Late Eclipses

TWENTY-NINE

“NO. ABSOLUTELY NOT.”

I glanced up from the vital business of trying to construct a sandwich from French toast, rubbery fried eggs, bacon, and strawberry jam. “What’s this objection to?”

“You are not leaving here without me.”

“Ah. Yeah, I am. Sorry about that.” I used a liberal amount of syrup to compensate for the sandwich’s lack of structural integrity and took several messy, wonderful bites before continuing, “I wish I could take you. I really do. But the Queen has to suspect you were involved in breaking me out, if she doesn’t already know. Your subjects need you too much for me to let you put yourself in danger for me again.”

Tybalt glared but didn’t argue. I offered an apologetic smile in return.

“Bet you’re sorry you fed me, huh?”

“There are many things I’m sorry to have done.”

Half an hour ago, I was barely staying upright under my own power. It’s amazing what a difference a solid meal makes. Even better, Tybalt had returned my clothes, including my jacket; freshly cleaned and smelling as strongly of pennyroyal as it did when he first gave it to me. I suspected he’d been wearing it while I was knocked out. Somehow, I couldn’t find it in me to mind.

I’ve always been a fast healer, but this bordered on ridiculous. One more side effect of Amandine’s little parlor trick, and one more thing to discuss with the Luidaeg. Silly me, I always assumed accelerated healing was a Daoine Sidhe thing that just didn’t come up often in company that didn’t make a habit of brawling.

“You can’t go alone,” said Connor, in a carefully nonoffensive, “Toby isn’t thinking things through again” tone. “Assuming you’re in your right mind—which you might not be after the last week—running in alone is begging for trouble.”

“I don’t even know why you think you’re going to find Oleander,” said Quentin. “Won’t she be hiding?”

“She’s cocky, and she wants me to think I’m going crazy,” I said. “She won’t be able to resist showing herself if I come looking.” It was so much easier to think without iron and poison clouding my mind, and with half a pot of coffee in my belly. I wasn’t sure what diner Tybalt had arranged to have raided, or whether they’d been paid, but the coffee was strong, and everything else was at least edible. That was all I cared about. “Besides, who said I was going alone?”

Connor frowned. “You said—”

“I said Tybalt couldn’t come, and I have good reason for that,” I said, trying not to let myself notice the hurt look on his face. He might see my logic. That wouldn’t make him like it. “Raj, you’re out, too. The Court of Cats is already too involved in this, and the last thing I want to do is give the Queen an excuse to start trouble.”

“She can try,” said Tybalt icily.

“I’ll go,” said Quentin.

“No, you won’t,” I said. Quentin added his own wounded look to the one Raj was already giving me. I finished my coffee before saying, “I need you here. The Queen might not connect a random foster with my escape, but Raysel will. Until we know whether she’s reported your disappearance to the Queen, we can’t risk it.”

“My parents will be so proud if I get kicked out of the Kingdom of the Mists,” deadpanned Quentin.

“Who, then?” asked Tybalt. His tone was quiet, and still cold. He knew what I was going to say, and I knew from the look on his face that he wasn’t happy about it.

I took a deep breath. “I’m taking Connor.” Connor looked startled, then pleased. “Even if everyone at Shadowed Hills is watching for the escaped felon, they’re not going to be watching for him. He knows the knowe as well as I do, if not better by this point, and most importantly, all the locks are keyed to him.”

“And if someone assumes his absence has been unwilling, rather than because he was a part of your rescue?” Tybalt narrowed his eyes, all but glaring at Connor. “There are those who will be happy to say he was forced, and use that as justification for harming you.”

“Yeah, but I’m not one of them,” said Connor. “People know Toby and I were close in the past. The courtiers in the Duchy also know that my wife’s been a little bit unhinged lately. They’re going to assume I ran to Roan Rathad after Toby was arrested, and Sylvester will support that.”

The two men glared at each other. Unexpectedly, Tybalt was the first to look away. “I don’t like this,” he muttered.

“You don’t have to.” I wiped my syrupy hands on a napkin and stood. “Connor, how did you get here?”

“I took the bus.” He grimaced as he rose to follow. “Not so helpful, huh?”

“Not unless we want to be the cavalry of public transportation.” I sighed. “There’s another option. Is there a phone around here?”

Quentin pulled a cellular phone from his pocket and offered it to me. “I don’t like this either,” he said, “but here.”

