A Local Habitation
Page 11

“Weird?” Elliot asked. “Oh, professionally so. If you don’t mind my asking, when was your last shower?” I stared at him.
Quentin’s mouth dropped open, and he sputtered, “How . . . how can you . . .”
“Relax, relax!” Elliot laughed, holding up his hands. “You just look a bit frayed around the edges. May I clean you?”
“What . . . oh,” I said, catching on. The Bannick are bath-spirits; they’re obsessed with cleanliness, and Faerie being what it is, they can sometimes enforce their own ideas about hygiene. Nothing cleans a person like a Bannick. “Sure.”
“Toby . . .”
“Go along with it. This is interesting.”
“So I have your consent?” Elliot asked, looking between us. We both nodded. “Excellent. If you would close your eyes and hold your breath?”
Right. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath and held it. Heat and moisture broke over me in a lye-scented wave. I understood why Elliot asked: it was like being scrubbed by hundreds of swift, impartial hands, and I might’ve taken it the wrong way if I hadn’t been prepared. The feeling of damp heat abated after about thirty seconds, and I opened my eyes, looking first at Quentin, then myself. We looked like we’d just received the deluxe treatment at an upscale spa; my tennis shoes were white and clean, and even a small hole in the hem of my jeans had been patched with tiny, near- invisible darns. I pointed at it, glancing curiously toward Elliot.
He shrugged, looking embarrassed. “I can’t fix clothes on purpose, but if you’re wearing them when you have your ‘bath,’ they end up mended. All part of being clean.”
“Cool,” I said.
“So that’s what your hair looks like when it’s been brushed.” Quentin grinned.
“Stuff it,” I said.
“Now that you’re presentable, if you’ll come with me, Ms. Daye, Mister, well, Quentin?” Elliot said, opening the door into the next building. We followed him. This one looked more like a dorm, with long halls equipped with dozens of doors. “I hope you like donuts. Our cafeteria staff is out this week, so we’re having to make do.”
He continued to chatter as he led us through a series of increasingly mismatched halls. Some stuck with the dormitory model; others looked like they’d been stolen from hospitals, high schools, or government buildings. I dropped back a bit, drawing even with Quentin, and murmured, “Keep an eye open.”
“What’s going on?”
“I’ll explain when we’re alone.” Elliot looked back and waved, urging us on. I flashed a false smile, calling, “We’re coming!”
“Just don’t get lost!” he called, and turned a corner. I exchanged a glance with Quentin, and we hurried to catch up, meeting him just in front of the cafeteria door.
He held the door open for us, offering a shark-toothed grin as he said, “After you.”
“Great,” I replied, and slipped into the cafeteria. It was a vast, echoing cavern of a room, studded with oddly-shaped white tables. Vending machines lined the walls. Quentin and I wound up seated with Elliot pressing coffee and donuts into our hands. That kept us distracted for several crucial minutes, giving him time to murmur vague reassurances and dart out the door.
He’d been gone for several minutes before I put down my coffee, saying, “All right: did you notice anything odd about the landscaping?”
“You mean the part where it’s in the Summerlands?”
“That would be it, yeah. We’re in a Shallowing.” I shook my head. “I think the bawn is at the front door of the other building. We didn’t cross back while we were on the lawn, either.” The bawn of a knowe, any knowe, represented the point where you crossed between worlds. Usually it’s pretty well marked, at least to fae eyes. This one hadn’t been.
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know. But I think we should be careful. They didn’t tell us we’d entered their knowe, and that’s a little bit suspicious.” I looked at my freshly cleaned hand. “They’re being too friendly without actually telling us anything.”
“Right.” He poked in the box until he found a powdered donut. “Toby?”
“Yeah?”
“You gave your name at the gate. When did we tell him mine?”
I lowered my coffee a second time. “We didn’t.”
FIVE
“HOW LONG HAVE WE been sitting here?”
“Fifteen minutes.”
“It feels like hours.”
“The clock says fifteen minutes.”
“Maybe the clock isn’t running on normal time?”
“Possible, but unlikely.” I stood, leaving my half-eaten donut on the table.
Quentin frowned. “Where are you going?”
“Out. This is unacceptable. They shouldn’t be leaving us here.”
“He said to wait—”
“And we waited. And now I’m leaving.” I grabbed the door handle and pulled. It didn’t budge. “Oh, great. Did they lock us in?”
“Try pushing.” Quentin rose, coming to stand next to me.
Eyeing him, I pushed the door. It swung open a few inches before swinging closed again. Quentin was trying not to smirk. He wasn’t doing a very good job.
“Very funny,” I said, and shoved the door open as hard as I could. There was a startled yelp, accompanied by the flat smack of wood hitting flesh. The door swung back, and there was a loud thumping noise—whoever it was, I’d knocked them down.
What a great way to meet people. I rushed into the hall, already apologizing. “I am so sorry! I didn’t know you were there! I—”
“It’s okay,” said the man on the floor, flashing a grin that made my stomach do a lazy flip. I recognized him as the blond surfer-type from the first building. I just didn’t have a name to go with his undeniably appealing face. “That door should probably be labeled an unmarked traffic hazard—only then I guess it’d be a marked traffic hazard, so what’s the point?”
“You’re probably right about that,” I said, grinning back. “I’m—” I paused as Quentin came skidding out of the cafeteria. “Hey. I appear to have found the locals.”
Rather than offering the expected greeting, Quentin frowned, saying, “Oh. It’s you.”