Chimes at Midnight

EIGHTEEN

QUENTIN WAS IN THE BACKSEAT of Danny’s cab when I emerged from the bookstore. I walked around to the front passenger seat and practically threw myself inside, digging the flask of fireflies out of my jacket before my butt even hit the seat. “We’re good,” I said. “We need to get over to Goldengreen. Danny, you know the way?”

“I do,” he rumbled, watching me uncap the flask. “Where’s kitty-boy? And what are you doin’ with the bugs?”

“Tybalt is running an errand for me,” I said. I stuck a finger into the flask, asking, “Does one of you want to help me?” A firefly lighted on my fingertip. I pulled it out and placed it against my chest, managing not to shiver as the glowing insect walked onto my collarbone, finally settling against the hollow of my throat. Its tiny legs tickled against my skin.

My instinct had been right: as soon as the firefly settled, the car seemed to snap into sharper focus. The colors became brighter and the details more distinct, despite the lingering darkness. The rocky planes of Danny’s face stopped looking like an extremely well-made mask. I was seeing Faerie again.

“And the bugs?”

“As long as I have one of these on me, I can see things the way I’m supposed to.” I blinked rapidly, trying to keep myself from starting to cry again. I hadn’t realized how much of a relief it would be to see the world properly. “We should still ask Marcia for fae ointment, just so I’ll have a backup, but for right now, everything looks the way it’s supposed to.” I recapped the flask and tucked it back into my jacket before fastening my seatbelt. “Let’s go.”

“You’re the boss,” said Danny, and hit the gas.

My stomach rumbled as the car pulled away from the curb. I dug the baggie of blood gems out of my pocket and popped one into my mouth. The rumbling decreased, but didn’t stop. That was . . . not a good sign, definitely, but not terribly surprising. My body wanted goblin fruit. Blood might cut the craving for a little while; that didn’t mean it was going to work forever.

“What are those?” asked Quentin.

“Walther made them,” I said. “They’re . . . nutritional supplements, I guess.”

“Made them out of what?”

“My flash-frozen blood.” I could move on to the lozenges the Luidaeg had made for me, if I had to, but I didn’t have to be an alchemist to know that once I started taking the strong stuff, I wouldn’t be able to go back. It was better to stick with my own blood for as long as I could, and save the Luidaeg’s for when I really needed it.

Quentin made a face in the rearview mirror. “That’s gross.”

“You know, we have got to get you a blood magic teacher after all this is taken care of. You’re Daoine Sidhe. You shouldn’t share my aversion to blood.”

Danny snorted. “Best blood-worker in Faerie—’cept your ma, and she doesn’t count, since she hasn’t done any blood-work in years—and you still can’t stand the sight of the shit. Doesn’t that strike you as a little ironic?”

“Please don’t start an argument about what ironic means right now,” I said, replacing the baggie of blood gems in my pocket before sagging into my seat and closing my eyes. “Let’s just get to Goldengreen without any problems.”

“You’re the boss,” said Danny again, and hit the gas even harder.

I couldn’t stop myself from cracking open an eye and watching the city falling away in the side-view mirror, waiting for the moment when an enchanted motorcycle or a black horse with flaming hooves would loom up behind us. The Queen knew Danny was one of my allies. He’d defended me to her face once, even though it could have gotten him into serious trouble. It would make sense for her to have had the car followed.

Danny caught what I was doing and snorted, sounding amused. “Don’t worry about it, Tobes. She ain’t following us.”

“What?” I sat up, turning to face him. “Why not?”

“’Cause we’re in a moving car that’s been enchanted seventeen ways from Sunday to keep the iron in the frame from bein’ a problem. Plus my mechanic doesn’t like it when I get tickets, since paying those off sort of cuts into my disposable income, so she’s got a bunch of don’t-look-here and hide-and-seek and nope-not-yours charms in here. Queen might be able to find us when we’re sitting still. Dunno. But when we’re moving, we’re invisible to anybody doesn’t know just what they’re looking for. So relax. It’s cool.”

“How is Connie, anyway?”

Danny grinned, a little sheepishly. “She’s good. Real good.”

“How’s her schedule looking? I may want to ask her about making some of these modifications to my car. It would sure be nice to be able to drive around without worrying about being tracked.”

