Rosemary and Rue
Page 75
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The wall parted like mist, opening on a long tunnel. The goblin was a slash of moving green in the dark ten feet ahead. I kept my eyes on its back, ignoring the stitch in my side as I pounded after it. It leaped for another wall, vanishing again, and I followed, landing on a swaying theater catwalk. The goblin paused, looking back over its shoulder to see that I was still behind it. Then it stepped to the edge of the catwalk, and launched itself into the darkness.
In for a penny, in for a pound. I jumped after it, managing not to stumble when my feet hit solid ground. The goblin kept running, and I followed, into the dark.
TWENTY-THREE
THE LAST LEAP LEFT US STANDING at the mouth of an alley in a part of town I’d never seen before. Seagulls shrieked overhead, and the air stank of garbage mixed with the windblown smell of rotten fish and motor oil. We had to be near the docks, and not in one of the nicer areas. It was water-hag territory . . . and whatever else the Luidaeg may be, she’s definitely a water-hag.
Every child in Faerie grows up knowing about the Luidaeg. She is more of a bogey than Oleander, whose stories are only a few centuries old; the Luidaeg has been one of Faerie’s childhood terrors since Faerie began. My conviction that this was a bad idea just kept growing.
The rose goblin sat down, yawning. I eyed it. “Is this it? Are we there?” It rattled its thorns in satisfaction. Apparently so. Frowning, I turned to study the alley.
Piles of trash were shoved up against the walls, and puddles of stagnant water had formed wherever the asphalt was cracked or pitted. A single door was set into the right-hand wall a few feet from where we stood, the wood stained with salt, the hinges caked with rust. I looked at it, stomach sinking. Someday I’ll figure out why everything in Faerie seems to end up in San Francisco. Rumor said the Luidaeg had been in the city for almost seventy years. They said she could give you anything you wanted, for a price. There were things I wanted, sure, but the cost always seemed like it would just be too high for me to pay.
If Luna didn’t know what she was doing, I was in trouble.
The rose goblin had moved to sit on my foot, grooming the space between its toes. “Are you sure this is where we’re supposed to be?” It looked up, offering a rusty purr. I sighed. “Right, great. Nice neighborhood.”
“Thanks,” said a voice behind me. “Personally, I think it sucks. But it’s home, and the rent’s lower than the property values.”
I whirled, dislodging the goblin. The woman behind me smiled sardonically, tucking her groceries up under one arm. I hadn’t heard her approaching. The rose goblin flattened its thorns and hissed: not the best sign. “Uh. Hi.”
“Hi, yourself. Nice vermin.” She gave the goblin a thoughtful look. I frowned.
“Don’t I know you?”
“Maybe,” she said, and smirked. “You never did give me my receipt, honey.” She looked human, with curly, ponytailed black hair and freckles sprinkled over darkly tanned cheeks, where they almost hid her fading acne scars. She was wearing greasy overalls, heavy work boots, and a faded flannel shirt, placing her squarely in the category of local.
I blinked. “Oh. You.” She’d seen the rose goblin. A human couldn’t have done that. “I tried, but you were gone too fast. Look, I’m looking for someone. Do you live around here?”
“Guess so.” She shifted the bag to her other arm, the contents rattling. “Don’t you know where you’re going?”
“Like I said, I’m looking for someone.”
“Right. Nice ears, by the way. Oberon’s bastards always did breed like rats.” She knelt to chuck the rose goblin under the chin. It hissed again and darted behind my legs. Smirking, she looked up, pupils narrowing to slits. “I think you’re looking for me.”
I was expecting something like that, and managed not to jump. Barely. “Are you . . . ?”
“The Luidaeg, yes. You’re a good guesser. Of course, you’re standing on my doorstep, so maybe it’s not such a guess. How’d you find me, anyway?” She sniffed the air, still crouching, and gave me a thoughtful look. “You stink of the Rose Roads. Not just one strain of roses, either—I can smell the Winterrose on you, and Luna’s line, as well as your own. Old roses and new roses . . .” She paused. “Maybe you’d better come inside.”
“I . . .”
“Look, if you’re not here to see me, you can stay out here. Whatever stupid quest you think you’re on can go unfulfilled; you haven’t made it my problem yet.” She straightened and dug a key out of her pocket. “But I’m going in before my ice cream melts.” Pushing open the door, she stepped into the darkness.
I stared after her until she stuck her head back out, asking, “Well? Are you coming?”
What was I supposed to say to the sea witch, terror of faerie children everywhere? No?
The apartment was dark, furnished with rejects from a hundred different thrift stores. Things moved in the shadows. I didn’t want to know what they were, anymore than I wanted to know the nature of the things crunching under my feet as I walked down the cluttered hallway. The rose goblin crept behind me, staying pressed against my ankles. I glanced down. It whined.
The Luidaeg pushed past, heading for the kitchen. “By the root and fucking branch, pick that thing up. It’ll start squalling like a baby if you don’t.”
I knelt, scooping the goblin into my arms. It made a cheeping noise and subsided, clinging. “How did you . . . ?”
“I’ve dealt with the little bastards before. They were an accident on the part of a niece of mine.” She reappeared in the kitchen door, a Diet Coke in one hand. “They’re all predictable—goblins and Oberon’s bastards. What do you want?”
“What?” I wasn’t keeping up. This whole thing had me off my guard.
“Want. What do you want? I mean, I’ve been expecting you, I just didn’t expect to see you so soon.” She popped the can open and took a swig. “It’s cool if you don’t want to say. I just hope you like my company, since we’re stuck here until you spill it.”
