A Local Habitation od-2 Page 4

  “Toby . . .”

  “I see them.” The cats in our path didn’t even bother to run as we drove down the hill; they just sauntered away, tails in the air. I pulled into a spot near the front of the lot, stopping the engine, and they promptly surrounded the car. One bold calico leaped onto the hood, staring at us through the windshield.

  “That’s just not right,” Quentin said.

  “Uh-huh,” I agreed, unbuckling my seat belt. I got out of the car, tucking the folder under my arm. Giving the cats a confused, speculative look, I glanced back toward the gate.

  There was someone—a little girl—standing by the trees. She was wearing denim overalls, and the wind was rippling her long blonde hair in a wave. The light winked off her glasses as she turned her head, looking at me. I raised a hand . . . and she was gone.

  “Okay, that was creepy,” I said. “Did you see that?”

  “See what?” Quentin asked, stepping up next to me.

  “That’s a ‘no.’ ” I squinted at the place where she’d been. There are several races in Faerie who can disappear like that. I couldn’t for the life of me guess which one she’d been.

  Quentin was giving me a funny look. “What’re you staring at?”

  “Nothing,” I said, shaking my head. “Come on.” I locked the car and turned, heading for the smaller building with Quentin close behind. Half a dozen cats followed us, stopping to spread out in a wide semicircle on the grass when we had almost reached the door. They didn’t move any closer to the building, and their eyes never left us.

  A brass plaque was bolted to the wall, out of place in its simplicity. “ ‘And gives to airy nothing a local habitation and a name—William Shakespeare.’ Huh.” I reached out to touch the lettering, and a jolt of static stung my hand. “Ow!”

  “What was that?” Quentin demanded, sounding alarmed.

  “Low-level warding spell. It’s not supposed to hurt people . . . at least, not the ones who don’t mean any harm.” I stuck my finger into my mouth, studying the plaque.

  “How does it know?”

  “See this line, here?” I indicated one of the streaks of silver, careful not to touch the metal a second time. “This is Coblynau work. It’s probably the real security system.”

  “How so?”

  “Even if someone manages to break through the gate, they won’t be able to get in with this on the door. It’s only a low- level ward for us because we’re supposed to be here. If we were here to hurt things, it’d be a lot worse.” And that “little spark” would have been enough to do some serious damage.

  “Oh,” said Quentin. “Is it safe to go in?”

  “Let’s find out.” There was a piece of cardboard taped to the door, the words “please take deliveries to the back” scrawled across it in black marker. An arrow under the words pointed toward the corner of the building. I ignored it, pushing the door open only to be hit by the dual indignities of arctic air-conditioning and a truly tasteless pea-green carpet.

  Most reception areas are meant to make people feel at home; this one combined the worst features of a seventies color scheme with plastic art-deco furniture. It seemed to be designed to make people leave as quickly as possible. The plants were also plastic, and the magazines on the glass end tables were all at least three years old.

  “Ew,” said Quentin, looking at the carpet.

  “Agreed.” I frowned. No one used this room for business; they didn’t maintain it because they didn’t have to. There was a door at the back. I started toward it. “Come on.”

  “Shouldn’t we try to call someone or something?”

  “The sign said deliveries go to the back, and this looks like the back to me.” I shrugged. “We’ve just become a delivery.” What we lacked in postage, I was sure we’d make up for in destructive potential. The knob was unlocked. That was all the invitation I needed.

  “I’m not comfortable just barging in,” said Quentin.

  “And I’m not comfortable just standing around. Follow me or don’t; it’s up to you.” I pushed the door open and walked through. I was halfway down the hall before I heard the door close, and Quentin came running to catch up. I smiled and kept going.

  ALH Computing obviously started life as a warehouse: there were no interior walls, just a labyrinthine succession of shoulder- high cubicles stretching into the distance. The floors were concrete softened by industrial-sized throw rugs. A ladder on one wall led up to the catwalks crisscrossing the ceiling. They extended far higher than the room’s evident ceiling, going up at least three tiers, maybe more, and only the bottom two were lit. It was impossible to tell what might be up there—and after a moment’s thought, I decided I probably didn’t want to know.

