A Local Habitation

SIX

THE OFFICE WAS THE SIZE of my living room, but was packed with enough stuff to fill my apartment. Shelves and filing cabinets rose out of a sea of papers, providing landmarks in the universally messy landscape. Computers lined the walls, linked together by a feverish tangle of wiring, and the glow from their screens added a green undertone to the light, making the room seem slightly unreal. A coffeemaker surrounded by an invasion force of green plastic army men rested on a shelf by the door; the toaster oven next to it had its own problems, since it looked like it was about to be gutted by a herd of brightly-colored plastic dinosaurs.

“It’s the place where paper goes to die,” I muttered.

A narrow path through the mess led to a desk in front of the room’s single green-curtained window. The brunette from downstairs was perched cross- legged on the desk’s edge, surrounded by towers of paper, attention focused on the portable computer balanced on her knees. Her glasses were sliding down her nose; they’d already made it more than halfway.

She raised her head and smiled, almost sincerely enough to hide the flash of wariness in her eyes. “Yes, it is. Can I help you with something?” Her tone was pure Valley Girl, implying a level of intelligence closely akin to that of granite.

I wasn’t buying it. “I’m looking for Countess January Torquill. Is this her office?”

“Sorry, no. It’s mine.” The smile didn’t waver.

“Well, I need to find her. I’m here at the request of her uncle.”

The wariness returned, barely kept in check by her frozen-glass smile. “Really? That’s fascinating. Because, see, normally people call before they send guests.”

“He sent me because his niece hasn’t called in a few weeks.” There was something about her smile that bothered me. Not the obvious falseness—she was clearly on edge—but the way it was shaped. “I don’t suppose you know anything about that?”

Her eyes widened, and she shoved her glasses back up her nose, smile abandoned. “What? Hasn’t called? What’s that supposed to mean? He’s the one who stopped calling!”

Moving her glasses made them frame her eyes rather than blocking them and brought the goldenrod yellow of her irises into sharp relief. I only know one family line with eyes that color. Ignore the hair, take away the glasses, and she looked more like Sylvester than Rayseline did.

“That’s not what he thinks,” I said. “January Torquill, I presume?”

Her eyes narrowed, and for a brief moment, I thought she was going to argue. Then she deflated, shoulders slumping, and said, “Not really. I mean, I’m January. I’m just not January Torquill. I never have been.” She shrugged, a flicker of humor creeping into her voice. “As far as I know, no one’s January Torquill. Which is probably a good thing—that’d be a terrible name to stick on a child. It sounds like something out of a bad romance novel.”

“So if you’re not January Torquill, that makes you . . . ?”

“January O’Leary. I’m not full Daoine Sidhe—my father was half-Tylwyth Teg, and his last name was ‘ap Learianth.’ That doesn’t exactly work on a business card. We settled on ‘O’Leary’ as the abbreviation when we incorporated.” She smiled again. This time, the expression had an edge I recognized all too well. Sylvester smiled that way when he was trying to figure out whether something was a threat. “It’s interesting that Uncle Sylvester didn’t tell you that. Considering the part where he sent you here, and everything.”

“You have a phone,” I said. “You could call him.”

“I already tried that while Elliot was stowing you and the kid in the cafeteria.”

“And?”

“No one answered.”

“I have directions in your uncle’s handwriting.” I held up the folder.

“Handwriting can be faked.”

I bit back an expletive. Half the Kingdom knew me on sight and expected me to start breaking things the second I walked into the room, while the other half wanted three forms of photo ID and a character witness. “Alex and Elliot knew who I was.”

“They know who you look like. There’s a difference.”

Sad to say, she had a point. I nearly got killed last December by a Doppelganger who impersonated my daughter. In Faerie, faces aren’t always what they appear to be.

“Okay. If you know who I look like, you presumably know what . . . that person . . . can or can’t do. Right?” January nodded. “It’s sort of hard to prove that I can’t cast a spell, so that won’t work. If you want to give me some blood, I can tell you what you did for your fifth birthday . . .”

“That’s okay.”

“Didn’t think so.” I sighed. “I don’t suppose dropping my illusions and letting you poke me with sticks would do it? I’d really like to get this sorted out.”

She frowned. “It’s a start,” she said.

