“What . . . oh,” I said, catching on. The Bannick are bath-spirits; they’re obsessed with cleanliness, and Faerie being what it is, they can sometimes enforce their own ideas about hygiene. Nothing cleans a person like a Bannick. “Sure.”
“Toby . . .”
“Go along with it. This is interesting.”
“So I have your consent?” Elliot asked, looking between us. We both nodded. “Excellent. If you would close your eyes and hold your breath?”
Right. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath and held it. Heat and moisture broke over me in a lye-scented wave. I understood why Elliot asked: it was like being scrubbed by hundreds of swift, impartial hands, and I might’ve taken it the wrong way if I hadn’t been prepared. The feeling of damp heat abated after about thirty seconds, and I opened my eyes, looking first at Quentin, then myself. We looked like we’d just received the deluxe treatment at an upscale spa; my tennis shoes were white and clean, and even a small hole in the hem of my jeans had been patched with tiny, near- invisible darns. I pointed at it, glancing curiously toward Elliot.
He shrugged, looking embarrassed. “I can’t fix clothes on purpose, but if you’re wearing them when you have your ‘bath,’ they end up mended. All part of being clean.”
“Cool,” I said.
“So that’s what your hair looks like when it’s been brushed.” Quentin grinned.
“Stuff it,” I said.
“Now that you’re presentable, if you’ll come with me, Ms. Daye, Mister, well, Quentin?” Elliot said, opening the door into the next building. We followed him. This one looked more like a dorm, with long halls equipped with dozens of doors. “I hope you like donuts. Our cafeteria staff is out this week, so we’re having to make do.”
He continued to chatter as he led us through a series of increasingly mismatched halls. Some stuck with the dormitory model; others looked like they’d been stolen from hospitals, high schools, or government buildings. I dropped back a bit, drawing even with Quentin, and murmured, “Keep an eye open.”
“What’s going on?”
“I’ll explain when we’re alone.” Elliot looked back and waved, urging us on. I flashed a false smile, calling, “We’re coming!”
“Just don’t get lost!” he called, and turned a corner. I exchanged a glance with Quentin, and we hurried to catch up, meeting him just in front of the cafeteria door.
He held the door open for us, offering a shark-toothed grin as he said, “After you.”
“Great,” I replied, and slipped into the cafeteria. It was a vast, echoing cavern of a room, studded with oddly-shaped white tables. Vending machines lined the walls. Quentin and I wound up seated with Elliot pressing coffee and donuts into our hands. That kept us distracted for several crucial minutes, giving him time to murmur vague reassurances and dart out the door.
He’d been gone for several minutes before I put down my coffee, saying, “All right: did you notice anything odd about the landscaping?”
“You mean the part where it’s in the Summerlands?”
“That would be it, yeah. We’re in a Shallowing.” I shook my head. “I think the bawn is at the front door of the other building. We didn’t cross back while we were on the lawn, either.” The bawn of a knowe, any knowe, represented the point where you crossed between worlds. Usually it’s pretty well marked, at least to fae eyes. This one hadn’t been.
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know. But I think we should be careful. They didn’t tell us we’d entered their knowe, and that’s a little bit suspicious.” I looked at my freshly cleaned hand. “They’re being too friendly without actually telling us anything.”
“Right.” He poked in the box until he found a powdered donut. “Toby?”
“Yeah?”
“You gave your name at the gate. When did we tell him mine?”
I lowered my coffee a second time. “We didn’t.”
FIVE
“HOW LONG HAVE WE been sitting here?”
“Fifteen minutes.”
“It feels like hours.”
“The clock says fifteen minutes.”
“Maybe the clock isn’t running on normal time?”
“Possible, but unlikely.” I stood, leaving my half-eaten donut on the table.
Quentin frowned. “Where are you going?”
“Out. This is unacceptable. They shouldn’t be leaving us here.”
“He said to wait—”
“And we waited. And now I’m leaving.” I grabbed the door handle and pulled. It didn’t budge. “Oh, great. Did they lock us in?”
