Late Eclipses
Page 75

The transition between the Court of Cats and the Berkeley street was smooth, depositing us outside in the cool of evening. I breathed deeply, realizing as I did that this was the first time I’d been allowed to breathe mortal air since my trial. I didn’t have to look back to know that the entrance to the Court of Cats would be gone; Tybalt was too smart to leave it open, no matter how much he didn’t want us to leave.
“Hey.” Connor touched my elbow lightly.
“Hey.” I slanted a smile in his direction. “Like the new look?”
He laughed unsteadily, dropping his hand away from my elbow and threading his fingers through mine. I didn’t pull away, but stepped closer, resting my head against his shoulder and letting the heat coming off his skin warm me through. “To be honest, I don’t know. But you’re not dead, and that’s good enough for me.”
There didn’t seem to be anything I could say to that. We stayed that way, waiting, until a battered green taxicab roared around the corner and screeched to a stop in front of us. It had barely stopped when Danny launched himself out of the driver’s-side door, charging around the car and sweeping me into a massive hug. My feet left the ground, and I found myself faced with an interesting predicament: kick my ride to Shadowed Hills in the knee, or suffocate?
Connor solved the issue by tapping Danny on the arm—as high as he could reach—and saying apologetically, “I don’t think she can breathe.”
“Aw, hell!” Danny put me down, grinning ear-to-ear as he clapped his hands down on my shoulders. “You’re alive!”
“I am. But we need to get moving. Can I fill you in on the way?”
“Yeah, yeah. Here.” He opened the passenger door for me, waving me to get in. “Seal-boy, you’re in back. Not that I don’t like you, but it’s a chivalry thing.”
“I understand,” said Connor. He started toward the car, only to stop dead as two of Danny’s Barghests stuck their heads out the window. They were panting, venomous fangs retracted and tongues lolling.
“What?” demanded Danny. I pointed to the Barghests, fighting to keep myself from laughing. Understanding dawned. Danny grinned. “That’s Iggy and Lou. Don’t worry; they don’t bite unless you poke ’em. They may drool a little, but it ain’t acid or nothin’. That’s a myth.”
“They’re . . . Barghests,” said Connor carefully, in case we hadn’t noticed.
“Yeah.” Tone turning crafty, Danny asked, “You want one?”
It was too much. I burst out laughing, managing to say, “No, Danny, Connor doesn’t want a Barghest.” Then, because Danny looked so hurt by the idea that Connor wouldn’t want one of his pets, I added, “It wouldn’t get along with the rose goblins.”
“True enough,” said Danny, mollified. “Well, get on in.”
Connor shot me a frantic look. I shrugged, gesturing to the backseat as I climbed into the front. A little Barghest drool wasn’t going to kill him.
One of the Barghests stuck its head up between the seats. I scratched it behind the ears while we waited for Connor to get over his monster issues. “Which one’s this?”
“Lou,” said Danny. “She’s my good girl, aren’t you, Lou?” The Barghest commenced to licking his face with enthusiasm. “I tell you, even if I can find homes for the rest, these two are staying.”
“Good to know,” I said. The back door shut as Connor finally got in, and I was saved from making any more small talk about Danny’s literal “pet” project as the Bridge Troll hit the gas and sent us rocketing into traffic.
“Now,” he said. “Talk.”
So I talked. Starting with what I’d been doing at Shadowed Hills when I was arrested, and jumping from there to the trial. Describing the cell where I’d been held was more upsetting than I’d expected; by the time I finished, I was staring fixedly at my hands to keep myself from seeing the looks on their faces.
Silence held in the car for several minutes, broken only by the sound of traffic and the panting of the Barghests. Finally, Danny said, “Yeah, but . . . how in the hell’d you get run through the pencil sharpener?” I glanced up. Mistaking my surprise for confusion, he mimed a point over his own disguised ear. “Word on the street is you’ve got a hope chest you didn’t turn in to the authorities.”
That startled me into a sharp, barking laugh. “Are you kidding? People think I did this to myself ?”
“People talk when they don’t got the truth,” he said implacably.
“I gave the only hope chest I’ve ever seen to the Queen,” I said. “My mother did this to me.”
“Your ma has a hope chest?”
“No, Danny. She did it to me on her own.”
“Oh.” Danny paused to mull this over. Finally, he said, “So your ma, she’s not Daoine Sidhe, then.”
“No.”
“Oh. Well.” He paused again before shrugging. “That makes a lot of sense.”
I stared at him. “Glad it makes sense to one of us.”
“C’mon, kiddo, you thought what? That Daoine Sidhe were made of rubber or something? Half the shit you do shoulda killed you years ago.”
“He’s right,” said Connor, abruptly. “I don’t know why we didn’t see it.”
“Because we didn’t want to.” I slumped in my seat. “If we saw it, we’d have to deal with it, and with everybody saying she was Daoine Sidhe, and me being too weak to worry about, it got to stay invisible.”
“A lot of things make more sense now,” said Connor.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “They do.”
We were approaching the Caldecott Tunnel. Tunnels represent an essential difference between humans and fae. When the population of Berkeley and Oakland filled the available space and needed to expand, mankind found a way to run the road right through the mountain. The fae would have picked the mountain up and put it down someplace less inconvenient. The idea of driving a permanent road through the middle would have never occurred to us.
When did that turn into an “us”? When did I stop thinking of myself as human?
“Uh, Toby? Not to distract you while you’re brooding and all, but we may have a problem.” Danny’s voice was level. Too level. Anyone who sounds that calm and isn’t actually sedated is upset about something.