A Local Habitation
Page 18

“Well—” Quentin began.
“We’re sure,” I said. “Quentin, come on.”
He started to protest, but stopped, catching my expression. Sighing, he turned to face Terrie and executed a deep, formal bow. “Open roads and kind fires to you.”
That was the last straw. Whatever this was, it was moving a bit too fast for me to be even remotely happy about it. “Right. Good night, Miss Olsen.”
I grabbed Quentin’s shoulder and hauled him off. Terrie watched, hiding a smile behind her hand. I did my best to ignore her. Quentin craned his neck for one last look, protesting only when we were out of earshot. “What did you do that for?”
“ ‘What did you do that for?’ ” I mimicked. “Did you see yourself back there?”
“I was being nice!”
“You were being a creepy little ball of hormones! She’s twice your age!”
“You’re like four times my age.”
“But I, at least, am not hitting on you.” I let go of his shoulder, letting him try to smooth his wounded dignity as I stalked toward the car. “We’re here to work, remember?”
“You left me alone. I was gathering information.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Yeah! Did you know that ALH only employs faeries? They hire changelings and purebloods, and that’s it—no humans of any kind. Not even in service capacities.”
“Since most of the company is in the Summerlands, that makes sense. What else?”
“Most of the management staff has been with the company since the beginning. January and her daughter basically run the place, only Elliot does all the staffing. And—”
“Hang on. Daughter?” Sylvester hadn’t mentioned a daughter.
“That’s what Terrie said.” I motioned for him to keep going, and he said, “The daughter’s name is April.”
“Interesting. Any mention of a father?”
“No.”
“Huh. Did you notice how empty the place was? I wonder where everyone is.”
“Maybe it’s just a small company?” Quentin suggested, brow furrowing. We had reached the car, and I dug in my pocket for my keys, shooing cats off the hood and roof.
“Or maybe something’s going on,” I said, and unlocked the driver’s side door. “Those weren’t unused cubicles, just empty ones. There were papers on the desks, and most of them had computers. There were more people working here not all that long ago. Go check your door.”
“So something changed,” he said, as he circled the car to peer through the windows. I did the same on my side. Last time I got into a car without checking whether I was alone, there was a man with a gun waiting for me. There are some lessons you only have to learn once.
“Exactly,” I replied. “Did you find anything else?”
“Not that you’d want to hear.”
So the rest was flirting: got it. “Well, maybe you weren’t just screwing around,” I said, sliding into the car and leaning over to open the passenger door. Once Quentin was in the car and buckled up I handed him the folder with the directions. “Here. See if you can get us to the hotel.”
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 so ready for bed,” I muttered.