I took the phone, relaxing slightly as I saw the crest of Tamed Lightning etched into the plastic. Countess April O’Leary of Tamed Lightning is an ally, and more, she’s a techno-Dryad—something that may be completely unique in Faerie, and was only possible because of her adopted mother’s particular mix of Daoine Sidhe and Tylwyth Teg heritage. Her skill at adapting modern electronics to work in the Summerlands makes her the envy of every Gremlin in the Kingdom. If this was one of April’s phones, it was secure.

“Cool,” I said, flipping the phone open and dialing.

Danny picked up on the second ring. “McReady’s Taxi.”

“Danny? It’s me.”

“Toby!” His voice boomed through the phone loudly enough for everyone to hear. “Fuck’s sake, girly, I thought you were—” He cut himself off. “Never mind what I thought. You safe? You need me? Where are you—no, wait. Don’t tell me where you are if it’s not safe. When they said you’d escaped, I thought—”

“Danny!” I hated to interrupt, but I didn’t have time for him to calm down on his own. “Connor and I need a ride to Shadowed Hills. Are you available?”

“You, ah, sure that’s a good idea? What with the Queen and the sentence of death and everything? Not saying I won’t do it—pretty sure she’s gunning for me already, after the way I mouthed off at your trial—just it might not be the safest thing you could do.”

“I have to.”

“In that case, I’m yours. Just say where.”

“Great.” I cupped a hand over the receiver. “Tybalt? Where are we?”

He sighed, muttering, “I shouldn’t tell you,” before adding, in a normal tone, “The exit will place you at the corner of Derby and Telegraph.”

“Okay.” To the phone, I said, “Berkeley. Derby and Telegraph.”

“Be there in ten,” said Danny, and hung up.

I tossed Quentin his phone. “Come on, Connor. He’ll be here in ten minutes. You guys … just be safe. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” I spread my fingers, filling them with shadows, and almost lost hold again as my magic rose eagerly to answer. It was too fast; I didn’t know how to control it. Forcing myself to keep breathing, I wove the cut grass and copper strands into a human disguise, throwing it over myself and letting my hands unclench. It was easy; too easy.

“Your magic smells funny,” said Raj, bemused.

He was right. The copper was too sharp, like freshminted pennies. There’d be time to think about that later. Not letting myself hesitate, I turned, gesturing for Connor to follow. We almost made it before Tybalt caught up with us, grabbing my arm and spinning me to face him. I raised my eyes to his, barely aware of holding my breath.

“Come back to me,” he said. Then he let go, shoving me away as he turned and stalked back to the table. Quentin had his head down and his shoulders locked as he pretended to focus on his breakfast. Raj was staring after us, looking heartbroken. I looked at them. Then I shook my head, mouthed, “I’m sorry,” and kept going.

The transition between the Court of Cats and the Berkeley street was smooth, depositing us outside in the cool of evening. I breathed deeply, realizing as I did that this was the first time I’d been allowed to breathe mortal air since my trial. I didn’t have to look back to know that the entrance to the Court of Cats would be gone; Tybalt was too smart to leave it open, no matter how much he didn’t want us to leave.

“Hey.” Connor touched my elbow lightly.

“Hey.” I slanted a smile in his direction. “Like the new look?”

He laughed unsteadily, dropping his hand away from my elbow and threading his fingers through mine. I didn’t pull away, but stepped closer, resting my head against his shoulder and letting the heat coming off his skin warm me through. “To be honest, I don’t know. But you’re not dead, and that’s good enough for me.”

There didn’t seem to be anything I could say to that. We stayed that way, waiting, until a battered green taxicab roared around the corner and screeched to a stop in front of us. It had barely stopped when Danny launched himself out of the driver’s-side door, charging around the car and sweeping me into a massive hug. My feet left the ground, and I found myself faced with an interesting predicament: kick my ride to Shadowed Hills in the knee, or suffocate?

Connor solved the issue by tapping Danny on the arm—as high as he could reach—and saying apologetically, “I don’t think she can breathe.”

“Aw, hell!” Danny put me down, grinning ear-to-ear as he clapped his hands down on my shoulders. “You’re alive!”

“I am. But we need to get moving. Can I fill you in on the way?”

“Yeah, yeah. Here.” He opened the passenger door for me, waving me to get in. “Seal-boy, you’re in back. Not that I don’t like you, but it’s a chivalry thing.”

