A Local Habitation od-2 Read online

  Whoever it was wasn’t making any hostile moves; they were just leaning. Most psychopaths seek blood before cuddling—it’s a trait of the breed. And no, I don’t think they’d have killed less if they were hugged more. I just think that by the time they start killing, they aren’t necessarily looking for a pat on the back.

  I looked down. April was huddled against me, eyes closed, tears rolling down her cheeks in fractal patterns. “April?”

  She didn’t open her eyes. “I didn’t think my mother could go off-line.”

  “Oh, April.” I bit my lip, not sure what to say next. It was easy to forget her origins and focus only on her strangeness. Maybe she wasn’t normal, but Jan was her mother—probably the only one she’d ever had. Dryads don’t exactly come from nuclear families. I settled for the most inconsequential, least hurtful words I could find: “I’m sorry.”

  “She was supposed to take care of me, but she left the network without me. How could she do that? She has to take care of me.”

  “I’m sure she took good care of you.” I winced as soon as I spoke, realizing how patronizing that had to sound.

  April realized it too, because she raised her head, expression fierce. “She did take good care of me. She always did.” She paused, continuing more quietly, “People said she only cared about me because I was new, and she’d forget me when she found something else new. But they were wrong. She took care of me. When I was hurt or sick or confused or anything, she took care of me. She always . . .” Her voice trailed off.

  “She always what, April?”

  “She kept my systems operational,” she said. “She loved me.”

  That surprised me more than it should have. I knew April was devoted to Jan. I hadn’t realized she understood what love was. Quietly, I said, “I think I understand.”

  “Do you?” she asked, pulling away. It was hard to get used to the emotion in her voice. She’d been sounding steadily more alive—more “real”—since Jan died.

  I only wished her mother could have seen it.

  “I think so.”

  “I would never have let anything hurt her.”

  “I know.”

  “I hope so,” she said, and shook her head. The tears on her cheeks disappeared like they’d never been. “There aren’t many choices left. I have to go now, and you have to think. It’s important.” Then she was gone in a haze of static, leaving me alone.

  “April? April, come back—what’s important? April!” I stared at the empty air, hoping she’d reappear and explain herself. No such luck. “What was that about?”

  Picking myself up off the floor, I raked the fingers of my good hand through my hair, looked toward the futon room door, and turned, with a sigh, to walk back toward the cafeteria.

  I couldn’t go. I wanted to, and I couldn’t. If it had just been Jan, maybe I could have left the mess for Sylvester, but April . . . April needed someone to find out what had happened to her. I owed that to her, and I owed it to her mother.

  To my surprise and mild disappointment, the cafeteria was not the site of further carnage. Terrie was gone, and Tybalt and Elliot were at opposite sides of the room, Tybalt glaring, Elliot trying to look like he wasn’t uncomfortable about being glared at. Tybalt straightened as I entered, attention refocusing on me.

  I moved until I was standing nose-to-nose with Elliot, and said, “We’re staying until Sylvester gets here. Not for your sake. For Jan’s. And if Alex comes near me again, night or day, I’ll kill him. Do you understand?”

  He raised his hands, supplicating. “We weren’t trying to endanger you.”

  “You could’ve fooled me.”

  “Terrie can’t help what she is—it’s her nature to make people love her, just like it’s your nature to pull answers from the dead.” He paused. “I’ve always wondered why the Daoine Sidhe have that gift. You’re Titania’s children. Why are you so tied to blood?”

  “Because we’re also Oberon’s, and no one else was willing to take the job. Cut the crap, Elliot. Do you want my help or not?”

  He looked at me blankly. “Yes. We do.”

  “Then you need to follow my rules. Can you do that?”

  “I can,” he said slowly, like he found the words distasteful. Tough.

  “Good.” I stepped away from him. “First rule: no one goes anywhere alone, no matter how secure you think the area is or how certain you are that nothing will happen. There aren’t many of you left. I’d like to keep the ones we have.”

  Elliot nodded. “I’ll order everyone that’s still here to travel together.”

