Late Eclipses

THIRTY

THE WALL FLOWED AROUND US LIKE MIST. I was too busy screaming to notice the moment when it changed from concrete gray to foggy white. Connor was doing the same thing, while the Barghests rattled madly around the backseat, howling their heads off. Danny swore steadily but calmly as he navigated the taxi through the paling gray.

We still hadn’t splattered against the retaining wall. I stopped screaming, waving Connor to do the same as I cast a narrow-eyed look in Danny’s direction. “What is this?”

“Remember when I said I had an awesome mechanic?” Danny’s grin revealed craggy teeth. The car continued to barrel forward. The Barghests and Connor were still making enough noise to constitute a public nuisance—if we’d been someplace with a public, that is. “Turns out I was right.” He hit the brake, bringing the car neatly to a halt.

The last of the gray cleared away, revealing the marble birdbath directly in front of us. It was choked with clematis vines and climbing roses, much like the rest of the overgrown garden surrounding us. More roses did their best to block the pathway to the tall stone tower that rose against the skyline ahead of us. I blinked, barely noticing that Connor had stopped screaming. The pathway to my mother’s tall stone tower.

“Danny?” I said.

“Yeah?”

“Did you just drive your taxi into the Summerlands and park it in the middle of my mother’s garden?”

“Pretty much.” Danny unfastened his seat belt. “Good thing it worked, huh?”

The implications of that statement were a bit more than I cared to think about just then. I twisted in my seat to face the back, asking, “Connor? You okay?”

“I think I’m going to be sick,” he replied faintly. Danny opened the door and the Barghests went rocketing out, making as much noise as they possibly could as they began racing around the garden. Connor winced at the racket before asking, “Are we dead?”

“Not yet. If you’re going to barf, don’t do it in Mom’s birdbath.” I undid my own belt and climbed out of the car, stretching to cover the fact that my legs were shaking. “Root and branch, we can walk to Shadowed Hills from here.”

“You’re gonna have to.”

I looked toward Danny as Connor got out of the backseat and moved to stand behind me. “No roads?” I ventured.

“That’s most of it. The rest is that Connie warned me when she set up the doohickey that it’d leave a trail a mile wide.” Danny shook his head, expression going grim. “The Queen’s got folks who can open doors to the Summerlands. It won’t take them long to track us.”

“So we start walking. Come on.”

“No. You’re going to need something to distract the folks that chased us in here, and I’m in the mood to punch something. Me and the kids are staying. You just tell your summer home over there,” he flapped a hand in the direction of the tower, “to let us in when we ask. We’ll hold off the guards till we can’t, and then we’ll go inside, shut the door, and have a nice nap.”

“Danny—”

“Don’t argue. It’ll just waste time, and they already know I was with you.” Danny shrugged. “We’re not exactly inconspicuous. Your ma have cable?”

“Not last time I checked.” I walked around the car, hugging as much of him as my arms would allow. “This was good.”

“Just squaring up for my sister’s tab,” he said, patting me on the head with one massive hand. “Now get out of here, both of you.” He pushed me away. I went.

“Connor, come on.” I started for the gate leading to the woods between my mother’s land and Sylvester’s. He followed. I paused at the garden wall, tapping the stone and whispering, “These three are with me. Let them in, and no one else.” Nothing happened—nothing visible—but I knew the tower heard me. When the time came, it would do its best to offer sanctuary to Danny and the Barghests.

The image of what they’d do to Mom’s furniture was enough to bring a brief but sincere smile to my face.

“This is definitely turning into one of my more interesting nights,” said Connor, following me into the wood outside the garden wall. “What’s next?”

“Hopefully, nothing this exciting.” The trees around us were citrines, with orange-veined leaves and papery bark. The ground was relatively smooth; citrine trees have deep, narrow roots. “Get in, find Sylvester, and tell him what’s going on. Find Oleander. Don’t die.”

“Got it,” he said.

We kept walking. The citrines were replaced by delicate ferns with pearl-white-and-rose fronds that stood taller than our heads. Connor took my hand without saying a word. I squeezed his fingers and kept going as the ferns thinned, replaced by trees with dark green leaves and delicate thorns covering their branches.

“Almost there,” said Connor.

“Yeah.” The thorny trees gave way to towering ornamental hedges as the Great Hall of Shadowed Hills came into view.

The term “Shadowed Hills” describes a lot of things. It’s the Duchy. It’s the knowe. It’s the Great Hall that houses the Torquill family. In the mortal world, it’s just a hill. But in the Summerlands, Shadowed Hills is a manor house spread over three acres of land, saved from castlehood only by its lack of turrets and a moat. And Sylvester may eventually have those added.

