The Winter Long
Page 39
“Thank Maeve,” I said, and started toward the car.
As soon as my foot left the Luidaeg’s front step, there was a grinding, shifting sound from behind me, like rocks sliding into position. Tybalt stopped where he was, a nonplussed expression on his face.
“Well,” he said. “That’s one means of guaranteeing the security of your belongings.”
I glanced over my shoulder. The Luidaeg’s door was gone, replaced by an unbroken expanse of plain red brick. “I hope she can reopen that when it’s time to come home,” I said. “Now let’s move.”
Buckling a limp, unresponsive body into the backseat of my car was not something I’d rank among my favorite experiences, although it didn’t make the list of the worst things I’d ever done, either. With a lot of shoving, swearing, and prayer, we managed to fold her into the vehicle and secure her with a seat belt, thus hopefully guaranteeing that she wouldn’t fly out of a window in the event of an accident. I straightened up, swiping my sweat-dampened hair out of my eyes with one hand, and turned to Quentin.
“Keys, please,” I said.
“You’re going to make me ride in the backseat with the unconscious woman, aren’t you?” he grumbled, digging the keys out of his pocket and dropping them into my waiting palm.
“Got it in one,” I said. “We need to get the Lu—get her to our destination, and I need you free to focus on casting the best don’t-look-here spell you’ve ever put together in your life.”
“Promise you’ll at least turn the radio to something decent?”
“No,” I said. “Now get in the car.”
Quentin sulked theatrically as he climbed into the backseat. He might have seemed flippant to someone who didn’t know him, but I could tell how worried he was by the way he twisted in his seat as soon as his own belt was buckled, his eyes going to the Luidaeg’s face. She had been his friend for almost as long as I had, and their relationship had always been refreshingly straightforward, unlike the relationship I had with her. She always threatened to kill me like she meant it; when she threatened to kill him, it was like she was saying “I care.”
Then again, maybe she’d been threatening us both that way, and I’d just been too close to the situation to understand. I turned on the ignition, trying to push my own concerns to the back of my mind. She was going to be all right. I had saved her. I was a hero.
Speaking of heroism . . . “Quentin, do you know if Arden has the phones working yet?”
“They’re not stable,” he said. “April’s got them doing all kinds of weird stuff with wires and fast-growing vines, but it’s going to be a little while before they’re consistently accessible via phone. Why?”
“I need to know if May and Jazz have reached her safely and brought her up to speed. I also need to let her know that someone beat the holy hell out of the Luidaeg, and damn near killed her.” Had killed her, but that wasn’t something I wanted to advertise. Ever. If I could raise the dead, that was going to be my little secret, at least for now. “If I were Queen, I’d want to be informed if something powerful enough to mortally wound a Firstborn was loose on my lands. You know. Just because I’m nosy that way.” I scowled at the traffic around us. “Call May. I know her phone works in the Summerlands.”
I hated to delegate something as important as bringing the Queen in the Mists up to speed, but even after we put a don’t-look-here on the car, I was going to need to focus on traffic, or we were going to die. I always drive a little sloppily when I have a headache, and tempting as it might be to take the time to heal up after a serious injury, I couldn’t afford the delay. I’d been awake for more than a full day at this point. Exhaustion was going to hit me sooner or later, and it was going to hit me hard.
That didn’t mean I could stop. Not even for a second. Simon showing up in the Mists made everything personal. The Luidaeg being attacked made it urgent. Someone was going to pay for what had happened to her.
“Okay, I’ll call May,” said Quentin. “What do you want me to tell her?”
“Explain that the Luidaeg has been attacked, and that we’re taking her somewhere safe, but we can’t say where. Tell her I may not be available by phone for a while.” I paused before adding, “And tell her what we learned about Mom. Arden can confirm it if she says you’re full of shit.” Arden knew my mother had been married to Simon—she’d been shocked when she met me, because she couldn’t believe Mom would have a half-human child. So at least she’d be able to help May cope with that part. Everything else . . .
It was what it was.
While Quentin pulled out his phone and dialed, I glanced to Tybalt and asked, “Can you cast the first don’t-look-here? You’re better at them than I am.”
“Only because you refuse to practice,” he said, but raised his hands, sweeping them through the air in a grand gesture before saying, “My good lords and ladies, if you will attend to the stage, I would like to prepare you for an evening of wonders untold, and miracles such as the eye has never once beheld . . .” The smell of pennyroyal and musk rose and burst around us, perfuming the air inside the car. Quentin sneezed in the backseat.
I gave Tybalt a sidelong look, keeping most of my attention on the road. “What’s that from?”
“Something a friend of mine used to say before curtain on each night’s show.” He smiled, the expression visible in the tension of his cheek and the way his lip curled upward. “He would be pleased to know that his magic lives on in the spells and wastrel charms of this modern world.”
“May’s caught up, and she called you some things I don’t want to repeat,” said Quentin, poking his head up between the seats. “She said to tell you that Jazz is awake and feeling better, even though she’s still shaky, and that Arden has a really sweet guest room. We should go there for a vacation after all this is over.”
“The day I get a vacation is the day the world ends,” I said. “Still, you have done well, my squire, and as your reward, you may choose the radio station.”
Quentin made a noise of wordless satisfaction, leaning farther forward as he clicked on the radio dial. The sound of Canadian folk-rock filled the car. I strongly suspected he’d convinced April to mess with my radio reception, since we seemed to get more folk music than was strictly normal, but it made him so happy that I didn’t care that much. He pulled back into his seat, resuming his position next to the Luidaeg, and I drove on.