  “Can you make them listen?”

  “I think so.”

  “Good. Second rule: if I ask a question, I want an answer, not an excuse and not a string of technical terms you know I won’t understand. A real answer. Can you promise me that?”

  “I promise.”

  “Swear.”

  “Toby, do I really need—” He saw the look on my face, and stopped. “Fine. I swear by root and branch and silver and iron, by fire and wind and the faces of the moon. May I never see the hills of home again, if I deceive.” He paused. “Will that do?”

  “For now.”

  “And you’ll help us?”

  “We will. Let’s go give Connor a status, check on Quentin, and . . .” I paused. “Where’s Terrie?”

  “She left,” Tybalt said, sounding satisfied. “Best she stays gone.”

  “So she’s alone?” If she wasn’t our killer, she might well be a target. I didn’t like her. I didn’t want her dead.

  “I suppose,” said Elliot.

  “Oh, Maeve’s teeth. Tybalt? Can you find her?”

  He nodded, barely, and took off at a run. I followed a beat behind him. I didn’t know that anything was wrong—not really—but I knew that every time I’d gambled with fate in this place, I’d come up snake eyes. The house always wins.

  Tybalt hit the door Alex had led me through earlier, rushing out into the warm night air with me and Elliot at his heels. The smell of blood hit me even before I saw Terrie lying loose-limbed and still in the grass. The cats were gone. It was the first time I’d been outside ALH without seeing cats.

  “Oh, you poor thing,” I said, glancing to Elliot and Tybalt. “Tybalt, go find the cats. See if they saw anything.” He nodded. “Elliot . . .” Elliot was pale and shivering, shaking his head from side to side. I sighed. “Stay there.”

  Tybalt turned, vanishing into the shadows as I walked toward Terrie’s body. Kneeling beside her, I turned her head to the side, revealing the puncture just below her jaw. Similar punctures marked her wrists, exactly where I expected them to be. “Jan really was a fluke,” I muttered. Our killer was back to the normal pattern.

  Terrie’s skin was still warm, even warmer than Peter’s had been. We’d almost made it in time. Too angry and exhausted for delicacy, I lifted her arm, raised her punctured wrist to my mouth, and drank.

  Blood is always different. It has a thousand tastes, spiced by life and tainted by memory. Take away those flavorings and all you have left is copper, cloying and useless. Terrie’s blood was empty. I prepared to spit it out, and paused, licking my lips. There was something there. Ignoring Elliot’s choked-off gasp, I took another mouthful. Yes; there was definitely something there, something not quite gone. It was just a flicker of memory, a distant whisper of clover and coffee, too faint to tell me anything . . . but it was there.

  I sat back on my haunches, frowning. What was different here? What distinguished this death from the rest? The others were purebloods; Terrie was a changeling. Maybe that was it. Or maybe it was the fact that she was two different people . . . and only one of them had died.

  “Elliot? What time is it?”

  “A little after eight.” He hesitated. “Why?”

  I smiled, and he blanched. I could feel the blood drying on my lips. “Let’s move her to the basement. I want to check on Quentin, and then I’m going to sleep until Sylvester gets here. I need to be alert in t
he morning.”

  “Why?” he asked. He didn’t sound like he really wanted to know.

  Tough. Still smiling, I said, “Because at sunrise, I’m going to wake the dead.”

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  WE WAITED FOR TYBALT to return before moving the body. His mood had grown even worse while he was scouring the knowe for cats; someone, he reported, had driven them away with a high-pitched sound, leaving them skittish and miserable. Someone was going to pay for that if he had any say in the matter.

  He and I carried Terrie’s body through the knowe together. Ignoring Elliot’s disturbed stare, we moved Colin’s body to the floor, settling Terrie in his place. I’d need easy access to her body, and Colin wasn’t in a position to object. The dead are usually pretty mellow about that sort of thing. The basement was getting crowded. Most of the bodies looked like movie models, too pristine to be real; the only body that seemed even halfway natural was Jan’s beneath its mottled sheet of red and brown. I still didn’t understand why Jan had been killed so differently from the others. What was I missing?