“Try pushing.” Quentin rose, coming to stand next to me.
Eyeing him, I pushed the door. It swung open a few inches before swinging closed again. Quentin was trying not to smirk. He wasn’t doing a very good job.
“Very funny,” I said, and shoved the door open as hard as I could. There was a startled yelp, accompanied by the flat smack of wood hitting flesh. The door swung back, and there was a loud thumping noise—whoever it was, I’d knocked them down.
What a great way to meet people. I rushed into the hall, already apologizing. “I am so sorry! I didn’t know you were there! I—”
“It’s okay,” said the man on the floor, flashing a grin that made my stomach do a lazy flip. I recognized him as the blond surfer-type from the first building. I just didn’t have a name to go with his undeniably appealing face. “That door should probably be labeled an unmarked traffic hazard—only then I guess it’d be a marked traffic hazard, so what’s the point?”
“You’re probably right about that,” I said, grinning back. “I’m—” I paused as Quentin came skidding out of the cafeteria. “Hey. I appear to have found the locals.”
Rather than offering the expected greeting, Quentin frowned, saying, “Oh. It’s you.”
“Quentin!” I stared. “Don’t be rude.” Rude, and out of character.
“It’s okay, let him be,” said the man, laughing as he held up his hands. “I’m used to it. I’ve got the sort of face that just pisses some people off.”
“It’s not pissing me off,” I said, giving Quentin another sidelong look before turning to the man on the floor. “Quite the opposite, actually. Do you need help getting up?”
“That would be good of you, since you’re the reason I’m down here.” He reached up, and I grabbed his hands. He had a good grip; not too light, but not crushing. This was a man who didn’t feel the need to prove much of anything.
Smiling despite myself, I said, “I didn’t do it on purpose!”
Quentin rolled his eyes. “Oh, whatever.” Turning, he stalked back into the cafeteria.
I stared after him, confused, only to be distracted by the sound of the man next to me laughing. It was an unreservedly happy sound, and it warmed me to the toes.
“Wait—you mean it wasn’t calculated? I was just a victim of circumstance? I’m hurt.” He pressed a hand to his chest, trying to look wounded. “There I was, walking down the hall, minding my own business, when a mad-woman tries to kill me with a door.”
“Cut that out,” I said. It’s hard to stay grumpy when there’s a nameless six- foot-something surfer boy mugging for your amusement, even if your erstwhile assistant has just stalked off in an unexplained sulk. Besides, he was a cute surfer boy—not exactly handsome, but cute, with an angular face and freckles scattered across his nose. The cut of his sun-bleached hair was casual enough to look accidental, falling across his eyes in a rakish fringe. A small scar marred one cheek. It was the sort of face you don’t see in the movies, but you’d take home to mother without a second thought. Definitely not the sort of thing I thought of when I heard the phrase “computer programmer.”
“Why?” he asked, smile broadening. He had a nice smile. I upgraded my estimation from “cute” to “damn cute.” “Anyway, I’m Alex. Alex Olsen.” He held his hand out for me to shake, the other hand smoothing his bangs away from his eyes. His hands never seemed to stop moving. It was like they mig
ht get tired of our conversation and start performing sign language arias at any moment. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”
“Finally?” I arched an eyebrow, shaking his hand. “I’ve been sitting in the cafeteria.” He was almost a foot taller than me, with the comfortable sort of solidity that only comes from too many years spent playing sports and doing a certain amount of heavy lifting. He was dressed casually, in jeans and a T-shirt that read “Nobody Does It Like Sara Lee” in bright red letters.
Alex laughed again. “Not quite that short term. When I start hearing stories about changelings coming back from the dead and tearing San Francisco apart, I start thinking, ‘Now there’s a lady I’d like to meet.’ ”
“That shows an interesting way of picking your friends.”
“At least you know it’s not going to be boring.”
“That’s true.” I reclaimed my hand, using it to tuck my own hair back behind my ears. “Still, I’m surprised you heard about all that.”
