A Local Habitation
Page 35
Alex almost smiled, agreeing, “And then there’s April. I take it you met?”
“Blonde kid, glasses, talks like the Oracle at Delphi when she was in junior high. Yeah, we met.”
“She’s creepy,” Quentin added.
“Dryads generally are,” I said, offhandedly, and paused. “That’s how she disappeared.” Dryads are one of the only races that can teleport entirely on their own. The normal ones need to be close to their trees, but if April had been integrated with the company network, she probably just needed to be close to a power outlet.
“Exactly,” Alex confirmed.
Quentin looked at me, wide-eyed. “She’s a Dryad?” “It’s a long story. Alex—”
The rest of my question was lost when April appeared next to the table, sending an electric shock through the air. I jumped, and Quentin yelped.
April looked at him. “Are you all right?” The concern sounded rehearsed.
“I’m fine,” Quentin muttered.
“You . . . surprised us,” I added.
“Mother is looking for you,” she said, feigned concern dissolving. “She wants to talk to you and has asked me to find you.” She made it sound like being out of Jan’s sight was a crime.
“So I guess we should go to her, hmm?” said Alex, grinning. She looked back at him, unimpressed: it was the first genuine expression I’d seen on her face. “Is she in her office?”
April considered for a moment before she nodded, saying, “Currently.”
“Let her know we’ll be right there, okay?”
“You will come directly?” Her tone implied we’d get distracted and wander off, leaving her to take the blame.
“Yep.”
“Excellent.” She vanished. The air rushed into the place she’d been with a gentle popping sound, leaving the smell of ozone behind.
“Sounds like that’s our cue. Quentin, come on.” I stood, finishing my coffee. Grumbling, Quentin did the same, my half-eaten sandwich in one hand. I looked to Alex. “Come on, native guide. Lead the way.”
“My pleasure,” said Alex, and grinned as he led us out of the cafeteria.
The knowe remained convoluted, verging on labyrinthine, but Alex didn’t miss a beat, turning corners and navigating halls I would’ve sworn weren’t there earlier. It wasn’t that surprising; he’d been working there long enough to have adjusted to the fact that the ground floor was on the roof and could only be reached by going down three flights of stairs. It didn’t take me that long to learn how to park in San Francisco, and that’s arguably worse.
Jan’s door was propped open with a brick. She was seated on the desk inside, laptop balanced on her knees. Drifts of paper littered the floor, knocked aside by her fidgeting.
I rapped on the doorframe. “Hello?”
Her head snapped up. “What—oh. It’s you.” She relaxed, smiling. “Hi, Toby, Quentin. Hey, Alex.”
“Hey,” Alex replied. He didn’t enter the office.
“April said you wanted us?” I stepped inside, Quentin stuffing the last of my sandwich into his mouth, swallowing, and assuming his usual “I am in the presence of nobility” stance. He was definitely developing a working definition of teenage expedience: I’ve never seen anyone swallow that much ham and cheese without chewing before.
“Yeah.” She slid off the desk, putting her laptop aside. “Alex, could you excuse us?”
“No problem—I was sort of expecting it. Toby, if you need me, ask Jan to show you my office.” He waved and left, closing the door behind himself.
I watched him go, then turned toward Jan, looking at her speculatively before I spoke. “April looks like you, if you ignore the hair.”
“She does, doesn’t she?” Jan smiled. “She was protean at first—changed her face every time she appeared—but then she decided I was her mother and started looking like me. It’s a good thing she identifies as blonde, or we’d get really confused.”
“Alex told me what you did,” I said. “How did you . . .”
“She had a living branch when she escaped the grove. I thought ‘Dryads live in trees, but nothing says they have to live in physical trees’—they’re physical manifestations of the spirits of trees anyway, so why do they need wood?” She gave a one-shouldered shrug. “I cracked a server box and worked bits of the branch she was carrying into the circuitry before the sap dried. When she started to vanish, I closed the box and restored the power—and when it came back on- line, so did she. Instant cyber-Dryad.”
“Impressive.” There was a new sharpness in her eyes and voice when she talked about April’s rescue; it was almost like talking to someone else. I was starting to understand how most people felt when they dealt with Sylvester for the first time. It was easy to assume that outward flakiness equaled stupidity. People have died making that assumption about Sylvester; I wasn’t going to make the same mistake about his niece.
Quentin was also watching her, frowning. The kid caught on quick. “Why did you call us here?” he asked.
Jan paused, enthusiasm dimming. “I needed to talk to you.”
“We’re here,” I said. “Talk.”
“I’ve got those files you asked for—and I wanted to know what you found in the basement.”
“Nothing.” I shook my head. “Quentin and I both tried, and we didn’t get anything. Maybe my mother could work with their blood, but we can’t. We’re not strong enough.”
“Is there anything else you can try?” she asked.
“Not without access to a police lab. Forensics isn’t my strong suit, and without proper equipment, it’s practically impossible.”
“We can’t involve the police.”
“I know.” The Fair Folk have it pretty good these days; no one believes in us anymore, and so we’re free to live our lives. It wasn’t always like that—there were bad times before we were forgotten, centuries filled with fire and iron. Not even the truly insane members of the Unseelie Court want to go back to that . . . but give the mortal world three fae corpses and we wouldn’t have a choice. That much proof of our existence would bring the old days back, whether we wanted them or not, and I’d face down Oberon himself before I’d let that happen.