“Yeah, that’s a good point. I’ll check and see if she has any big jobs comin’ up.”

Quentin leaned forward, bracing his hands against the back of the seat. “So, have you asked her out yet?”

Danny couldn’t really blush—rock isn’t much for showing subtle changes in skin color—but he scowled like a champion. “None of your business, pipsqueak.”

“You should, you know. She’s smart, she’s funny, she has her own business . . . she could do way better than you. If you don’t jump, she’s going to find somebody who will.”

“Kid’s right.” I smirked at Danny. “Connie’s pretty much got it going on. What’s the problem?”

“I may take romantic advice from the kid, but I ain’t listening to you,” Danny said. “You had to nearly die before you’d listen to me and get with the big kitty. Didn’t I tell you ages ago that you should?”

“Yes, you did, and now we’re telling you to get with Connie. Besides, she’s a Gremlin. For her, fixing your car is about as intimate as it gets. And she didn’t give me a bucket of bonus concealment charms.”

Danny sank lower in his seat, grumbling. “I don’t like you ganging up on me.” There was a note of relief to his complaint. He liked seeing things trend toward normal as much as I did. Wasn’t that the trick, though? Life was one long series of efforts to reach the golden mean, where everything was the way that it was supposed to be. Where we could tell jokes with our friends and tease them about their love lives, and no one had to die for it to happen.

I wanted normal back. And that meant seeing this through.

It was late enough that the parking lot was almost empty when we reached the San Francisco Art Museum. The few cars that remained gleamed faintly, revealing the presence of concealment charms. I glanced fondly down at the firefly that was resting on my collarbone. “You’re awesome, little guy,” I said.

Maybe it was my imagination, but the insect seemed to glow a little brighter after that.

“I’m not sure the cliff-side entrance would be a good idea right now,” I said, getting out of the cab. “I mean, it might work. Or it might decide I’m too mortal to be allowed inside the knowe and dump me into the ocean. Drowning doesn’t sound like a good time to me.”

“You pushed May off that cliff once,” said Quentin.

“May is indestructible; I’m not,” I said. “Can you get us in through the shed?”

He nodded. Danny and I followed him out of the parking lot and into the weeds that grew on the stretch of unlandscaped field next to the museum.

Quentin led us on a looping route that seemed to follow no pattern or trail, until we reached an old, rust-covered shed that looked like it should have been demolished years ago to make way for something newer and less likely to give tetanus to tourists. There was a large padlock on the door. Oak trees grew all around it, their branches spread above it like a canopy. It wasn’t visible from the parking lot. Somehow, no one ever seemed to find that strange. It was just another part of the museum. The human tendency not to ask questions when the fae don’t want them to has served us very well over the centuries.

Voices seemed to whisper from the tall grass as we approached the shed. They were softer than I was accustomed to them being, more believably tricks of the wind blowing off the water. They were accompanied by a feeling of “you should turn back” that was stronger than normal, like the spell had adjusted itself to match my heritage. The more human an intruder was, the less they’d hear the voices, but the more they’d hear the whispered threats.

Quentin walked to the door, where he bent and said something to the lock. The voices stopped, and the wind seemed to still. If I strained, I could catch the faintest hint of steel and heather perfuming the air. Then the stillness passed, and the door swung open, despite the padlock remaining in place. “I love that trick,” he said, sounding pleased with himself.

“You can have a cookie when we get home,” I said, and walked past him, into the knowe—

—only to hit the hallway floor on my knees as the transition between the mortal world and the Summerlands struck me like a hammer. I gagged. It hadn’t been that bad at the Library, but Libraries were special cases, built in shallowings and designed to move when necessary. Goldengreen was a permanent structure. Its roots went deep, and it was not a place where humans belonged.

Massive hands slid beneath my arms, lifting me back to my feet with a surprising gentleness. I slumped against Danny’s chest. It was an unyielding surface, but it was better than the floor. My lungs felt like they were three sizes too small, and my head was spinning.

“That sucked,” I said.

“I’ve never seen you fall down like that,” said Quentin. I turned toward him. His eyes were so wide that I could see the whites all the way around his irises. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just . . . yeah.” I’d seen Marcia make the crossing a dozen times without problems. It must have been the goblin fruit making things even worse—that, or the fact that I was currently even more human than she was. I coughed into my hand and straightened, steadying myself against Danny before taking my hand away. “Let’s go find Dean.”

