Rosemary and Rue
Page 27
“And you came here anyway? What, are you hedging your bets now?”
“No. She refused to help me.” Devin frowned, motioning for me to continue. I sighed. “She threw me out, Devin. She wouldn’t even let me tell her how Evening died.”
“She threw you out? What did you say?”
“Just that Evening was gone. I recited the proper death announcements and everything—I didn’t miss a step, but she flipped out.” My frustration was spilling over into my voice. “I don’t know what’s going on there. Her reaction wasn’t entirely sane.”
“Do you think she did it?”
I paused, considering this for a long moment before I said, “No. It’s not like I could touch her if she had, and she freaked out way too much for it to be purely guilt. It could have been someone close to her, I guess, but I don’t think so. I think she’s just . . . I think there’s something wrong with her.”
“So there’s no help from that quarter. Where else can you go?”
“Shadowed Hills. I can beg Sylvester—but you know he hasn’t got any real power in this city.” I was buttering him up. He probably knew it, and I didn’t care. If putting Sylvester down made him more likely to help me, I’d do it. I’d hate it, but I’d do it.
He sagged in his chair, shaking his head. “You need my help.”
“Yes. I need your help. There isn’t anyone else.”
“I can’t give you this one for free, Toby. If there’s someone out there that’s desperate enough to use iron . . .”
“I never asked for a freebie, remember? You offered.” So he was taking it back? Somehow, I wasn’t surprised. This was more than a favor to a friend: this was a matter of life or death—most likely death—and that sort of thing is too expensive to just give away.
“It’ll cost you.”
“I can pay.”
He looked at me steadily. I looked back, starting to realize just how much of a difference the last fourteen years had made in him. You can only fight the good fight for so long. Devin gave up a long time ago. “Are you sure?” he said. For a moment, I couldn’t find an answer.
Then I remembered Evening sprawled on the floor of her apartment, with a second mouth where her throat should have been. “I’m sure.”
After a pause that felt longer than those missing years, he nodded. “Done. I’ll send some kids to your place in the morning to check in and make sure you remember your part in the deal.”
Oh, I remembered. How could I ever forget? I’d dealt with this devil before; he had my signature under lock and key in his personal files. I didn’t sign in blood—he would never have been so gauche—but he trusted the power of my given word to bind me. He trusted, and he was right. I’d pay for any information he brought me, I’d pay for anything his kids did for me, and if he helped me find what I was looking for, I’d pay double. He liked me. I knew enough about what happened to people he didn’t like when their bills came due to hope he’d never stop liking me.
“Tomorrow morning doesn’t work,” I said. “I have to go to Shadowed Hills and talk to Sylvester. Tomorrow night’s the soonest I’ll be ready for them.”
“At least let me have someone escort you home.”
I rubbed my forehead with one hand. “Devin, I’m exhausted, and exhausted means I can’t deal with your kids right now. I need to get some sleep, or I’m not even going to be able to handle Sylvester.”
“If he has no power, why are you going to see him?”
“Because,” I replied, looking down at my silk-clad legs so that I wouldn’t have to see his expression. “He’s still my liege, and I’m embarking on a murder investigation. I don’t have to ask for his help, but I have to tell him before I endanger myself.”
I could feel Devin watching me. “You can break your fealty. He’s done you no favors.”
“Please. Don’t ask me for that.” I glanced up again. “Not yet.” Oath breaking is almost expected from a changeling. That’s why I’ve never done it. Sylvester would release me if I asked him, and I never will, because it would just prove all the things that have ever been said about my kind. I might regret my promises, but I keep them.
Devin looked at me for a moment, expression flat, before he sighed. “Have it your way—I know better than to argue with you.” He opened the top drawer of his desk, pulling out something the size of a deck of cards and shoving it toward me. “Take this.”
“What is it?” I asked, picking it up.
“Cell phone. I keep spares on hand for just this sort of thing.” Devin’s nod was small, but satisfied. Purebloods respond to change slowly, if at all. Flexibility and adaptation were changeling traits. If he still had them, he was doing just fine.
After the night I’d had, I would have said there was nothing left that could shake me. I definitely wouldn’t have placed my bets on a little plastic box that weighed no more than a few ounces, keys hidden by a flip-down front that made it look like something out of Star Trek. Suddenly numb, I lifted my head and stared at Devin.
Fourteen years is no time at all in Faerie. It’s the blink of an eye, it’s the turning of a single tide. There have been balls that lasted longer than that, waltzes and banquets that stretched on for decades. The mortal world, though . . . the mortal world doesn’t work that way. The phone I used to talk to Cliff for the last time before I vanished weighed almost a pound. It was ugly and clunky and almost impossible to lose. This was a sleek, streamlined accessory, the sort of thing every person on the street would carry. It was the future, condensed into something solid. I’d been able to handle it when it was just the humans carrying the things; I could pretend that Faerie, at least, had stayed the same. But it hadn’t. Nothing had.
Devin saw the confusion in my eyes, because he smiled a small, hurtful smile, saying, “It wouldn’t have happened if you’d stayed here,” before he turned to press the button for the intercom. The equivalent button in the main room was set in the wall, under glass. I’d only seen the intercom from the main room used twice. Once it was a prank, and the kid that did it wound up beaten within an inch of his life by half a dozen of the bigger kids. The other time it was because Julie had been hurt so badly that we didn’t know how to put her together again, and even then we hesitated, afraid of the consequences. No one bothered Devin without good reason.