“I understand,” said Connor. He started toward the car, only to stop dead as two of Danny’s Barghests stuck their heads out the window. They were panting, venomous fangs retracted and tongues lolling.

“What?” demanded Danny. I pointed to the Barghests, fighting to keep myself from laughing. Understanding dawned. Danny grinned. “That’s Iggy and Lou. Don’t worry; they don’t bite unless you poke ’em. They may drool a little, but it ain’t acid or nothin’. That’s a myth.”

“They’re … Barghests,” said Connor carefully, in case we hadn’t noticed.

“Yeah.” Tone turning crafty, Danny asked, “You want one?”

It was too much. I burst out laughing, managing to say, “No, Danny, Connor doesn’t want a Barghest.” Then, because Danny looked so hurt by the idea that Connor wouldn’t want one of his pets, I added, “It wouldn’t get along with the rose goblins.”

“True enough,” said Danny, mollified. “Well, get on in.”

Connor shot me a frantic look. I shrugged, gesturing to the backseat as I climbed into the front. A little Barghest drool wasn’t going to kill him.

One of the Barghests stuck its head up between the seats. I scratched it behind the ears while we waited for Connor to get over his monster issues. “Which one’s this?”

“Lou,” said Danny. “She’s my good girl, aren’t you, Lou?” The Barghest commenced to licking his face with enthusiasm. “I tell you, even if I can find homes for the rest, these two are staying.”

“Good to know,” I said. The back door shut as Connor finally got in, and I was saved from making any more small talk about Danny’s literal “pet” project as the Bridge Troll hit the gas and sent us rocketing into traffic.

“Now,” he said. “Talk.”

So I talked. Starting with what I’d been doing at Shadowed Hills when I was arrested, and jumping from there to the trial. Describing the cell where I’d been held was more upsetting than I’d expected; by the time I finished, I was staring fixedly at my hands to keep myself from seeing the looks on their faces.

Silence held in the car for several minutes, broken only by the sound of traffic and the panting of the Barghests. Finally, Danny said, “Yeah, but … how in the hell’d you get run through the pencil sharpener?” I glanced up. Mistaking my surprise for confusion, he mimed a point over his own disguised ear. “Word on the street is you’ve got a hope chest you didn’t turn in to the authorities.”

That startled me into a sharp, barking laugh. “Are you kidding? People think I did this to myself ?”

“People talk when they don’t got the truth,” he said implacably.

“I gave the only hope chest I’ve ever seen to the Queen,” I said. “My mother did this to me.”

“Your ma has a hope chest?”

“No, Danny. She did it to me on her own.”

“Oh.” Danny paused to mull this over. Finally, he said, “So your ma, she’s not Daoine Sidhe, then.”

“No.”

“Oh. Well.” He paused again before shrugging. “That makes a lot of sense.”

I stared at him. “Glad it makes sense to one of us.”

“C’mon, kiddo, you thought what? That Daoine Sidhe were made of rubber or something? Half the shit you do shoulda killed you years ago.”

“He’s right,” said Connor, abruptly. “I don’t know why we didn’t see it.”

“Because we didn’t want to.” I slumped in my seat. “If we saw it, we’d have to deal with it, and with everybody saying she was Daoine Sidhe, and me being too weak to worry about, it got to stay invisible.”

“A lot of things make more sense now,” said Connor.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “They do.”

We were approaching the Caldecott Tunnel. Tunnels represent an essential difference between humans and fae. When the population of Berkeley and Oakland filled the available space and needed to expand, mankind found a way to run the road right through the mountain. The fae would have picked the mountain up and put it down someplace less inconvenient. The idea of driving a permanent road through the middle would have never occurred to us.

When did that turn into an “us”? When did I stop thinking of myself as human?

“Uh, Toby? Not to distract you while you’re brooding and all, but we may have a problem.” Danny’s voice was level. Too level. Anyone who sounds that calm and isn’t actually sedated is upset about something.

I tensed. “What is it?”

“Look in the mirror.”

Connor leaned over the back of the seat as I craned my neck to see the rearview mirror, both of us studying the same view of the road behind us. Three of the visible cars were surrounded by an odd yellow haze, like someone had smeared honey on the glass. “What the hell is that?” I asked, twisting around to look directly at the road.

