I shrugged. “I’ve never been good at fleeing.”
“You’ll learn.” Her smile was vulpine, baring the tips of the blunted fangs she somehow inherited from her mother. That’s about the only thing she got from the Luna I grew up knowing. Raysel has her father’s fox-red hair and Torquill gold eyes. Those eyes were filled with a malicious glee I’ve never seen from any other member of the Torquill family—not even Simon. “This would be an excellent time to start.”
“I have nothing to flee from. I didn’t hurt your mother.”
“Didn’t you?” Raysel’s eyes flicked to Etienne and Garm, who stood like silent statues to my left. “How many people in this knowe will believe you? How many in this Duchy? In this Kingdom? You killed my grandfather, and everyone knows he had a way of breaking his toys. You were his. Your word is suspect here.”
A wave of coldness washed over me, bringing the phantom taste of candle wax to my lips. Blind Michael had me long enough to do a lot of damage. I sometimes think he’ll always have me, in my dreams. “What Blind Michael may or may not have done hasn’t changed my loyalty to this Duchy. I serve your father. I’d never hurt Luna.”
“Do you truly think my father is going to be capable of such distinctions when she dies?” Raysel infused the question with almost believable curiosity. “They tell me he was less than reasonable when we were missing.”
Connor paled. I reached over to give his shoulder a reassuring squeeze, keeping my attention focused on Raysel. “She’s not going to die.”
Raysel’s eyes narrowed when she saw my hand on Connor’s shoulder, but her smile grew, spreading to fully display her fangs. “No, she won’t, because you won’t be here to hurt her. You’re banished until my father says you can return, and right now, he’s not saying much of anything.”
“On whose authority?” demanded Etienne. I glanced over, startled. I’d almost forgotten he was there. “You forget yourself.”
“Do I?” Raysel smiled. “My father has no named heir. That means I speak in his place, unless and until someone of higher rank says otherwise. Do you want to dispute my authority? Do you really?”
Etienne met her eyes for a long moment before he looked away, shoulders drooping. Raysel’s smile returned, as serene as if she were issuing an invitation to tea.
“I’ll see you tried under Oberon’s Law once she’s gone. You’ll pay for everything you’ve done to us.” There was no sorrow in her eyes; just the petulance of a child whose wishes haven’t been granted. She was waiting for her mother to die and her father to go mad, and she was impatient because it wasn’t happening fast enough.
If I ever really hated her, it was then.
“I’d like to see you try,” I said tightly.
“You can take your trash and go, before I decide you’re better kept confined.” Raysel made a shooing motion with one hand. Glancing at Quentin, she added, “Best you don’t forget who holds your fealty, boy.”
“I know where my loyalties lie,” said Quentin.
His tone made me wince. Making an enemy of Rayseline Torquill might seem like the “noble” thing to do, but it sure as hell wasn’t smart. Quickly, before Raysel’s attention could fix on him, I said, “You know I didn’t hurt her.”
“You killed my grandfather. Some would say that’s enough.”
“She deserves a medal for that,” said Quentin. I blinked, surprised at the venom in his tone. “Any parent in this Kingdom would agree. My parents would agree.”
Almost sweetly, Raysel said, “Your parents have no power here.” Smirking, she turned on her heel and stalked away. The echoes of her footsteps filled the hall until she turned the corner, and was gone.
May stared, openmouthed. “What a—”
“That’s enough, May.” I turned to look at Connor. “Are you okay?”
“No.” He met my eyes without hesitation, shoulders falling into a resigned slump. “I don’t think ‘okay’ is really an option. But I’ll keep an eye on things. Let you know if I see anything suspicious.”
“Good. Keep an eye on Quentin.” If anyone was going to be “keeping an eye” on someone, it would probably be Quentin keeping an eye on Connor. Still, arguing over who was watching out for whom might keep them both occupied, at least for now.
“What?” protested Quentin. “I’m going with you!”
