A Local Habitation
Page 31

“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 connected without attention to the laws of architecture or common sense. I was sure the physical buildings were more sanely constructed, but we weren’t in the physical buildings: we were in the knowe. Quentin walked in sullen silence, but Alex made up for it by chattering wildly, pointing out interesting quirks of the knowe’s construction and cracking bad jokes. I didn’t pay attention to a word. People were dying.
“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 winning my approval.
“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.
“After you,” he said, with exaggerated gallantry.
“After Quentin, you mean.” He was obviously trying to make me feel better. It was almost working. All this would make more sense once I’d eaten. Food would settle the queasiness in my stomach and my head; if it didn’t, it would at least cover up the taste of blood. This looked like it was going to be a long day, and I needed whatever help I could get.
“Right,” he said, and followed me inside.
TEN
AFTER GETTING MYSELF a cup of coffee, I made my way to the pay phone mounted on the wall. There was no dial tone. I frowned at the receiver before remembering what Jan said about outside lines, and dialed “nine.” Success: the familiar buzz began. I punched in the number for the Japanese Tea Gardens, pumped in quarters until the prerecorded operator stopped prompting me, and waited.
The ringing went long enough that I was starting to lose hope when a soprano voice picked up with a breathless, “Hello?”
I relaxed. “Hey, Marcia. How far did you have to run?”
“Other side of the—Toby? Is that you?”
“That’s me,” I confirmed.
As a quarter-blooded changeling, Marcia is proof that Lily has a generous soul; most purebloods would never think of employing someone like her. She’s too human to have any real magic, too fae to want to live in the human world, and too flaky to do much beyond sitting around and looking decorative. Still, she’d been nice enough, after we got past the part where I introduced myself by enchanting her into letting me in without paying.
“Did you want me to get Lily?” she asked.
“No, actually, I was calling for you. I wanted to ask a favor.”
Now her tone turned wary. “What kind of favor?”
“I know the Court of Cats doesn’t have a phone. Can you go find Tybalt and tell him I need him to call me at ALH Computing? I have the main number, and I need to talk to him.”
“Go find Tybalt? How are you expecting me to do that?”
“I don’t know. Get a can of tuna and go around the Park calling ‘Here, kitty, kitty’?” I sighed. “Look, you know I wouldn’t ask this if it weren’t important. Please?”
“All right,” she said, dubiously. “But if he guts me . . .”
“If he threatens you, tell him to take it out on me instead.”
“I will.”
“Good.” We talked for a few minutes, Marcia chattering about the latest gossip while I sipped my coffee and made interested noises at the right places. When she started winding down, I said good-bye and hung up, immediately dialing again. Shadowed Hills, this time; I wanted to keep Sylvester posted.
My call rang straight to voice mail. I frowned, recorded a quick, curt message, and hung up again, turning to look for Quentin and Alex.
Quentin was buying bags of chips from a vending machine, while Alex was loading a plate with donuts from the counter. Ah, the eating habits of the young and healthy. Alex had to be an exercise junkie: there was no other way he could maintain his figure, which definitely didn’t betray the fact that he appeared to live on starch and sugar.