“Got it,” I said, and let my human disguise dissolve, wafting away in a wash of copper and cut grass.

Jan watched intently, nostrils flaring as she sniffed at the air. Then she grinned. If her smile was bright before, it was nothing compared to the way she lit up now. It was like looking at the sun. “Copper and grass! You are you!”

“No one’s ever been that happy about the smell of my magic before,” I muttered. “How do you . . .?”

“I have files on my uncle’s knights, in case someone tries to sneak in.” There was a brutal matter-of-factness to her tone. She was the Countess of a County balanced on the edge of disaster, and this was just the way things worked. “We’ve had people who could fake faces and pass quizzes, but nobody’s been able to fake somebody else’s magic.” The word “yet” hung between us, unspoken.

“Well, your uncle’s worried, and he asked me to come see how you were doing. Why didn’t you tell me who you were when I got here? We could’ve taken care of all this an hour ago.”

“Do you know where you are?” she asked.

I frowned. “I don’t see what that has to do with . . .”

“Humor me.”

“I’m in the County of Tamed Lightning.”

“Do you know where the County is?”

“Fremont?”

“Fremont, where we’re sandwiched between two Duchies that don’t get along. We’re a shiny little independent County right where it’s not a good idea to have an independent County.”

“I was under the impression that things were stable.” That could change at any time, of course, and there’s always a risk of small-scale civil war in Faerie—it’s something to do when you’re bored and immortal—but the modern world has reduced that risk substantially. The fae are poster children for Attention Deficit Disorder: give them something shiny to play with and they’ll forget they were about to chop your head off.

January sighed. “Uncle Sylvester is respected around here. Something about him having a really big army he could use for squashing people like bugs.”

“So that makes you even safer. Dreamer’s Glass would never bother you with Shadowed Hills standing right there.”

“That’s the problem.”

“Okay, now you’ve lost me.”

“People think that because Sylvester’s my uncle, Tamed Lightning is an extension of his Duchy here to make him look ‘egalitarian and modern,’ and one day he’s going to pull us back in.” She slid off the desk, starting to pace. “They treat us like we don’t matter, or they assume we can get them favors and come around sniffing for political leverage. It got old, fast. So we stopped helping.”

“You thought I was here to ask for a favor?”

“The thought crossed my mind.”

“Well, believe me, I’m not. I’m here because you stopped calling your uncle.”

January shook her head. “That’s not true. I’ve left about eighteen messages. He just hasn’t been calling me back.” A wry expression crossed her face. “I know his phones work. I installed them.”

“Why haven’t you just gone to Shadowed Hills?”

“Same reason he hasn’t come here: if I leave, there’s a good chance Dreamer’s Glass will see it as an opportunity and invade.” She looked suddenly tired. “Welcome to my life. I just have to keep calling.”

“What’s so important that you need to keep trying to reach him? Why didn’t you send a messenger?”

She straightened, another smile blooming across her face. “Where are my manners? You can call me Jan. We’re not big on formalities here. Do you prefer October, Sir Daye . . . ?”

“Toby’s fine,” I said, blinking at the change of subject. “Look, Jan, your uncle wanted—”

“It’s funny that he didn’t tell you I wasn’t a Torquill. My mother was his sister, but she was just a Baroness. Dad was a Count, so I got his name.”

Oh, root and branch, of course. When fae marry, the family name of the person with the higher title takes precedence under almost any circumstances. Faerie isn’t sexist. It’s just snobby. “Sorry. I missed that memo.”

“Well, did he at least tell you about Mom?”

“He mentioned her, yes.” The existence of a sister was an odd fact about an already odd family. The fae aren’t very fertile, and most fae twins are too weak to see adulthood; the fact that both Simon and Sylvester lived was strange enough. Adding a sister to the equation made it almost unreal. “Look—”

“She was older by about a century. She died when I was little.”

“Oh,” I said. That seemed inadequate. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” She shrugged. “It was a long time ago.”

“Oh.” What was I supposed to say? People don’t usually sidetrack conversations to tell you how their parents died.

“Anyway, I run this place.” Jan smiled. “I’m a Capricorn, a computer programmer, and a vegetarian. And I bake a mean chocolate chip cookie.”