“No. You’re staying here.” He started to speak. I raised my hand, cutting him off. “If you follow me, Raysel won’t let you come back, and you need a way to contact me if she gets out of control.” Her tenuous sanity was clearly slipping, and I was getting worried about the people I was leaving in harm’s way. Especially Connor. Selkies aren’t built for combat on land, and she could break him if she really tried.
Quentin frowned, studying me before he said, “I’ll stay because you told me to. But I don’t like it.”
“You don’t have to.” I turned to Etienne. “You know I didn’t do this.”
“I’d kill you where you stand if I thought you had,” he said calmly.
“That’s fair.” I’d have done the same thing in his place. “Raysel … ”
“I know.” He glanced at the others. “We all do.”
“She might be dangerous.” It was a gamble, but I couldn’t walk away without warning them.
To my relief, he nodded, Garm mirroring the motion. “I know.”
“You’d best find out who did this,” Etienne said. “If you don’t—”
“I’m not stupid. I know what the risks are.”
“No,” he said, stepping back, “you’ve never been stupid, have you?”
“Only on occasion. Good night, Etienne, Garm, Connor. Quentin.”
“ ’Bye, Toby,” said Quentin. Connor didn’t say anything at all. He just stepped shakily over and hugged me. I returned his embrace as tightly as I could with the possibly poisoned cup tucked under my arm, closing my eyes for a split second. Then I straightened, pulling away, and reached for May’s hand.
“Good night, October,” said Etienne. He bowed awkwardly to May, obviously unsure of the etiquette involved in addressing a Fetch. “Ma’am.”
She managed an unsteady smile, grabbing my jacket as she stood. “See you later.”
Leaving them standing where they were, I led May down the hall and out the door, into the warm dark of the mortal night. We were halfway to the parking lot before she asked, “Toby? What just happened?”
“Luna was attacked, and Raysel’s telling people I did it.” I kept pulling her along, my shoes slipping on the damp crabgrass. “So now we have to find a way to fix things.”
“What if there’s not a way?”
“We’ll burn that bridge when we come to it.” We were approaching the car. Spike was curled in a ball on the hood. “Tired, guy?” I asked, picking it up and slinging it over my shoulder. It made a vague, sleepy sound as I unlocked the car.
“Don’t you mean ‘cross’?”
“What?”
“You said ‘we’ll burn that bridge when we come to it.’ Don’t you mean ‘cross’?”
I turned to look back up the hill. Somewhere up there, in a different world, a killer was on the loose, a Duke was mourning his wife before she was even dead, and that same Duke’s crazy daughter was already trying to take control.
“No,” I said, “I don’t.”
TWELVE
MAY WAITED UNTIL WE WERE IN THE CAR before turning to me and saying, “You’re going to tell me everything. Got that? Everything.”
“You’re right, but first you’re going to cast a don’t-look-here on us.” Her expression turned quizzical. I explained: “My head’s killing me, and I’d rather not risk getting followed home.” The statement “it’s not paranoia if they’re really out to get you” may be a cliché, but it’s a cliché I think I’ve earned the right to use.
Her eyes widened as my words sunk in. Nodding, she pressed her hands against the dashboard, and chanted, singsong, “A-tisket, a-tasket, a green and yellow basket, I wrote a le
tter to my love, and on the way I lost it.” Her magic gathered, rose, and slammed down on the car in a wave of cotton candy and ashes. We weren’t wearing human disguises, but we didn’t need them; no one would see us. Hopefully “no one” included Oleander.
I pulled the car out of the parking lot, grateful for the familiarity of the route as I began my terse review of the situation. It helped that May shared enough of my memories to understand why the situation felt so wrong. She’d never seen Luna’s true form—she was “born” before that particular revelation—but she didn’t seem to have any trouble seeing how deep the shit would have to be before Luna’s grip on her Kitsune skin started slipping. I laid it all out, every bit of it, and went quiet, waiting for her response.
May stroked Spike, staring off into the distance before she asked, “Are you sure?”