“No. She refused to help me.” Devin frowned, motioning for me to continue. I sighed. “She threw me out, Devin. She wouldn’t even let me tell her how Evening died.”
“She threw you out? What did you say?”
“Just that Evening was gone. I recited the proper death announcements and everything—I didn’t miss a step, but she flipped out.” My frustration was spilling over into my voice. “I don’t know what’s going on there. Her reaction wasn’t entirely sane.”
“Do you think she did it?”
I paused, considering this for a long moment before I said, “No. It’s not like I could touch her if she had, and she freaked out way too much for it to be purely guilt. It could have been someone close to her, I guess, but I don’t think so. I think she’s just . . . I think there’s something wrong with her.”
“So there’s no help from that quarter. Where else can you go?”
“Shadowed Hills. I can beg Sylvester—but you know he hasn’t got any real power in this city.” I was buttering him up. He probably knew it, and I didn’t care. If putting Sylvester down made him more likely to help me, I’d do it. I’d hate it, but I’d do it.
He sagged in his chair, shaking his head. “You need my help.”
“Yes. I need your help. There isn’t anyone else.”
“I can’t give you this one for free, Toby. If there’s someone out there that’s desperate enough to use iron . . .”
“I never asked for a freebie, remember? You offered.” So he was taking it back? Somehow, I wasn’t surprised. This was more than a favor to a friend: this was a matter of life or death—most likely death—and that sort of thing is too expensive to just give away.
“It’ll cost you.”
“I can pay.”
He looked at me steadily. I looked back, starting to realize just how much of a difference the last fourteen years had made in him. You can only fight the good fight for so long. Devin gave up a long time ago. “Are you sure?” he said. For a moment, I couldn’t find an answer.
Then I remembered Evening sprawled on the floor of her apartment, with a second mouth where her throat should have been. “I’m sure.”
After a pause that felt longer than those missing years, he nodded. “Done. I’ll send some kids to your place in the morning to check in and make sure you remember your part in the deal.”
Oh, I remembered. How could I ever forget? I’d dealt with this devil before; he had my signature under lock and key in his personal files. I didn’t sign in blood—he would never have been so gauche—but he trusted the power of my given word to bind me. He trusted, and he was right. I’d pay for any information he brought me, I’d pay for anything his kids did for me, and if he helped me find what I was looking for, I’d pay double. He liked me. I knew enough about what happened to people he didn’t like when their bills came due to hope he’d never stop liking me.
“Tomorrow morning doesn’t work,” I said. “I have to go to Shadowed Hills and talk to Sylvester. Tomorrow night’s the soonest I’ll be ready for them.”
“At least let me have someone escort you home.”
I rubbed my forehead with one hand. “Devin, I’m exhausted, and exhausted means I can’t deal with your kids right now. I need to get some sleep, or I’m not even going to be able to handle Sylvester.”
“If he has no power, why are you going to see him?”
“Because,” I replied, looking down at my silk-clad legs so that I wouldn’t have to see his expression. “He’s still my liege, and I’m embarking on a murder investigation. I don’t have to ask for his help, but I have to tell him before I endanger myself.”
I could feel Devin watching me. “You can break your fealty. He’s done you no favors.”
“Please. Don’t ask me for that.” I glanced up again. “Not yet.” Oath breaking is almost expected from a changeling. That’s why I’ve never done it. Sylvester would release me if I asked him, and I never will, because it would just prove all the things that have ever been said about my kind. I might regret my promises, but I keep them.
Devin looked at me for a moment, expression flat, before he sighed. “Have it your way—I know better than to argue with you.” He opened the top drawer of his desk, pulling out something the size of a deck of cards and shoving it toward me. “Take this.”
“What is it?” I asked, picking it up.
“Cell phone. I keep spares on hand for just this sort of thing.” Devin’s nod was small, but satisfied. Purebloods respond to change slowly, if at all. Flexibility and adaptation were changeling traits. If he still had them, he was doing just fine.
After the night I’d had, I would have said there was nothing left that could shake me. I definitely wouldn’t have placed my bets on a little plastic box that weighed no more than a few ounces, keys hidden by a flip-down front that made it look like something out of Star Trek. Suddenly numb, I lifted my head and stared at Devin.
Fourteen years is no time at all in Faerie. It’s the blink of an eye, it’s the turning of a single tide. There have been balls that lasted longer than that, waltzes and banquets that stretched on for decades. The mortal world, though . . . the mortal world doesn’t work that way. The phone I used to talk to Cliff for the last time before I vanished weighed almost a pound. It was ugly and clunky and almost impossible to lose. This was a sleek, streamlined accessory, the sort of thing every person on the street would carry. It was the future, condensed into something solid. I’d been able to handle it when it was just the humans carrying the things; I could pretend that Faerie, at least, had stayed the same. But it hadn’t. Nothing had.
Devin saw the confusion in my eyes, because he smiled a small, hurtful smile, saying, “It wouldn’t have happened if you’d stayed here,” before he turned to press the button for the intercom. The equivalent button in the main room was set in the wall, under glass. I’d only seen the intercom from the main room used twice. Once it was a prank, and the kid that did it wound up beaten within an inch of his life by half a dozen of the bigger kids. The other time it was because Julie had been hurt so badly that we didn’t know how to put her together again, and even then we hesitated, afraid of the consequences. No one bothered Devin without good reason.