I’ve seen the “silly me” routine countless times from Sylvester, usually just before he goes for someone’s throat. It’s an effective camouflage when used on people who don’t know it. I put up with it from Sylvester; he’s earned my tolerance. Jan, on the other hand, hadn’t earned a thing.

“Look,” I said, trying not to sound as frustrated as I felt, “are we going to have an intelligent conversation today, or should my assistant and I go and check into our hotel? I’m not leaving until I can reassure your uncle that you’re all right.”

“It’s sweet that he’s worried, but I promise, we’re fine.” Her face was calm as she moved to the coffeemaker, picking up the pot and waving it in my direction. “You want some?”

“He’s afraid you might be having some sort of trouble.” Was it my imagination, or did she jump when I said that? Her hands were shaking. Interesting. Maybe her flippancy was even more of an act than I’d thought. I looked at her face, noting the new guardedness in her eyes.

“There’s no trouble here.”

“Are you sure?” I asked. The trembling in her hands was getting worse. She put the coffeepot down, shooting me a defiant look. “He’d want me to help if there was.”

“I’m totally sure. If there were trouble, I’d know—we have an excellent reporting system in place.”

In English that probably meant the building was on fire and I was the only one who hadn’t noticed. Shifting topics, I said, “I’ve never seen a Daoine Sidhe with glasses before.”

“Consequence of the modern era,” she replied, relaxing. “I stared into too many bright lights as a kid.”

“And they couldn’t heal you magically? I’d think an Ellyllon . . .”

“I did the damage to myself. I figure I should live with it.”

“I see. So you figure you have to live with whatever’s broken here, too?”

“Nothing’s broken,” she said calmly. “Everything is going great.”

I shook my head. “You’re a terrible liar.”

Jan’s mouth dropped open. I took a step back. Blood means power, and this scrawny, bespectacled girl could probably fling me halfway around the world before I had time to ask for the truck’s license number.

“I am not lying,” she snarled. I flinched, and she took a deep breath, adding more calmly, “It’s just been a little busy lately. That’s all.” She picked up the coffeepot again, finally pouring herself a cup.

I thought Sylvester was being overly concerned when he sent me to Fremont: thanks to Jan’s reactions, I was rethinking my opinion. Even I don’t normally cause panic attacks just by asking a few questions. She’d lied to me twice already. If nothing was wrong, why had she left so many messages for her uncle? “Well, do you mind if we stay a few days, just to be sure? Sylvester asked me to show Quentin the ropes, and I hate to disappoint my liege.”

Her eyes widened as she realized she couldn’t say no without risking her uncle sending an entire diplomatic detachment. I was her one shot at subtle. Then the moment of panic was gone, replaced by another glossy smile. “Of course. Do you have somewhere to stay?”

“Yes, we do,” I said, letting her think that she was fooling me. If she wanted to lie to herself, I was glad to help: it might keep her from realizing how much she was giving away. “Luna arranged hotel rooms for us.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Her smile became a little more honest, affording me another brief look at the fear lurking underneath. “How’s she doing?”

“Luna’s doing well; she’s planning a new garden.”

“Oh? What kind?”

“Wildflowers.” It was going to be a mourning garden, dedicated to the memory of those who died while I was searching for Evening’s killer. There was even a plot for Devin. Luna sent Quentin to show me the plans, and I cried until I was almost sick. But I didn’t want to tell Jan any of that.

“It’s good that she’s keeping busy.” The lightness of her tone was obviously intended to divert me, and it didn’t win her any points.

“Jan?”

“Yes?”

“Can we finish this later? I need to check in with Sylvester, and Quentin has studying to do.” That last bit was a lie, but there was no way I was going to go off and leave the kid in this loony bin. I have too much respect for him.

“Of course.” Jan glanced toward the window. “Wow, is it sunset already? How about you come back in the morning? That’ll give me time to check on a few things.”

Like whether or not we’d really come from her uncle. “That’ll be fine.”

“Great.” She walked back to her desk, setting her mug on an already dangerously cluttered corner. “Do you need someone to walk you out?”

“We can manage.” I wanted time to consider my options before I approached her again. If that meant finding my own way back to the cafeteria and out to the car, fine. I was a big girl. I could handle it.

