A local habitation

“Yeah.” She slid off the desk, putting her laptop aside. “Alex, could you excuse us?”

“No problem—I was sort of expecting it. Toby, if you need me, ask Jan to show you my office.” He waved and left, closing the door behind himself.

I watched him go, then turned toward Jan, looking at her speculatively before I spoke. “April looks like you, if you ignore the hair.”

“She does, doesn’t she?” Jan smiled. “She was protean at first—changed her face every time she appeared—but then she decided I was her mother and started looking like me. It’s a good thing she identifies as blonde, or we’d get really confused.”

“Alex told me what you did,” I said. “How did you . . .”

“She had a living branch when she escaped the grove. I thought ‘Dryads live in trees, but nothing says they have to live in physical trees’—they’re physical manifestations of the spirits of trees anyway,so why do they need wood?” She gave a one-shouldered shrug. “I cracked a server box and worked bits of the branch she was carrying into the circuitry before the sap dried. When she started to vanish, I closed the box and restored the power—and when it came back on- line, so did she. Instant cyber-Dryad.”

“Impressive.” There was a new sharpness in her eyes and voice when she talked about April’s rescue; it was almost like talking to someone else. I was starting to understand how most people felt when they dealt with Sylvester for the first time. It was easy to assume that outward flakiness equaled stupidity. People have died making that assumption about Sylvester; I wasn’t going to make the same mistake about his niece.

Quentin was also watching her, frowning. The kid caught on quick. “Why did you call us here?” he asked.

Jan paused, enthusiasm dimming. “I needed to talk to you.”

“We’re here,” I said. “Talk.”

“I’ve got those files you asked for—and I wanted to know what you found in the basement.”

“Nothing.” I shook my head. “Quentin and I both tried, and we didn’t get anything. Maybe my mother could work with their blood, but we can’t. We’re not strong enough.”

“Is there anything else you can try?” she asked.

“Not without access to a police lab. Forensics isn’t my strong suit, and without proper equipment, it’s practically impossible.”

“We can’t involve the police.”

“I know.” The Fair Folk have it pretty good these days; no one believes in us anymore, and so we’re free to live our lives. It wasn’t always like that—there were bad times before we were forgotten, centuries filled with fire and iron. Not even the truly insane members of the Unseelie Court want to go back to that . . . but give the mortal world three fae corpses and we wouldn’t have a choice. That much proof of our existence would bring the old days back, whether we wanted them or not, and I’d face down Oberon himself before I’d let that happen.

Jan sighed. “I tried calling my uncle again.”

“And?”

“And nothing.” She shook her head. “I can’t get a person. I left another message.”

“I left a message for him, too, and one for the San Francisco King of Cats. I’m hoping he can help me figure out what would have been able to get the jump on Barbara.”

Jan nodded. “Keep me posted?”

“Of course.”

“Good. Is there anything else you need?”

“Yes, actually,” I said. “I want a list of the people who had access to the cafeteria when Barbara was found. If there are any security cameras that didn’thave mysterious breakdowns just before the killings, I’ll need to see what they recorded. I also want the places where bodies have been found roped off until Quentin and I can go over them—that includes the lawn outside the knowe.”

“Done and done. Do you have any idea what could be behind this?”

“I don’t think it’s a ‘what.’ I think it’s—” I stopped as the overhead lights flickered and died. The computers along the back wall went dark, and something started beeping stridently.

“This isn’t right,” said Jan. Her posture had shifted, reflecting tightly controlled panic.

“You don’t get power outages?” Dim light slanted through the room’s single window, outlining the desks. I walked to the window, pulling the drape aside and looking out at the grounds. “Quentin, check the door.”

I’ll give him this: he moved with admirable urgency, taking up a blocking posture next to the door. He wasn’t letting Jan out until I said he could.

Jan didn’t seem to have noticed. “No, we don’t. The power never goes out.”

“The electric company does it to me all the time.” There was no one on the lawn; just the standard assortment of cats.

“We have generators that kick in before the lights even flicker. We can’t affordto lose power.” She started for the door. “We have systems that should never go off-line. April—”

“Jan, stop.” She froze. “Give me a second. Where are the generators stored, and who has access?”

“They’re in a room next to the servers, and everybody’s got access. I don’t even know if the door locks. What’s going on?”

“I don’t know.” I started for the door. “We need to go check the generators.”

“Follow me.” She reached for the doorknob. I nodded to Quentin and he stepped aside, letting her lead us out of the room.

The halls were even stranger in the dark, filled with shadows that didn’t quite match the objects casting them. Jan strode through them without flinching. Quentin followed close behind while I dropped back, taking the rear. Maybe we weren’t going to be attacked, but I refused to count on that when Jan was so surethe power couldn’t go out. She knew her company.

Jan stepped into the generator room and screamed.

ELEVEN

IONLY CAUGHT A GLIMPSE of what was in the room before I yanked Jan back into the hall, slamming the door behind her. “Peter,” she said, staring at the door. “That was Peter.”

“I thought you didn’t have any night vision. How can you be sure?”

“No one else in this company has wings.”

“Damn.” I looked back toward the door. “I need to go in there.”

“Are you sure that’s wise?” Jan asked, frowning.

“Without backup?” asked Quentin.

“I need to see the body, and that means I need to get the generators back up. How do I do that?” Death doesn’t bother me, but murder makes me edgy, and my lack of weaponry suddenly felt like a potentially fatal mistake. If we got back to the hotel alive, I wasn’t coming here again without my knife and the baseball bat. And maybe a tank, if I could find one fast enough.

“Right.” Jan sighed. “There’s an orange switch on the second box inside the door. If there’s any gas left in the generators, you should be able to force them back online by flipping the switch, waiting thirty seconds, and flipping it again.”

“Okay.” Looking to Quentin, I said, “Stay here. If you see anything out of the ordinary or anyone acting strangely, grab Jan and run; I’ll catch up. Understand?”

“Yes,” he said. If he disapproved of my orders, he wasn’t showing it.

Jan looked like she was going to argue, but quieted when I glared at her. She was starting to display signs of sense.

“Good,” I said, before opening the generator room door and stepping inside.

The room was dark, lit only by a small, thick-glassed window, and looked deserted. That didn’t mean there was nothing in the room with me—just that anything that might be hiding in those shadows knew how to be quiet. Sometimes I wish I wasn’t such a positive thinker.

I paused, sca

Finding the second generator from the door wasn’t hard: I inched along the wall until my thigh hit something sharp, stepped back, and then inched forward again until I hit something else. I wasn’t willing to move away from the wall; Peter was a dark blur at the center of the floor, and I didn’t want to step on him by mistake.