As soon as my foot left the Luidaeg’s front step, there was a grinding, shifting sound from behind me, like rocks sliding into position. Tybalt stopped where he was, a nonplussed expression on his face.
“Well,” he said. “That’s one means of guaranteeing the security of your belongings.”
I glanced over my shoulder. The Luidaeg’s door was gone, replaced by an unbroken expanse of plain red brick. “I hope she can reopen that when it’s time to come home,” I said. “Now let’s move.”
Buckling a limp, unresponsive body into the backseat of my car was not something I’d rank among my favorite experiences, although it didn’t make the list of the worst things I’d ever done, either. With a lot of shoving, swearing, and prayer, we managed to fold her into the vehicle and secure her with a seat belt, thus hopefully guaranteeing that she wouldn’t fly out of a window in the event of an accident. I straightened up, swiping my sweat-dampened hair out of my eyes with one hand, and turned to Quentin.
“Keys, please,” I said.
“You’re going to make me ride in the backseat with the unconscious woman, aren’t you?” he grumbled, digging the keys out of his pocket and dropping them into my waiting palm.
“Got it in one,” I said. “We need to get the Lu—get her to our destination, and I need you free to focus on casting the best don’t-look-here spell you’ve ever put together in your life.”
“Promise you’ll at least turn the radio to something decent?”
“No,” I said. “Now get in the car.”
Quentin sulked theatrically as he climbed into the backseat. He might have seemed flippant to someone who didn’t know him, but I could tell how worried he was by the way he twisted in his seat as soon as his own belt was buckled, his eyes going to the Luidaeg’s face. She had been his friend for almost as long as I had, and their relationship had always been refreshingly straightforward, unlike the relationship I had with her. She always threatened to kill me like she meant it; when she threatened to kill him, it was like she was saying “I care.”
Then again, maybe she’d been threatening us both that way, and I’d just been too close to the situation to understand. I turned on the ignition, trying to push my own concerns to the back of my mind. She was going to be all right. I had saved her. I was a hero.
Speaking of heroism . . . “Quentin, do you know if Arden has the phones working yet?”
“They’re not stable,” he said. “April’s got them doing all kinds of weird stuff with wires and fast-growing vines, but it’s going to be a little while before they’re consistently accessible via phone. Why?”
“I need to know if May and Jazz have reached her safely and brought her up to speed. I also need to let her know that someone beat the holy hell out of the Luidaeg, and damn near killed her.” Had killed her, but that wasn’t something I wanted to advertise. Ever. If I could raise the dead, that was going to be my little secret, at least for now. “If I were Queen, I’d want to be informed if something powerful enough to mortally wound a Firstborn was loose on my lands. You know. Just because I’m nosy that way.” I scowled at the traffic around us. “Call May. I know her phone works in the Summerlands.”
I hated to delegate something as important as bringing the Queen in the Mists up to speed, but even after we put a don’t-look-here on the car, I was going to need to focus on traffic, or we were going to die. I always drive a little sloppily when I have a headache, and tempting as it might be to take the time to heal up after a serious injury, I couldn’t afford the delay. I’d been awake for more than a full day at this point. Exhaustion was going to hit me sooner or later, and it was going to hit me hard.
That didn’t mean I could stop. Not even for a second. Simon showing up in the Mists made everything personal. The Luidaeg being attacked made it urgent. Someone was going to pay for what had happened to her.
“Okay, I’ll call May,” said Quentin. “What do you want me to tell her?”
“Explain that the Luidaeg has been attacked, and that we’re taking her somewhere safe, but we can’t say where. Tell her I may not be available by phone for a while.” I paused before adding, “And tell her what we learned about Mom. Arden can confirm it if she says you’re full of shit.” Arden knew my mother had been married to Simon—she’d been shocked when she met me, because she couldn’t believe Mom would have a half-human child. So at least she’d be able to help May cope with that part. Everything else . . .
It was what it was.
While Quentin pulled out his phone and dialed, I glanced to Tybalt and asked, “Can you cast the first don’t-look-here? You’re better at them than I am.”
“Only because you refuse to practice,” he said, but raised his hands, sweeping them through the air in a grand gesture before saying, “My good lords and ladies, if you will attend to the stage, I would like to prepare you for an evening of wonders untold, and miracles such as the eye has never once beheld . . .” The smell of pennyroyal and musk rose and burst around us, perfuming the air inside the car. Quentin sneezed in the backseat.
I gave Tybalt a sidelong look, keeping most of my attention on the road. “What’s that from?”
“Something a friend of mine used to say before curtain on each night’s show.” He smiled, the expression visible in the tension of his cheek and the way his lip curled upward. “He would be pleased to know that his magic lives on in the spells and wastrel charms of this modern world.”
“May’s caught up, and she called you some things I don’t want to repeat,” said Quentin, poking his head up between the seats. “She said to tell you that Jazz is awake and feeling better, even though she’s still shaky, and that Arden has a really sweet guest room. We should go there for a vacation after all this is over.”
“The day I get a vacation is the day the world ends,” I said. “Still, you have done well, my squire, and as your reward, you may choose the radio station.”
Quentin made a noise of wordless satisfaction, leaning farther forward as he clicked on the radio dial. The sound of Canadian folk-rock filled the car. I strongly suspected he’d convinced April to mess with my radio reception, since we seemed to get more folk music than was strictly normal, but it made him so happy that I didn’t care that much. He pulled back into his seat, resuming his position next to the Luidaeg, and I drove on.
