Rosemary and Rue
Page 13
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What the hell. I needed the money, and it wasn’t like my creditors could threaten me with anything I hadn’t heard before. If it was Stacy, I could just delete the message. I leaned back against the wall, sipping my coffee, and pressed the button marked “play.”
The speakers crackled, intoning, “You have three new messages,” in a bland mechanical voice that cut off with a strident beep. I winced and reached for the volume control, intending to turn it down. I was still reaching when the playback began, and I forgot about everything but the message.
“October, this is Evening. I believe I may have a problem. In fact, I’m nearly sure of it.” Her tone was clipped, tight with some unacknowledged worry. She always sounded repressed, but this was new; I’d never heard her sound scared. It takes a lot to scare most purebloods. It takes a lot more to scare someone as naturally scary as Evening herself.
“Evening?” I straightened.
Evening wasn’t just someone I called to fish me out of jail cells: she was Countess of one of San Francisco’s smaller fiefdoms, and sometimes, she was even a friend. I say sometimes because she and I had very different ideas about what social standing meant. She thought it meant she got to order me around because she was pureblooded and I wasn’t. I disagreed. So we hated each other about half the time, but we spent the other half helping each other survive. I found the man who killed her sister and I cleared her name when she was accused of plotting the destruction of the Queen’s Court; she bailed me out when I got a little too enthusiastic following the Duchess of Dreamer’s Glass. If there was a pureblood other than Sylvester that I’d trust with my life, it was her.
Damn her anyway, for making me care.
“If you’re there, please, please answer your phone. It’s truly essential that I speak to you immediately. Call me as soon as you can. And October . . .” She paused. “Never mind. Just hurry.” She hung up the phone, but before she did, I could have sworn I heard her crying.
The second message started immediately, before I had a chance to move, or even breathe. It was Evening again, sounding even more harried than before.
“October? October, are you there? October, this is Evening.” There was a long pause. I heard her take a wavering, unsteady breath. “Oh, root and branch . . . October, please pick up your phone. I need you to answer your phone right now.” It was like she thought she could order me to be home. My machine was too old to have a date and time feature so there was no telling how much time had passed between messages, but it had been enough for the worry to stop hiding and come out to the surface of her voice, obvious and raw. The only other time I’d heard that much emotion in her voice was when her sister died, and while Dawn’s death had broken the shell of her calm, even that hadn’t lasted long. This wasn’t sorrow. This was sheer and simple terror.
“Please, please, October, pick up the phone, please, I’m running out of time ...”The message cut off abruptly, but not abruptly enough to hide the sound of her crying.
“Oak and yarrow, Eve,” I whispered. “What did you get yourself into?”
I thought I wanted an answer. And I was wrong, because the last message answered me more completely than I could have dreamed.
The speakers crackled, once, before her voice began to speak for the final time.
“October Daye, I wish to hire you.” The fear was still there, but the command and power that was her nature shone clearly through it, brilliant and terrible. She was looking at the end of everything, and it was enough to remind her of who she really was. “By my word and at my command, you will investigate a murder, and you will force justice back into this kingdom. You will do this thing.” There was a long pause. I was starting to think the message had ended when she continued, softly, “Find out who did it, Toby, please. Make sure they don’t win. I need you to do this, for me, and for Goldengreen. If you were ever my friend, Toby, please . . .”
She’d never called me Toby before. We’d known each other for more than twenty years, and I’d never been anything but October to her. I knew then what had happened to her, even though I didn’t want to. I knew as soon as she started speaking, and I still wouldn’t let it be true. I couldn’t let it be true. Not moving, not breathing, I listened in stunned silence as she brought down what little remained of my world.
There was another long pause before she whispered, “Toby, there isn’t much time. Please, pick up. I can’t leave, and you’re the only one I trust enough to call, so damn it, please! Answer your goddamn phone!” I’d never heard her curse before. The night was full of firsts, and I wasn’t even out of my bathrobe yet. “I know you’re there! Dammit, I am not going to let your laziness get me killed! Toby, damn you . . .”
She took a breath then, before continuing in a firm cadence. By the time I realized what she was doing, it was too late; I’d heard the binding begin, and I would listen until the end.
“By my blood and my bones, I bind you. By the oak and the ash, the rowan and the thorn, I bind you. By the word of your fealty, by my mother’s will, by your name, I bind you. For the favors I have done you in the past, you promised that I could ask anything of you; this is my anything. Find the answers, find the reasons and find the one who caused me this harm, October Daye, daughter of Amandine, or find only your own death. By all that I am and all that I was and all the mercies of our missing Lord and Ladies, I bind you . . .”
I felt the curse catch hold, sinking thorny talons into my skin as the bittersweet smell of dying roses flooded my nose and mouth. I dropped my coffee cup and staggered backward retching, clapping a hand over my mouth as I tried not to throw up. Promises bind our kind as surely as iron chains or ropes of human hair, and Evening had bound me with the old forms, the ones anyone with a trace of fae blood can use. No one uses the old bindings anymore, not unless things are so bleak that even our missing King and his Hunt couldn’t mend them. They’re too strong, and too deadly.
The fae never swear by anything we don’t believe in. We don’t ask for thanks and we don’t offer them; no promises, no regrets, no chains. No lies. If Evening said failure would kill me, it would kill me. I just hoped she had a good reason, or I was going to have to kill her myself.
“Oh, Toby, I’m sorry,” she said, and put the phone down, not quite in the cradle. The connection continued. I don’t know whether that was an accident or not, but I don’t think it was. She wanted me to hear. She knew that if I heard what came next, I wouldn’t even try to break the binding she had thrown over me.
