Chimes at Midnight
Page 77

“Neither does anyone else,” said Danny.
“Not helping,” said May.
Arden continued. “But it really did help, and Toby, I know withdrawal when I see it. You’re one sharp noise away from flipping out and climbing the nearest tall building with a sniper rifle, and that’s not going to get my brother back. You need some goblin fruit.”
“It doesn’t matter what you think I need,” I said flatly. “We’re not stopping to find a street corner drug dealer, and I don’t think Danny’s been running goblin fruit out of the glove compartment. So I’m going to just keep on the way I have been, if it’s all the same to you.”
“No, you’re not,” said May, in a very small voice.
I turned to frown at her. “May?”
She didn’t say anything. She just reached into her purse and pulled out a plastic baggie with a sandwich inside. It was white bread, cut into quarters; the crusts had been trimmed off. My eyes widened.
“May, no, don’t—”
She opened the seal, and the smell of goblin fruit flooded the car. Without my having consciously decided to move, I was taking the baggie away from her and cramming the sections of sandwich into my mouth. There was barely a teaspoon of jam in the whole thing, making it just a thin layer of sweetness between the slices of bread, cheese, and ham, but I somehow managed to stop myself from ripping the sandwich apart to get at what I wanted faster. The small part of my brain that was still capable of making rational decisions knew that this was the only way I’d get the calories I needed to rebuild what my body was burning.
That part of my brain was in the minority. Most of me had been transformed into pure wanting, and it wasn’t until I was sucking the crumbs off my fingers that my head cleared enough for me to realize what I’d done.
“Oh, root and branch,” I swore, woozily. The car was getting blurry around the edges as the goblin fruit kicked in. I fumbled for the knives strapped to my waist, not really caring which one I grabbed, as long as I got something I could use to cut myself.
May shouted something, trying to pull the knife out of my hand. The car was already starting to fade from view, and it felt like my blood was carbonated. I couldn’t feel my own fingers.
But I could feel hers.
“M’sorry,” I managed, and stabbed her in the arm.
May shrieked. Arden swore. Danny briefly lost control of the car in the commotion, sending us swerving across two lanes of traffic. I ignored them all as I clamped my mouth down over the wound I’d created.
Her blood tasted like her magic, cotton candy and ashes, as well as the copperier, more expected taste of the blood itself. The fact that I could taste her magic at all was a change, although I wasn’t sure whether it was a good one or a bad one. A stream of faces and flickers of memory tried to rise in my mind’s eye, and I forced them away, refusing to look at them. I was too busy trying to hold my focus, forcing it inward and pushing back the bubbling sensation I could feel working its way through my veins.
Arden could talk about the dangers of withdrawal all she wanted, and she could even convince May she was right—although the fact that May had that sandwich ready to go probably meant that my Fetch had come up with this particular harebrained scheme at least partially on her own. And maybe they were right . . . for them. They were both purebloods, and neither of them had the kind of magic that could turn them human if given something to work with.
Goblin fruit counted as “something to work with.” I ignored the sounds around me, and focused on getting as much blood into my body as I possibly could. It was funny, in a sad sort of way: the goblin fruit was the reason I had to do this, but it was also giving me the strength to counter its effects. The fuzziness retreated to the corners of my eyes, and while Arden’s shouts retained an odd echoing quality, they didn’t get any stranger. I pulled my mouth cautiously from May’s arm, checking the size of her actual wound at the same time.
It was barely more than a scratch. Goblin fruit apparently interfered with my aim in addition to everything else.
May clamped her hand down over her arm as soon as I was out of the way, eyes wide, and demanded, “What in the name of Oberon and his wives do you think you’re doing?”
“Surviving.” I wiped my mouth. It left a red trail on the back of my hand. I fought the urge to gag. “What do you think you’re doing? Dangling goblin fruit in front of me like that is dangerous.”
“You stabbed me!” She made a grab for my knife. I pulled it back, out of her reach. “Oh, no, give me that. You don’t get to stab me and then hold onto your knives.”
“No, but I do get to stab you if that’s what it takes to keep from turning myself human.” I wiped the blade on my jeans, glaring at her defiantly, before shoving it back into its holster. “Or did you forget that little parlor trick?”
“You said you couldn’t turn yourself any more human than you already were,” May protested.
“I said I didn’t have the strength.” I reached up and tucked my hair behind my ears, using the gesture as an excuse to check how pointed they were. They didn’t feel like they’d changed at all . . . this time. That was a small mercy, and one I wasn’t going to count on. “I’ve consumed the Luidaeg’s blood since then. So I had the strength to start a change. I needed the strength, and the focus, to stop it.”
“You were telling the truth.”
Arden sounded almost awed. That was enough to pull my attention away from May, and back to her. She was pressed against the door, mismatched eyes wide. “Excuse me?” I said.
“You’re not Daoine Sidhe. You weren’t lying about that. Your mother . . . Amandine is the Last Among the First?” She said it like it was a title, each word weighted somehow, so that they stood separate and distinct from the rest of the sentence. She said it the way I would have said “once upon a time,” and for some reason, that terrified me.
“Um . . . yeah?” I said, glancing to May for help. She shook her head, looking as mystified as I felt. “I told you that, remember? Mom’s Firstborn.”
“She was here all along.” Arden sagged, looking suddenly stricken. “Father could have saved himself.”
“What?” I demanded.
“What?” May echoed.
“We’re at Muir Woods,” said Danny. We all turned to stare at him. He grimaced apologetically. “Sorry. Just thought you’d like to know.”