Rosemary and Rue

TWENTY-FOUR

FINDING A TAXI NEAR the docks after dark is something I never want to do again. I would have called Danny; unfortunately, I couldn’t find a phone, and I was reduced to waving my arms whenever a likely car passed by, hoping someone would take pity and stop. Eventually, someone did.

The rose goblin had never been in a car before. It kept peering out the windows, making interested mewl ing noises until I had to fight not to laugh. The last thing I needed to do was convince the driver the woman he’d picked up in one of the worst parts of town was crazy. Besides, I was afraid the laughter would be more hysterical than anything else. I’d left the Luidaeg’s apartment in a daze, fumbling for a line of reasoning that didn’t lead back to blood. There wasn’t one. The entire case was bound in blood magic and chains of broken lives; it made sense to solve it the same way. So what if I didn’t want to? That never stopped me before.

It was past midnight when we reached my apartment. I paid the cabbie with the last of my cash, wincing as I did it. If I didn’t find a new job soon, I was going to be replacing fae problems with more mundane ones. Maybe I could learn to be a bartender. They work nights, don’t they?

The rose goblin rode my shoulder as I walked up the path to my door. The wards hadn’t been reset the last time I left, mainly because I’d been carried out by Manuel and Dare. I hesitated, contemplating what might be inside, then unlocked the door and opened it, flipping on the living room light. Waiting rarely solves the question of what’s under the couch.

There was barely time to take in the carnage left by the Doppelganger’s attack before two angry brown-and-cream shapes darted out from under the coffee table, yowling. The rose goblin rallied, leaping to the floor and rattling its thorns. The cats backed off a few feet, bemused, and glared at me. Not only had I gone away, but I’d come back with a . . . well, with a something, and it was threatening them.

I laughed, closing the door behind me. “Cagney, Lacey, back off. This is . . .” I paused, trying to think of a suitable name. “This is Spike. He’s visiting.” The rose goblin looked up at me and rattled its thorns, chirping.

The cats weren’t as easy to mollify. They yowled again, now circling us both. Spike turned in circles to match them, rattling whenever they got too close. “Spike, guys, stop it. You can fight later.” All three stopped, turning to look at me. I’d just gotten cats to obey. Wonders never cease.

I crouched to look at them, and they looked back, oddly calm. Sometimes, when they do things like that, I wonder if they’re actually Cait Sidhe planted to keep an eye on me—but that way lies madness. They’re just cats, and all cats know the same strange roads, in the end.

“I need to speak to your King,” I said. They blinked luminous blue eyes, looking blank as only cats can. I sighed. “I need to see Tybalt. I know you can find him.”

They gave no evidence of understanding; Lacey started to wash Cagney’s ear, ignoring me. Spike looked between them and rattled its thorns, confused. I stayed where I was, waiting. “Guys, don’t make me force the issue,” I said. “You know you have to take me to him if I demand it. You can find the Court of Cats. I can order you. I’d rather ask.”

The cats exchanged a look, Lacey abandoning her bathing efforts. Cats aren’t the smartest creatures alive, but they recognize a demand, even from a changeling. Cats and faeries have a special relationship, one that’s pulled them at least partially into our world, and they know a plea when they hear one. Stretching to show their unconcern, they started for the door.

I let out a breath I hadn’t known I was holding. They were going to take me. Cagney paused at the door, letting out a decisive yowl. The tone was easy to read: an obvious “come on or shut up.” I started to follow, and then turned back, retrieving the gun from beneath the edge of the curtains. It was heavy in my hand, and the closeness of the iron burned, but any protection was better than none. If iron bullets weren’t enough, this was already over.

Spike rattled. I looked back at it, shaking my head. “Stay?” It rattled again. “Stay. Guard.” That seemed to get through: it settled into a watching posture, eyes on the window. Great. A week of death, iron, and demons, and now my house was being guarded by a mobile rosebush.

The cats were waiting outside. I slid the gun into my pocket, and nodded. “Lead the way.”

They walked down the path to the common walkway connecting my apartment to the mail and laundry rooms. I followed a few feet behind, keeping them in sight, concentrating so hard on their bobbing tails that I didn’t even notice when the path diverged from the ones I knew. The sound of hissing broke my concentration, and I looked up.

“Oh, boy.”

We were standing in a narrow alley I almost recognized from the area near Golden Gate Park—almost, but not quite. Space had twisted to form arched curves and folded angles, becoming subtly wrong. Every available space was covered with cats, from pampered house pets to grizzled back fence warriors. Something that looked like a lynx crouched toward the back of the mob, hissing with the rest. It was enough to remind me, graphically, that size doesn’t mean much when you’re outnumbered.

“October.”

I turned, leaving my hands in my pockets as I said, “Hello, Tybalt.”

The King of Cats was sprawled atop a stack of mattresses blocking the alley’s mouth, flanked on either side by large, angry-looking calicos. About a dozen human-form Cait Sidhe lounged on the walls and ground around him, dressed in tatters and rags. Most of them didn’t look like they went on two legs very often. Cagney and Lacey melted into the throng, vanishing; they brought me, their disappearance said. That was all the help I’d get.

“You’re here,” Tybalt said, sounding more amused than surprised. The height of his “throne” put him above me, allowing him to look down on me without quite straining either of our necks. He’d changed his clothes, trading them for skintight jeans and a black silk shirt. Good. If I was lucky, they hadn’t done the laundry yet. The courtiers around him watched me with predatory eyes. You’re a predator or you’re prey, their expressions said, and we’ll kill you either way. “Why are you here? This isn’t your Court.”

“This is the Cat’s Court; I have business with their King. That means truce.”

“Business?”

