A Local Habitation od-2 Page 30

  Right. For a moment there, I’d forgotten that we weren’t friends. I pushed away from the wall and opened the basement door, heading down the stairs into the makeshift morgue.

  One small, important detail had changed. If I hadn’t known the contents of the basement so intimately, I might have missed it, but as it was, it was like finding water in the desert: too out of place to overlook.

  Alex was lying in Terrie’s place.

  Tybalt breathed in sharply. Apparently, he hadn’t believed me when I said something would happen. More fool him.

  “Jackpot,” I said, with a satisfied smile.

  Alex looked like all the others: like he should open his eyes at any moment and demand to know what he was doing in the basement. There was one major difference, however, which became evident when you looked for it; the punctures on his wrists and throat were gone. The dawn had healed as it transformed.

  “What in the . . .”

  “Two people, one murder,” I said, pressing my ear against Alex’s chest. There was no heartbeat. I hadn’t really expected dawn to revive him—that would’ve been too easy—but I’d hoped. “Alex’s blood is still alive. That’s why he changed when the sun came up. Now I’ve just got to figure out how to wake him the rest of the way.”

  Tybalt growled, the sound resonating through the basement. “Why not let him rot?”

  “It’s tempting. But I need to talk to him. Besides, fae don’t actually decay.” When dawn healed him, it left him with a body that was fully intact and ready to function. I just needed to figure out how to jump-start it.

  It had to start with blood. Everything starts with blood. Pulling the knife from my belt, I turned his arm toward me and cut shallowly across his wrist. There was very little blood. It had probably settled in his veins when his heart stopped. That was fine; I could cope.

  Bending, I pressed my lips to the cut, and drank.

  Down the corridor quick now quick run away run for safety find Toby find Elliot find anyone no not now no not me no I won’t die this way I can’t I won’t so run run get awa—

  Gasping, I jerked myself out of the memories and staggered backward, into Tybalt. He caught me easily, eyes gone wide.

  “October?”

  “Too close,” I said, trying to get my breath back. “It starts too close to dying. I can’t see who killed her.”

  “Then find another way,” he said, and set me back on my feet.

  I blinked at him. “You think I can?”

  He smiled, briefly, and reached out to tuck a lock of hair behind my ear. “I believe it. This suits you far better than your silly illusions.”

  “Oh.” I kept blinking at him for what felt like an impossibly long time before wrenching my gaze away, reaching for my knife. “The blood remembers itself. There’s nothing but inertia keeping him dead.” I paused to smile, grimly. “I’m going to regret this.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Not sure. Now hush.”

  He hushed.

  Blood magic is based half on instinct and half on need. There are patterns to follow and rituals that can make things easier, but in the end, it all comes down to instinct and need. I had to have lessons in flower magic and water magic; I had to be taught to spin illusions and mix up physical charms. But blood magic . . . blood magic just told me what needed to be done, and I did it. It’s the only thing that’s ever come without a struggle, even if it’s never been exactly easy.

  My mother can make stone sing with a few drops of blood and a heartfelt plea. I wasn’t looking for anything that flashy. Just a little resurrection.

  Placing the knife against my left wrist, I cut a careful X, deep enough to bleed but shallow enough that it wouldn’t be life threatening if I took care of it quickly. The smell of grass and copper began to rise, crackling in the air as the spell, still half-formed, began to sing. Good. Blood welled up from the cuts, running down my arm. The smell of copper strengthened, overwhelming the grass almost entirely.

  Keeping my movements deliberate, I placed my knife gingerly on the counter and turned toward Alex, tilting my arm to let the blood run down my fingers. The gauze covering my hand promptly turned a rich and vivid red. I ignored it; for the moment, it wasn’t important. Things felt exactly right. Even the pain wasn’t important. All that mattered was the pattern that the blood was telling me to follow.

  “October . . .”

  I’d almost forgotten that Tybalt was in the room. “Hush,” I said again, beginning to drip blood onto Alex’s forehead and lips before pressing my hand flat over his heart, leaving a crimson handprint. The magic was catching hold, the pattern so clear I could almost see it . . . and it wasn’t enough. The pieces of the spell were there, but the picture wasn’t coming clear.

