Read A Local Habitation Online

Authors: Seanan McGuire

Tags: #Fantasy, #Fiction, #General, #Mystery fiction, #Science Fiction & Fantasy, #Fiction - Fantasy, #Science Fiction And Fantasy, #American Science Fiction And Fantasy, #Fantasy - General, #Fairies, #Women private investigators

A Local Habitation (40 page)

Everyone but Terrie. Terrie, who found the first body. Terrie, who hadn’t lost anyone who seemed to be particularly important to her. Terrie, whose mourning verged on parody, even when people were dying all around her. Most damning of all, Terrie, who’d been nowhere to be seen during the search for Jan.
I started to pace, looking for an explanation that didn’t leave Terrie as our killer. I wasn’t finding one. By the time Elliot returned, I was so deep in my own thoughts that I didn’t hear him approach. He cleared his throat. I jumped.
“Don’t
do
that!”
“Sorry,” said Elliot, grimacing, and held up a portable phone. “I had to find one that was modified
and
charged. My battery died yesterday, and the charger’s at home.”
“It’s all right,” I said, getting my breath back. “I’m just jumpy.”
“I think we all are,” he said, handing me the phone. “I’m glad you’re staying.”
“Quentin’s out of here as soon as the cavalry comes, but I’ll be here as long as I can. We need to stop this while some of us are still alive.”
He smiled bitterly. He’d already lost everyone he really cared about. Someday I’ll learn to think before opening my mouth. “Do you have any ideas?” he asked.
“Does anyone here have a gun registered in their name?”
“Barbara did.”
“Well, somebody stole her gun.” I sighed. “It’s a local. Monsters don’t use guns.” He flinched. “It’s the only answer I can see. I’m here to save you if I can. Not to coddle you.”
“I know. I just can’t believe one of us would do this. That one of us would kill Jan, or my Yui. Why would they do this?”
“I don’t know—I’m trying to find out. But I have a pretty good idea of who it was.”
“Really? Who?”
“Terrie.”
Elliot sputtered. For a moment I thought he was trying not to laugh. Then he got himself back under control, and said, “I don’t think that’s plausible.”
“If she has an alibi, she hasn’t shared it. She found the first body, and she didn’t join the search for Jan. It doesn’t look good.”
“There were reasons for all those things, Toby,” he said.
“I doubt they’re good enough. Everyone else has an alibi.”
“Actually, you might find these reasons quite . . . legitimate.”
I folded my arms across my chest. “Try me.”
He looked at his watch. “It’s four-thirty. You’ll have an answer at sunset.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Which is when?”
“Seven o’clock. Terrie won’t be here until then.”
“If her excuse isn’t good enough, I’m taking her into custody for breaking Oberon’s law. When the sun goes down, the game’s up. Got that?”
“Yes,” he said, sadly, “I rather suspect I do.”
TWENTY-FIVE
T
HERE WAS NO SIGNAL IN THE HALL. I snapped the phone closed, glaring at it like it had done this just to spite me, and moved toward the futon room door. “I need to go outside and find a signal. Just let me tell Connor where I’m going.”
My knuckles hadn’t even hit the door when April appeared, expression—for her—distraught. My arm was going straight through her throat. I yelped, jerking backward.
“Quentin is sleeping. Connor is monitoring his condition. Please do not persist in your attempts to disturb him. His batteries must recharge if he is to remain on the network.”
I glanced at Elliot, bemused. He looked as bewildered as I felt. “All right, April. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“Apology accepted. Leave now.” She vanished, the smell of ozone hanging in the air.
“That was weird,” I said.
“She seems to have taken a shine to your assistant. Maybe it’s just that he’s the age she appears to be. Shall I show you the way outside?”
“Please.”
The simplification of the knowe had continued while I slept; Tamed Lightning was in mourning, just like the rest of us, and there was no reason to complicate the halls. It had nothing left to hide. The more I see of our world, the more convinced I am that everything in Faerie is alive. April was a sentient computer, and one of my pets is a rosebush with feet. Why shouldn’t the places where we live be just as awake? In Faerie, the land can hold opinions.
Elliot respected my obvious desire for silence, pulling a few steps ahead of me as we approached what was presumably the door to the outside. He undid the lock and pulled the door open—only to squawk in surprise and vanish, yanked out the door by the hand that had suddenly latched around his throat. Swearing, I broke into a run, rocketing out the door only a few seconds behind him. Then I stopped, clamping a hand over my mouth, and stared.
Tybalt was holding Elliot a foot off the ground. He’d shown at least a little bit of mercy, letting go of Elliot’s throat in favor of grabbing his collar. While this seemed less likely to rip Elliot’s jugular open, it wasn’t doing him any favors in the “breathing” department; Elliot was thrashing, face turning a worrying shade of plum. Every cat in the place seemed to have gathered around them, turning the lawn into one teeming, furry mass.
“Tybalt?” I said, lowering my hand.
He turned toward me, and dropped Elliot. “October?” His eyes flicked from my pristine condition to the scrapes on my cheek and the bandages on my hands before narrowing, attention swinging back to Elliot, who was huddled in a graceless, gasping heap. “Is this one responsible for your hands?”
“What? No! No, I did it myself.” I was smiling, irrationally relieved by his arrival. Tybalt doesn’t normally move me to smile, but somehow, having additional fire-power didn’t strike me as a bad idea. “I sort of had to.”
“How do even you wind up in a circumstance where you ‘sort of have to’ slice your hands open?” Tybalt prowled toward me, Elliot clearly dismissed. “Did you also ‘sort of have to’ do whatever it is you’ve done to your face?”