A group of pixies rushed by overhead, their wings chiming like bells. They vanished through the door that led into the courtyard. I blinked.

“Pixies usually go where there’s food,” I said. “I guess everyone came upstairs for lunch?” It would have made more sense to stay down at the beach, where the Undersea army would be more comfortable, but this wasn’t my invasion to plan.

We walked down the hall to the courtyard, me trying to pretend I didn’t notice how closely my companions were sticking, them trying to act like they weren’t waiting for me to fall. Then we stopped, all of us staring through the open door as we tried to make sense of the scene.

Dean was there, in close-held argument with Marcia, both of them making tight, quick gestures with their hands. Patrick was sitting on one of the low walls that supported the flowerbeds, his head cradled in his hands. Dianda was nowhere to be seen.

And neither was Arden.

I cleared my throat. All three of them looked toward us. Their expressions only drove home the idea that something was terribly wrong. Patrick looked numb; Dean, panicked; and Marcia, who had served as my Seneschal and knew me better than either of the other two, relieved. Then her relief flickered, turning into bewilderment as she really saw me, and realized I wasn’t wearing a human disguise.

“T-Toby?” she said uncertainly. “Oh, oak and ash, what happened?”

“I think I need to ask the same question,” I said. “What’s going on? Where’s Arden? Where’s Dianda?”

“Arden ran,” said Dean. His voice sounded hollow. I wasn’t sure he’d even registered the change in my appearance. “After the Queen arrested my mother, Arden ran.”

“What?!” It felt like the word had been ripped out of me by unseen hands. I stared at him, unable to wrap my mind around what he was saying. “What do you mean, the Queen arrested Dianda? On what grounds?”

“Sedition and conspiracy to incite rebellion,” said Patrick. He sounded a little better than his son. I guess after years of watching the Queen’s policies chip away at the relationship between the Kingdom of the Mists and the Undersea, he’d stopped hoping for anything better. “She came in here with a dozen guards and said she had proof that Dianda was at the head of a campaign against her. She took my wife to be imprisoned until the Queen of Leucothea could be contacted.” A weary smile creased his lips. It was the sort of expression a convicted man might wear on the way to the gallows. “I suppose it’s a good thing I recanted my title when I chose the sea over the land. The Queen ignored me completely.”

“Me, too,” said Dean, sounding confused.

“Yeah, which just proves this is a farce,” I said. Saltmist was a part of the Kingdom of Leucothea, the nearest Undersea demesne. But Goldengreen belonged to the Mists. “This is your land, Dean. If she was arresting people on charges of sedition, you should have been the first against the wall.” He looked sick. I wrinkled my nose. “Sorry about that, and if it helps, I have no idea how she found out. I don’t know how she found out any of this. Did the Queen really come here? The actual Queen, not a representative?”

“It could have been a Gwragen under an illusion, but I don’t think it was,” said Marcia. Everyone turned to her. She shrugged, touching the thin layer of faerie ointment that gleamed around her eyes. “I can’t always see through illusions, but I can almost always tell when someone is wearing one. The woman who came here looked like the Queen; commanded like the Queen; scared the crap out of the pixies like the Queen; and she wasn’t wearing any disguises. I don’t think we’re worth that much trouble. Not Goldengreen.” She paused before adding, “And she was singing. No one could move while she was singing.”

That sealed it. The Queen was part Siren: her songs had the power to command. It also explained how she’d been able to take Dianda with an Undersea army right there. Unless they’d had a Siren of their own to deploy, the Queen could have walked in and out without meeting any real challenge.

“Goldengreen is worth more than any other noble holding in Golden Gate,” I said, surprised by the venom in my words. I looked toward Dean. “I am sorry. I am sorry to have brought this on your house, and on your family, and I will do my best to get your mother freed.”

“Don’t be.” He straightened. “The Queen of the Mists is a bad regent, and right now, she’s in control of my lands and my people. That means she needs to be deposed. Mom is an Undersea noble. She was committing sedition, even if the Queen had no right to arrest her.”

“So what are you committing?” asked Quentin. It was the first time he’d spoken since we stepped into the courtyard.

Dean smiled. “Treason.”