“Great.” With that, I was dismissed. She sat down on the desk next to her mug and retrieved the computer she’d been using when I arrived, attention already focusing on something else.

It’s always fun when your allies are the ones you want to slap. I left the office without another word, somehow managing not to slam the door, and walked back the way I was pretty sure Alex and I had come. I almost regretted refusing Jan’s offer of an escort; maybe I could have convinced her to send for Alex. Of the people I’d met so far, he seemed the closest to normal. Besides, I wanted to figure out what he was—a little mystery can go a long way, and he had just enough to be interesting.

After half an hour of wandering the halls, I was ready to admit that I was lost. Every window showed a different view of the grounds, giving me absolutely no help with my navigation. I considered climbing out one of the ground-floor windows, but dismissed the idea; with my luck, exiting that way would make it impossible to find the cafeteria again, and I needed to take Quentin with me.

I finally spotted the familiar sky-blue door at the end of a series of sterile white halls that looked like something out of a soap opera hospital. The cafeteria. “About time,” I muttered, hurrying to reach it before it could find a way to disappear. If the hallways in the knowe were actually capable of movement, I wouldn’t put it past them to change just to spite me.

The cafeteria was still almost deserted, save for a single addition: the woman sitting across from Quentin, her chin resting on the balled knuckles of her left hand. He had a wide-eyed, almost stunned look of infatuation on his face, like he’d just figured out what the female gender was for. I’d never seen him look that much like a stereotypical teenager.

I let the door swing shut, clearing my throat. Neither one turned. “Hello?”

Now the woman looked around and smiled. She had a pale, pointed face, framed by straight black hair in a pageboy cut. Her eyes were orange—the same poppy-bright shade as Alex’s—and a scar marred one cheek-bone, almost invisible against her pallor. If she’d seen the sun in the last three years, I’d be surprised.

“Hi!” she said, still smiling. “We were starting to wonder if you’d show up.”

Quentin shook himself out of his daze and gave me a small wave, half-smiling. “Hey, Toby. Did you find Countess Torquill?”

“It’s Countess O’Leary, actually, and yes, I did. Who’s your friend?”

“Oh—sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude.” The woman stood, offering me her hand. The top of her head only came up to my shoulder. “I’m Terrie Olsen. Nice to meet you.”

“October Daye.” I took her hand and shook, once. “I see you’ve met my assistant.”

“Quentin? Yeah. He’s a peach. Where did you find him? He wouldn’t say; he’s such a man of mystery.” She grinned. I didn’t.

Quentin reddened, giving Terrie another adoring look. I frowned. “Shadowed Hills; he’s one of Duke Torquill’s fosters. He’s here to help me check in on the Countess.”

“Really? That’s sweet.” She glanced over her shoulder, smiling. “He’s great company.”

“I’m sure,” I said, frown deepening. “Did you say your last name was Olsen?”

“Uh-huh. Just like my big, dumb brother.” Terrie flicked her hair back, adding, “You’ve probably met him. Tall blond dude, goes by ‘Alex’?”

“Ah,” I said, nodding. “That explains the eyes.”

“Got them from Mom.” Terrie’s grin broadened until a dimple appeared in one cheek. “There’s a family resemblance.”

“I . . . guess that’s true, yes,” I agreed. Dare and Manuel—the last brother-sister team I’d encountered—also had matching eyes.

“Terrie was telling me about computer programming,” said Quentin, in a dopey, adoring voice. I looked back as he added, “She’s really good.”

“I’m not that good,” Terrie said, with a laugh.

“Right,” I said. “Quentin, get your things and come on. We’re getting out of here.”

“But, Toby—”

“Don’t argue. Terrie, it was nice meeting you. Quentin, we’re leaving.” I started to turn.

Behind me, Terrie said, “I bet you got lost in the knowe.”

“What?” I stopped, looking back.

“I bet you got lost in the knowe. Everyone does, at first.”

“I got a little turned around, yes,” I admitted.

“It happens to everyone, honest. Want me to show the two of you out?”

This woman had set me on edge faster and more skillfully than anyone I’d met in years, Jan included; I was afraid that if we spent too much time with her, Quentin was going to propose, just before I decked her. At the same time, my migraine was back with reinforcements, and I just wanted to get out and find the hotel before I killed someone.