  Fine. If the universe wanted to play rough, I’d play rough. Raising my wrist, I chanted, “Oak and ash and willow and thorn are mine; blood and ice and flowers and flame are mine.” I pressed my lips to the cut, taking a mouthful of blood and swallowing. It burned all the way down. “Mine in turn are those who hold me, hurt me, bend me to their ends; I have bled and burned here, and I demand the return of what is mine.” The scent of cut grass and copper was overpowering. I took a second mouthful of blood and bent over Alex, pressing my lips to his and forcing the blood into his mouth.

  The spell shattered in a mist that sent me staggering. My feet slipped on the bloody floor and I nearly fell before Tybalt caught me, holding me upright.

  And Alex opened his eyes.

  That was the final piece to end the feeling of absolute serenity that had come when the spell caught hold; suddenly, I realized that I was bleeding, dizzy, and my head was pounding. What’s more, the taste of blood was coating my throat, making me want to gag. “Damn,” I muttered, stepping away from Tybalt to grab the sheet off Yui’s cot and start wrapping it around my arm. I’d just raised the dead—technically—and I didn’t need to bleed to death as a consequence. I’m not that fond of irony.

  “Oberon’s balls . . .” whispered Tybalt, in a small, awed voice. I glanced toward him, and he looked away, not meeting my eyes. That hurt.

  There would be time to worry about Tybalt later. I wrenched my attention back to Alex, who was sitting up now, eyes unfocused. He didn’t look like he was quite all there, and I couldn’t blame him. Being dead couldn’t have been easy.

  “Welcome back, Sleeping Beauty.” All that blood was a little distracting. I didn’t know whether I wanted to throw up or faint.

  “I . . .” Alex raised his hands, staring at the bloody fingerprints running down his arms. “I’m alive?”

  “Good guess.”

  “How . . .”

  “You weren’t really dead. You just thought you were.”

  “What?” He looked at me blankly. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Tybalt doing the same.

  I sighed. “You weren’t dead.” I felt surprisingly lucid, despite the pain and blood loss. I should really learn to recognize when I’m in shock. I can spot it in everyone else, but it somehow always takes me by surprise. “Whatever attacked you tried to drain the memories from your blood. I think that’s what actually kills people. They lose themselves.” I paused, wobbling. “It got Terrie, but it couldn’t get to you. Not at night. So here you are.”

  Alex’s eyes went wide. “Terrie’s dead,” he whispered.

  “I’m sorry.” And then everything hit me at once.

  Dying probably takes a lot out of you. I wouldn’t know—I’ve never died—but I know how hard blood magic can be on the body. I managed to take a shaky step toward the cot before I fell. Tybalt didn’t catch me this time. Alex was shouting, far away, and I angrily thought that I’d told them not to go anywhere alone. What was he doing all the way over there? I tried to tell him to go find the others, but there were no words, just the taste of blood and ashes . . .

  And there was darkness.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  I WOKE SLOWLY, fighting every inch of the way. The more awake I
was, the more I hurt . . . but I was alive. That would have to do. I’ve always run myself hard—it’s one of my worst flaws—but I’d never tried two major acts of blood magic that close together before, and I was starting to think I’d blown some sort of internal fuse. My headache was worse than ever. I groaned, raising my right hand to my temple, and the last of the comfortable darkness dissolved, leaving me inarguably awake.

  Damn.

  “Toby? Are you all right?” I didn’t recognize the voice. That wasn’t surprising. I barely recognized my name.

  “Is she awake?” This voice was higher, although not high enough to be April. I sorted through the possible speakers, settling on Gordan. That wasn’t good, given my suspicions.

  “Her pulse is steady,” said a third voice. This one I recognized: Tybalt. Once I allowed that moment of recognition, I realized I was on my back with my head on someone’s leg, and that something cool and damp was pressed against my forehead. Probably a washcloth. “I think we just need to wait.”

  “I’ll wake up fast if someone gets me some coffee,” I said, not opening my eyes.