The three cars weren’t there—instead, there were three holes in traffic that could be easily blamed on cars with strong don’t-look-here charms on them, if I wanted to be that paranoid … and after the past week, I couldn’t afford not to be.

“That’s a don’t-look-here,” Danny grunted, putting a hand on my shoulder and pushing me back into my seat. “Mirror’s Gremlin work. Same place as does my speed charms. You may wanna check your seat belt.”

I wear a seat belt as a matter of habit. That didn’t stop me from double-checking the clasp. I could hear Connor doing the same thing. “What are you going to do?”

“Just watch the mirror,” he muttered, gunning the engine and cutting off several startled drivers as we plunged into the tunnel. He was accelerating rapidly toward the tunnel’s main curve. There’s no following visibility around that turn—you have to go with it and trust you’re going slowly enough not to slam into anyone. Given that the taxi was rapidly cresting toward ninety miles an hour, “slowly” wasn’t a factor. “Second you can’t see them anymore, you throw down a hide-and-seek.”

“But I can’t—”

“Do it!”

A hide-and-seek spell is like a don’t-look-here in the sense that both keep people from noticing you. The hide-and-seek is just a little more, well, advanced, which makes them a lot harder to cast. Anyone who’s looking when the hide-and-seek goes up won’t lose sight of you right away—although they will if, say, you go around a curve or otherwise break their line of sight. That makes hide-and-seek spells safer to cast in traffic, since they don’t lead to immediate accidents. It also makes them harder to follow.

I’d never cast a successful hide-and-seek spell in my life, and this seemed like one hell of a time to start trying.

Our car slid around the sheltering curve of the tunnel, blocking the following traffic from view. “Now!” Danny roared.

There was no time to argue; they’d be around the curve in a second. I slammed my hands against the ceiling, chanting, “Go make thyself like a nymph o’ the sea: be subject to no sight but thine and mine, invisible to every eyeball else!” The smell of grass and new-penny copper filled the car. I dropped my human disguise, grabbing the freed magic and feeding it into the casting I was fighting against. “The Tempest, act one, scene two!”

The spell gathered and burst as Danny turned us hard to the right, swerving around a minivan as we blasted into the daylight outside the tunnel. I slumped in my seat, panting and rubbing my forehead.

“… I think it worked,” said Connor, sounding awed.

I risked a glance at the rearview mirror. The yellowringed cars were still there, but they’d stopped actively following us, and were weaving in a search pattern. “Oak and holy mother-fucking ash,” I breathed, and paused, realizing that my head didn’t actually hurt. That was … wrong. I should have been groaning and digging for the Tylenol. More quietly, I muttered, “Just how much of my humanity did she take?”

“Worry about that later,” rumbled Danny. I glanced toward him. His expression was grim. “They’ve spotted us again. Bitch must’ve given them tracker charms.”

I looked to the mirror. The car at the front of the pack was arrowing after us, and two more flanked it. The fourth car hung back, probably waiting to see what we’d do.

Danny hit the gas, swerving around drivers who didn’t see us and didn’t react to being cut off. “I didn’t want to do this,” he announced. “Seal-boy, hang onto the kids, will ya? I don’t want them getting banged around. Toby, hang onto the dashboard.” After a pause he added, “Also, praying to the sacred ash and all that shit might be good.” The engine screamed as he shifted gears. We couldn’t maintain this speed for long.

I pressed my hands against the dashboard to brace myself. From the backseat, Connor demanded, “What didn’t you want to do? What are you doing?”

“Hopefully proving my mechanic is as good as she says she is.” Danny turned toward the barrier in the middle of the upcoming freeway split, driving for the thickest part of the concrete. “Toby, watch the mirror.”

“Danny, are you sure this is a—on the right!” One of the cars in the mirror was swerving toward us.

Danny jerked the car to the left. Not fast enough; something I couldn’t see slammed into us from behind, knocking me forward with enough force that I nearly hit my forehead on the windshield. Connor made a squawking sound, and the Barghests started to make a noise midway between a bark and a trash compactor. Danny hit the gas, adjusting our trajectory so that we were once again aiming straight for the wall.

It was just a few yards away when we were hit again from behind. Danny shifted gears, and a strange whining noise began vibrating the car. “Trust me!” he shouted, above the sound of the engine, the mechanical keening, and the Barghests.

Then he stomped on the gas, and we plowed into the concrete.