The speakers crackled, intoning, “You have three new messages,” in a bland mechanical voice that cut off with a strident beep. I winced and reached for the volume control, intending to turn it down. I was still reaching when the playback began, and I forgot about everything but the message.
“October, this is Evening. I believe I may have a problem. In fact, I’m nearly sure of it.” Her tone was clipped, tight with some unacknowledged worry. She always sounded repressed, but this was new; I’d never heard her sound scared. It takes a lot to scare most purebloods. It takes a lot more to scare someone as naturally scary as Evening herself.
“Evening?” I straightened.
Evening wasn’t just someone I called to fish me out of jail cells: she was Countess of one of San Francisco’s smaller fiefdoms, and sometimes, she was even a friend. I say sometimes because she and I had very different ideas about what social standing meant. She thought it meant she got to order me around because she was pureblooded and I wasn’t. I disagreed. So we hated each other about half the time, but we spent the other half helping each other survive. I found the man who killed her sister and I cleared her name when she was accused of plotting the destruction of the Queen’s Court; she bailed me out when I got a little too enthusiastic following the Duchess of Dreamer’s Glass. If there was a pureblood other than Sylvester that I’d trust with my life, it was her.
Damn her anyway, for making me care.
“If you’re there, please, please answer your phone. It’s truly essential that I speak to you immediately. Call me as soon as you can. And October . . .” She paused. “Never mind. Just hurry.” She hung up the phone, but before she did, I could have sworn I heard her crying.
The second message started immediately, before I had a chance to move, or even breathe. It was Evening again, sounding even more harried than before.
“October? October, are you there? October, this is Evening.” There was a long pause. I heard her take a wavering, unsteady breath. “Oh, root and branch . . . October, please pick up your phone. I need you to answer your phone right now.” It was like she thought she could order me to be home. My machine was too old to have a date and time feature so there was no telling how much time had passed between messages, but it had been enough for the worry to stop hiding and come out to the surface of her voice, obvious and raw. The only other time I’d heard that much emotion in her voice was when her sister died, and while Dawn’s death had broken the shell of her calm, even that hadn’t lasted long. This wasn’t sorrow. This was sheer and simple terror.
“Please, please, October, pick up the phone, please, I’m running out of time ...”The message cut off abruptly, but not abruptly enough to hide the sound of her crying.
“Oak and yarrow, Eve,” I whispered. “What did you get yourself into?”
I thought I wanted an answer. And I was wrong, because the last message answered me more completely than I could have dreamed.
The speakers crackled, once, before her voice began to speak for the final time.
“October Daye, I wish to hire you.” The fear was still there, but the command and power that was her nature shone clearly through it, brilliant and terrible. She was looking at the end of everything, and it was enough to remind her of who she really was. “By my word and at my command, you will investigate a murder, and you will force justice back into this kingdom. You will do this thing.” There was a long pause. I was starting to think the message had ended when she continued, softly, “Find out who did it, Toby, please. Make sure they don’t win. I need you to do this, for me, and for Goldengreen. If you were ever my friend, Toby, please . . .”
She’d never called me Toby before. We’d known each other for more than twenty years, and I’d never been anything but October to her. I knew then what had happened to her, even though I didn’t want to. I knew as soon as she started speaking, and I still wouldn’t let it be true. I couldn’t let it be true. Not moving, not breathing, I listened in stunned silence as she brought down what little remained of my world.
There was another long pause before she whispered, “Toby, there isn’t much time. Please, pick up. I can’t leave, and you’re the only one I trust enough to call, so damn it, please! Answer your goddamn phone!” I’d never heard her curse before. The night was full of firsts, and I wasn’t even out of my bathrobe yet. “I know you’re there! Dammit, I am not going to let your laziness get me killed! Toby, damn you . . .”
She took a breath then, before continuing in a firm cadence. By the time I realized what she was doing, it was too late; I’d heard the binding begin, and I would listen until the end.
“By my blood and my bones, I bind you. By the oak and the ash, the rowan and the thorn, I bind you. By the word of your fealty, by my mother’s will, by your name, I bind you. For the favors I have done you in the past, you promised that I could ask anything of you; this is my anything. Find the answers, find the reasons and find the one who caused me this harm, October Daye, daughter of Amandine, or find only your own death. By all that I am and all that I was and all the mercies of our missing Lord and Ladies, I bind you . . .”
I felt the curse catch hold, sinking thorny talons into my skin as the bittersweet smell of dying roses flooded my nose and mouth. I dropped my coffee cup and staggered backward retching, clapping a hand over my mouth as I tried not to throw up. Promises bind our kind as surely as iron chains or ropes of human hair, and Evening had bound me with the old forms, the ones anyone with a trace of fae blood can use. No one uses the old bindings anymore, not unless things are so bleak that even our missing King and his Hunt couldn’t mend them. They’re too strong, and too deadly.
The fae never swear by anything we don’t believe in. We don’t ask for thanks and we don’t offer them; no promises, no regrets, no chains. No lies. If Evening said failure would kill me, it would kill me. I just hoped she had a good reason, or I was going to have to kill her myself.
“Oh, Toby, I’m sorry,” she said, and put the phone down, not quite in the cradle. The connection continued. I don’t know whether that was an accident or not, but I don’t think it was. She wanted me to hear. She knew that if I heard what came next, I wouldn’t even try to break the binding she had thrown over me.