  “Toby!” That was Alex. Oh, good. He’d stayed not-dead. “You’re okay!”

  “No, I’m annoyed. There’s a big difference.” The inside of my mouth tasted like dried blood. Yuck. “Can I get that coffee?”

  Shuffling footsteps on what sounded like tile. “Toby, this is Elliot. Can you hear me?”

  “I’m answering you, aren’t I?” All this talking was making my headache worse. I was starting to seriously question the wisdom of not being dead.

  “She’ll be fine if she doesn’t do anything else stupid,” said Gordan, tone making it quite clear that she wasn’t harboring delusions about my intelligence.

  I considered my options. Movement was out—my head wasn’t allowing any argument—but I could open my eyes if I was willing to deal with the pain. I’d have to do it eventually.

  When I worked at Home, I woke up with hangovers on a regular basis. Most of them made me feel like my skull had liquefied. This was worse. The light was too strong, and the colors were too bright. I winced, forcing my eyes to stay open as I looked around. My head was in Tybalt’s lap. Elliot and Alex were standing nearby, and Gordan was off to one side, packing things back into her first aid kit.

  “How do you feel?” asked Alex.

  “Like I’ve been through a meat grinder. Am I getting that coffee?”

  “You lost a lot of blood,” said Gordan. “That’s twice I’ve had to tape you back together. Don’t make me do it again.”

  “I’m not planning to.” Especially since I was pretty sure she wanted to take me apart herself.

  “Good.” She picked up her kit and turned, starting for the stairs.

  “No going off alone,” said Elliot.

  She stopped, scowling. “I need to get back to work.”

  “Take Alex.”

  “No,” I said quickly. “I need to talk to him.”

  “Well, I have work to do.” Gordan glared at us all.

  “So go do it,” I said, hoping I sounded tired enough that she’d believe I was slipping—and that she really was our killer. I wanted to be sure before I confronted her. I also wanted to be able to stand under my own power. “Call April if anything happens.”

  “Your concern is touching,” she said, and flounced up the stairs.

  Elliot turned to me once she was gone, frowning. “You let her go off alone.”

  “Yeah, I know.” I tilted my head back, looking up at Tybalt. “Help me sit up?”

  Without a word, he slid his hands under my back and scooped me into a sitting position. I pulled away, managing to support myself for almost a second before my arm buckled and I fell back against his chest. He put an arm across my shoulders, holding me there.

  “Stay,” he said, firmly.

  “You got it,” I said, looking around the room. We were still in the basement. A thick bandage had been wrapped around my left wrist, streaks of red staining the white. Tybalt and I were sitting on the cot where we’d placed Terrie’s body. That made sense. It was available real estate now.

  “You were bleeding so much we didn’t dare move you,” said Elliot. “If Tybalt hadn’t told us you did it to yourself, we’d have thought you were attacked. I’ve never met anyone who cuts themselves open as often as you do.”

  “It’s a talent of hers,” said Tybalt.

  “Not a good one,” said Elliot, picking up a mug and offering it to me. “Drink this.”

  “Coffee?” I took the mug, peering into it. It wasn’t coffee. Not unless the description had been rewritten to include “green and sticky.”

  “No,” said Elliot. It was good to know that I didn’t need to add hallucinations to my list of symptoms. “Just drink it.”

  “I don’t drink green things.”

  “I made it. Drink it.”

  That didn’t strike me as being an incentive. “What is it?”

  “One of Yui’s recipes,” he said. It was the first time he didn’t flinch when he said her name. “It’s good for headaches. She used to give it to Colin when he stayed human too long.”

  I peered into the cup. If it tasted anything like it smelled, I was going to be very unhappy. Still . . . “Does it work?”

  “Colin said it did.”

  “Right.” I was an excellent target in my current condition, and I couldn’t afford to turn down anything that might help. Squeezing my eyes shut, I chugged the contents of the cup.

  It didn’t taste as bad as it looked. It tasted worse. Stars exploded behind my eyes as the mug slipped out of my hands to shatter on the floor. For a moment, I was halfway convinced that I’d been poisoned; then my headache withdrew, so abruptly that it left me dizzy. The ache in my wrist and hand seemed to worsen, filling the vacuum, but that was the sort of pain I could deal with. I’m used to it.