“I would love to be shown out of the building,” I said.

“No problem. Terrie to the rescue!” She winked at Quentin and stepped into the hallway with no further fanfare, motioning for us to follow. Quentin started after her, and I followed, watching them speculatively.

Quentin can be a lot of things, but I’d never seen him be fickle. Not that long ago he’d been blushing over his mortal girlfriend, and now he was panting after some strange changeling like a puppy in heat. It didn’t make sense, and it was irritating me. I was sure I was overreacting—Terrie was probably a perfectly nice person who wasn’t trying to toy with my underage assistant—but it was weird. Really weird.

After about ten minutes, Terrie pushed open an unmarked door, exposing the lawn outside. “Ta-da!”

The outside lights were on, and cats lounged in the lit areas, watching us with detached interest. The only flowers in sight were normal, mortal clover. We had left the knowe. I stepped past Terrie and Quentin, taking a deep breath of the cool air and relaxing as I felt my headache loosen. “This is wonderful.” It was dangerously close to saying “thank you,” but I was too absorbed in my speculations to care.

“Don’t mention it,” Terrie said, shrugging off my near-slip. “Are you guys sure you’ve got to get going so soon? The night shift has hours to go.”

“Well—” Quentin began.

“We’re sure,” I said. “Quentin, come on.”

He started to protest, but stopped, catching my expression. Sighing, he turned to face Terrie and executed a deep, formal bow. “Open roads and kind fires to you.”

That was the last straw. Whatever this was, it was moving a bit too fast for me to be even remotely happy about it. “Right. Good night, Miss Olsen.”

I grabbed Quentin’s shoulder and hauled him off. Terrie watched, hiding a smile behind her hand. I did my best to ignore her. Quentin craned his neck for one last look, protesting only when we were out of earshot. “What did you do that for?”

“ ‘What did you do that for?’ ” I mimicked. “Did you see yourself back there?”

“I was being nice!”

“You were being a creepy little ball of hormones! She’s twice your age!”

“You’re like four times my age.”

“But I, at least, am not hitting on you.” I let go of his shoulder, letting him try to smooth his wounded dignity as I stalked toward the car. “We’re here to work, remember?”

“You left me alone. I was gathering information.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Yeah! Did you know that ALH only employs faeries? They hire changelings and purebloods, and that’s it—no humans of any kind. Not even in service capacities.”

“Since most of the company is in the Summerlands, that makes sense. What else?”

“Most of the management staff has been with the company since the beginning. January and her daughter basically run the place, only Elliot does all the staffing. And—”

“Hang on. Daughter?” Sylvester hadn’t mentioned a daughter.

“That’s what Terrie said.” I motioned for him to keep going, and he said, “The daughter’s name is April.”

“Interesting. Any mention of a father?”

“No.”

“Huh. Did you notice how empty the place was? I wonder where everyone is.”

“Maybe it’s just a small company?” Quentin suggested, brow furrowing. We had reached the car, and I dug in my pocket for my keys, shooing cats off the hood and roof.

“Or maybe something’s going on,” I said, and unlocked the driver’s side door. “Those weren’t unused cubicles, just empty ones. There were papers on the desks, and most of them had computers. There were more people working here not all that long ago. Go check your door.”

“So something changed,” he said, as he circled the car to peer through the windows. I did the same on my side. Last time I got into a car without checking whether I was alone, there was a man with a gun waiting for me. There are some lessons you only have to learn once.

“Exactly,” I replied. “Did you find anything else?”

“Not that you’d want to hear.”

So the rest was flirting: got it. “Well, maybe you weren’t just screwing around,” I said, sliding into the car and leaning over to open the passenger door. Once Quentin was in the car and buckled up I handed him the folder with the directions. “Here. See if you can get us to the hotel.”

He sighed. “Yes, O Great One.”

“O Great One? I like that. You can stick with that.” I started the car and drove back up the path from the parking lot to the entrance. The gate was apparently equipped with motion sensors on the inside, because it creaked upward as we approached.

Something flashed gold in the underbrush. I hit the brakes, peering into the darkness. Whatever it was, it was gone; there were no further signs of motion or light.

“Did you see that?”

“Huh?” He looked up from the directions. “See what?”