  This was the smaller building, and it was huge. How were we supposed to find Sylvester’s niece?

  “Toby . . .”

  “Shhh. Listen.” Someone was shouting near the center of the room, dimly audible through the twisting maze of cubicles. It was the only sound breaking the buzz of the lights—as large as the space was, it was practically deserted.

  “Whoever that is sounds pissed.”

  “Right. So we go that way.”

  “Is that a good idea?”

  “Probably not,” I said, starting into the shoulder-high labyrinth. The cubicle walls looked like they were made from loosely connected panels, like a series of giant corkboards. If I got lost, I could just knock things down until I found the way out.

  The path ended at a wide spot that seemed to be the meeting point for all the trails through the maze. Several people were gathered there, staring down one of the narrow pathways with obvious interest. All of them were fae, but only one was cloaked in the flicker of a human disguise. Interesting. The shouting was coming from somewhere down that path; the voice was female without being feminine, and swearing a blue streak in at least four different languages. Whoever it was, she seemed to have been designated as the afternoon’s entertainment.

  “How many is that so far?” asked one of them, a tall blond man who could probably have made the cover of Surf Weekly without really trying. Though you don’t see many surfers with poppy-orange eyes and pointed ears.

  The woman next to him frowned, looking at her clipboard. “Six, if you count Klingon. Are we counting Klingon?” Her hair was brown with streaks of red, making her look like the victim of a bad dye job. The combination of that hair with her china-pale skin tagged her as Daoine Sidhe; she had the right sort of artful graceless-ness, like she wore the world instead of letting it wear her.

  “No,” said another man. “Nothing fictional.” He was the one wearing the human disguise; if I squinted, I could almost see the outline of his wings.

  “Peter, that’s not fair,” protested the first man. “We allowed Elvish.”

  “Elvish is a language!”

  “Only if you’re living in a Tolkien novel,” said the brunette, shoving her glasses back up her nose. I’d never seen a Daoine Sidhe wearing glasses before.

  “Oh, come on,” protested Peter. “Hey, Colin?”

  The man next to the water cooler looked up. “Yeah?” His hair was shaggy and green, and henna tattoos covered most of his visible skin. A sealskin was looped around his waist, the ends tied in a granny knot. A Selkie? That was unusual this far inland.

  “Is Elvish a language?”

  Colin considered this, and then said, “Well, Gordan speaks it.”

  “Is that a yes or no on the Elvish?” demanded the brunette. She looked annoyed. I understood how she felt.

  “It’s not a language; Klingon is, and she just switched to Italian, which makes six.” A new man stepped out of one of the walkways, hands tucked into the pockets of his impeccably tailored suit. His hair and goatee were clipped close, not a strand out of place. “That work?”

  “Hey, Elliot. Yeah, that works,” said the brunette.

  This was worse than trying to watch opera without a program book. I cleared my throat. Quentin gave me a stricken look, but the
crowd didn’t miss a beat, continuing to debate foreign swear words. I cleared my throat again; either they couldn’t hear me, or I was being ignored.

  “Excuse me?” I said, finally.

  Elliot looked up and smiled, taking his hands out of his suit pockets. Quentin shrank back. I’m sure the expression was meant to be reassuring, but few things are less reassuring than a smiling Bannick: their teeth are sharp and mossy, and they look perfectly equipped for a nice dinner of young Daoine Sidhe. The teeth are misleading—the Bannick are actually very friendly people. They like to live in bathhouses and on coasts, and unlike the Kelpies, they don’t kill travelers. Well, not often. “I’m sorry; are you lost?” he asked.

  “No, I’m not,” I said. “I’m looking for Countess Torquill. Is she here?”

  “Sorry, no,” said the brunette, eyes still on her clipboard. “Can we help you?”

