Ashes of Honor
Page 40

“That’s a pretty big assumption,” he said dubiously.
“It’s what I’ve got right now. Besides, I want to talk to April. She’s a teleporter, and more, she’s a computer system. Maybe she can do some sort of magic…math…thing and tell where Chelsea has been.”
Quentin shot me an amused look. “Magic math thing?”
“Shut up.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard of the magic math thing. How does it work, exactly?”
“Shut up twice.” Inwardly, I was beaming. Quentin’s reaction was exactly what I’d been hoping for: entertained, relaxed, and not tangled up with his concern about Raj. I was worried, too. That didn’t mean we could lose sight of the larger problem. As much as I hated to even have the thought, if I had a choice between saving Chelsea and saving Raj…
Who was I kidding? I’d save Raj, and Faerie would pay the price. I’m a lot of things, but rational where the people I love are concerned has never been one of them. I just hoped it wasn’t going to come to that.
Quentin snickered as I pulled off the freeway. Time to get ourselves over to Tamed Lightning and see what kind of help we could get from the locals.
The San Francisco Bay Area claims to be a single place, much like the United States of America claims to be a single country. In reality, the Bay is divided into four regions, maybe more. There’s San Francisco, with its high fogs and deep-sunk roots. There’s the East Bay, industrial city, and the deep East Bay past the Caldecott Tunnel, where the suburbanites dream of something past the hills. Fremont is in a different country entirely: the South Bay, land of technological advancements, stucco buildings that fade into the landscape like ghosts, and heat that bakes the pavement even in relatively temperate weather. If there was any place on the planet designed to be infiltrated by fae pretending to be human while they ran a computer company, it’s Fremont. No one was ever going to look there twice.
We pulled up in front of the pseudo-medieval gate to ALH Computing less than twenty minutes after we got off the freeway. The fact that they could have that gate at all was one more illustration of how perfect a city Fremont was for them. None of the fae in San Francisco would have dared to install a doorway that looked like something out of a BBC drama about King Arthur. We’d have been too afraid of getting caught. The fae in Fremont just assumed they’d be written off as geeks…and they were right.
The portcullis spanning the gate slid upward as we approached, signaling that we’d been recognized and welcomed. I drove through, shuddering as we passed under the points of the portcullis itself. The first time Quentin and I went to ALH, that portcullis—or one like it—tried to kill us. It was only able to do that because someone had used magic to tamper with the control systems, and that someone was long dead. I didn’t care. The portcullis was still a damn big piece of metal, and I knew firsthand how much damage it could do to a car.
“I hate that thing,” Quentin muttered. He waved a hand, releasing the hide-and-seek that hid us. The smell of heather and steel filled the car.
“You and me both, kid,” I said, and kept driving.
The driveway wound gently down to the parking lot. The cats that had decorated the place on our first visit were gone; the Queen of Cats they’d been gathered to mourn had long since been avenged, and they had scattered on whatever strange errands drive the felines of the world. Two people were waiting for us outside the main building when I pulled up to the curb.
One was tall and blonde, with the pointed ears and delicate bone structure characteristic of the Daoine Sidhe: April O’Leary, the least Dryad-like Dryad in the world. Whatever she looked like originally—probably small and lithe, with green hair and skin like bark—she looks like her mother now. There are worse ways to remember the people you love.
The woman next to April was unfamiliar. She was shorter, with sleek black hair pulled into a high ponytail, a pleasant smile, and eyes that were black from side to side, like polished jet. She was clearly of Chinese descent, and she clearly wasn’t human. Beyond that, I had no idea what she was.
I waved as I got out of the car. “Hey, April. Sorry to drop in on you like this.”
“I was online,” she said, with a hint of amusement in her tone. That alone represented a huge leap for her. When we first met April O’Leary, she didn’t understand the concept of “humor” as it applied to other people. These days, she actually makes jokes. Bad ones, but still jokes. “What is the purpose of your visit?”
“It’s kind of a long story. Can we come inside?”
April nodded. “Of course.”
Quentin glanced at me. I shrugged. Apparently, April wasn’t planning to introduce her friend. The polite thing to do would have been to ignore the other woman until she was identified or chose to identify herself.
I’ve never been good at polite. “Hi,” I said, offering her my hand. “I’m October Daye, and this is my squire, Quentin. Sorry if we interrupted your meeting.”
“You interrupted nothing of any import, I assure you; just a tour.” She took my hand, shook once, and let go. “Li Qin Zhou. It is a pleasure.”
“Hi,” said Quentin.
Li Qin looked like she belonged at Tamed Lightning. She was wearing gray slacks and a white cotton tank top, with plastic flip-flops that showed off her electric green pedicure. She looked back and forth between us, still smiling. “The timing is fortuitous; I was hoping to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you. I apologize for not creating the opportunity before. I’ve been traveling, and I’ve only just returned to California.”
“Business? Pleasure?”
“Mourning,” she said. A flicker of pain crossed her face. “My wife died. I wasn’t there. I needed some time to put my world back together before I could come home.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, the words feeling lame in my mouth. “How long ago?” I might not know what this woman was, but I knew she was pureblooded; there was nothing human about her. If I breathed deeply enough, I could taste the undiluted black tea and white hydrangea ghost of her magic. Purebloods measure time differently than changelings and humans do. Li Qin could easily have been mourning someone who had died a century before.
“Two years next week,” she said, and smiled again. “But that’s not why you’re here.”