“Nothing.” I shook my head, restarting the car. “It was probably just a raccoon.”

We drove through the gate and out onto the street with no further delays. The business parks on either side were dark—the sensible people had gone home, leaving the night shift for the lunatics and the fae. That’s how the world has always worked. The night is ours.

“Head for the freeway,” Quentin said.

“Got it.” I turned toward the nearest onramp.

“So did you meet her?” Quentin asked.

“Meet who?”

“January.”

“Yes, I did. So did you; she was the brunette with the clipboard when we first got here.”

“That was her?” His nose wrinkled. Quentin was young enough to be very aware of his own dignity, and his dignity wasn’t the sort of thing that allowed for judging swearing contests.

“Uh-huh.”

“What was she like?”

“Distracted. But a little bitchy at the same time—I don’t think she wants us here.”

“How old is she?”

“Not very. She seems pretty comfy with all this tech, so she was probably born no later than the eighteen eighties.” For a pureblood, anything less than two hundred years is basically adolescence. One of the more ironic things about immortality; the immature period lasts a lot longer. “Tamed Lightning is probably her first ‘real’ regency.”

Quentin frowned. “Do you think something’s really wrong?”

“I think it’s too early to say, but it’s possible,” I said. “Which exit?”

“Next one.”

“Got it.”

Fact: Sylvester was worried about something “going wrong” at ALH. Whatever it was, it was real enough to spook Jan. She wasn’t happy to have us there. So what was she trying to hide? Fact: ALH Computing wasn’t anything I was used to. It’s not that I don’t approve of modern technology; I just don’t understand it, and that makes it hard to appreciate it. What were Jan and her associates hoping to achieve?

Quentin was saying something. I glanced toward him. “What?”

“So are we staying for a while?” he repeated.

“It looks like we may be, yes.”

“Oh,” he said. He didn’t sound disappointed; in fact, he sounded pleased. Not a good sign.

The hotel was coming into view up ahead, and I turned toward it, angling toward the promise of material comfort. The idea of a bed—any bed—was suddenly compelling.

“I am so ready for bed,” I muttered.

Quentin glanced at me. “The Duchess asked me to pass you a message.”

“Oh? What’s that?”

“She says, ‘try to get some sleep, and have anything you want off the room service menu if it means you’ll actually eat.’ ”

That was Luna, all right. I grinned. Sometimes having a collection of surrogate mothers can come in handy—between Luna, Lily, and Stacy, I was almost starting to eat regularly.

“Cool,” I said. “You need anything before bed?”

“No. Wait—what time is it? I promised Katie I’d call.”

“Almost nine. Calling Katie, huh? You sure you’re not going to call Terrie instead?”

Even in the dim light of the car, I saw him redden. “Katie’s my girlfriend.”

“So you were flirting with Terrie, why?”

“I . . . I don’t know. She was cute, and I was bored.” His blush got worse. “It didn’t mean anything.”

“Uh-huh.” I busied myself with pulling into the hotel parking lot and looking for a space.

Unbidden, another fact rose to my mind: Alex was definitely cute. I paused. That wasn’t a thought I needed to have, especially not when I’d just been scolding Quentin for thinking the same about Alex’s sister. But it was also a thought that didn’t involve Connor, or Cliff, and I needed to move on to someone who was neither married nor mortal. Really, who was it hurting? I scolded Quentin because of the age difference. Alex and I didn’t have that problem, unless he was a lot older than he looked.

I don’t usually move that fast. Devin was my first lover, and I was with him for years before I left him for Cliff. The only person I’d so much as looked at since then was Connor, and he and I started flirting when I was still living under Amandine’s roof. I don’t get crushes. It’s not my style. Still, it could be time for a change—and something was telling me Alex would be the perfect change of pace. So what if it was unexpected? That made it more appropriate. Out with the old, in with the new.

Quentin was silent, lost in his own thoughts. Probably thinking about how he was going to explain his sudden absence to Katie. Maybe we’d get lucky, and the only thing wrong at ALH would turn out to be some sort of computer error . . . but somehow, I didn’t think so.

Whatever it was, I had to hope it was something we could handle on our own. Sylvester would never have sent me with nothing but a half-grown fosterling for reinforcements if he thought we’d be in any real danger. Right?