I said. My stomach grumbled. I dug the baggie of blood gems out of my pocket as I added, “There haven’t been enough disembowelments. Li Qin’s luck manipulation really focused on getting me disemboweled.” Trying to hide the moti
on as much as I could, I pulled one of the larger stones out of the bag and popped it into my mouth, where it dissolved into the taste of lavender and mint. My stomach stopped growling.

  Thank Oberon.

  “Yeah, well, there’s not going to be any of that while I’m with you,” said Danny, pulling the cab to an abrupt stop in front of the bookstore that housed the Library of Stars. “Disembowelment is pretty fatal, and I don’t like fatal. We’re here.”

  “I see that.” I opened the door. “You want to come in?”

  “Nah.” Danny shook his head. “I don’t like leaving the cab unguarded, and from what you were sayin’, the Queen’s guards might try to mess with it if I did. I’ll wait. Take your time, I got a book.”

  “We will be respectful of your time,” said Tybalt—as close to a thank you as he could really get. He slid out of his seat more quickly than my too-human eyes could follow, moving to offer me his hand. “Come, little fish. Knowledge awaits us.”

  “Yippee,” I said dryly, letting him pull me from the cab. “Back soon, Danny.”

  “I’ll be here,” said the cabbie.

  Knowing that he had my back was even more reassuring than I would have guessed. Feeling almost relaxed for the first time in a while, I kept hold of Tybalt’s hand as we walked into the dusty bookstore. When we approached the point where the entrance to the Library of Stars was hidden, he swept me smoothly off my feet and into his arms. I squeezed my eyes shut, letting him carry me through the door I couldn’t see.

  “I hate this,” I muttered, as softly as I could.

  His lips brushed my ear. “I know,” he murmured, and set me back on my feet.

  I sighed and opened my eyes, sticking close as we walked through the darkened stacks to the small open space where Mags and Quentin had been when we left. I could hear voices before we got there, one male, one female.

  “—not that anyone’s found.” Mags. She sounded frustrated. This argument, if that was what it was, had clearly been going on for a while. “I’ve pulled out all the books, I’ve even pulled out books where the footnotes might have been relevant, and there’s nothing. No one has ever found a treatment for goblin fruit addiction in humans. No one has really even looked.”