“Blonde kid, glasses, talks like the Oracle at Delphi when she was in junior high. Yeah, we met.”
“She’s creepy,” Quentin added.
“Dryads generally are,” I said, offhandedly, and paused. “That’s how she disappeared.” Dryads are one of the only races that can teleport entirely on their own. The normal ones need to be close to their trees, but if April had been integrated with the company network, she probably just needed to be close to a power outlet.
“Exactly,” Alex confirmed.
Quentin looked at me, wide-eyed. “She’s a Dryad?” “It’s a long story. Alex—”
The rest of my question was lost when April appeared next to the table, sending an electric shock through the air. I jumped, and Quentin yelped.
April looked at him. “Are you all right?” The concern sounded rehearsed.
“I’m fine,” Quentin muttered.
“You . . . surprised us,” I added.
“Mother is looking for you,” she said, feigned concern dissolving. “She wants to talk to you and has asked me to find you.” She made it sound like being out of Jan’s sight was a crime.
“So I guess we should go to her, hmm?” said Alex, grinning. She looked back at him, unimpressed: it was the first genuine expression I’d seen on her face. “Is she in her office?”
April considered for a moment before she nodded, saying, “Currently.”
“Let her know we’ll be right there, okay?”
“You will come directly?” Her tone implied we’d get distracted and wander off, leaving her to take the blame.
“Yep.”
“Excellent.” She vanished. The air rushed into the place she’d been with a gentle popping sound, leaving the smell of ozone behind.
“Sounds like that’s our cue. Quentin, come on.” I stood, finishing my coffee. Grumbling, Quentin did the same, my half-eaten sandwich in one hand. I looked to Alex. “Come on, native guide. Lead the way.”
“My pleasure,” said Alex, and grinned as he led us out of the cafeteria.
The knowe remained convoluted, verging on labyrinthine, but Alex didn’t miss a beat, turning corners and navigating halls I would’ve sworn weren’t there earlier. It wasn’t that surprising; he’d been working there long enough to have adjusted to the fact that the ground floor was on the roof and could only be reached by going down three flights of stairs. It didn’t take me that long to learn how to park in San Francisco, and that’s arguably worse.
Jan’s door was propped open with a brick. She was seated on the desk inside, laptop balanced on her knees. Drifts of paper littered the floor, knocked aside by her fidgeting.
I rapped on the doorframe. “Hello?”
Her head snapped up. “What—oh. It’s you.” She relaxed, smiling. “Hi, Toby, Quentin. Hey, Alex.”
“Hey,” Alex replied. He didn’t enter the office.
“April said you wanted us?” I stepped inside, Quentin stuffing the last of my sandwich into his mouth, swallowing, and assuming his usual “I am in the presence of nobility” stance. He was definitely developing a working definition of teenage expedience: I’ve never seen anyone swallow that much ham and cheese without chewing before.
“Yeah.” She slid off the desk, putting her laptop aside. “Alex, could you excuse us?”
“No problem—I was sort of expecting it. Toby, if you need me, ask Jan to show you my office.” He waved and left, closing the door behind himself.
I watched him go, then turned toward Jan, looking at her speculatively before I spoke. “April looks like you, if you ignore the hair.”
“She does, doesn’t she?” Jan smiled. “She was protean at first—changed her face every time she appeared—but then she decided I was her mother and started looking like me. It’s a good thing she identifies as blonde, or we’d get really confused.”
“Alex told me what you did,” I said. “How did you . . .”
“She had a living branch when she escaped the grove. I thought ‘Dryads live in trees, but nothing says they have to live in physical trees’—they’re physical manifestations of the spirits of trees anyway, so why do they need wood?” She gave a one-shouldered shrug. “I cracked a server box and worked bits of the branch she was carrying into the circuitry before the sap dried. When she started to vanish, I closed the box and restored the power—and when it came back on- line, so did she. Instant cyber-Dryad.”
“Impressive.” There was a new sharpness in her eyes and voice when she talked about April’s rescue; it was almost like talking to someone else. I was starting to understand how most people felt when they dealt with Sylvester for the first time. It was easy to assume that outward flakiness equaled stupidity. People have died making that assumption about Sylvester; I wasn’t going to make the same mistake about his niece.
Quentin was also watching her, frowning. The kid caught on quick. “Why did you call us here?” he asked.
Jan paused, enthusiasm dimming. “I needed to talk to you.”
“We’re here,” I said. “Talk.”
“I’ve got those files you asked for—and I wanted to know what you found in the basement.”
“Nothing.” I shook my head. “Quentin and I both tried, and we didn’t get anything. Maybe my mother could work with their blood, but we can’t. We’re not strong enough.”
“Is there anything else you can try?” she asked.
“Not without access to a police lab. Forensics isn’t my strong suit, and without proper equipment, it’s practically impossible.”
“We can’t involve the police.”
“I know.” The Fair Folk have it pretty good these days; no one believes in us anymore, and so we’re free to live our lives. It wasn’t always like that—there were bad times before we were forgotten, centuries filled with fire and iron. Not even the truly insane members of the Unseelie Court want to go back to that . . . but give the mortal world three fae corpses and we wouldn’t have a choice. That much proof of our existence would bring the old days back, whether we wanted them or not, and I’d face down Oberon himself before I’d let that happen.