  “You can go,” I said, glancing toward Elliot. “Call April, and stay with her. Make her take you to Gordan.”

  For a moment, he looked like he might argue. Then he nodded, heading up the stairs without another protest. I watched him, trying to ignore the pain in my head and hand. I was so tired. I needed to sleep before the morning’s work, or I wasn’t going to survive it. And there were still things I had to do.

  Tybalt remained silent until Elliot was gone. Then he swung his head around to look at me, asking, “What do you intend to do?”

  “Something really, really stupid.” He narrowed his eyes, and I shrugged. “Look: Terrie and Alex share a body, but they’re not the same person. If Terrie’s dead, and Alex isn’t, I might be able to jump-start him somehow. That could wake the blood back up.”

  He paused. “I don’t know whether that’s brilliant or suicidal.”

  “That’s all right.” I offered him the ghost of a smile. “Neither do I.”

  “Charming.” He walked toward me, fingered the collar of the jacket I was wearing, and said, “It suits you, I think. You should keep it.”

  “Tybalt, I—”

  “Not that I would have it back, after the amount of blood you’ve doubtless shed on it.” He pulled his hand away. “You’re about to ask me for something. I recognize the look.”

  “I am.” For a moment, I wanted to catch his hand, just to have something to hold onto. The moment passed. “I don’t know where Sylvester is, and he shouldn’t be taking this long. Can you go and try to find him?”

  “Not until I’ve seen you safe.”

  I shot him a sidelong look. He looked imperiously back.

  Finally, I sighed. “Whatever.”

  We walked the deserted halls in silence. At the futon room door, I knocked, and Connor let me in, only looking slightly askance at Tybalt. Quentin was asleep, his face pale in the gloom, while the Hippocampi frolicked in their tank, unaware of the dangers around them. Lucky things.

  Tybalt nodded to Connor, then to me, before turning and melting away into the shadows of the hall. I closed the door, locking it, and looked at Connor. “Wake me half an hour before dawn or when Sylvester gets here, whichever comes first.”

  “Do I want to ask?”

  “Probably not,” I said, wearily. He nodded, hugging me briefly before letting me stretch out on the floor in front of the futon. I fell asleep almost as soon as my eyes were closed.

  If I had any dreams, I don’t remember them.

  “Toby, it’s time.” Connor’s voice, only inches from my ear. I jerked upright, nearly smacking my head into his, and stared at him.

  “What?”

  “It’s time.”

  “Sylvester—”

  “Tybalt can explain.” From the grim set of his lips, it wasn’t good.

  I nodded. “All right. Just a second.” I stood, taking my time getting to my feet, and reached over to feel Quentin’s forehead. He wasn’t hot enough to worry me, and his breathing was even. Infection was a risk—it’s always a risk—but he wasn’t going to die in his sleep.

  Tybalt was waiting in the hall, along with Elliot. Connor stepped out with me, keeping his hand on the doorknob. I looked between them.

  “Well?”

  “Your monarchs are such charming people,” said Tybalt, not bothering to hide his disdain.

  I groaned. “Riordan.”

  “She won’t believe Duke Torquill is here for valid reasons,” Elliot said. “I called her seneschal as soon as I heard, but . . .”

  “But she’s stopping them at the border?”

  “Indeed.” He nodded grimly.

  “That’s just . . . damn.” I sighed. “All right, where’s Gordan?”

  “In April’s room, with the door locked. Everyone’s accounted for.”

  I knew where everyone was. So why didn’t I know where to point the finger? April was Jan’s daughter. Gordan lost her best friend and Elliot lost his fiancée—who was left? Unless there was somebody else in the building, I was almost out of people, and completely out of suspects.

  “Fine. Connor, stay with Quentin. Eliot,Tybalt, come with me.” I started for the cafeteria before Connor could object. “I need coffee.”

  “You’re so charmingly predictable,” said Tybalt, dryly, and followed.

  Elliot looked between us, asking, “What are you intending to do?”