“News spreads fast these days. There’s this amazing invention called ‘the Internet’—have you heard of it? We use it to tell each other things.” I wrinkled my nose at him, and he shook his head. “Oh, come on. We’re sandwiched between two major Duchies. You really think we wouldn’t have the best rumor mill in the Kingdom?”
He had a point. Dreamer’s Glass was gaining a reputation for strangeness when I vanished in ’95. Being considered weird by a race of people who don’t see anything wrong with turning their enemies into deer and hunting them through downtown Oakland is an achievement. From what I understood, the Duchy just got stranger as Duchess Riordan, the local regent, became more paranoid about insurrection. Eventually, it got to be too much, and one of the larger fiefdoms declared its autonomy and split off, forming the County of Tamed Lightning.
The politics almost make sense. The technological advances behind them, not so much. Faerie was just starting to dip its toes into computer science and the Internet, and Tamed Lightning wanted autonomy partially so they’d be free to push those borders even further. I don’t get it. The world I’m used to is simpler than the one I’m living in. There’s too much steel and silicon these days, and I’m still not sure whether that’s better than iron; I can barely handle my answering machine, much less all these strange new methods of keeping in touch. The technology that was in its infancy when I left had grown into a spoiled teenager by the time I returned, complicating everyone’s lives and making a nuisance of itself down at the mall.
“Not that anyone bothered to tell us you were coming,” Alex continued. “If we didn’t have a picture of you in the database, we still wouldn’t know who you were.” Pausing, he asked, “Where are you?”
“What?” I snapped back into the present. “I’m right here.”
“You weren’t a moment ago.”
“Oh. Sorry.” Now that I was paying attention, I really was sorry; I hadn’t meant to zone out. “I guess I didn’t expect anyone to know who I was.”
“You can’t go around pissing off half the nobles in the Kingdom and expect to go unnoticed,” he replied, cheering up again. “I swear Jannie was more excited by the trouble you caused with that Goldengreen affair than she was by the concept of fiber-optic Internet connections. And that’s saying a lot.”
“Hang on—Jannie?”
“Yeah, Jannie. The lady whose company you’re standing in?”
“You mean Countess Torquill?” Maybe this orange-eyed Ken doll could point me toward Sylvester’s niece.
“Who?”
Or maybe not. “Aren’t you talking about Countess January Torquill?”
“What?” he said, eyes widening. Then he laughed, the rich, delighted laugh of a man confronted with something genuinely funny. “Oh, man. Oh, wow. Can I tell her you called her that? She’ll have an aneurysm.” I don’t like being laughed at under the best of circumstances. This wasn’t the best of circumstances. I glared. He stopped laughing. “What’s wrong?”
“Will you please tell me who you’re talking about?” I asked, plaintively. “We’re here on official business from the Duke of Shadowed Hills, and I’d really like to know what’s going on.”
Alex cocked his head to the side. “Sylvester sent you?”
“He’s worried about January, so he asked me to check in.”
“Please don’t get pissed at me for asking this, but . . . do you have any proof?”
“What?” I blinked at him.
Looking sheepish, Alex shrugged. “Proof. Do you have anything to prove that Sylvester sent you?”
“Just this.” I offered him the folder I was still carrying. “Really crappy directions to Fremont, our hotel reservations, and some stuff telling me whose fences I shouldn’t climb over.”
Alex flipped it open, scanning the contents before offering a quick nod. “Okay, good enough for me; if you’re dumb enough to be faking all this, I figure that’s your lookout, and the real Toby Daye’ll show up soon to beat your face in. Come on, I’ll take you to January.”
“Let me tell Quentin.” I reclaimed my folder and turned, moving to stick my head back into the cafeteria. Quentin was at the table we’d been sharing, shredding a napkin into long, narrow strips. “Hey.”
“What?” he said, not looking up.
“I’m going to go meet Sylvester’s niece. You want to come?”
“Is he going?”
“You mean Alex?” He nodded, continuing to shred his napkin. “Yes.”
“Then I’m staying here.”
I paused. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” Quentin raised his head, meeting my eyes for a moment before looking down again. “I just don’t like him, that’s all.”
