A Local Habitation
Page 67
Gordan gaped at the bloody mess that was my left hand, planted her own hand on her hip, and demanded, “What have you done to yourself now?” The cafeteria’s acoustics caught her voice, bouncing it off the walls until it became an invasive presence. My headache announced its displeasure, leaving me even dizzier.
“Please stop shouting,” I moaned. I wanted to yell, but I didn’t dare. My head might explode.
Quentin stood, moving to stand a half step in front of me. Even through the pain, I was amused; he was learning how to be protective. “Shut up!”
“Oh, the pretty boy thinks he’s gonna be a big man now, does he?” Gordan said. “If you’re so tough, why is it her blood I keep having to mop up? You too good to bleed?”
“You little—”
“Stop it! Both of you!” Jan snapped. Quentin stopped mid-word, while Gordan snorted and looked away. Glaring, Jan shook her head. “You should be ashamed. Did you stop to think for a second that you weren’t helping her recover by fighting? Huh?” Neither answered. Jan sighed and knelt in front of me, lifting my chin with one hand. I didn’t fight. Connor tightened his hands on my shoulder, and waited.
Jan tilted my head to one side, then the other, studying my eyes. Whatever she saw there didn’t please her, because she frowned as she let go and stood. “The next person who yells is going to regret it. I don’t know whether whatever she did worked, but it’s left her with a pretty vicious case of magic-burn.”
Gordan turned to glare at her. “She’s the idiot that pushed her limits. Why do we have to be nice?”
“She was trying to help you!” Quentin snapped.
Jan sighed. “I know, Quentin. Gordan, can you please take a look at her wounds without being snotty about it?”
“I’ll try,” she muttered, and sat down in front of me, ignoring the dirty water covering the floor. “Give me your hand.” I did as she asked; it was easier than fighting her.
Gordan grabbed my wrist, twisting my palm toward the ceiling. The cut looked even worse in direct light. Jan gasped, while Quentin made a small gagging noise. Gordan just frowned, asking, “What did you do, argue with a lawnmower?”
I swallowed, vowing not to faint until she was done hurting me. “Silver knife. Summoning ritual. I didn’t mean to cut so deep.”
“You’re an idiot,” she said, sounding almost impressed. “You’ll be lucky if you missed the major muscles. What were you summoning again? Godzilla?”
Hands tightening on my shoulders, Connor said, “She was summoning the night-haunts.”
“Oh, right, she’s a fucking moron,” said Gordan, sounding entirely too cheerful about it.
“Gordan . . .” said Jan warningly. Gordan subsided, grumbling under her breath as she resumed her inspection of my hand. Jan waited for me to relax before asking, “Did it work?” Elliot turned toward me and Gordan glanced up, both waiting for my answer.
“Yes,” I said. “They came. Sorry about the floor.”
“No big deal,” Jan said, waving it away. “Did they . . . did they tell you anything?”
“Some, yes. We were wrong when we thought they weren’t coming. It’s just that the bodies aren’t any good to them, so they’ve been leaving them behind.”
“Why aren’t they any good?”
“For the same reason Quentin and I can’t get anything out of the blood. Whatever’s been killing your friends has been somehow stealing the . . . vitality that should be left in their bodies.”
“It’s stealing their souls?” Elliot asked, sharply.
I shook my head, wincing as it throbbed. “It’s not stealing their souls; it’s stealing their memories. Your life is stored in your blood, but the blood here is empty. Their memories are gone, and the memories are what the night-haunts need.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.” I told the lie without flinching. I’d promised the night-haunts I’d keep their secrets, and I meant it.
“It’s stealing their memory?” Jan said, putting an odd stress on the last word. Something flitted across her face, there and gone so fast I wasn’t sure I’d seen it at all.
“Yes.”
“So the night-haunts are leaving the bodies here . . .”
“Because they just don’t care,” said Gordan, and grabbed my fingers, yanking them down. The pain was incredible. I screamed.
What happened next was a little blurred. Jan shouted. I tried to jerk to my feet, and Connor pushed me back down, keeping me where I was. Quentin started to move. Suddenly, my hand was free and Gordan was on the floor with her hand pressed against her cheek. Quentin was standing between us, fists raised.
“Don’t touch her!”
Gordan pushed herself up, glaring. Quentin towered over her; she didn’t seem to notice as she spat, “I ought to kick your overprivileged ass!”
“You want to try?” Quentin asked.
“Stop it!” Jan said. They ignored her. Whatever internal rivalry they’d created, they seemed intent on finishing it.
“I think maybe I will,” Gordan said, stepping forward.
I took a deep breath, steadying myself, and stood. This time, Connor let me. The wet floor didn’t make it easy, but I managed to keep my balance. “Are you two going to cut this out, or do I need to go somewhere else?” I asked.
Quentin turned, looking mortified. “Toby, sit down, you shouldn’t be . . .”
“Gordan, back off,” Elliot snapped.
She glared. “He hit me.”
“You deserved it,” Jan replied. “Now, if we’re done being jerks? Toby, sit. Quentin, cool it. And, Gordan—was there a reason you just tried to take Toby’s hand apart?”
“Yes,” she said sullenly, rubbing her cheek. “I needed to see if she had feeling in her fingers.”
“Well, now you know. So don’t do it again.” Gordan started to speak, and Jan raised her hand. “Please, I don’t want to hear it. Yes, he hit you, and yes, you earned it. I’d like to get the rest of this story today.”
“Right.” I sighed, and sat again, leaning back into Connor. He returned his hands to my shoulders, lending silent support.
Grumbling, Gordan knelt in front of me. Quentin backed off, not taking his eyes off her. If she made one wrong move, she was going to regret it. Jan folded her arms, watching; Elliot was standing just behind her. I squinted at them, realizing how bad this looked. I was dizzy and sick from a combination of exhaustion and magic-burn, and now I couldn’t even control my assistant. How was I supposed to help these people when I was barely standing up?
