A local habitation

He looked so contrite that I thawed a bit, and motioned for him to come down, ignoring Quentin’s deepening scowl. “Fine. Bring those on over here.”

“Sure,” Alex said, giving the room another uneasy glance before descending. Quentin met him at the base of the stairs, taking the tray away and leaving him blinking. No one does imperious quite like a Daoine Sidhe. “Is that everything you needed?”

“For the moment.” I took the first cup from the tray, gesturing for Quentin to follow me over to Barbara’s body. Having Alex there served at least one purpose; Quentin didn’t like him, and that meant he’d be too busy standing on his own dignity to argue when I told him what to do.

“What are you going to do with the water?”

“We’re going to try waking the blood.” I started scraping dried blood from Barbara’s wrist and adding it to the water. Quentin stiffened, but as I expected, he didn’t protest. Dignity is a wonderful tool sometimes.

Alex swallowed, looking sick. “Why?”

“The blood has to be awake for us to ride it.” The water had taken on a pink tinge. I returned the cup to the tray and picked up the second. “If it works, we may be able to see the killer.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

“We try something else.”

“Why can’t Jan do it?”

“Because Jan isn’t the daughter of the most powerful blood-worker in Faerie, so she probably couldn’t wake the stuff up in the first place.” I tried to focus on what I was doing. “My mother could do this without breaking a sweat.”

“Right,” said Alex. “So were you able to . . . get anything . . . from Colin’s blood?”

“No, because there was nothing for us to ‘get.’ ” I passed the second cup of bloody water to Quentin. “Here.”

Alex frowned. “Nothing?”

“Nothing. The blood was empty.” I grimaced. “And before you ask, no, it’s not supposed to work that way.”

“So how do you know this time will be any different?”

“I don’t. I’m a half-blood and Quentin’s untrained, and this blood is old enough that I might not get anything under normal circumstances . . . but it’s worth trying.” Pinching my nose, I gulped down the contents of my cup. Quentin did the same with his.

All I got was the bitter, watery taste of diluted blood. There wasn’t a flicker of memory.

Quentin coughed and dropped his cup on the tray. “There’s nothing there.”

I sighed, putting my cup next to his. “It must have been too old.” He didn’t have to know that I was lying. I crossed to Yui’s cot and folded the sheet back, saying, “Maybe three weeks will make the difference.”

“You’re going to try again?” Alex asked.

“Have you got a better idea?” I picked up the third cup, scraping the blood off Yui’s right wrist. “If so, please share. I’m all out of good ideas.”

“Not really. I just . . . I want this to stop.”

“Yeah, well, if I were you, I’d have left by now. Gone somewhere safer.” Like the middle of a minefield.

“I can’t.”

“Why not?” I handed Quentin his cup, started preparing my own.

“It’s a little hard to explain.”

“Doesn’t Terrie want to go?” I asked. Quentin looked up at the mention of Terrie’s name, suddenly interested.

Alex flinched. “Not really. That’s part of it.”

“Have you tried explaining that staying here might be fatal?”

“We don’t see each other much,” he said, uncomfortably. “It makes it hard to explain things.”

“She works the night shift, and she found the first body, right?”

“Yes,” he said, sounding startled and a bit wary. Not a good sign. “How did you know?”

I looked at him blandly. “Jan told me.”

“Right.” He sighed.

“If you see her, let her know I want to talk to her.”

His eyes widened. “Why?”

I expected his reaction: no one wants to hear that someone wants to talk to their relatives as part of a murder investigation. What I didn’t expect was the expression on Quentin’s face—for a moment, he looked like I’d slapped him.

“Calm down,” I said, directing the statement to both of them. “I just want to ask her a few questions. I’m not accusing anyone of anything.” Yet.

Alex calmed marginally, saying, “If I see her, I’ll let her know.”

“Good.” I sipped the bloody water instead of gulping this time, trying to linger. Quentin saw this and did the same. Not that it did any good; the blood was as empty as Barbara’s. I spat it back into the cup. “Well, thatwas useless.”

“Nothing here, either,” said Quentin. He was starting to look green around the edges. The magic wasn’t working, but he was still tasting the blood.

Alex peered at us. “Are you going to throw your cups at me if I say you look like hell?”

I considered for a moment, finally saying, “I won’t.”

“I might,” Quentin said.

“I’ll risk it. You look like hell. Have you had anything to eat since breakfast?”

“No,” I admitted, and sighed. “I’m still mad at you.”

“I know. But that doesn’t mean you don’t need to eat.

Come on. We can hit the cafeteria and get some food into you. The cooks are gone, but the vending machines still work.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” I said, grudgingly, as I dropped my cup back onto the tray. There wasn’t any blood on my fingers. They just felt that way. I wiped them against the legs of my jeans, trying to be casual about it. “Is there a phone in the cafeteria?”

“Yes,” said Alex.

“I’m not hungry,” said Quentin.

“Is there coffee?” I asked.

“You can have a pot to yourself.”

“I’m sold.” I looked toward Quentin. “Come on. I’ll buy you a soda.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You’re a teenager. You’re always hungry.” I was hungry, whether or not Quentin was, and I’d focus better after a sandwich and some coffee. “Can we get an escort to the cafeteria?”

Looking amused, he asked, “You two need a native guide?”

“Please. Unless you think you have enough staff left to send search parties.”

“The place isn’t that bad.”

“Uh-huh.” I spread the sheets back over Barbara and Yui. Maybe they wouldn’t care, but I did. Quentin was tossing the cups into the garbage can, not bothering to empty them first. “Have you ever been to Shadowed Hills?”

“No, I can’t say that I have.”

“Amateur,” Quentin muttered, and started up the stairs.

“Quentin . . .” He didn’t stop. Sighing, I followed.

Alex came along behind me, pausing to close the basement door. It didn’t lock. “So what’s the big deal about Shadowed Hills?”

He was clearly trying to get back into my good graces. I considered the sincere unhappiness in his expression, and gave in, saying, “Shadowed Hills is just about as bad as this place. I guess the Torquills just have a family grudge against linear space. I’m practically a native, and I still get lost there.”

“This place is confusing at first, but it gets better. You’ll catch on.”

“I hope so.” Quentin was ten feet ahead. I called, “If you don’t know where you’re going, stop.” He glared back at me, but stopped, letting us catch up. “That’s better. Come on.”

Alex led us through the halls, choosing what I assumed was the best route through rooms that co

“Are we there yet?” Quentin demanded.

“Patience, young one!” Alex said. Quentin glared, and he amended, “Almost. The cafeteria’s just ahead.” Then he turned to wink at me, smiling broadly. I smiled back, almost unintentionally. It was hard to stay mad when he was working so hard at wi

“Good,” Quentin said.

We turned a corner, bringing the cafeteria door into view. Quentin sped up, dashing through, with Alex following at a more sedate pace. When he reached the door, he stopped, opening and holding it for me.