“Okay. Just as long as we’re all on the same page,” I said.

“We’re not,” said Patrick. He stood. “Pardon my language, October, but what in the name of Titania’s ass happened to you?”

“It’s a long story,” I said. It didn’t help: Patrick continued looking at me expectantly, waiting to hear my answer. Dean and Marcia were doing much the same thing. I sighed. “The Queen arranged to have me exposed to goblin fruit. I think she was hoping she could discredit me by getting me addicted to the stuff. Turns out that because of my particular . . . talents . . . I was able to turn myself almost human in the pursuit of a better high.”

“Why only almost?” asked Dean.

“Because that’s when my magic got too weak for me to keep going. Now I can’t turn myself back without either a hope chest or my mother to help me.” My stomach rumbled. I ignored it. “Did the Queen see Arden? Or did Arden just run?”

“She—the Queen—came in through the cliff entrance,” said Dean. “We were all down by the cove. She and her men used the stairs to get down to us, and they went straight for Mom. Arden was at the back of the crowd. I don’t think the Queen saw her, but after the guards took Mom away, Arden was gone.”

“Okay. So she got spooked. It happens. Has anyone checked the guest room where Nolan is sleeping?”

Blank looks told me that they hadn’t thought of that. I bit my lip before I could say something I’d regret later. Dianda was Dean’s mother and Patrick’s wife. They could be forgiven for being a little off their game. I would normally have expected Marcia to be more on the ball, but seeing the Queen was never easy on changelings. She had the kind of beauty that stopped hearts, and the more human you were, the worse it was.

If I saw her in my current condition, I’d probably drop dead on the spot. Not a pleasant thought, given that she was the one who had the thing I needed to cure my current condition.

Please, Tybalt, find Mom, I thought, not dwelling on the fact that somewhere along the line, I had started thinking of humanity as something to be cured. “Nolan, her brother? The reason she’s been in hiding since her father died? That guy? We put him in one of the guest rooms when we first arrived, remember?”

Marcia paled. “I didn’t even think to check.”

“That’s what I thought you were going to say.” I looked back to Danny. “Wait here. I don’t think the Queen is going to come back, but if she does . . .”

“I start shoutin’ about how I’m so honored by her presence and does she need a ride anywhere,” said Danny. “They’ll be able to hear me in Shadowed Hills.”

“Good.” I smiled before turning to Marcia. “Lead the way.”

Marcia nodded, looking anxious, and walked quickly out of the courtyard. The rest of us followed her, me and Quentin at her heels, Dean and Patrick bringing up the rear. None of us spoke. Until we knew whether Nolan was still in Goldengreen, conversation would be a waste of time.

The guest room Marcia had chosen for the slumbering Prince was at the back of the knowe, small but nicely appointed, with a large, comfortable, and above all else, empty bed at the center of the chamber. I stopped in the doorway and sighed. “Damn.”

“He was right here!” protested Marcia.

“I know.” I turned to Patrick and Quentin. “I need your help.”

Both of them blinked. Patrick spoke first, asking, “What do you need us to do?”

“Look: right now, my magic is basically nonexistent. My body is using all its resources just keeping me on my feet. Either Arden teleported to this room and left with her brother, or the Queen brought a teleporter and used arresting Dianda as a cover for her real goal.”

“The Prince,” said Quentin, sounding horrified. “If she knows about him, she wants him.”

“Yeah.” I nodded grimly. “I still don’t know how she knows about any of this, but we have to assume she may know we’ve found Arden and Nolan. So what I need to know is who took him.”

“There’s no blood,” protested Patrick. “I can’t do blood magic without blood.”

“Ah, but you can look for traces of other spells. Daoine Sidhe aren’t as good as Dóchas Sidhe, maybe, but you’re better than anything else Faerie has on tap. So come on, you two. Dig deep, and use what Titania gave you. Tell me who took the Prince.” I stepped to the side, motioning them into the room.

Patrick squared his shoulders and stepped past me. Quentin hesitated.

“I’m not sure . . .”

“Quentin. You’re my squire. You’ve followed me into Blind Michael’s lands. You’ve survived being shot, being transported to Annwn, and riding in a car with May. I’ve overseen your education gladly, and I’ve been perpetually amazed by the man you’re growing up to be. You can do this. And if you refuse to even try, I’ll kick your ass.” I put a hand on his shoulder, shoving him after Patrick. He stumbled, but not for long. Glancing back at me, he smiled anxiously, and then hurried to join the other pureblood.

