A local habitation

Elliot met his eyes, and nodded, accepting the sentence. “We’re almost there.”

“Good. I—” My foot hit something damp and I slipped, nearly falling before I caught myself against Tybalt. I looked down, and went cold.

“Are you all right?” asked Elliot.

“No,” said Tybalt. “She isn’t.”

The blood I’d slipped in was still fresh enough to be wet and red. There wasn’t much of it, and I hadn’t been expecting it; that explained why I hadn’t caught the smell of it before. Now that I was “looking,” it was everywhere, almost overwhelming me.

Pulling away from Tybalt, I sprinted down the hall toward the futon room with an energy I hadn’t realized I still had. Dizziness and panic fought a brief war for control of my actions, and panic won, spurring me to run even faster. I’d told myself Co

Sometimes hope is the cruelest joke of all.

THIRTY-ONE

THE FUTON ROOM DOOR WAS OPEN. I skidded to a stop as I turned the final corner, staring, before begi

That only lasted as long as it took for me to realize just how much blood had been spilled, and that there was a dark, torpedolike shape lying motionless in the middle of the floor. There was no sign of Quentin. “Co

“He’s not dead.” Tybalt was standing in the doorway, studying the blood splattered on the walls and floor as casually as a man studying the menu at his local diner.

“How do you know?”

“He doesn’t smell dead.”

That would have to be good enough. I stood, wiping my hands against my jeans as I looked around the room. I hadn’t wanted to believe that they could be in danger. I’d wanted to believe I was just panicking, paranoid as always, and everything would be fine. You can’t always get what you want.

“He went to seal form when he was injured,” I said, my voice sounding distant to my own ears. “It must have been a shock. That’s usually what triggers an involuntary shift in Selkies.”

“You mean like this?” Tybalt stooped to pick something up, holding it up to show me.

A stun gun. “That’d do it,” I agreed. I walked over to the futon, ru

Quentin wasn’t Gean-Ca

I stuck my fingers in my mouth, trying to break that train of thought before it reached its inevitable destination. I was rewarded with a brief, unfocused flash of blackness and silence as the blood-memory flickered and broke. Oh, thank Maeve. He was asleep when he bled. Not dead, not yet. Just sleeping.

“Toby?” Elliot was standing in the doorway, face gone whey-white. “What happened here? Where’s Quentin?”

“Gordan took him.” I was starting to see the blood trail on the floor, marking out the way in blotches and streaks. Only half of it was real blood. The rest was potential blood, ghost-blood, made visible by the magic I inherited from my mother. I could track him. As long as he was bleeding, I could track him. “She messed Co

“What can we do?”

“We go.” I looked squarely at Elliot. “We go now, because there’s no time to wait. Tybalt, can you—”

“I’ll guard him. I should be able to coax him back to human form.”

“Good.” I started to follow Elliot back into the hall. Tybalt caught my hand, stopping me, and I turned to stare at him. “What—?”

“Be careful,” he said, voice pitched low. His eyes searched my face until finally, with a sigh, he let go of my hand. “I’ll keep the seal-boy safe. Go. Find your charge.”

I nodded, and turned, following the blood trail into the hall. I followed the blood; Elliot followed me. We made our way through the knowe and out onto the lawn, my eyes never leaving the floor.

All the cats in Tamed Lightning seemed to have gathered while we were inside, waiting for us on that lawn. Tabby faces peered out of corners and calico bodies covered picnic tables; all of them fell into step behind us as we passed. I ignored them. They were there because they’d been betrayed by one of their too-rare Queens, and they’d lost her as a consequence. They wanted revenge. More importantly, they wanted to know that justice had been done.

There was a slight wind blowing, but it wasn’t enough to distract me from the scent of blood. I paused to taste the air, making sure the wind hadn’t somehow shifted the trail, then grabbed Elliot’s arm. “This way. Come on.”

“The cats—”

“Let them come,” I said, opening the door to the entry building. “They have as much right to see this end as we do.” And if we failed, they’d tell Tybalt what had happened. He’d avenge me. I hoped.

The lights were off in the cubicle maze, but I didn’t need them; the blood trail was all the guide I needed, and even in the dark, it was bright and clear as day. I put a hand on Elliot’s shoulder, motioning for him to be quiet. Gordan was somewhere nearby, and the Coblynau have some of the best night vision in Faerie. I, on the other hand, was practically blind while my eyes adjusted. That put us at a dangerous disadvantage.

“Where’s the light switch?” I whispered. If we could make a bright light, we might be able to turn Gordan’s night vision against her.

“Other side of the room,” Elliot whispered back.

So much for that idea. “Stay down. We’re taking this slow,” I said, and stepped away from the door. Elliot followed me, his footsteps echoing. I winced. I’m not as stealthy as, say, Tybalt, but at least I’ve had a little training. It was clear that Elliot hadn’t had any.

“Elliot, be quiet,” I hissed.

“I—”

There was a flash of light as the gun went off ahead of us. I shoved Elliot backward, diving for the floor. There was no new pain; she missed. That didn’t mean she’d miss again.

“Cover your mouth!” Elliot shouted.

The smell of lye rose in the air, hot and insistent. I covered my mouth and nose, closing my eyes just before a tidal wave of hot, soapy water washed over me. The cats yowled, caught in the flood. This was no simple steam cleaning; I felt myself lifted off the floor as the water rose. I shuddered and squeezed my eyes more tightly shut, trying to pretend I wasn’t floating. Repressing the panic attack was taking my full attention. I don’t like water. I don’t even like baths; just showers where the water never comes up past my ankles and there’s no chance of going under. But now I was submerged by a magical wave I couldn’t escape or control. I just had to hope Elliot knew what he was doing, and wasn’t going to drown us both.

The water swelled and then receded as the wave broke, leaving me as soaked as the rest of the room. Elliot’s magic hadn’t extended to drying this time. I raised my head, gasping, and turned toward him. He was staring into the distance, hands still raised. “Elliot . . . ?”

“Did I get her?” he asked. There was a dark stain spreading across his formerly pristine shirt. Gordan didn’t miss after all.

“Yeah, you did,” I said.

“Ah, good,” he said, and smiled, before pitching forward onto the floor. I started to move toward him, but stopped as I heard the sound of footsteps on the catwalks above. Gordan was still on the loose.