  “Just what I said: wake the dead. Don’t ask for details. I don’t have any.”

  He stopped, staring at us before managing to ask, in a hushed tone, “All the dead?”

  Oh, oak and ash. I hadn’t intended to make him think that . . . “No,” I said. “I can’t do that. I’m sorry. I don’t have it in me. But there’s still a chance for Alex.”

  Elliot looked momentarily heartbroken, and I wanted to slap myself. I’d been mad at these people for being so damn vague, and now I was doing the same thing to them. “I see.”

  The bloodstains had been cleaned off the cafeteria floor, and there was already a pot of coffee waiting on the counter. I headed straight for it, snagging a mug.

  “I told you she was fond of her coffee,” commented Tybalt.

  “Observant,” I said, approvingly. “Hey, Elliot, why’s Gordan in April’s room, anyway?”

  “Maintenance.”

  “Maintenance?” I echoed, filling my mug.

  “Her server has to be checked every morning. Gordan’s the only hardware expert left.”

  Tybalt frowned. I realized that he hadn’t been filled in as to April’s nature. “Why does this ‘server’ require checking?”

  “If it breaks down or loses power, April goes off-line.” Elliot shrugged. “We have to perform regular maintenance to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

  I paused, mug halfway to my lips. “Repeat the bit about the power.”

  “If April’s server loses power, she’s off-line for the duration.”

  “And off-line means what, exactly?”

  “She disappears. She leaves the network and ‘dies’ until the power comes back.”

  “And then what? She’s fine?”

  “Well, yes. As soon as she’s been rebooted.”

  I put my cup down. “Right.” No wonder April didn’t understand why Jan wouldn’t wake up; she didn’t understand death, because every time she “died,” she came right back to life. She would have been the perfect suspect, the innocent killer . . . if not for Peter, who died during a power outage. How could she kill him when she was “dead” herself? “Can she come here?”

  “Not during a maintenance window.”

  “Right.” I started toward Tybalt. “Where’s her room?”

  “Near Jan’s office.”

  “Okay.” I glanced at the clock. The sun would be up soon, and the answers I needed would only be found with the dead. “Do you have a key to the futon room?”

  Elliot frowned. “Yes.”

  “Good. Now
listen carefully: don’t go anywhere near April’s room. I want you to head back to the futon room, and lock yourself in. Don’t let anyone in. If April shows up . . .” I paused. “Don’t let her open the door.”

  His frown was deepening. “What are you talking about?”

  “Just trust me, okay?” It wasn’t Terrie: Terrie was dead. It wasn’t Elliot: if he’d been the killer, I’d have been dead as soon as we were alone together. That left April and Gordan . . . and April didn’t understand what death was, but could never have been the one to kill Peter.

  We had a problem.

  Elliot frowned worriedly, saying, “All right,” before turning to hurry out into the hall.

  “Will he be safe?” Tybalt asked. The question sounded academic; he didn’t care one way or the other, and he wasn’t bothering to pretend.

  “April’s off- line and Gordan’s busy,” I said. “This may be the last time he’s safe.” I looked up at him. “I’m assuming you plan on coming with me.”

  He smiled, very slightly. “As if I’d let you risk life and limb alone?”

  “Right,” I said. “This way.”

  It was almost dawn when we reached the basement door. I thought about trying to make it down the stairs and decided not to push it. I might make it. I might also be halfway down when the sun came up, and the idea of breaking my neck because I was dumb enough to play chicken with the dawn didn’t appeal. Closing my eyes, I leaned against the wall, and waited. Tybalt put his arm around my shoulders, and I jumped, but didn’t look. Dawn always passes. That’s one of the few things I like about it.

  If I hadn’t slept, the force of the sunrise would have been enough to knock me out. As it was, my headache was back full force by the time the pressure went away, leaving me queasy and glad that I’d skipped breakfast. I would have been sick otherwise. Tybalt kept his arm around my shoulders the whole time, steadying me. As dawn passed, I opened my eyes and flashed him a grateful look. He turned away, expression unreadable.