“Please stop shouting,” I moaned. I wanted to yell, but I didn’t dare. My head might explode.
Quentin stood, moving to stand a half step in front of me. Even through the pain, I was amused; he was learning how to be protective. “Shut up!”
“Oh, the pretty boy thinks he’s gonna be a big man now, does he?” Gordan said. “If you’re so tough, why is it her blood I keep having to mop up? You too good to bleed?”
“You little—”
“Stop it! Both of you!” Jan snapped. Quentin stopped mid-word, while Gordan snorted and looked away. Glaring, Jan shook her head. “You should be ashamed. Did you stop to think for a second that you weren’t helping her recover by fighting? Huh?” Neither answered. Jan sighed and knelt in front of me, lifting my chin with one hand. I didn’t fight. Connor tightened his hands on my shoulder, and waited.
Jan tilted my head to one side, then the other, studying my eyes. Whatever she saw there didn’t please her, because she frowned as she let go and stood. “The next person who yells is going to regret it. I don’t know whether whatever she did worked, but it’s left her with a pretty vicious case of magic-burn.”
Gordan turned to glare at her. “She’s the idiot that pushed her limits. Why do we have to be nice?”
“She was trying to help you!” Quentin snapped.
Jan sighed. “I know, Quentin. Gordan, can you please take a look at her wounds without being snotty about it?”
“I’ll try,” she muttered, and sat down in front of me, ignoring the dirty water covering the floor. “Give me your hand.” I did as she asked; it was easier than fighting her.
Gordan grabbed my wrist, twisting my palm toward the ceiling. The cut looked even worse in direct light. Jan gasped, while Quentin made a small gagging noise. Gordan just frowned, asking, “What did you do, argue with a lawnmower?”
I swallowed, vowing not to faint until she was done hurting me. “Silver knife. Summoning ritual. I didn’t mean to cut so deep.”
“You’re an idiot,” she said, sounding almost impressed. “You’ll be lucky if you missed the major muscles. What were you summoning again? Godzilla?”
Hands tightening on my shoulders, Connor said, “She was summoning the night-haunts.”
“Oh, right, she’s a fucking moron,” said Gordan, sounding entirely too cheerful about it.
“Gordan . . .” said Jan warningly. Gordan subsided, grumbling under her breath as she resumed her inspection of my hand. Jan waited for me to relax before asking, “Did it work?” Elliot turned toward me and Gordan glanced up, both waiting for my answer.
“Yes,” I said. “They came. Sorry about the floor.”
“No big deal,” Jan said, waving it away. “Did they . . . did they tell you anything?”
“Some, yes. We were wrong when we thought they weren’t coming. It’s just that the bodies aren’t any good to them, so they’ve been leaving them behind.”
“Why aren’t they any good?”
“For the same reason Quentin and I can’t get anything out of the blood. Whatever’s been killing your friends has been somehow stealing the . . . vitality that should be left in their bodies.”
“It’s stealing their souls?” Elliot asked, sharply.
I shook my head, wincing as it throbbed. “It’s not stealing their souls; it’s stealing their memories. Your life is stored in your blood, but the blood here is empty. Their memories are gone, and the memories are what the night-haunts need.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.” I told the lie without flinching. I’d promised the night-haunts I’d keep their secrets, and I meant it.
“It’s stealing their memory?” Jan said, putting an odd stress on the last word. Something flitted across her face, there and gone so fast I wasn’t sure I’d seen it at all.
“Yes.”
“So the night-haunts are leaving the bodies here . . .”
“Because they just don’t care,” said Gordan, and grabbed my fingers, yanking them down. The pain was incredible. I screamed.
What happened next was a little blurred. Jan shouted. I tried to jerk to my feet, and Connor pushed me back down, keeping me where I was. Quentin started to move. Suddenly, my hand was free and Gordan was on the floor with her hand pressed against her cheek. Quentin was standing between us, fists raised.
“Don’t touch her!”
Gordan pushed herself up, glaring. Quentin towered over her; she didn’t seem to notice as she spat, “I ought to kick your overprivileged ass!”
“You want to try?” Quentin asked.
“Stop it!” Jan said. They ignored her. Whatever internal rivalry they’d created, they seemed intent on finishing it.
“I think maybe I will,” Gordan said, stepping forward.
I took a deep breath, steadying myself, and stood. This time, Connor let me. The wet floor didn’t make it easy, but I managed to keep my balance. “Are you two going to cut this out, or do I need to go somewhere else?” I asked.
Quentin turned, looking mortified. “Toby, sit down, you shouldn’t be . . .”
“Gordan, back off,” Elliot snapped.
She glared. “He hit me.”
“You deserved it,” Jan replied. “Now, if we’re done being jerks? Toby, sit. Quentin, cool it. And, Gordan—was there a reason you just tried to take Toby’s hand apart?”
“Yes,” she said sullenly, rubbing her cheek. “I needed to see if she had feeling in her fingers.”
“Well, now you know. So don’t do it again.” Gordan started to speak, and Jan raised her hand. “Please, I don’t want to hear it. Yes, he hit you, and yes, you earned it. I’d like to get the rest of this story today.”
“Right.” I sighed, and sat again, leaning back into Connor. He returned his hands to my shoulders, lending silent support.
Grumbling, Gordan knelt in front of me. Quentin backed off, not taking his eyes off her. If she made one wrong move, she was going to regret it. Jan folded her arms, watching; Elliot was standing just behind her. I squinted at them, realizing how bad this looked. I was dizzy and sick from a combination of exhaustion and magic-burn, and now I couldn’t even control my assistant. How was I supposed to help these people when I was barely standing up?
