An Artificial Night
Page 18
“But they don’t look—”
“Lily healed them. Katie . . .” I sighed. “She’s pure human, right? Not thin-blooded or a merlin?” Humans with very small amounts of fae blood are sometimes still capable of working magic and perceiving the fae world; it’s rare, but it happens. We call them “merlins,” and we avoid them when we can. They’re dangerous, in their way.
“She’s human,” Quentin said, glaring.
I winced. “I didn’t mean to imply anything. But Quentin—whatever this is, it’s snatched purebloods, changelings, and now a human girl. What does that mean?”
“It means we have to get her back,” he said, jaw set in a hard line.
“Right,” I said, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Does anybody know you’re here?”
“Not exactly. I came straight from school.”
“So kids are disappearing and you just ran out? Did you at least tell Sylvester and Luna you’d be home late?” Quentin’s parents fostered him at Shadowed Hills to be trained in the courtly arts. I’ve never met them, but they must have been fairly minor nobility to place him in a court as unfashionable as Sylvester’s. Judging by the slight accent Quentin displayed in times of stress, they were somewhere in or near Canada. The Torquills are both his liege lords and his parents now, at least until the fosterage ends.
“No . . .”
“Maeve wept, Quentin.” I stood. “Stay where you are. Understand?”
He nodded as I stalked back to the kitchen, where I grabbed the phone and dialed the number for Shadowed Hills. The phone rang twice before a man’s voice came on the line, saying, “Shadowed Hills. How may I assist?”
I paused, amazement overwhelming my annoyance. “Etienne, is that you?”
“Oh, blast. Hello, Toby,” he said, wearily. “Please don’t start.”
“Was the phone in danger? Did they have to get a big, brave knight to guard it?” Etienne is one of Sylvester’s most reliable knights. Pureblooded Tuatha de Dannan and so honorable that he squeaks—in short, boring as hell. I respect the man and even like him in the abstract, but when it comes to actually spending time around him, well, let’s just say that we’ve devoted a lot of time to driving each other crazy.
“Melly is out, so someone had to mind the phone. What’s going on?” It was impossible to miss the disapproval in his tone. I’m a lot more likely to just show up, trouble following on my heels, than I am to call ahead.
“Right. Sorry.” I sobered, saying, “Quentin’s at my place. He’s fine, and I’m about to bring him back to the knowe.”
“Quentin’s there? Why in the world would he be—”
“He came on his own, Etienne, I didn’t steal him or anything.” His answering silence betrayed how close I’d been to guessing what he was thinking. I sighed. “Please let people know that Quentin is safe and will be there shortly for you to yell at in person.”
“Of course,” he said, stiffly. “Open roads.”
“Kind fires, Etienne,” I said and hung up the phone.
I was smacking my head rhythmically against the wall when I heard Quentin clear his throat behind me, saying, “Toby? What’s wrong? Who was that on the phone?”
I stopped banging my head and straightened, turning to face him. “Come on. We’re leaving.”
He followed me to the front door, asking, “Where are we going?”
“I’m taking you back to Shadowed Hills.”
“What?” He stopped, staring at me. “Why?”
“This situation is too dangerous. I’m not going to risk your life again.” The last time Sylvester sent me on a job, Quentin came along to watch and learn. He learned, all right. He learned what it’s like to get shot and nearly die, and what it’s like to bury your liege lord’s only niece. There are some lessons I really don’t feel like reinforcing.
“But—Katie!” Quentin protested.
“I’m on it. I don’t need your help.” I’d risk my own life to bring the children home, but I wouldn’t risk anyone else. Nobody was going to get hurt on my watch; especially not Quentin. I’d already hurt him enough.
He stared at me, looking like I’d just slapped him. “But she’s my girlfriend. You’re supposed to . . .”
“To what? Let you help?” I shook my head, doing my best to sneer. It hurt, but not as badly as the thought of his broken body. “Haven’t you been paying attention? When people get involved with me, they die. I’m not taking you on this case.”
“I have to find her. Please, Toby, she’s just human; she doesn’t know—”
“You’re not trained and you’re not coming.” I was being cruel, but there was no other way. Not unless I wanted my Fetch to stand for his death as well as mine.
Quentin recoiled, eyes wide and hurt for an instant before his expression hardened. He nodded curtly. “Fine. I’ll find her on my own.”
“No, you won’t. Come on.”
“What?”
“Like I said, I’m taking you back to Shadowed Hills.” He glared. I glared back. I’ve had more practice, and he looked away first, hunching his shoulders. I briefly considered changing my clothes, but dismissed the idea. Quentin might sneak out if I left him alone. I wanted him where I could see him until I got him back to the knowe.
“Toby . . .”
“Come on.” I grabbed his arm and tugged him outside. Spike followed, darting between my feet and nearly tripping me. Letting go of Quentin, I stooped and scooped up the rose goblin, dropping it into his arms with an unceremonious, “Hold this.”
Quentin frowned, automatically cradling the rose goblin to his chest. Spike chirped, compacting itself and beginning to make the weird grating sound that served as its purr.
I ran my fingers down the sides of the door, muttering fragments of nursery rhymes under my breath. The smell of copper and cut grass rose around me as the wards flared red, reactivating, and a bolt of pain hit me behind the temples. The spell worked, however much good it was going to do. Mitch and Stacy kept their house warded, too.
Lowering my hands, I turned to Quentin. “Let’s go.”
He handed me Spike without saying a word and stalked off toward my car. I sighed, but didn’t object. If he wanted to play silent treatment, I could play silent treatment. It might even be easier that way.