  I opened my eyes. The world snapped obligingly into focus. “What was in that stuff?”

  “Pennyroyal, cowslips, and wisteria, mostly,” Elliot said. “Are you all right?”

  “No, but I’m feeling better.” Sometimes I hate our inability to thank each other. Tap-dancing around the phrase gets old, especially when I’m tired.

  “Good,” said Tybalt, removing his arm.

  I leaned back on my good hand, taking a breath. I still felt queasy, but it was nowhere near as bad. Straightening, I turned to Alex. He looked surprisingly good for someone that had recently been dead.

  “We need to talk,” I said.

  He nodded, slowly. “I think you’re right. Was I really . . . ?”

  “As a doornail. How are you feeling?”

  Alex shuddered, saying, “I don’t know. It feels like part of me is missing.”

  “Part of you is missing, Alex.” I shook my head. “I don’t think Terrie’s coming back.” He looked stricken. I pushed on anyway, asking, “Do you remember anything about what happened?” You’d better, because I can’t do that again, I added, silently.

  Alex licked his lips, looking between me and Elliot before he said, “I don’t usually remember what happens to Terrie.”

  “But this time you do?”

  “A . . . a little bit.” He grimaced. “She felt awful when you left. So she went for a walk.”

  “Did she see anyone?”

  “Well, yeah.” He sounded slightly surprised. “April. She said Gordan wanted me. Wanted Terrie.”

  “So Terrie followed her?” I asked. I felt Tybalt stiffen beside me.

  Alex hesitated. Then, slowly, he nodded.

  “Elliot. April is the interoffice pager, right? That’s her job?”

  “Yes, exactly,” said Elliot, starting to look as uncomfortable as I felt. He was connecting the lines. I could see it in his eyes.

  “So all of you, you just follow her whenever she asks you to.”

  “Well . . . yes.”

  “I see.” At least I thought I did, and I didn’t like what I was looking at. Maybe April couldn’t have been the
one to kill Peter . . . but nothing said Gordan had to be working alone. “Where did she take Terrie?”

  “The generator room.” Alex paused, expression twisting. “Where Peter died.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “I . . . we . . .” Alex closed his eyes, starting to talk more quickly. “She said to wait, and she vanished. And the lights went out.”

  “Just the lights in the generator room?”

  “There were still lights on in the hall. Terrie has . . . Terrie had really good night vision, and she saw something in the shadows. You said not to go off alone. That’s when she realized she was alone.”

  “Is that when Terrie ran?”

  “No. She called for Gordan—she’s always hanging out in weird places, it could have been her—but she didn’t answer, and that was sort of scary. So Terrie ran.” He was talking faster and faster, like he could outrun what he was saying. “Whoever it was followed her into the hall, so she kept running. Terrie made it outside.” A sigh. “She thought she was safe.”

  “What happened then?” He started to shake, not answering. “Alex?”

  He didn’t stop shaking, but started to talk again, voice dull: “Something hit her from behind. There was this pain in her throat and wrists and then in her chest . . . and then it was over.” He raised his head. “Then you were kissing me.”

  Tybalt growled. I put a hand on his knee, signaling him to be still. Things were coming together with fast, fierce finality. April had given me the last piece I really needed; I’d just been too distracted to see it. When she came to Colin’s office, she said I was going to find out what caused them to remain isolated from the network. And when Jan died, she said there were no more reboots. She didn’t want to know why they were dying, because she already knew why.

  She wanted to know why they weren’t coming back to life.

  “Is that everything?” I managed, trying not to let him see how stunned I felt.

  “Yes,” he said, with a small, unsteady nod.

  “All right.” I slid to my feet, grabbing the edge of the cot and holding on until the world stopped swaying. Tybalt moved to catch my arm, but I held up my hand, motioning him off. When I was sure I wouldn’t fall, I let go and took a cautious step. My balance held. Maybe I wasn’t up to running for my life, but I could walk, and that was a start. “Where’s April’s room?”