“Yes, business,” I said. Offending him on his own turf might be the last thing I ever did. “The attack in the park—”

He frowned. “What about it?”

“It wasn’t random; someone paid for it, and I need to know who.”

“Do you think I know?” he asked. A ripple ran through the crowd, low and dangerous.

“No. I think he knew.”

That made him pause. He sat up a little, attention focusing on me. “He’s dead, October.”

“And I’m Amandine’s daughter. You know what she could do.” I squared my shoulders, standing a bit straighter. It helped hide my terror. “I told you when the attack happened that I needed his blood. I can follow it to answers.”

“You’d do that?” Tybalt frowned, something like respect creeping into the expression.

“I’ve done it before.” I carefully didn’t mention when. Half the Kingdom seemed to know about Evening’s curse: I didn’t need him joining their ranks.

“Is it safe?”

“Does it matter?”

“No. I suppose not.” He rose, walking toward the back of the alley. The cats parted to let him pass, closing ranks again behind him. “I’ll be back in a moment. Wait for me.” When he reached the deepest part of the shadows he spread his hands and they opened like a curtain, letting him step through and disappear.

I was still watching the shadows when something slammed into my back. The impact had me on the ground before I could react, slamming the gun in my pocket up against my thigh hard enough that I knew it was going to leave a bruise. “What the—” I yelped, as I went down.

The only answer was an incoherent snarl. I tried to lift my head and it was shoved down again, knocking my cheek against the pavement so hard that it left my ears ringing. The cats around me were yowling at the top of their lungs. Well, it was nice to know they’d noticed. I went limp, letting whoever was above me think that I’d given up, and then pushed myself into a roll, ignoring the renewed pain as the gun dug farther into my leg. I was rewarded with an earsplitting shriek, and found myself pinning Julie to the alley floor. She howled, bucking against my hands, and managed to flip me over. At least I’d gone from my stomach to my back; she was straddling me now, face bestial with fury.

“What are you doing?” I demanded, just before she grabbed my throat with both hands. Conversation didn’t seem to be high on her list of priorities: banging my head against the ground was. I screamed, scrabbling for the purchase I needed to shove her away.

I was still screaming when hands grabbed her from behind and Tybalt threw her against the nearest wall. She rebounded and bounced back to her feet, hands crooked to expose her claws. He roared at her, full-throated, and she paused in apparent chagrin before opening her mouth and roaring back. Her tone didn’t even begin to approach his in strength or primal fury. Stalking forward, he smacked her across the face, knocking her to the ground. Julie hissed, more kitten than tiger, and he roared again.

That was the end of it. She whimpered and flattened herself against the pavement, rolling over to expose her neck. Tybalt knelt and ran one clawed finger down the length of her jugular vein before pulling her off the ground into a rough hug. The message was clear: she could have died, and he had spared her. Now she would obey.

I pushed myself to my feet, watching them despite the pain in my head. I’d never seen that sort of fight before, but I understood it. Julie’s attack was unexpected, but it wasn’t just an attack on me: when Tybalt involved himself, it became a dominance challenge. Unsurpris ingly, the changeling lost.

“Kill her,” Julie hissed, pulling away from him. “Kill her or let me.”

Tybalt frowned, lowering his arms. The shirt that he’d been wearing in the park was draped over one shoulder, pale cloth mottled with dried blood. “No,” he said, voice rough. There were undertones of the jungle there, dark and alien. “I will not. She’s here under truce.”

“Then I’ll follow her, and kill her when she’s not under truce,” Julie said, glaring.

“Why do you want to kill me?” I demanded.

The look she shot me was so full of hate that I stepped back, surprised. “You killed Ross,” she hissed.

“I did not!” I protested. I might have led him to his death, but I didn’t kill him. Sometimes semantics matter. “It wasn’t my fault!”

“Yes, it was, you stupid bitch!” She started to rush me again. Tybalt raised one arm to block her.

“I’d leave now if I were you, October. This Court is closed.” He took the shirt from his shoulder and threw it to me. I caught it one-handed, crumpling it in my fist. The bloodstains covered half the fabric: it would be enough.

Actually, it was too much: some of the blood had to be Tybalt’s. He was handing me the key to his own memories, and that’s not something any faerie gives lightly. “Tybalt . . .”

“Go.” He shook his head. “This isn’t the time or the place.” Julie shrieked, and he pulled her back again. The other human-form Cait Sidhe were standing now, their eyes glowing through the darkness. It was starting to feel like a scene from a Hitchcock film. I nodded, clutching the shirt, and managed a clumsy bow before I turned and walked toward the mouth of the alley. The cats parted to let me pass, their voices fading behind me as I stepped over the discarded mattresses and pillows of Tybalt’s throne.

When I had reached the sidewalk outside to find myself facing Golden Gate Park’s east gate I turned, looking back into the now empty alleyway. The Court of Cats never stayed in one place for long; as soon as I had stepped outside, it had probably moved on, leaving me and Tybalt’s bloodstained shirt behind.

I lowered the shirt, studying it. The blood was clotted in dark patches, staining the front and arms. I scraped at one of the larger stains with a fingernail. It wouldn’t flake off. All right: I’d try the direct method. I stepped back into the alley, out of view of the street, and raised the shirt in order to run my tongue across the stain. The taste was foul—blood, sweat, and dirt—but it was just a taste; there was no magic in it. I frowned. The blood had been dry for too long: if I wanted to ride it, I’d have to wake it up first. Maybe riding the blood wasn’t my best idea ever, but it was the only lead I had.

I turned to look at the park, just on the other side of the road. Lily was an Undine: water was her purview and the focus of her fiefdom, and if anyone could wake the blood, it was her. She might not like the idea, but she’d probably do it if I asked. She might even forgive me later.