A Local Habitation
Page 83

I shot him a sidelong look. He looked imperiously back.
Finally, I sighed. “Whatever.”
We walked the deserted halls in silence. At the futon room door, I knocked, and Connor let me in, only looking slightly askance at Tybalt. Quentin was asleep, his face pale in the gloom, while the Hippocampi frolicked in their tank, unaware of the dangers around them. Lucky things.
Tybalt nodded to Connor, then to me, before turning and melting away into the shadows of the hall. I closed the door, locking it, and looked at Connor. “Wake me half an hour before dawn or when Sylvester gets here, whichever comes first.”
“Do I want to ask?”
“Probably not,” I said, wearily. He nodded, hugging me briefly before letting me stretch out on the floor in front of the futon. I fell asleep almost as soon as my eyes were closed.
If I had any dreams, I don’t remember them.
“Toby, it’s time.” Connor’s voice, only inches from my ear. I jerked upright, nearly smacking my head into his, and stared at him.
“What?”
“It’s time.”
“Sylvester—”
“Tybalt can explain.” From the grim set of his lips, it wasn’t good.
I nodded. “All right. Just a second.” I stood, taking my time getting to my feet, and reached over to feel Quentin’s forehead. He wasn’t hot enough to worry me, and his breathing was even. Infection was a risk—it’s always a risk—but he wasn’t going to die in his sleep.
Tybalt was waiting in the hall, along with Elliot. Connor stepped out with me, keeping his hand on the doorknob. I looked between them.
“Well?”
“Your monarchs are such charming people,” said Tybalt, not bothering to hide his disdain.
I groaned. “Riordan.”
“She won’t believe Duke Torquill is here for valid reasons,” Elliot said. “I called her seneschal as soon as I heard, but . . .”
“But she’s stopping them at the border?”
“Indeed.” He nodded grimly.
“That’s just . . . damn.” I sighed. “All right, where’s Gordan?”
“In April’s room, with the door locked. Everyone’s accounted for.”
I knew where everyone was. So why didn’t I know where to point the finger? April was Jan’s daughter. Gordan lost her best friend and Elliot lost his fiancée—who was left? Unless there was somebody else in the building, I was almost out of people, and completely out of suspects.
“Fine. Connor, stay with Quentin. Eliot,Tybalt, come with me.” I started for the cafeteria before Connor could object. “I need coffee.”
“You’re so charmingly predictable,” said Tybalt, dryly, and followed.
Elliot looked between us, asking, “What are you intending to do?”
“Just what I said: wake the dead. Don’t ask for details. I don’t have any.”
He stopped, staring at us before managing to ask, in a hushed tone, “All the dead?”
Oh, oak and ash. I hadn’t intended to make him think that . . . “No,” I said. “I can’t do that. I’m sorry. I don’t have it in me. But there’s still a chance for Alex.”
Elliot looked momentarily heartbroken, and I wanted to slap myself. I’d been mad at these people for being so damn vague, and now I was doing the same thing to them. “I see.”
The bloodstains had been cleaned off the cafeteria floor, and there was already a pot of coffee waiting on the counter. I headed straight for it, snagging a mug.
“I told you she was fond of her coffee,” commented Tybalt.
“Observant,” I said, approvingly. “Hey, Elliot, why’s Gordan in April’s room, anyway?”
“Maintenance.”
“Maintenance?” I echoed, filling my mug.
“Her server has to be checked every morning. Gordan’s the only hardware expert left.”
Tybalt frowned. I realized that he hadn’t been filled in as to April’s nature. “Why does this ‘server’ require checking?”
“If it breaks down or loses power, April goes off-line.” Elliot shrugged. “We have to perform regular maintenance to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
I paused, mug halfway to my lips. “Repeat the bit about the power.”
“If April’s server loses power, she’s off-line for the duration.”
“And off-line means what, exactly?”
“She disappears. She leaves the network and ‘dies’ until the power comes back.”
“And then what? She’s fine?”
“Well, yes. As soon as she’s been rebooted.”
I put my cup down. “Right.” No wonder April didn’t understand why Jan wouldn’t wake up; she didn’t understand death, because every time she “died,” she came right back to life. She would have been the perfect suspect, the innocent killer . . . if not for Peter, who died during a power outage. How could she kill him when she was “dead” herself? “Can she come here?”
“Not during a maintenance window.”
“Right.” I started toward Tybalt. “Where’s her room?”
“Near Jan’s office.”
“Okay.” I glanced at the clock. The sun would be up soon, and the answers I needed would only be found with the dead. “Do you have a key to the futon room?”
Elliot frowned. “Yes.”
“Good. Now listen carefully: don’t go anywhere near April’s room. I want you to head back to the futon room, and lock yourself in. Don’t let anyone in. If April shows up . . .” I paused. “Don’t let her open the door.”
His frown was deepening. “What are you talking about?”
“Just trust me, okay?” It wasn’t Terrie: Terrie was dead. It wasn’t Elliot: if he’d been the killer, I’d have been dead as soon as we were alone together. That left April and Gordan . . . and April didn’t understand what death was, but could never have been the one to kill Peter.
We had a problem.
Elliot frowned worriedly, saying, “All right,” before turning to hurry out into the hall.
“Will he be safe?” Tybalt asked. The question sounded academic; he didn’t care one way or the other, and he wasn’t bothering to pretend.