Chimes at Midnight
Page 63
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Silence from the backseat reminded me that Danny wasn’t the only one who’d never been to Borderlands. I twisted to see Quentin looking at me dubiously.
“You want to say something?”
“Yeah . . . are you sure there’s a bookstore there?” He at least had the good grace to look faintly abashed as he continued, “You might have dreamt it.”
Anger rose in my throat like bile. I swallowed it back down and said, “I can understand why you might be concerned about that, but Tybalt and I went to Borderlands before I was hit with the evil pie.” No matter how many times I said “evil pie,” it never started sounding normal. “The store is there, it’s just hidden from anyone who claims allegiance to the Mists. Arden has been hiding there for a while. It may not be where she went to ground, but it’s the best lead we have.”
“And if she’s not there?” rumbled Danny.
Her magic smelled like redwood trees and blackberries. So did the place where I had heard her name spoken to open a shallowing that had been holding itself closed for decades. “If she’s not there, we head for Muir Woods,” I said. “She’s connected to the shallowing there, somehow. She might try running for it. It seems like less of a sure bet, but again. We take the leads we have when we’re dealing with something like this.”
“I don’t like it,” said Danny.
“Join the club,” I replied.
We were in the strange hours of the night, where traffic became unpredictable, here heavy, there nonexistent. The route Danny was plotting took us straight through San Francisco, ignoring the daily logic of the city in favor of a more personal approach. He never slowed down. Somehow, he managed not to run any red lights or hit any pedestrians, either. Those Gremlin charms were worth their weight in whatever he had paid for them.
When we reached Valencia, he took his weight off the gas, reducing our speed until we were almost obeying the law. “Now where?” he demanded.
“Hang on.” I took the flask of fireflies out of my pocket, using my finger to coax one of the brightly-shining insects out. Carefully, I transferred it to his shoulder, where it settled into a pose of apparent contentment. “Look down the street until you see something you don’t recognize, and park there.”
“What?” Danny frowned at me before turning to scan Valencia. “That’s about the dumbest thing I’ve ever—holy shit, girl, there’s a bookstore there. What the hell? When did they build a bookstore?”
“Since the building is like a hundred years old, a while ago,” I said. “Can you park?”
“I’m on it.” He twisted the wheel abruptly enough to make the tires squeal in protest. Somehow, this ended with us wedged into a space that had just opened in front of the Phoenix, the Irish pub almost directly across the street from Borderlands. “We’re here,” he said smugly, and turned off the engine.
Other things that had happened during our unexpected hairpin turn in the middle of a San Francisco street: my hands were pressed flat against the dashboard, although I didn’t remember putting them there, and Quentin was bent almost double, his arms wrapped against my seat’s headrest. I forced the muscles in my arms to unlock. It wasn’t easy. Adrenaline had everything confused, and my body really wasn’t interested in listening to me.
“Danny?”
“Yeah, Tobes?”
“If you kill us trying to protect me, Tybalt will figure out a way to get through that skin of yours and introduce you to your own internal organs. He’s Cait Sidhe. He can do it.”
To my surprise, Danny laughed. I blinked. He grinned. “See, as long as you’re capable of gettin’ pissed at me, I know you’re gonna be okay. You may not like what comes between here and actually getting to that point, and the rest of us will pretty much hate it, ’cause you can be nasty when you want to, but you’re gonna be okay.”
I blinked again. Then I smiled. “I didn’t think of it that way.”
“’Course not. You’re the hero. You’re never supposed to think about your own mental health.” Danny wrapped a human disguise around himself and slid out of the car before I could answer him. Stifling a snicker, Quentin did the same.
I reached for my seatbelt. My hands were shaking too badly for me to undo the latch.
Slowly, I raised them to a level with my face, trying to make the shaking stop. If I really focused, I could stop the worst of it, but a fine tremor remained, like my body was caught in its own private earthquake.
Danny knocked on the window. I jumped.
“You okay in there?” he asked. His concern was visible; he knew something was wrong.
All I had to do was admit it. All I had to do was say, “I’m sorry, I’m done, I’m starting to break down,” and he’d take me back to Shadowed Hills. Jin could put me to sleep until Tybalt or the Luidaeg got back with Mom, however long that took, and I’d be okay, or at least I’d have a shot at it, which was more than I had now. All I had to do was say the word.
And Nolan would die, if he wasn’t dead already. Because there was no chance that anyone other than the Queen had taken him, and there was less than no chance that she was going to let him live a second time. His life had been the coin she used to buy Arden’s silence. Well, Arden wasn’t silent anymore. Not even running away would save him now. And then there were all the humans and changelings who would waste away yearning for goblin fruit . . .
I lowered my hands and plastered a smile across my face, hoping the unfamiliar humanity of my features would make it harder for him to know that I was lying. “I got a splinter from the protection charms on your stupid dashboard,” I said. “I’ll be right there.”
Danny didn’t look like he believed me, but he said, “If you’re sure,” before straightening again.
I wasn’t sure. I was so far from sure that we weren’t even in the same time zone. But I was doing the best I could. I raked my shaking hands through my hair, trying to catch my breath. Then I reached into my jacket and pulled out the second baggie. I wasn’t sure about this, either. I didn’t see any other way.
Opening the baggie, I reached in, pulled out a frozen piece of the Luidaeg’s blood, and dropped it onto my tongue.
There was no taste of mint and lavender this time, no soothing feeling that I was somehow repairing myself. Instead, it felt like my entire mouth was freezing solid, a cold so profound that it actually crossed some unmarked internal line and started to burn. I gasped and folded forward, clutching my stomach.