“How do you know I want something? Maybe I’m here because I’m grateful for the way you saved my life.” That was dangerously close to saying thank you—but she’d thanked me earlier. Maybe she was old enough that the restrictions didn’t apply.
In for a penny, in for a pound. I jumped after it, managing not to stumble when my feet hit solid ground. The goblin kept running, and I followed, into the dark.
TWENTY-THREE
THE LAST LEAP LEFT US STANDING at the mouth of an alley in a part of town I’d never seen before. Seagulls shrieked overhead, and the air stank of garbage mixed with the windblown smell of rotten fish and motor oil. We had to be near the docks, and not in one of the nicer areas. It was water-hag territory . . . and whatever else the Luidaeg may be, she’s definitely a water-hag.
Every child in Faerie grows up knowing about the Luidaeg. She is more of a bogey than Oleander, whose stories are only a few centuries old; the Luidaeg has been one of Faerie’s childhood terrors since Faerie began. My conviction that this was a bad idea just kept growing.
The rose goblin sat down, yawning. I eyed it. “Is this it? Are we there?” It rattled its thorns in satisfaction. Apparently so. Frowning, I turned to study the alley.
Piles of trash were shoved up against the walls, and puddles of stagnant water had formed wherever the asphalt was cracked or pitted. A single door was set into the right-hand wall a few feet from where we stood, the wood stained with salt, the hinges caked with rust. I looked at it, stomach sinking. Someday I’ll figure out why everything in Faerie seems to end up in San Francisco. Rumor said the Luidaeg had been in the city for almost seventy years. They said she could give you anything you wanted, for a price. There were things I wanted, sure, but the cost always seemed like it would just be too high for me to pay.
If Luna didn’t know what she was doing, I was in trouble.
The rose goblin had moved to sit on my foot, grooming the space between its toes. “Are you sure this is where we’re supposed to be?” It looked up, offering a rusty purr. I sighed. “Right, great. Nice neighborhood.”
“Thanks,” said a voice behind me. “Personally, I think it sucks. But it’s home, and the rent’s lower than the property values.”
I whirled, dislodging the goblin. The woman behind me smiled sardonically, tucking her groceries up under one arm. I hadn’t heard her approaching. The rose goblin flattened its thorns and hissed: not the best sign. “Uh. Hi.”
“Hi, yourself. Nice vermin.” She gave the goblin a thoughtful look. I frowned.
“Don’t I know you?”
“Maybe,” she said, and smirked. “You never did give me my receipt, honey.” She looked human, with curly, ponytailed black hair and freckles sprinkled over darkly tanned cheeks, where they almost hid her fading acne scars. She was wearing greasy overalls, heavy work boots, and a faded flannel shirt, placing her squarely in the category of local.
I blinked. “Oh. You.” She’d seen the rose goblin. A human couldn’t have done that. “I tried, but you were gone too fast. Look, I’m looking for someone. Do you live around here?”
“Guess so.” She shifted the bag to her other arm, the contents rattling. “Don’t you know where you’re going?”
“Like I said, I’m looking for someone.”
“Right. Nice ears, by the way. Oberon’s bastards always did breed like rats.” She knelt to chuck the rose goblin under the chin. It hissed again and darted behind my legs. Smirking, she looked up, pupils narrowing to slits. “I think you’re looking for me.”
I was expecting something like that, and managed not to jump. Barely. “Are you . . . ?”
“The Luidaeg, yes. You’re a good guesser. Of course, you’re standing on my doorstep, so maybe it’s not such a guess. How’d you find me, anyway?” She sniffed the air, still crouching, and gave me a thoughtful look. “You stink of the Rose Roads. Not just one strain of roses, either—I can smell the Winterrose on you, and Luna’s line, as well as your own. Old roses and new roses . . .” She paused. “Maybe you’d better come inside.”
“I . . .”
“Look, if you’re not here to see me, you can stay out here. Whatever stupid quest you think you’re on can go unfulfilled; you haven’t made it my problem yet.” She straightened and dug a key out of her pocket. “But I’m going in before my ice cream melts.” Pushing open the door, she stepped into the darkness.
I stared after her until she stuck her head back out, asking, “Well? Are you coming?”
What was I supposed to say to the sea witch, terror of faerie children everywhere? No?
The apartment was dark, furnished with rejects from a hundred different thrift stores. Things moved in the shadows. I didn’t want to know what they were, anymore than I wanted to know the nature of the things crunching under my feet as I walked down the cluttered hallway. The rose goblin crept behind me, staying pressed against my ankles. I glanced down. It whined.
The Luidaeg pushed past, heading for the kitchen. “By the root and fucking branch, pick that thing up. It’ll start squalling like a baby if you don’t.”
I knelt, scooping the goblin into my arms. It made a cheeping noise and subsided, clinging. “How did you . . . ?”
“I’ve dealt with the little bastards before. They were an accident on the part of a niece of mine.” She reappeared in the kitchen door, a Diet Coke in one hand. “They’re all predictable—goblins and Oberon’s bastards. What do you want?”
“What?” I wasn’t keeping up. This whole thing had me off my guard.
“Want. What do you want? I mean, I’ve been expecting you, I just didn’t expect to see you so soon.” She popped the can open and took a swig. “It’s cool if you don’t want to say. I just hope you like my company, since we’re stuck here until you spill it.”
“How do you know I want something? Maybe I’m here because I’m grateful for the way you saved my life.” That was dangerously close to saying thank you—but she’d thanked me earlier. Maybe she was old enough that the restrictions didn’t apply.