“Already?”
A shrug.
“You sure you want to stay here all by yourself?”
“I’m a big boy,” he said. “I think I’ll be okay in the big, well-lit cafeteria.”
“Suit yourself,” I said, stepping back and letting the door swing shut. If he wanted to be that way, I wasn’t going to stop him.
Alex was waiting where I’d left him. “Well?”
“He’s not coming.”
“His loss. Come on.” Flicking his hair out of his eyes, Alex turned to head down the hall. His legs were long enough to cover ground at a dismaying rate, and I hurried to catch up. At least we seemed to be staying in the same building.
“People come and go so quickly here,” I muttered. I’m not used to walking with people who treat it as some sort of unspoken race.
“We drew straws to see who’d get to deal with you,” he said, as he walked. “Gordan lost, but I owed her a favor, so she swapped with me. Something about wanting to actually get some work done today. Sucker. I would’ve paid her to let me check on you, instead of the other way around.”
“Is that so?” I glanced at his ears as I caught up to him, trying to be casual. You can usually get a hint about fae heritage from the shape of their ears, and I like to know what I’m dealing with. Maybe if my mother weren’t Daoine Sidhe—the blood-workers of a blood-obsessed culture—I wouldn’t be as entranced by bloodlines. But she is, and in a lot of ways, I am my mother’s daughter.
He was half-blooded, I could tell that much; the human in him was too strong to miss, and most fae don’t freckle. Still, the curve of his ears was unfamiliar. They were too sharp for Daoine Sidhe, too delicate for Tylwyth Teg, and not long enough for Tuatha de Dannan. I let my lips part, “tasting” the air. Sometimes I can catch the balance of someone’s blood on my tongue and sound out their heritage that way. It’s not a common gift, even among the Daoine Sidhe, and a lot of folks don’t recognize it at all.
That’s why I was surprised when Alex turned, shaking his finger. “Uh-uh. If you figure it out on your own, fine, but no tricks.”
I shut my mouth, blinking. It’s not considered rude to taste the balance of the blood, but that’s because so few of us can do it that it’s never had the chance to become socially unacceptable. “You could
always just tell me, you know.”
“Now where would be the fun in that?” Alex stopped walking. His hair had fallen back over one eye, making him look slightly off-balance. “I bet we could find more entertaining ways for you to try working it out.”
“Could we, now? Got any suggestions?”
He smirked. “How do you feel about breakfast?” “Most men start with dinner.”
“I can dare to be different.”
“So far, I’m not seeing much difference.”
“Is that a challenge?”
“Maybe.”
Still smirking, Alex leaned down and kissed me.
His lips tasted like coffee and clover. I blinked, startled, before leaning in and kissing him back. He put a hand on my shoulder, pulling me into a slightly better angle, and deepened the kiss, drawing it out until my head started to spin. Then he let me go, stepping backward, and asked, “Different?”
“Different,” I agreed. I could feel a blush running all the way to the tips of my ears.
“See you at breakfast.” He winked, turning to open the door behind him. “Ladies first.”
Laughing as I tried to sort through the spin of my emotions, I brushed past him into the most architecturally impossible hallway I’d ever seen. Real angles don’t bend that way. I looked back to Alex, who was barely managing to contain his look of anticipatory amusement.
So we were going to play it that way, were we? Putting on my best innocent expression, I asked, “So when were you going to tell us that we were inside the knowe?”
Alex’s amusement faded into surprise. “You knew?”
“Newsflash: you don’t usually find lace-o’-dreams flowers growing on mortal lawns. Plus? The sky was the wrong kind of blue.” I shrugged. “I’m guessing we crossed worlds when we came through the front door.”
He stopped, folding his arms. “Okay, how did you figure that out?”
“Air-conditioning’s turned too high. The first thing you notice is the cold, and that keeps you from noticing the shift. Estate?”
“Shallowing.”
“Thought so. I’m assuming the mortal buildings overlay the knowe?”
A Local Habitation Page 5