Rosemary and Rue od-1 Read online

  “Here.” She pulled a knife out of her sleeve, offering it to me. I didn’t recognize the style of the blade, but if it was street legal, I’m a Kelpie. “In case you don’t scream fast enough.”

  “Good idea,” I said. She looked almost disappointed by my reaction—she was still young enough for the rules against saying thank you to seem pointless. I winked, sliding the knife into my belt with the edge facing outward to keep me from cutting myself. She brightened, reading the unspoken gratitude in my eyes. She was pretty smart when she let herself be.

  The taste of roses was rising in my throat again; the curse was going to backhand me soon, and they didn’t need to see that. I nodded a quick good-bye and turned, walking toward the museum. I heard the car doors slam behind me. Fine. As long as they didn’t wander too far or follow me, I didn’t care what they did. Maybe Manuel would pick the locks on the museum doors and show his sister something more culturally enriching than the latest shows on MTV.

  To an onlooker, I would have looked like I was losing my mind as I walked down the path and through the motions to let me into Goldengreen. I circled a sundial three times, touching it at six, nine, and three o’clock, before kneeling, picking up a rock, and throwing it hard off the cliff. I waited for a moment after that, listening for the splash. The waves are a hundred feet down, and somehow I still expect to hear a splash. I never have.

  The tall grass parted around me as I stepped off the path, brambles brushing my jeans without snagging hold. If that wasn’t proof of magic, nothing is. Unseen sprites whispered in my ears, daring me to turn, but I kept looking straight ahead. If I broke the pattern, I wouldn’t be able to find it for a month; the wards were too well constructed. The main route into the knowe ran through the middle of the museum, and the only other road I knew took at least an hour to finish. I didn’t have the time to waste.

  Knowes are hidden because they have to be, and not just from mortal eyes. The fae are territorial by nature; we move around, but what’s ours is ours, and we’re willing to hold it against whatever comes. Most of Faerie’s civil wars have been fought over land. Evening was a Countess in name only, with title and lands but no subjects; there was no one to protect her knowe for her. She used her magic instead, wrapping her Court in layers of illusion, tucking the doors in shadows and the walls in the whisper of wind on the water. Which was all well and good, but it made getting inside difficult.

  I waded through twenty feet of underbrush before a path appeared, unspooling through the weeds to end at the door of the battered supply shed shadowed by two enormous oak trees. Evening told me she’d planted those trees herself, a hundred years before I was born. She’d been coming this way for a long, long time.

  The whispering faded as I walked toward the shed. Its job was done. There were more accessible entrances, but this was the way you took when you didn’t want anyone to see you coming. This was the hidden road. I put my hand on the doorknob, fingers tightening as a jolt of static grazed my skin. That was my last warning. If I went any farther, I was committed.

  I opened the door.

  It swung open on hinges that might as well have been greased, despite the rust caking them. Evening was never a world-class showman as the purebloods go, but these were her lands, and they worked by her rules . . . at least for now. The spells she’d woven so carefully would fade away until the doorway into Goldengreen lost its moorings and the shed became just another abandoned storage spot. Faerie would lose another foothold in the mortal world—but not yet. For the moment, the path could still lead me out of one reality and into another. Closing my eyes, I released the knob, and stepped through.

  The door slammed behind me, already out of reach as distance rippled and distorted. The air was hot and cold at the same time, hard to breathe. This wasn’t a smooth and well-crafted door like the entrance to Shadowed Hills; this was a hole ripped between worlds, existing in both and neither at the same time.

  A single step took me to the path’s end, and the human world dropped away like a bad dream. I opened my eyes, taking a deep breath of cleaner, preindustrial air as I squinted down the dimly lit hall. It was never totally dark in Goldengreen, but this was closer than I’d ever seen it. Evening must have turned off the lights when she left, and since she hadn’t come back, they hadn’t been turned back on. That was exactly what I didn’t need. Goldengreen’s illusions were almost legendary. In the darkness, those illusions would be harder to avoid, and that could be bad for both my sanity and my health. Knowes need to be cared for, and Goldengreen had just lost its keeper, which meant I couldn’t expect it to be in a good mood. Some people say it’s silly to personify the hills; I say I’d rather overpersonify than be wrong. I figure they’re less likely to kill me if they’re flattered.

