A local habitation

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 soready 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 gri

“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 Co

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 Co

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?

SEVEN

MELLY ANSWERED ON THE THIRD RING. “Shadowed Hills, how can I help you?” Her voice was broad, accented with the sort of jolly American drawl that thrived in the middle of the country about two hundred years ago. I’ve known Melly since I was a kid—she’s Kerry’s mother, and she used to sneak us sweets from the kitchen at Shadowed Hills—and just the sound of her was enough to relax me.

“Hey, Melly. Sylvester around?”

“Toby! How are you, darling? Did Himself really ship you off to Tamed Lightning with naught but a foster to keep you company?”

“Quentin’s not so bad.” Quentin was presently being “not so bad” in his own room, where he was hopefully going to get some sleep. ALH seemed to operate on a diurnal schedule, and we were going to be clocking a lot of daylight hours before we went home. “Put the boss on? I’ve got an update for him.”

“You’ll visit soon?”

“I will.”

“All right, then. Hold on a second.”

Sylvester must have been waiting for my call, because I was on hold less than a minute before he picked up, breathless. “Toby?”

“Here,” I confirmed. There were a few cold fries left on my room service tray. I picked one up, swirling it in a puddle of ketchup. “We’ve arrived safely, and I met your niece. You should’ve told me she was twitchy and paranoid.”

“I would have, if she normally were. Did she say why she stopped calling?”

“That’s the fu

“Wait . . . what? But that’s ridiculous. Why would she say something like that?”

“You say she’s not paranoid. She says she’s been calling. You say she hasn’t been. This sounds to me like something’s up.” I popped the fry into my mouth, chewing quickly. “Is there any chance you can send reinforcements without causing some sort of diplomatic incident?”

“Not without more to go on, no. Did you talk to her?”

“Yeah. It was about as productive as talking to Spike. Maybe less. I mean, at least Spike makes an effort. It could be because she’s not sure I am who I say I am, and she’s trying to be careful. Has she been having a lot of issues with Dreamer’s Glass recently?”

“Not that I’m aware of.” Sylvester hesitated. “Are you comfortable continuing?”

“To be honest, no, but if she’s not getting messages somehow, I don’t think swapping me for somebody else is really going to make her less twitchy.” I sighed. “I’ll go back tomorrow and see what I can find. If you need to pull me out of here, we’ll reassess the situation from there. All right?”