My hands clenched the wheel as a sharp, sudden anger hit me. How dare she question what I’d told her? She knew what Oleander did to me better than anyone else ever could. She knew. Typical Fetch, just looking for an excuse to send me off to die—
“Whoa.” The car swerved as I shook off the unexpected veil of rage. May wasn’t doing anything wrong. More importantly, May was the last person who would send me off to die. If I went, she went with me.
“Toby?” May looked at me with open concern. “What just happened?”
“I must be more on edge than I thought.” I forced the last of the anger down. “Yes, I’m sure. There weren’t any oleanders in the floral arrangements at the Ball, and I don’t know anybody else in this Kingdom who smells like sulfuric acid. Either I was having the world’s worsttimed drug flashback, or it was her.” We zipped through the tollgate on the heels of a little red sedan, barely making it before the gate came down.
“Wow.” May resumed her thoughtful stare. Finally, she said, “You have to take me home.”
“What?” Taking your eyes off the road when you’re driving under a don’t-look-here is never a good idea, but I couldn’t keep from glancing in her direction.
May shook her head. “If it’s Oleander, she’s going to be watching for you. You’re under a don’t-look-here that doesn’t feel like your work, and I was made to look like you. Let me do my job. Let me go back to the apartment and play decoy.” She chuckled darkly. “What’s she gonna do? Kill me?”
“If you’re sure—”
“I’m sure.”
We drove on in silence, both lost in our own thoughts. Raysel was right when she said she could have me executed; Oberon’s law forbids the killing of purebloods for any reason other than royal command. My life was forfeit under the law the moment I killed Blind Michael, if anyone cared enough to claim it. I’ve done a lot for this Kingdom, but people have died on my watch. The purebloods don’t like death. It makes them uncomfortable. My former mentor turned out to be a psychopath, and changelings go crazy all the time. How many people would believe Raysel if she said I’d finally snapped?
Too many. That was the problem.
I pulled up in front of the apartment, keeping the engine running. “Take Spike with you? I don’t want it vanishing into the park.”
“I don’t think it’s in the mood—poor thing’s still asleep.” May snapped her fingers, the smell of cotton candy rising as a version of my normal human disguise locked into place around her. She cradled Spike to her chest as she opened the door. “Be careful out there. I’ve got a bad feeling about all this.”
“Funky Fetch powers?”
“I’ve met you.”
“Jerk.”
I managed to keep smiling until the door was closed and May was walking up the sidewalk toward our apartment. Letting the expression die, I leaned over to rummage through the glove compartment and pull out the Tylenol. I popped the bottle open with my thumb and dry-swallowed three pills. They wouldn’t kill my headache, but they’d keep me functional a little longer, and I was ready to take whatever I could get.
Midnight had come and gone in the chaos surrounding Luna’s collapse. I returned the bottle to the glove compartment as I pulled away from the curb, too aware of the time. The last thing I needed was to cap my evening by getting caught out at dawn.
Searching the Tea Gardens was a long shot, but it was the best idea I had. If anyone knew how to poison an Undine, it was Oleander—and she’d have needed to get inside the Tea Gardens to do it. Her willingness to mix fae and mortal methods was part of what made her so effective, and if she’d done anything with mortal components, something would’ve been left behind. I just had to find it.
The entrances to Golden Gate Park are never locked, even though the park supposedly closes at sunset. The police make periodic sweeps, unaware of how pointless it is. They may catch the human homeless, but they’ll never catch the fae who make up most of the park’s nighttime population. I parked across from the Tea Gardens, leaving the cup in the passenger-side footwell as I twisted around to dig my emergency sneakers out of the back. I might not be able to change the fact that I was about to go wandering around Golden Gate Park after midnight in a hacked-off ball gown, but I could at least do it in sensible shoes.
Donning sneakers and my leather jacket made me feel considerably more capable of handling what was ahead. I hesitated, finally tucking my hair over my ears before getting out of the car. They were the only thing that really gave me away as anything but human, and I wasn’t kidding when I told May I needed to conserve my strength; magic-burn is nothing to sneeze at.
