A Local Habitation
Page 61

Connor’s eyes widened. “You’re kidding.”
“I’m not. You see a dark- haired lady with orange eyes, you don’t go anywhere with her alone. You’ll find yourself allowing liberties that Raysel probably won’t approve of.”
He reddened, looking away. Quentin frowned, looking thoughtful. “Does it count as being unfaithful to Katie if I wanted to be with Terrie?”
“No. It might if you’d actually done anything, but you can’t help being enchanted.” I hoped he’d believe me, because I honestly wasn’t sure. You can’t really get away with saying “magic doesn’t count” when you’re living in Faerie. Still, it was a good question.
My answer appeared to reassure him, because he nodded. “All right. What do we do?”
Seeing that look on his face—the look that said he knew I’d have all the answers, and that if he asked the questions right, I’d share them—made me want to run for the hills. I stood, ignoring the unsteadiness in my legs. No matter how shaken I was, I needed to keep moving. “All right, it’s what, one-thirty? Two o’clock?”
“Two fifteen,” said Connor.
“Close enough. We’re going to get some work done.”
“Work?” Connor raised his eyebrows.
“Work.” I moved to the pile of folders covering one of the cafeteria tables. “Quentin, you’ve got A through L. Connor, you’ve got M through Z. I want you to pull anything that looks even a little bit weird.”
“What are you going to do?” asked Quentin, even as he started to do what I’d asked.
“Go through these.” I lifted Barbara’s desk drawer. “There may be something here that tells us where to look next.”
“I didn’t know I was coming to play secretary,” grumbled Connor.
“Then you should’ve brought a car.”
The next several hours passed in the sort of mind-numbing grind that was so familiar from past cases. We shuffled files, looked for connections, made more coffee. Rearranged papers, checked time stamps, made more coffee. Jan wandered through, accompanied by April, to drop off a fresh pile of folders and get a candy bar from the machine. I acknowledged her presence with a grunt and a vague wave of one hand, too deeply engrossed in the tangled list of names that represented the company’s lifetime employee tracking to realize I was missing the opportunity to ask her about Alex’s heritage. That realization came later.
And time rolled on.
“Toby?”
“What?”
“It’s four.”
I looked up. “In the afternoon?”
“Yes.” Quentin nodded. Connor was still bent over his own pile, grumbling. “When are you supposed to . . . ?”
“Sunset.” I rose, closing the binder. “Time to get to work.”
“What can we do?”
Get the hell out of here before something happens to you. “You still have those juniper berries?” He handed them to me silently, and I walked over to the counter, putting the mandrake root and juniper berries down next to the sea salt. “Elliot should be back with the flowers soon. It was a pretty big list, but there must be plenty of local florists.”
A faint buzz in the air warned of April’s approach before she appeared, clutching a small plastic bag. I didn’t flinch this time. Connor did the flinching for me, recoiling so hard that his chair went toppling over.
I smothered a snicker. “Hey, April.”
“I was instructed to monitor for signs of ritual preparation. I have brought you candles and feathers.” She offered me the bag. I took it. “I have also been instructed to inquire regarding further needs.” She paused. “Do you have further needs?”
“Actually, there’s something I wanted to ask.” Seeing that she wasn’t going to react until the question was asked, I continued, “Do you know who was nearest Barbara when she died?” It was a shot in the dark, but one worth taking: if April knew where everyone in the knowe was at all times, she might be able to tell me.
April frowned. “Define ‘died.’ ”
I paused. She’d never used the word “dead” in conjunction with any of the bodies. “Was removed from the network?” I ventured, trying to use words she’d understand.
“The time of removal is not recorded.” Her voice was calm, like she was reporting something of no real consequence. Maybe, from her perspective, she was.
“I thought you knew where everyone in the company was at any given time?”
“Yes. I am aware of current locations. I am not aware of past locations unless I have had reason to take note of them.” She shrugged. “Do you require anything further?”
“No; you can go.” I needed to think about this—but later, after the night-haunts had come and gone. Assuming I was still thinking about anything by that point.
“Noted,” she said, and vanished in a spray of sparks.
“What the . . .” Connor began.
“Dryad who lives in the local computer network,” said Quentin, sounding disinterested. I had to smother another snicker. The kid was definitely learning about playing blasé.
“She’s Jan’s adopted daughter,” I said, bouncing the bag she’d handed me to check the weight before I looked inside. It contained candles and feathers, just like she’d said. Normal Dryads can’t take things with them when they teleport. The Tuatha can, but their method of teleportation is more direct—they open doors between places, rather than actually disappearing and then reappearing somewhere else. The fact that April could move physical objects said a lot about just how much Jan’s procedure had changed her. “Take a look at this, will you?”
Both of them walked over to me, but it was Quentin who reached for the bag. I let him take it. He looked inside, then up at me, asking, “What about it?”
“Does it seem normal to you?”
“Um . . . yeah. Why?”
“Because April brought it with her when she tele-ported in.”
Connor frowned. “Weird.”
“Just like everything else about this place.” I reclaimed the bag, putting it down on the counter. “You guys want to help me move the tables?”
“Just tell us where,” said Connor, and smiled.