“No, that happened when I jumped out of my car to keep myself from being inside it when it decided to explode.” I shrugged. “It’ll heal.”
“If you don’t die.”
“If I don’t die,” I agreed.
He gave me another up and down look, finally saying, “Nice coat,” before turning back to Elliot, who shrank back. “You. The cats say you’re one of the people in charge here.”
Elliot glanced at the cats surrounding him like he was looking for support. A fluffy orange tomcat flattened its ears, hissing. He winced. “I . . . I suppose I am. Can I help you?”
“You can begin by explaining why no notice of Barbara’s death was sent to the other Regents of the Court of Cats,” said Tybalt, sounding almost bored as he hoisted Elliot back to his feet. “Then, you may explain why my subjects tell me that any who enter that building,” he indicated the door with a jerk of his chin, “never come out again.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Elliot?” Elliot didn’t answer, being preoccupied with once again turning a rich, slow shade of purple. I sighed. “Tybalt, most people can’t answer questions when they can’t breathe. Put him down.” After a pause, I added, “Gently.”
Tybalt lowered Elliot’s feet to the ground, not letting go of his shirt. “Speak,” he growled.
“We didn’t tell you because we didn’t have any way to
reach
you! There aren’t any other Cait Sidhe in the County! Jan said her uncle knew you, but we couldn’t get through to him, and people kept dying!” Elliot was babbling, words spilling over one another as he fought to get them out before Tybalt cut off his air again. “We weren’t hiding it from you!”
“And the cats?” Tybalt asked, in a tone that seemed much more relaxed, and was likely much more dangerous. I didn’t mind. I wanted the answer to that one, too.
“I . . . the cats were Barbara’s responsibility,” Elliot said. “I really don’t know.”
Tybalt released his shirt and knelt, not taking his eyes off Elliot. A calico hopped onto his shoulder, meowing, and he nodded, expression grave. The cat jumped down again as he straightened. “The cats agree with your story.” The words “luckily for you” didn’t need to be spoken. They were already all too present. “You may take me inside now.”
“Wait.” I raised a hand, remembering why we’d left the building in the first place. “I’d rather not be left alone out here, and I still need to make a call. Can you two hang on?”
“Of course,” said Tybalt, in a dry tone. “I came entirely to wait on your pleasure, not to avenge a dead Queen of my line at all.”
Ignoring the sarcasm, I smiled. “Excellent. This won’t take long.”
I meant that seriously. What I didn’t expect was how accurate my words would be. I dialed the pay phone in Paso Nogal, waiting until a winded Melly answered the phone, managing to gasp out, “Hello?”
“Melly?”
“October! Ah, child, it’s good to hear your voice.”
“Melly, is Sylvester still there? I need to—”
Melly cut me off, saying, “His Grace has already ridden out, along with most of the knowe, I’m afraid. Even Her Grace went along. Is it . . . is it true that dear January’s left us?”
The image of Luna attacking a killer with an army of rose goblins was interesting, but not useful. “I’m afraid so.”
“Oh, that poor lamb,” she said, with a deep, wounded sigh. “Just take care, if you would. There’s been death enough.”
“I will,” I said, before hanging up. I’ll give Elliot this much; of the pair of them, he was the only one pretending not to listen. “Sylvester’s on his way. He’ll get Quentin out of here.”
“Good,” said Tybalt. “
Now
may we go inside?”
“Of course,” said Elliot.
Tybalt fell into step beside me as we followed Elliot into the knowe, saying quietly, “I would have come straight to you, but the place is warded. None of the Shadows would open.”
“They have a Coblynau on staff.”
“Ah.” He nodded. “That would do it. Why are you so concerned with what becomes of this ‘Quentin’? Is he a new swain of yours?”
“First, Tybalt, no one says ‘swain’ anymore. Secondly, no. He’s a foster at Shadowed Hills, and he’s been injured. Someone was trying to shoot me, and they got him instead.”
His eyes narrowed. “Who?”
“I don’t know.” I paused. “But you might. Elliot, take us to the cafeteria.”
“Why?”
“Because we just got ourselves a bloodhound,” I said, smiling thinly. Tybalt snorted at my comparing him to a dog, but didn’t object. The news that I’d been shot at seemed to have disconcerted him more than I expected. If it made him agreeable, well,
I
wasn’t going to argue.
The cafeteria was empty. Wherever the surviving denizens of ALH were spending their day, it wasn’t here, perhaps because they were avoiding the grisly sight of Quentin’s blood, which had dried to a dirty, unpleasant brown on the floor all around the soda machine. Elliot stiffened at the sight of it. “No,” I said, before he could ask. “You can’t.”
He shot a glance my way before turning, shoulders tight, to walk over to the coffee machine. Fine. If it would keep him occupied, he could make all the coffee in the world. “I take mine with cream, sugar, and painkillers,” I called. “That’s where Quentin was shot, Tybalt. You think you can find the gun?”
“How, precisely, should I do that?” The look he gave me then was very nearly amused. “Shall I simply wave my hands and call, ‘Here kitty, kitty’?”
“No.” I shrugged. “Follow the smell of gunpowder.”
Tybalt blinked, and then nodded. “Worth trying.”
“At this point, everything is,” I said, without humor. “Elliot, stay here. Get Tybalt anything he asks for. I’ll be right back for my coffee.”
The look Tybalt gave me then was anything but pleased. “Where are you going?”
“To check on Quentin,” I said, and slipped out of the cafeteria, heading down those newly linear halls toward the room where I’d left Quentin and Connor.
Connor cracked the door open on my second knock, peering out into the hall before opening the door all the way and stepping out. “Hey,” he said, voice soft. “Everything okay?”

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