“Something’s wrong.” Connor tugged me to a halt. “I don’t know what it is, but something’s wrong.”

I frowned, studying the outline of the Great Hall as I tried to find the missing piece of the picture. Then I saw it, and went cold. “Luna’s coat of arms is gone.” Sylvester’s arms were still there, as were the Duchy’s, but they were flying at half-mast.

“Do you think she … ?”

I didn’t even want to dream the words, much less hear them spoken out loud. “Come on,” I said, briskly, and started moving again.

There are almost a dozen ways into Shadowed Hills from the Summerlands-side. Connor and I followed the line of hedges past the main door, heading for the nearest servants’ entrance. Stacy, Julie, and I used to sneak in that way when we were kids; Kerry’s mother worked there, and she’d feed us in exchange for taking Kerry off her hands. I just hoped the door was where I remembered it. Things at Shadowed Hills tend to move around, but that doesn’t usually include the servants’ quarters—Luna’s passion for interior decoration has never extended to pots, pans, and the kitchen help.

Footsteps approached along a path to the left. I ducked behind the hedge, pulling Connor against me as four knights in the livery of Shadowed Hills walked by. I knew them. I’d fought with them, practiced with them, and gotten roaring drunk with them. They weren’t friends, but they were people I respected, and if they saw me, they’d turn me in. It was their duty. Not even Sylvester could protect me from the Queen unless he wanted to declare war on the rest of the Kingdom.

My heel scuffed the gravel. The knights paused, and I flinched, aware of how exposed we were. If they followed the sound they’d find us, and that would be the end. There was nowhere left to run.

Connor and I held our breath, clinging to each other as the seconds ticked by. Finally, the guards shook their heads and continued on their way. I waited for the footsteps to fade before I started breathing again, and I still counted to a hundred before I stood and bolted for the hall, Connor racing to keep up. We crossed the remaining distance in a matter of minutes, my heart hammering against my ribs as we ducked behind the narrow bit of stonework that concealed the kitchen door when I was a kid.

Luck was on our side; the door was still there. “Come on,” I whispered. Connor nodded, and followed me inside.

Nothing at Shadowed Hills is small. The main kitchen is a vast room filled with ovens, stoves, counters, and the sweet smell of baking bread. The ceiling is low so that pots, pans, and dried herbs can be hung from the rafters; that keeps the sheer size of the place from being daunting, but only barely. I held the door long enough to peek out and be sure no one was following before easing it shut and turning to face the room.

Despite the sheer size of the kitchen, there was only one person in sight: a small, wizened man with a long white beard, contentedly washing dishes in the largest of the three sinks. Six Hobs—even halfbloods—can do the work of three dozen humans, and they get cranky when you shove too many of them into one place. I gestured for Connor to follow as I began creeping toward the door on the far wall.

We were halfway across the room when the man said, “Afternoon, Miss Toby, Master Connor. Wouldn’t go out there, were I you. There’s a ruckus on.”

I winced as I turned to face him. Connor moved to stand next to me, taking my hand again. It was a show of support, and I appreciated it more than words could possibly have said. “Yeah, we know about the ruckus, um … ”

“Ormond, dear. You knew me when you were younger, but it’s been a bit, hasn’t it? Haven’t seen you in the kitchens since, oh, year before young Meriel got herself sacked for malingering. That’s a good three decades, I’d say.”

“It’s probably been longer.” I raked my hair back with my free hand. “I know it’s rude of me to ask, but could you—”

“We’ll keep quiet; we know the Duke doesn’t want you found. He’ll be glad you’ve gone to ground here, it’s what he hoped for.” He winked at Connor, grinning broadly. “I see you’re the cause of the young Master’s absence. Good for both of you.”

“Er.” I exchanged a glance with Connor. He was blushing madly. Judging by the heat in my cheeks, I wasn’t much better.

Ormond kept talking, ignoring our dismay. Hobs are like that. They’d play matchmaker in the middle of a nuclear strike if the opportunity presented itself. “Why don’t the two of you stop in the pantry? There’s apples and such.” He indicated a door near the spice racks. “You’ll both feel better for having eaten, and I’ll call Melly. She’ll gladly put you up in the servants’ quarters while I fetch His Grace.”

This was all getting a little out of control. “Look, we really don’t want to get you in any trouble. We can find him on our own.”

“There’s no trouble here.” Ormond’s expression turned grim. “We saw you all over these kitchens when you were just a pup, and maybe it’s been a bit since you came belowstairs, but we remember you. Amandine’s girl, and the Duke’s girl, and there’s never been a rotten bone in your body. Whatever that washed-out ‘Queen’ says, you didn’t hurt anyone. Especially not our Duchess.” He glowered, daring us to argue.