“You want to say something?”
“Yeah . . . are you sure there’s a bookstore there?” He at least had the good grace to look faintly abashed as he continued, “You might have dreamt it.”
Anger rose in my throat like bile. I swallowed it back down and said, “I can understand why you might be concerned about that, but Tybalt and I went to Borderlands before I was hit with the evil pie.” No matter how many times I said “evil pie,” it never started sounding normal. “The store is there, it’s just hidden from anyone who claims allegiance to the Mists. Arden has been hiding there for a while. It may not be where she went to ground, but it’s the best lead we have.”
“And if she’s not there?” rumbled Danny.
Her magic smelled like redwood trees and blackberries. So did the place where I had heard her name spoken to open a shallowing that had been holding itself closed for decades. “If she’s not there, we head for Muir Woods,” I said. “She’s connected to the shallowing there, somehow. She might try running for it. It seems like less of a sure bet, but again. We take the leads we have when we’re dealing with something like this.”
“I don’t like it,” said Danny.
“Join the club,” I replied.
We were in the strange hours of the night, where traffic became unpredictable, here heavy, there nonexistent. The route Danny was plotting took us straight through San Francisco, ignoring the daily logic of the city in favor of a more personal approach. He never slowed down. Somehow, he managed not to run any red lights or hit any pedestrians, either. Those Gremlin charms were worth their weight in whatever he had paid for them.
When we reached Valencia, he took his weight off the gas, reducing our speed until we were almost obeying the law. “Now where?” he demanded.
“Hang on.” I took the flask of fireflies out of my pocket, using my finger to coax one of the brightly-shining insects out. Carefully, I transferred it to his shoulder, where it settled into a pose of apparent contentment. “Look down the street until you see something you don’t recognize, and park there.”
“What?” Danny frowned at me before turning to scan Valencia. “That’s about the dumbest thing I’ve ever—holy shit, girl, there’s a bookstore there. What the hell? When did they build a bookstore?”
“Since the building is like a hundred years old, a while ago,” I said. “Can you park?”
“I’m on it.” He twisted the wheel abruptly enough to make the tires squeal in protest. Somehow, this ended with us wedged into a space that had just opened in front of the Phoenix, the Irish pub almost directly across the street from Borderlands. “We’re here,” he said smugly, and turned off the engine.
Other things that had happened during our unexpected hairpin turn in the middle of a San Francisco street: my hands were pressed flat against the dashboard, although I didn’t remember putting them there, and Quentin was bent almost double, his arms wrapped against my seat’s headrest. I forced the muscles in my arms to unlock. It wasn’t easy. Adrenaline had everything confused, and my body really wasn’t interested in listening to me.
“Danny?”
“Yeah, Tobes?”
“If you kill us trying to protect me, Tybalt will figure out a way to get through that skin of yours and introduce you to your own internal organs. He’s Cait Sidhe. He can do it.”
To my surprise, Danny laughed. I blinked. He grinned. “See, as long as you’re capable of gettin’ pissed at me, I know you’re gonna be okay. You may not like what comes between here and actually getting to that point, and the rest of us will pretty much hate it, ’cause you can be nasty when you want to, but you’re gonna be okay.”
I blinked again. Then I smiled. “I didn’t think of it that way.”
“’Course not. You’re the hero. You’re never supposed to think about your own mental health.” Danny wrapped a human disguise around himself and slid out of the car before I could answer him. Stifling a snicker, Quentin did the same.
I reached for my seatbelt. My hands were shaking too badly for me to undo the latch.
Slowly, I raised them to a level with my face, trying to make the shaking stop. If I really focused, I could stop the worst of it, but a fine tremor remained, like my body was caught in its own private earthquake.
Danny knocked on the window. I jumped.
“You okay in there?” he asked. His concern was visible; he knew something was wrong.
All I had to do was admit it. All I had to do was say, “I’m sorry, I’m done, I’m starting to break down,” and he’d take me back to Shadowed Hills. Jin could put me to sleep until Tybalt or the Luidaeg got back with Mom, however long that took, and I’d be okay, or at least I’d have a shot at it, which was more than I had now. All I had to do was say the word.
And Nolan would die, if he wasn’t dead already. Because there was no chance that anyone other than the Queen had taken him, and there was less than no chance that she was going to let him live a second time. His life had been the coin she used to buy Arden’s silence. Well, Arden wasn’t silent anymore. Not even running away would save him now. And then there were all the humans and changelings who would waste away yearning for goblin fruit . . .
I lowered my hands and plastered a smile across my face, hoping the unfamiliar humanity of my features would make it harder for him to know that I was lying. “I got a splinter from the protection charms on your stupid dashboard,” I said. “I’ll be right there.”
Danny didn’t look like he believed me, but he said, “If you’re sure,” before straightening again.
I wasn’t sure. I was so far from sure that we weren’t even in the same time zone. But I was doing the best I could. I raked my shaking hands through my hair, trying to catch my breath. Then I reached into my jacket and pulled out the second baggie. I wasn’t sure about this, either. I didn’t see any other way.
Opening the baggie, I reached in, pulled out a frozen piece of the Luidaeg’s blood, and dropped it onto my tongue.
There was no taste of mint and lavender this time, no soothing feeling that I was somehow repairing myself. Instead, it felt like my entire mouth was freezing solid, a cold so profound that it actually crossed some unmarked internal line and started to burn. I gasped and folded forward, clutching my stomach.