  Holding my hands out in front of me, I started walking down the hall. My hip hit the edge of a low marble table after only a few steps, and something crashed to the floor. I winced. Well, that was one less vase to break the next time I came. I kept walking, and the sound of my footsteps abruptly broadened, announcing my arrival in the knowe’s central courtyard. I allowed myself a small smile. There would probably be a way to turn the lights on from here, and once I could see, I could start looking for the door that fit my key.

  I took three steps into the open, and froze.

  Someone was breathing behind me.

  Dropping a hand to the knife at my belt, I squinted into the shadows. Whoever it was had better attack quick, or they were going to find out just what a bad week I’d been having. My friends were getting shot at, there were bits of Doppelganger mashed into my living room carpet, and my former boss and maybe-lover had been forced to barter with the Luidaeg to keep me breathing. I was not in the mood to screw around.

  The breathing changed after about five minutes of stillness, suddenly accompanied by a new sound: footsteps. I stayed where I was, and was rewarded by a figure coming slowly clear through the darkness. Whoever it was, it was male, and not much taller than I was.

  Grabbing the knife from my belt, I lunged. It was a calculated risk: I was guessing that if the man on the other end of my impromptu tackle had a gun, I would have already been dead. Anyone wanting to shoot me passed up a flawless target when they ignored my entrance. If he didn’t have a gun, the odds were shifted in my favor. He might still be better armed, but people expecting to maintain the element of surprise aren’t usually ready for you to fight back. I’ve always preferred being the jumper.

  I hit him sideways, elbow impacting with his solar plexus. Something in my shoulder ripped as I put pressure on the fresh scar, flaring into angry, throbbing pain. Even magical healing only compensates for so much; the scar looked old, but it wasn’t.

  Gravity pulled us both to the floor. I grabbed his wrist with my right hand and planted my knee in his stomach, knocking the air out of him. He tried to squirm free, making the sort of hurt, startled barking sound a seal would make if you hit it with a stick. He wasn’t going for a weapon. I paused. Who did I know that would start barking like a seal if you hurt him?

  “Connor?”

  “Yeah,” he gasped. Most of the nobility are wimps—they don’t get hurt often enough to take it in stride. I wish I could be a wimp. “Nice to see you, too.”

  “Why the hell are you sneaking around in here?” I let go of him and stood. A spreading dampness was covering my shoulder; I was fairly sure I’d managed to reopen something. “That’s not a smart thing to do. I’ve had a lousy week.”

  Connor levered himself into a sitting position, making little huffing noises. He’d obviously expected some sort of help getting up, even if it was just my hand. “I heard,” he said. The darkness kept me from seeing his face. I found myself perversely grateful for that. “Lily told me about what happened to Ross. You’re lucky you’re still alive.”

  “When did you see Lily?” I asked, narrowing my eyes. Last time I’d checked, Lily hadn’t been speaking to any of the local nobles. Like most of Golden Gate Park’s landholder
s, she liked to keep to herself.

  “Sylvester sent me. He was looking for you.”

  “What? Devin called him. He knew where I was.”

  Connor paused. “Toby, no one called. I came here because Lily said she thought you might have ended up here. The whole Duchy’s up in arms. Sylvester’s terrified.”

  I felt myself going cold. “That can’t be right.”

  “Believe it.” He stood, still breathing a little unevenly. “You hit pretty hard for a girl.”

  “And you fall down pretty easy for a boy. Connor, are you serious? Sylvester really doesn’t know where I am?”

  “He has no idea.” Connor’s feet scuffled against the floor, sending echoes through the room. “Do you mind if I turn on the lights? Having this discussion in the dark is starting to creep me out.”

  “If you know how to do it, be my guest.”