“Lily healed them. Katie . . .” I sighed. “She’s pure human, right? Not thin-blooded or a merlin?” Humans with very small amounts of fae blood are sometimes still capable of working magic and perceiving the fae world; it’s rare, but it happens. We call them “merlins,” and we avoid them when we can. They’re dangerous, in their way.
“She’s human,” Quentin said, glaring.
I winced. “I didn’t mean to imply anything. But Quentin—whatever this is, it’s snatched purebloods, changelings, and now a human girl. What does that mean?”
“It means we have to get her back,” he said, jaw set in a hard line.
“Right,” I said, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Does anybody know you’re here?”
“Not exactly. I came straight from school.”
“So kids are disappearing and you just ran out? Did you at least tell Sylvester and Luna you’d be home late?” Quentin’s parents fostered him at Shadowed Hills to be trained in the courtly arts. I’ve never met them, but they must have been fairly minor nobility to place him in a court as unfashionable as Sylvester’s. Judging by the slight accent Quentin displayed in times of stress, they were somewhere in or near Canada. The Torquills are both his liege lords and his parents now, at least until the fosterage ends.
“No . . .”
“Maeve wept, Quentin.” I stood. “Stay where you are. Understand?”
He nodded as I stalked back to the kitchen, where I grabbed the phone and dialed the number for Shadowed Hills. The phone rang twice before a man’s voice came on the line, saying, “Shadowed Hills. How may I assist?”
I paused, amazement overwhelming my annoyance. “Etienne, is that you?”
“Oh, blast. Hello, Toby,” he said, wearily. “Please don’t start.”
“Was the phone in danger? Did they have to get a big, brave knight to guard it?” Etienne is one of Sylvester’s most reliable knights. Pureblooded Tuatha de Dannan and so honorable that he squeaks—in short, boring as hell. I respect the man and even like him in the abstract, but when it comes to actually spending time around him, well, let’s just say that we’ve devoted a lot of time to driving each other crazy.
“Melly is out, so someone had to mind the phone. What’s going on?” It was impossible to miss the disapproval in his tone. I’m a lot more likely to just show up, trouble following on my heels, than I am to call ahead.
“Right. Sorry.” I sobered, saying, “Quentin’s at my place. He’s fine, and I’m about to bring him back to the knowe.”
“Quentin’s there? Why in the world would he be—”
“He came on his own, Etienne, I didn’t steal him or anything.” His answering silence betrayed how close I’d been to guessing what he was thinking. I sighed. “Please let people know that Quentin is safe and will be there shortly for you to yell at in person.”
“Of course,” he said, stiffly. “Open roads.”
“Kind fires, Etienne,” I said and hung up the phone.
I was smacking my head rhythmically against the wall when I heard Quentin clear his throat behind me, saying, “Toby? What’s wrong? Who was that on the phone?”
I stopped banging my head and straightened, turning to face him. “Come on. We’re leaving.”
He followed me to the front door, asking, “Where are we going?”
“I’m taking you back to Shadowed Hills.”
“What?” He stopped, staring at me. “Why?”
“This situation is too dangerous. I’m not going to risk your life again.” The last time Sylvester sent me on a job, Quentin came along to watch and learn. He learned, all right. He learned what it’s like to get shot and nearly die, and what it’s like to bury your liege lord’s only niece. There are some lessons I really don’t feel like reinforcing.
“But—Katie!” Quentin protested.
“I’m on it. I don’t need your help.” I’d risk my own life to bring the children home, but I wouldn’t risk anyone else. Nobody was going to get hurt on my watch; especially not Quentin. I’d already hurt him enough.
He stared at me, looking like I’d just slapped him. “But she’s my girlfriend. You’re supposed to . . .”
“To what? Let you help?” I shook my head, doing my best to sneer. It hurt, but not as badly as the thought of his broken body. “Haven’t you been paying attention? When people get involved with me, they die. I’m not taking you on this case.”
“I have to find her. Please, Toby, she’s just human; she doesn’t know—”
“You’re not trained and you’re not coming.” I was being cruel, but there was no other way. Not unless I wanted my Fetch to stand for his death as well as mine.
Quentin recoiled, eyes wide and hurt for an instant before his expression hardened. He nodded curtly. “Fine. I’ll find her on my own.”
“No, you won’t. Come on.”
“What?”
“Like I said, I’m taking you back to Shadowed Hills.” He glared. I glared back. I’ve had more practice, and he looked away first, hunching his shoulders. I briefly considered changing my clothes, but dismissed the idea. Quentin might sneak out if I left him alone. I wanted him where I could see him until I got him back to the knowe.
“Toby . . .”
“Come on.” I grabbed his arm and tugged him outside. Spike followed, darting between my feet and nearly tripping me. Letting go of Quentin, I stooped and scooped up the rose goblin, dropping it into his arms with an unceremonious, “Hold this.”
Quentin frowned, automatically cradling the rose goblin to his chest. Spike chirped, compacting itself and beginning to make the weird grating sound that served as its purr.
I ran my fingers down the sides of the door, muttering fragments of nursery rhymes under my breath. The smell of copper and cut grass rose around me as the wards flared red, reactivating, and a bolt of pain hit me behind the temples. The spell worked, however much good it was going to do. Mitch and Stacy kept their house warded, too.
Lowering my hands, I turned to Quentin. “Let’s go.”
He handed me Spike without saying a word and stalked off toward my car. I sighed, but didn’t object. If he wanted to play silent treatment, I could play silent treatment. It might even be easier that way.