  I bit back a sigh, saying, “I really need to talk to January. Will she be back soon?” Inwardly, I was fuming. It wasn’t her fault Sylvester hadn’t told her we were coming, but I’d still expected her to be there when we arrived. No one ever accused me of being logical.

  She glanced up, smiling. “Probably not.”

  “Damn.” The multilingual cursing was still going on. I looked toward it. “What is that?”

  “That would be Gordan,” said Colin.

  “Why is she screaming like that?” asked Quentin.

  “Because she found a flaw, an error, nay, a veritable bug in her code,” said the blond, with obvious relish. “I think her poor obsessive heart may break.”

  I blinked. “Does she do this often?”

  “Every time,” he said, winking. For some reason, I felt my cheeks redden. Quentin scowled.

  “You can set your clock by it,” Colin added.

  “If you bother to set a clock at all,” said the brunette. The shouting stopped and she looked at her watch. “Twenty-one minutes, eight languages. She’s right on schedule.”

  Talking to the entire group at once was making my headache worse. “Is there somewhere we can go to wait for the Countess?”

  “Sure—have you eaten? You’re welcome to wait in the cafeteria.” Elliot glanced to the brunette, who shrugged and offered another brilliant smile. “You can get something in your stomachs while you wait for January to come talk to you.”

  “Great,” I said, and realized I meant it. Headaches make me hungry. Next to me, Quentin perked up. Teenage boys are almost always ready for another meal. “Food would be wonderful.”

  “All right, then. Follow me.” Elliot started down one of the paths into the maze, waving for us to follow. I shrugged and did as I was bid, nodding to the others as I passed. I had nothing else to do, and Quentin was looking almost pleasant for the first time since we’d arrived. Maybe after he ate something he’d stop glaring all the time.

  “Later, Elliot,” called the blond, joining Colin at the water cooler. The brunette had gone back to her notes, and Peter was wandering calmly down one of the aisles. It seemed this really was just “business as usual.”

  “See you,” Elliot said, waving again. “Keep walking,” he advised, more quietly. “They can smell fear; they’ll be on you like hawks if they know they make you nervous.”

  “You’re pulling my leg . . . right?” Quentin glanced to me, anxious.

  “He’s kidding,” I said. People who stand around taking notes while their friends scream usually aren’t dangerous to anyone but themselves.

  “Yes, I’m pulling your leg,” Elliot said. “You both look so serious.”

  “I’m on official business,” said Quentin, tone going stiff and formal.

  I shrugged. “I just have a headache.”

  “Some food and a nice cup of coffee will clear that right up.” Elliot stopped at a blue steel door and pushed it open, letting sunshine flood into the area. From behind the wall, the woman that had been swearing earlier shouted, “Turn off that damn sun!”

  “Sorry, Gordan!” Elliot called back, leading us outside. The door slammed behind Quentin, vanishing into the brick wall like it had never existed. If I squinted, I could just make out the handle. Elliot caught my expression, and smiled. “We like things tidy.”

  “Right,” I said. Quentin was standing as close as he could manage, nearly touching my elbow. Shaking my head, I turned to consider the grounds—and froze.

  The landscaping was better than the interior decoration, possibly because it didn’t exist in the real world. The sky was a nonoffensive shade of blue, and the lush green grass was studded with a froth of tiny white flowers that I recognized from my mother’s estate. Only the cats were the same. They were everywhere, watching us from picnic tables and the crooks of the carefully trimmed trees. At some point between entering and leaving the building, we’d crossed into the Summerlands. That did explain at least part of why the place seemed to be so deserted—someone inside the knowe would be invisible to someone outside of it, and vice versa. I doubled my estimation of the local feline population. If half of them were inside the knowe and half of them were outside . . . that was a lot of cats. They probably avoided the buildings because they didn’t want to transition between worlds again.

  Why would a computer company have an unannounced gate between their mortal and fae locations and a cat population the SPCA would envy? I glanced at Elliot. He was continuing blithely, not seeming to see anything strange. Right. If he wanted to play things that way, that was how we’d play them, for now. Keeping my voice level, I asked, “Is everyone here so . . .”