I gaped at him. Connor took a half step forward, clearing his throat. “That’s very kind. Can you tell Melly we’d be honored if she found a place for us to rest while we figure out what to do next?”

“It’s my pleasure.” Ormond hopped down from the stool he’d been using to reach the sink. Like most Hobs, he was small, barely reaching my waist. “Get yourselves some food before everyone thinks I’m abusing you, and I’ll let Melly know she’s to make a room for two fugitives. She’ll be delighted. She hasn’t had nearly enough in the way of blood and grass stains to wash out of the linens since the Duke gave up questing.”

“Right,” I said faintly, as I watched him turn and walk away. Once he was out of earshot, I said, “Connor?”

“Yeah?”

“Did we just let Ormond walk away thinking we ran off to have an affair?”

“That depends.”

“On what?” I asked, turning to face him.

Instead of answering aloud, Connor quirked a smile, put his hands on either side of my face, and kissed me.

I was basically a kid the first time I kissed Connor. He was attached to Shadowed Hills as the diplomatic representative from Roan Rathad, and he was as baffled by the land fae as I was by purebloods in general. Kissing me was something he understood, and my changeling heritage didn’t bother him—Selkies are born mortal, after all, and they only become fae if they’re lucky enough to receive a skin. After Devin—after the men Devin hired me out to—Connor’s salt-sweet kisses and careful hands were a revelation.

It didn’t last. We’d barely progressed past stolen kisses and casual groping when the folks back home put their collective foot down. Selkies only get involved with other Selkies, or with pure humans. No changelings. No mixed-breeds. Not ever. I got involved with a human man. By the time that ended, Connor was caught in a marriage of political convenience that conveniently ignored the “rules” his family used to kill our brief-lived relationship. Not the sort of thing that inspires renewal of past passions.

His lips still tasted like sweetened saltwater. I kissed him back without realizing I was going to do it, and once that was done, there was nothing to do but step closer, still kissing him. The webbing between his fingers was cool in comparison to his hands; the rest of his body was hot, pressing against me like he thought our clothes might conveniently disappear.

No such luck. Connor reluctantly broke the kiss, stepping just far enough back to see my face as he said, “Maybe we did.” He left his hands against my face.

“They’ll be thrilled,” I said, trying to sound dry and mostly succeeding in sounding dazed. The Shadowed Hills house-Hobs would be thrilled if Connor and I ran away together. I was a much saner match for him than Rayseline, and they all knew how much I meant to Sylvester. Most of the staff had been with the Torquill family for generations.

I froze. Connor must have taken my expression for rejection, because he dropped his hands, a hurt look flashing over his face. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I just thought—”

“Ormond mentioned Meriel’s dismissal like it was a big deal.” I grabbed Connor’s hands before he could step back. “Was it?”

“What? I don’t know. I wasn’t here then.” Connor’s expression turned confused. “Who’s Meriel?”

“One of the house-Hobs.” Sick realization was washing over me. Hobs don’t get fired from Shadowed Hills very often. They leave on their own even more rarely. House-Hobs are territorial enough that they don’t like to create unnecessary jobs even for their own children, which meant someone had to leave to make an opening for Nerium. Why didn’t Ormond mention that departure? It would have been a lot more recent. “Has anyone been fired recently? Or left? Or gone on vacation?”

Still confused, Connor said, “I have no idea.”

Nerium, who was at the Ball. Nerium, who knew me. I left my wine unguarded when I danced with Sylvester, and Nerium knew where I’d been standing. Sure, I didn’t drink the wine when I came back to it … but Oleander bragged about putting contact poison on the door handles of my car.

It was always possible that I was being paranoid. Something about this situation still didn’t add up. “So who the hell is Nerium?” I muttered.

“That’s not a person,” said Connor, sounding relieved to be sure of something. “That’s a plant.”

“What?”

“Nerium oleander. That’s the scientific name of the oleander.” I stared at him. He shrugged. “I heard Walther explaining his antitoxins to Tybalt. Six times. Dude was a little tense, what with all the poison and dying and you not waking up.”

“Connor?”

“What?”

I swallowed hard, letting go of his hands. “I know how Oleander got into the knowe.” His expression turned perplexed again. I raked my hair back from my face. “I think we’re in serious trouble.”

“Yes,” said a voice from the kitchen door. We turned, and found ourselves looking at Etienne. His sword was drawn, pointing at us. Eyes narrowed, he continued, “I think you are.”

Swell.