Neither is murder.
The ghostly outline of the car was visible until my fingers broke contact with the door. Then it vanished, leaving the parking space apparently empty. The spell would keep anyone from parking on top of me. It would also keep me from getting busted by the cops for being in Golden Gate Park after “closing.”
“Hope I can remember where I parked,” I said, and started walking.
A narrow strip of grass separated the Tea Gardens from the parking lot. I knelt to study it, but saw nothing more telling than some half-chewed bubblegum. Countless tourists visit the park every day. If Oleander had been there, her tracks were long gone.
Sometimes I regret my choice of careers. I like my work. I enjoy finding out where people have hidden their secrets, and I like knowing nothing’s ever as secure as people think, even if it means knowing that none of my secrets are safe, either. Still, there are times when something a little stronger than my own knowledge of human behavior would be nice. A full forensics lab, for example.
“Devin was right,” I muttered. “I should’ve joined the police.”
I turned as I stood, and found myself nose-to-nose with a male pixie. He was about four inches tall, glowing with a warm amber light that almost distracted from the fact that his short toga-style garment was made from a Snickers wrapper.
“Uh, hi,” I said. “Can I help you with something?”
It’s hard for pixies to hold still for more than ten seconds—their wings aren’t built for it, and a light breeze has a longer attention span—but he was just hovering there, expression giving every indication that he was waiting for something. I squinted. He was holding something behind his back.
“What’ve you got there?” I asked, and held out my hand.
The question seemed to delight him. Laughing, he darted forward and dropped something into my palm before vanishing into the underbrush. I looked down, just in time to see the oleander flower in my hand burst into pale flames. They burned without heat. The flower was gone in a matter of seconds, leaving an ashy smear behind.
Feeling suddenly exposed, I turned in a slow circle, rubbing my hand against my hacked-off skirt as I studied the area. Something moved behind the fountain on the far side of the parking lot. I took a cautious step forward.
Black hair flashed through blue water as Oleander turned and ran.
There wasn’t time to think, and so I didn’t; I just bolted for the fountain. Everything was suddenly clear, like I’d fallen into a dream where the course of events couldn’t be changed.
She ran, and I chased. That was the only way it could go.
She was ten yards ahead of me when she came into view. My legs were longer, and I was gaining when she ducked into the botanical gardens. I didn’t remember drawing my knives, but I must have, because they were in my hands. That was fine. If I caught her, we’d be done. Killing her would violate Oberon’s law. I didn’t care, just like I hadn’t cared when I killed Blind Michael. He was a monster, and so was she.
Trees choked the path, cutting off most of the ambient light. I would have paused to get my bearings, but I didn’t need to; the bitter tang of acid hung in the air, marking her trail so clearly that I didn’t need eyes to follow her. I just ran.
The path opened into a clearing. Oleander stood at the center, silhouetted by moonlight. She looked over her shoulder as I ran into the open, and smiled. The smell of sulfuric acid and oleander flowers was suddenly overwhelming. I gathered the last scraps of my endurance and dove, intending to tackle her—only to slam headfirst into a young elm tree, the illusion shattering around me.
The pain broke through the haze that had fallen over me, leaving me suddenly aware of my own actions. What in Maeve’s name was I doing? I was chasing a known killer through a manmade forest, alone, when no one knew where I was. That wasn’t even stupid. That was suicidal.
Behind me, Oleander laughed. I turned in time to see the bottom of one bare foot vanish between two rose bushes, and the dream slammed back down, too strong to be denied. I ran after her, close enough now to hear her feet hitting the ground.
She was always just a few steps ahead and a few feet out of reach, almost in sight but never quite there. My lungs were burning. I promised myself that if I lived, I’d start working out. Better cranky and alive than cheerful and dead. That thought probably contained some vast truth, but I had better things to worry about, like what would happen if Oleander exhausted me before I caught her. I picked up the pace and was rewarded with a fresh glimpse of her hair. I was gaining. The smell of acid was so heavy it burned my throat. That didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but the chase.
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