  “Weird?” Elliot asked. “Oh, professionally so. If you don’t mind my asking, when was your last shower?” I stared at him.

  Quentin’s mouth dropped open, and he sputtered, “How . . . how can you . . .”

  “Relax, relax!” Elliot laughed, holding up his hands. “You just look a bit frayed around the edges. May I clean you?”

  “What . . . oh,” I said, catching on. The Bannick are bath-spirits; they’re obsessed with cleanliness, and Faerie being what it is, they can sometimes enforce their own ideas about hygiene. Nothing cleans a person like a Bannick. “Sure.”

  “Toby . . .”

  “Go along with it. This is interesting.”

  “So I have your consent?” Elliot asked, looking between us. We both nodded. “Excellent. If you would close your eyes and hold your breath?”

  Right. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath and held it. Heat and moisture broke over me in a lye-scented wave. I understood why Elliot asked: it was like being scrubbed by hundreds of swift, impartial hands, and I might’ve taken it the wrong way if I hadn’t been prepared. The feeling of damp heat abated after about thirty seconds, and I opened my eyes, looking first at Quentin, then myself. We looked like we’d just received the deluxe treatment at an upscale spa; my tennis shoes were white and clean, and even a small hole in the hem of my jeans had been patched with tiny, near- invisible darns. I pointed at it, glancing curiously toward Elliot.

  He shrugged, looking embarrassed. “I can’t fix clothes on purpose, but if you’re wearing them when you have your ‘bath,’ they end up mended. All part of being clean.”

  “Cool,” I said.

  “So that’s what your hair looks like when it’s been brushed.” Quentin grinned.

  “Stuff it,” I said.

  “Now that you’re presentable, if you’ll come with me, Ms. Daye, Mister, well, Quentin?” Elliot said, opening the door into the next building. We followed him. This one looked more like a dorm, with long halls equipped with dozens of doors. “I hope you like donuts. Our cafeteria staff is out this week, so we’re having to make do.”

  He continued to chatter as he led us through a series of increasingly mismatched halls. Some stuck with the dormitory model; others looked like they’d been stolen from hospitals, high schools, or government buildings. I dropped back a bit, drawing even with Quentin, and murmured, “Keep an eye open.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “I’ll explain
when we’re alone.” Elliot looked back and waved, urging us on. I flashed a false smile, calling, “We’re coming!”

  “Just don’t get lost!” he called, and turned a corner. I exchanged a glance with Quentin, and we hurried to catch up, meeting him just in front of the cafeteria door.

  He held the door open for us, offering a shark-toothed grin as he said, “After you.”

  “Great,” I replied, and slipped into the cafeteria. It was a vast, echoing cavern of a room, studded with oddly-shaped white tables. Vending machines lined the walls. Quentin and I wound up seated with Elliot pressing coffee and donuts into our hands. That kept us distracted for several crucial minutes, giving him time to murmur vague reassurances and dart out the door.

  He’d been gone for several minutes before I put down my coffee, saying, “All right: did you notice anything odd about the landscaping?”

  “You mean the part where it’s in the Summerlands?”

  “That would be it, yeah. We’re in a Shallowing.” I shook my head. “I think the bawn is at the front door of the other building. We didn’t cross back while we were on the lawn, either.” The bawn of a knowe, any knowe, represented the point where you crossed between worlds. Usually it’s pretty well marked, at least to fae eyes. This one hadn’t been.

  “What does that mean?”

  “I don’t know. But I think we should be careful. They didn’t tell us we’d entered their knowe, and that’s a little bit suspicious.” I looked at my freshly cleaned hand. “They’re being too friendly without actually telling us anything.”

  “Right.” He poked in the box until he found a powdered donut. “Toby?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You gave your name at the gate. When did we tell him mine?”

  I lowered my coffee a second time. “We didn’t.”

  FIVE

  “ HOW LONG HAVE WE been sitting here?”

  “Fifteen minutes.”