A Local Habitation
Page 82

Elliot nodded. “I’ll order everyone that’s still here to travel together.”
“Can you make them listen?”
“I think so.”
“Good. Second rule: if I ask a question, I want an answer, not an excuse and not a string of technical terms you know I won’t understand. A real answer. Can you promise me that?”
“I promise.”
“Swear.”
“Toby, do I really need—” He saw the look on my face, and stopped. “Fine. I swear by root and branch and silver and iron, by fire and wind and the faces of the moon. May I never see the hills of home again, if I deceive.” He paused. “Will that do?”
“For now.”
“And you’ll help us?”
“We will. Let’s go give Connor a status, check on Quentin, and . . .” I paused. “Where’s Terrie?”
“She left,” Tybalt said, sounding satisfied. “Best she stays gone.”
“So she’s alone?” If she wasn’t our killer, she might well be a target. I didn’t like her. I didn’t want her dead.
“I suppose,” said Elliot.
“Oh, Maeve’s teeth. Tybalt? Can you find her?”
He nodded, barely, and took off at a run. I followed a beat behind him. I didn’t know that anything was wrong—not really—but I knew that every time I’d gambled with fate in this place, I’d come up snake eyes. The house always wins.
Tybalt hit the door Alex had led me through earlier, rushing out into the warm night air with me and Elliot at his heels. The smell of blood hit me even before I saw Terrie lying loose-limbed and still in the grass. The cats were gone. It was the first time I’d been outside ALH without seeing cats.
“Oh, you poor thing,” I said, glancing to Elliot and Tybalt. “Tybalt, go find the cats. See if they saw anything.” He nodded. “Elliot . . .” Elliot was pale and shivering, shaking his head from side to side. I sighed. “Stay there.”
Tybalt turned, vanishing into the shadows as I walked toward Terrie’s body. Kneeling beside her, I turned her head to the side, revealing the puncture just below her jaw. Similar punctures marked her wrists, exactly where I expected them to be. “Jan really was a fluke,” I muttered. Our killer was back to the normal pattern.
Terrie’s skin was still warm, even warmer than Peter’s had been. We’d almost made it in time. Too angry and exhausted for delicacy, I lifted her arm, raised her punctured wrist to my mouth, and drank.
Blood is always different. It has a thousand tastes, spiced by life and tainted by memory. Take away those flavorings and all you have left is copper, cloying and useless. Terrie’s blood was empty. I prepared to spit it out, and paused, licking my lips. There was something there. Ignoring Elliot’s choked-off gasp, I took another mouthful. Yes; there was definitely something there, something not quite gone. It was just a flicker of memory, a distant whisper of clover and coffee, too faint to tell me anything . . . but it was there.
I sat back on my haunches, frowning. What was different here? What distinguished this death from the rest? The others were purebloods; Terrie was a changeling. Maybe that was it. Or maybe it was the fact that she was two different people . . . and only one of them had died.
“Elliot? What time is it?”
“A little after eight.” He hesitated. “Why?”
I smiled, and he blanched. I could feel the blood drying on my lips. “Let’s move her to the basement. I want to check on Quentin, and then I’m going to sleep until Sylvester gets here. I need to be alert in the morning.”
“Why?” he asked. He didn’t sound like he really wanted to know.
Tough. Still smiling, I said, “Because at sunrise, I’m going to wake the dead.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
WE WAITED FOR TYBALT to return before moving the body. His mood had grown even worse while he was scouring the knowe for cats; someone, he reported, had driven them away with a high-pitched sound, leaving them skittish and miserable. Someone was going to pay for that if he had any say in the matter.
He and I carried Terrie’s body through the knowe together. Ignoring Elliot’s disturbed stare, we moved Colin’s body to the floor, settling Terrie in his place. I’d need easy access to her body, and Colin wasn’t in a position to object. The dead are usually pretty mellow about that sort of thing. The basement was getting crowded. Most of the bodies looked like movie models, too pristine to be real; the only body that seemed even halfway natural was Jan’s beneath its mottled sheet of red and brown. I still didn’t understand why Jan had been killed so differently from the others. What was I missing?
“You can go,” I said, glancing toward Elliot. “Call April, and stay with her. Make her take you to Gordan.”
For a moment, he looked like he might argue. Then he nodded, heading up the stairs without another protest. I watched him, trying to ignore the pain in my head and hand. I was so tired. I needed to sleep before the morning’s work, or I wasn’t going to survive it. And there were still things I had to do.
Tybalt remained silent until Elliot was gone. Then he swung his head around to look at me, asking, “What do you intend to do?”
“Something really, really stupid.” He narrowed his eyes, and I shrugged. “Look: Terrie and Alex share a body, but they’re not the same person. If Terrie’s dead, and Alex isn’t, I might be able to jump-start him somehow. That could wake the blood back up.”
He paused. “I don’t know whether that’s brilliant or suicidal.”
“That’s all right.” I offered him the ghost of a smile. “Neither do I.”
“Charming.” He walked toward me, fingered the collar of the jacket I was wearing, and said, “It suits you, I think. You should keep it.”
“Tybalt, I—”
“Not that I would have it back, after the amount of blood you’ve doubtless shed on it.” He pulled his hand away. “You’re about to ask me for something. I recognize the look.”
“I am.” For a moment, I wanted to catch his hand, just to have something to hold onto. The moment passed. “I don’t know where Sylvester is, and he shouldn’t be taking this long. Can you go and try to find him?”
“Not until I’ve seen you safe.”