Late Eclipses
Page 55

“Would it make the drink taste bitter?”
“That much Phenobarbital would make sugar taste bitter.”
“Can the antidote for the Cat’s Court travel?”
“There’s no reason why not.”
“Good. I want you to bring it with you, and come meet me at Shadowed Hills.”
“What?” He sounded taken aback; apparently, random women didn’t usually call his lab and ask him to drive to Pleasant Hill. Well, he’d learn.
“I may have some leads on Luna Torquill. Listen.” I outlined the situation with Luna and the roses, giving a quick explanation of Luna’s heritage. This was too important to confuse with polite falsehoods. The only thing I left out was my encounter with the Queen’s guards—there was nothing he could do about it, and he’d find out about my pending arrest soon enough.
Walther was silent when I finished. I paused before asking, “Well? Will you help me?”
“What are we going to do? Why do you need a chemist? They’re not going to let me take blood samples from the Duchess.”
“I don’t want you to take blood samples.” I’d been trying to approach things too linearly; that was my problem the whole time. Faerie isn’t linear. “We’re taking soil samples.”
“Why would we—oh. I see. Yes, that makes sense.”
“Do you know how to get to Paso Nogal Park?”
“Yes.”
“Good; meet us there, in the parking lot. We’re not going into the knowe. Bring whatever you’ll need to get a quick answer on what’s in the dirt.”
“All right. See you soon.”
“Count on it.” I hung up briefly before dialing again. This time, the phone only rang once.
“Hi, Auntie Birdie,” said Karen, skipping the unnecessary “hello.” “I don’t know anything else. I’m sorry. I’ve been trying. I even tried dreaming for the mean girl, to see what she knew, but . . . ” Her voice faltered. “I don’t like her dreams.”
The mean girl? She had to mean Rayseline. “What did she dream about?”
“Only the dark.”
I winced. Definitely Rayseline. “Okay. If you think of anything else, no matter how small, call May, okay? She’s going to be with me.”
“I will . . . but you need to be careful. Something’s coming. Someone’s dreaming you a new dream, and whoever it is, I can’t quite see them.” On that encouraging note, she hung up.
“Great,” I muttered, hanging up the phone. “Okay. Come on. Walther’s starting from Berkeley. We need to get moving if we want to beat him to Shadowed Hills.”
“Who’s Walther again?” asked May.
“Tell you in the car.” We crossed the living room together. The sky outside was that ludicrously cheerful blue that seems to haunt California summers. It should have been raining. Considering everything that was going on, the sunshine seemed unfair.
I locked the door, pressing my hand against the wood and reciting, “Ring around the rosies, a pocket full of posies; ashes, ashes, we all fall down.” The wards flared and writhed, becoming a web of thin red lines as the smell of cut grass and copper rose around us. If anyone broke into the apartment, we’d know. A bolt of pain lanced through my temples, making my lingering headache worse. The poison was gaining on me. “Damn,” I muttered.
“What is it?”
So May wasn’t getting my headaches in real-time. That was good to know. “Just the headache. Can I get you to throw a don’t-look-here on the car? We don’t have time to deal with a speeding ticket.”
“Sure.” She gave me a sidelong look. “You’ve been using a lot of magic while you’re driving lately.”
“I’ve been in a hurry,” I said, brushing past her on my way to the parking area.
May followed, silent as I performed my usual check of the backseat and unlocked the doors. She climbed into the passenger seat, shifting Spike into her lap. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t do it. I’m just concerned.”
“Don’t be. It’s not like my chronic migraine is going to kill us.”
“Right.” She closed her eyes and pressed her hands against the dashboard, reciting, “There’s a man who lives a life of danger. To everyone he meets, he stays a stranger. With every move he makes, another chance he takes.” The smell of cotton candy and ashes filled the car.
“‘Secret Agent Man’?” I asked, amused.
May slumped back in her seat. “Not everyone shares your lousy taste in music.” She wrinkled her nose. “Ugh. Now I have your headache and my own.”
May was pureblooded. If she was starting to get magic-burn, her condition was even more synchronized with mine than I’d thought. That wasn’t good.
“You relax,” I said. “I’ll drive.”
May nodded, slumping in her seat as I started the car. We drove in silence. It was close enough to rush hour that traffic was picking up; once we were on the freeway, most of my attention was taken with avoiding an accident. We made good time, but there were a few points—especially at the freeway interchange on the Oakland side of the Bay Bridge—where I was forced to drop to a crawl or pay the consequences. Going through the Caldecott Tunnel when none of the other drivers could see me is one of the most harrowing things I’ve ever done of my own free will.
There was only one other car in the parking lot when we arrived at Paso Nogal: a battered but serviceable silver Toyota that looked familiar enough to have been made before I wound up in the pond. Walther was standing next to it, attention on the small glass vial in his hand.
I pulled up beside him and killed the engine. He didn’t look up. I glanced to May. “Okay. That’s a good spell.”
Even May looked impressed. “I didn’t realize it was that good.”
“Well, drop it. We need to talk to him.”
“Right.” She clapped her hands, bobbing her head a la Barbara Eden. The spell burst like a soap bubble, leaving us visible to anyone who was looking.
Like Walther. He jumped, nearly dropping the vial as he whipped around to face us. “Toby!”
“It’s me,” I said, sliding out of the car. May followed. I gestured between them, saying, “May, Walther Davies. Walther, May Daye, my—”