  “Right.” Footsteps moved away from me, followed by a scraping sound before the room filled with warm, colorless light that seemed to emanate from the walls. Connor was about five feet away, hand pressed flat against one of the decorative sconces. I must have been staring, because he shrugged.

  “Evening showed me,” he said. “She thought it was a good idea for someone else to know.”

  “How long ago?”

  “A few months.”

  That implied one of two things. Either Evening had been expecting to die . . . or this wasn’t Connor. “Here.” I offered him the knife I’d borrowed from Dare, hilt first. “Take this.”

  He blinked. “What? Why?”

  “Because I need you to cut yourself.” He looked blank, and I sighed. “I just got attacked by a Doppelganger, Connor. I don’t really think whoever wants me dead is going to spring for another one when the first one failed, but a girl can’t be too careful.”

  “You’re serious.”

  “Usually, yes.”

  Glowering, he took the knife and nicked his index finger, holding it up to show me. “See? Perfectly normal blood.”

  Doppelgangers can fake a lot of things. They can’t fake bleeding. “Excellent. My knife, if you would?” I held out my hand, and, still glowering, he pressed the hilt back into my palm.

  Sliding the knife back into my belt, I turned to look around the room. It seemed smaller with the lights on. A simple silver throne sat in the center, and doors were scattered almost at random around the perimeter, leading to who knew where. I’d never seen half of them used, and I was probably going to need to try them all before the day was out. Evening’s coat of arms hung on the wall, alone; there was another set of arms there once, but Dawn had been dead for almost twenty years. It just took her sister a while to catch up.

  “It’s odd that she showed you how to work the lights,” I said. “She never showed me.”

  “Would you have trusted her if she tried?”

  That stopped me. Even before the pond, I was never the most trusting of people; afterward, I’d stopped paying attention to anything but my own paranoia. Would I have trusted Evening if she’d offered? Probably not. Was I hurt that she hadn’t asked? Unfortunately, yes.

  “No,” I said, finally. “I wouldn’t have.”

  “That’s probably why she didn’t.”

  I shook my head, keeping my eyes on the wall. “I didn’t come here to talk about my personal problems.”

  “So why are you here?”

  “Because I have a job to do.”

  “And that job is in Goldengreen? You should be calling Sylvester before he freaks out completely.”

  “Like I said, I thought someone had already called him.” I looked back toward Connor, sighing. “My job is wherever Evening’s killers are. I don’t know where that is, so I’m starting here.”

  “Are you sure you’re up for this?”

  “Does it matter?” I asked. “What can they do at this point? Kill me? They’re already trying. It doesn’t matter whether I’m up for this: I’m involved, and I get uninvolved when this ends or I die. No sooner.”

  Connor frowned. “You’re bleeding.” He sounded surprised.

  “I know.” I took a look at the blood soaking my shirt, and sighed. “That’s the third shirt this week. I swear, I should just go topless.”

  “What happened?” His surprise had shifted, becoming hurt irritation. Jeez. It wasn’t like I needed someone to protect me—and if I had, there were people in line ahead of him.

  “Do you mean over the last week, or just now?” I deadpanned.

  “Just now. I already know most of the last week.”

  “Remember that Doppelganger attack I mentioned?” He nodded. “That happened. Look, you can come when I grovel at Sylvester’s feet about the fact that no one called him.”

  “You’re still bleeding.” He put his hand on my shoulder, and my heartbeat doubled. Moving with what I hoped was casual slowness, I stepped out from under it. I didn’t need this. Not now. Probably not ever.

  Get a grip, dummy, I thought. What, Devin’s not enough for you? “I reopened the wound when I tackled you. Don’t worry. I heal fast.”

  Connor took a deep breath and asked, “Will you let me help you?”

  He just kept coming up with the stumpers. Next he’d probably ask how I got in without using the front door. I turned back to the wall, saying, “Connor, I can’t involve you in this.”

  “You think Raysel did it, don’t you?” It wasn’t a question.

  “I think she might have.” I shoved my hands into my pockets. “Does that bother you?” I looked over my shoulder, waiting for him to flinch or betray some sign of guilt—anything to get my hormone levels down.