I took a step backward, getting out of the way. What came next would have nothing to do with me, and everything to do with the two of them. Marcia and Dean moved to flank me.

“Do you really think this will work?” asked Marcia.

“I don’t have a damn clue,” I said. “I also don’t have a better idea.” I dug the baggie of blood gems out of my pocket almost without thinking about what my hands were doing and popped one into my mouth. It dissolved like the others, but my stomach didn’t stop growling. I pulled out another one. That dulled the hunger, and replaced it with a new, gnawing worry.

Walther said these wouldn’t last forever. Just how short was “not forever” going to be?

“What are those?” asked Dean.

“All that stands between me and wasting away for want of goblin fruits,” I said, tucking the bag back into my pocket. “So let’s hope this gets taken care of fast, shall we?”

Inside the guest room, Quentin was pacing, while Patrick was standing frozen at the center of the floor. His eyes were closed, and his chin was tilted back, allowing him to sniff the air. Quentin, meanwhile, was peering at every crack in the wall and every bit of pixie dust on the tapestries. It would have been a comic scene if they hadn’t looked so damn serious. This wasn’t a game. People were going to get hurt if we didn’t figure out where Nolan was. This was my strength: tracking people through their magic. And I was benched for the duration.

Patrick spoke first, saying uncertainly, “I smell . . . clover.”

“I have dry grass,” said Quentin. He looked toward me. “I don’t know what kind.”

“Okay,” I said. “Focus, both of you. Patrick, is there anything special about the clover?”

“No. I’m not you, October. I can’t sniff the air and go ‘oh, it smells like red clover from the cliffs of Oregon.’ That’s your line. All I can give you is ‘wet clover,’ and that’s almost guessing.”

I smiled, just a little. “See, Patrick, you’re better at this than you think you are.”

He frowned. “Come again?”

“Wet clover, and dry grass. We’re looking for a Tuatha teleporter. But not Arden.” My smile died as fast as it had come. “Arden’s magic smells like blackberry flowers and redwoods. She didn’t take Nolan. That doesn’t mean she won’t be looking for him.” My fingers itched with the almost undeniable urge to punch something. Arden had hidden for decades. She’d kept her brother safe and out of the Queen’s reach. And I, in my efforts to fix things, might as well have handed him to the very thing his sister had been trying to avoid.

“So what do we do now?” asked Quentin.

I took a deep breath. “Patrick, I need to ask you for the sort of favor that isn’t just unreasonable: it verges on obscene. Will you please not hit me until I can explain?”

“You want me to keep the news of my wife’s arrest from the Undersea,” he said.

“Yes,” I said, meeting his cold gaze with my own pleading one. “For now. Just long enough for us to find Arden. If we can give her the throne . . .”

“You understand that this could get me banished.”

“You understand that a war, right now, serves no one’s interests but the Queen’s.”

Patrick took a breath, as if to object. Then he stopped and slowly nodded. “I will talk to the soldiers we brought with us. They’re still in the cove, waiting for instructions. If I can convince them, I will do so. But I make no promises.”

“That’s all I can ask for.” I turned to Dean. “The next part is yours. I’m asking your father to help me avoid a war. I’m asking you to plan for one. The Queen will take Goldengreen if she has to. Don’t let her.”

Dean frowned. “What are you going to do?”

“Me? I’m going to find Arden and convince her there’s only one way this can end well for any of us. We’re going to find her brother. We’re going to get him back. And then we’re going to take the throne of the Kingdom of the Mists and give it back to the Windermere family, because it’s pretty damn clear that the current government isn’t working out.”

“But you’re human,” said Dean.

I looked at him, trying to project a calm I didn’t feel. “Only mostly,” I said. “I guess the universe decided it was time the Queen had a fighting chance. Now if you’re with me, it’s time to kick her ass out of this Kingdom.” I extended my hand. After a moment’s pause, he took it.

Dianda was the only one who’d been arrested; she was the only one viewed as a threat. The Queen should have thought bigger. Because as long as any of us were free, she was finished.

Hopefully. Assuming we could all stay alive that long.