Late Eclipses

by Seanan McGuire

  “Sometimes I hate how well you know me,” I muttered. More loudly, I asked, “Is anyone else planning to play tagalong?”

  Quentin stepped forward.

  I sighed. “I should’ve known. Grianne, can you make sure no one walks barefoot on this section of terrace until after the Hobs have a chance to scrub it down?” That was technically destruction of evidence, but any poison on the cobblestones would also be in the cup. I wouldn’t be losing anything, and the last thing I wanted was for somebody else to get hurt because of something as stupid as an unwashed terrace.

  True to form, Grianne didn’t answer out loud. She just nodded, the constant spinning of her Merry Dancers throwing green-and-white shadows across her face.

  “Good,” I said, skirting dangerously close to the forbidden thanks. “Guys, come on.” I started into the ballroom, where I could cut across to the receiving hall, and walk from there to the western antechamber, as long as the knowe hadn’t rearranged itself again. Quentin and Connor followed close behind me; Etienne and Garm followed them. Between the five of us, we had two knives and two ceremonial swords. At least one of the knives was iron, and even so, I have never felt so unarmed inside the walls of Shadowed Hills.

  Connor was walking even more slowly than normal, probably due to the head injury. I dropped back a bit to walk between him and Quentin, glancing from one to the other. “You guys doing okay?”

  “Fine,” said Quentin.

  “My head hurts, but I think I’ll live,” Connor said.

  “You’re going to see Jin when this is done,” I said. “No one gets to ignore a concussion on my watch.”

  Connor frowned. “Are you going to see her, too?”

  “Huh?” I realized I’d been rubbing my temple as we walked. Suddenly scowling, I leaned over to pluck the cup from his unresisting hands. “It’s just a headache. Changeling, remember? I gave myself a bad case of magic-burn.”

  “I thought that was a real dress,” said Connor, frown fading into bafflement. “What did you do? Try to cast a don’t-look-here on the entire ballroom or something?”

  I hesitated. Had I used any magic since we reached the Ball? I didn’t remember doing anything since resetting the apartment wards, and that was a small enough spell that it shouldn’t have been an issue, even for me.

  I didn’t have time to answer; we’d reached the antechamber door. I reached for the latch, pausing as I realized we hadn’t passed a single person during the walk from the terrace. The knowe might as well have been deserted. “Now there’s a pleasant thought,” I muttered, and opened the door.

  May looked up, mouth half-full of cucumber salad, and mumbled something through the gooey mass of mashed-up bread, cream cheese, and vegetable matter. My leather jacket was on the bench next to her. Swallowing, she tried again: “Did you find out who pulled the fire alarm?”

  Raising an eyebrow, I looked at Etienne.

  “We couldn’t precisely evacuate the knowe on account of attempted regicide,” he said. He at least had the grace to look embarrassed.

  “So you pulled a fire drill?” I shook my head. “Oberon’s ass, this place gets weirder all the time. May, Luna’s been attacked. I need you to go down the hill and call Danny to come give you a ride home.”

  She stared at me, sandwich dangling forgotten in her hand. “Luna’s been what? Is she going to be okay?”

  “We don’t know yet, but she—”

  “Will do far, far better when she knows that you’re far, far away,” replied a familiar voice behind me. I stiffened. “Not that she knows much of anything right now, since she’s basically a corpse that happens to be breathing. Nasty business all the way around.”

  I squared my shoulders, taking a breath before I turned to face the next unpleasant challenge of the night.

  “Hello, Rayseline,” I said.

  What do you get when you cross a Daoine Sidhe with a Blodynbryd pretending to be a Kitsune? Something that scrambles my capacity to read bloodlines. I used to wonder where Raysel got her height. Sylvester’s about average for a Daoine Sidhe, and since I didn’t know about Luna’s stolen skin, I always thought it was weird for such a short woman to have such a tall daughter. Having seen Luna’s true form, the fact that Raysel was almost six feet tall was less strange. That didn’t make needing to tilt my head back to meet her eyes any less annoying.

  “October,” she said, with acid sweetness. “I’d expected you to flee the scene by now.”

  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 letter 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.”