  He didn’t oblige. His expression was neutral as he said, “I don’t think she did it; it’s not her style. But I can see why you’d suspect her. Does that bother you?”

  “Yes,” I admitted. “It bothers me.” There was no point in lying.

  “Why?”

  “Because I can’t figure out why you went and married someone like her.” There: I’d said it. Maybe he’d give me an answer I could believe.

  “It was political.” It was his turn to look away. “Salt-mist needed a truce, Raysel needed a husband. She liked my looks, her parents approved, Duchess Lorden told me to go, I went.”

  “It was an arranged marriage?” My opinion of his taste went up about twenty points, but I was still horrified. Being a feudal society doesn’t mean we have to be that feudal. “We still have those?”

  “My wife certainly thinks so.”

  “That’s just not right.”

  “That’s how things are. My home Duchy needs the alliance, and I’ll do whatever it takes to protect my home.” He squared his shoulders, and my heart did a stuttering box step.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, voice unintentionally soft.

  He stepped toward me. “So am I.”

  For a moment, we just stared into one another’s eyes. His were brown from edge to edge, darkening at the center rather than resolving into a defined pupil. You could drown in those eyes. I wanted to. It would have been safer than whatever I was doing with Devin, and a lot less likely to get me killed . . . and it wasn’t an option. If I was looking for sex, I already had it, and if I was looking for love, I was probably out of luck—and either way, this wasn’t my road to take. Bracing my hands against his chest, I pushed him backward.

  “We can’t do this,” I said. My voice was hollow. It wasn’t so much that I wanted him as it was that I wanted the idea of him; the idea of someone who would hold me and tell me things were going to be okay, without having to go back Home.

  Connor gave me a hurt look, reaching out to put his hand on my shoulder. “Why not? I want to. So do you. Why can’t we?”

  “Let’s start with the easy stuff,” I said, stepping out from under his hand. “You’re married, and I don’t want to be banished. Is that a good answer?”

  “Raysel won’t care; you know that. As long as we stay married, she stays heir, and that makes her happy. It’s not a marriage. It’s a tr
eaty.”

  “I care. I won’t step on her toes.” I took another step back, shaking my head. “It’s not worth it, Connor.”

  “I don’t think you mean that,” he said, voice pitched low. The tone sent a thrumming down my spine. My central nervous system voted to abdicate. No, no, no. This was not going to happen. Not with him.

  “Look, Connor, maybe it would be worth it. I don’t know. Ask me again when we know who killed Evening, and maybe I’ll have a good answer.” I shoved my hands into my pockets. “For right now, can we just try to figure out who did this before they decide to try it again?”

  He nodded, somewhat reluctantly, and let his hand fall to his side. I felt a surge of relief mixed with remorse, and took a deep, slow breath. Oberon’s bones, what had I been thinking?

  I cast a sidelong glance his way. He was studying one of the carvings on the wall, carefully not looking at me. The answer was simple: I hadn’t been thinking at all. I’d just been reacting. I didn’t love him, but there was a time when I might have, and that was enough to move me forward. I needed to be needed. This wasn’t the right way.

  “Toby?”

  “Yeah?”

  “What are you looking for?”

  His tone told me he wanted to move on. I seized the opening. “I don’t know—something useful. Answers, maybe.”

  “Are answers usually that easy to find?”

  “After the week I’ve had, the world owes me some easy answers.”

  “Are you finding any?”

  That ranked high on the stupid questions list. “Not yet. Just some empty halls and you.” I turned in a circle, scanning the room. There were shadows in the corners, even with the lights on. There were no bodies, and the ghost of Hamlet’s father didn’t seem likely to show up, but it was bad enough. I almost thought I could hear faint noises drifting down the center hall.

  “Welcome to the haunted halls of Elsinore,” I muttered.

  Connor glanced at me. “What was that?”

  “Shakespeare.”

  “Why?”

  I paused, and in the silence of that moment, I heard the sounds from the hall again. They were real, and they were getting louder. “Did you come alone?”