The Winter Long
Page 72

I hung up, looking at the phone in my hand for a moment before I dropped it back into my jacket pocket and eyed my clothes with distaste. The dry cleaner had been able to work wonders on my leather jacket. Nothing was going to save my shirt and jeans, both of which were blotched with dried blood. Behind me, Tybalt cleared his throat. I turned.
“Was I really asleep for ten hours?” I asked. I ran a hand back through my hair, noting that it was soft and clean. Tybalt might not have been able to get the blood out of my jeans, but he’d been able to get it out of my hair. There was a time when I would have found that intrusive. Now it was just sort of sweet.
“I believe it was closer to nine,” he said, looking obscurely relieved by the question. “I would have awakened you, but when your portable telephone rang without causing you to so much as stir, I realized how much you needed the rest. I am a selfish man. I will not have you kill yourself with exhaustion.”
“There are much more entertaining ways for me to die; don’t worry,” I said. “Is the Luidaeg—”
“My people are watching her. She has not stirred since she was brought here, although she has continued breathing, which I assume would have been your second question,” he said. “Gabriel has the current shift. He will alert me if anything changes.”
“We need to keep a very close eye on her,” I said. Things were beginning to fall together in my head, things that had previously been kept apart only by my exhaustion and general feeling of being overwhelmed by everything around me.
Tybalt raised an eyebrow. “Why?”
“There were wards on the Luidaeg’s apartment—we’re talking big time mega-wards. We could get in because she allowed us to get in, you couldn’t access the Shadow Roads if you got too close, all that fun stuff. Evening tore through them like they were nothing.” I picked up my jeans, giving them a disgusted look, and pulled them on over the leggings. The denim, bloody as it was, would add a little extra insulation when we inevitably left through the Shadow Roads. Tucking the chemise into my waistband did away with the need for a belt, even if it was all a bit pirate-esque for my taste.
“All this is true, but I’m afraid I still don’t follow, and I certainly don’t understand why you’re putting your trousers on,” Tybalt said.
“We can’t stay here forever, and I don’t want to be caught with no pants on when the alarm rings,” I said. “We brought the Luidaeg here on the assumption that Evening wouldn’t be able to follow, since Oberon gifted this place to the Cait Sidhe. We know that Evening has a measure of control over anyone that’s descended from her. But what if it’s not just them?”
“Meaning what, exactly?” asked Tybalt. A crease was beginning to form between his eyebrows, signaling his dawning concern.
“Not everyone in that hall would have been Daoine Sidhe,” I continued. “There aren’t that many Daoine Sidhe in the world. What if she gets absolute control over her descendants, but a measure of control over her relatives? There are Cait Sidhe who are descended from Titania.” I took my scabbard down from its hook and strapped it around my waist before shrugging on my leather jacket. “We have to assume the Court could be compromised.”
Tybalt stared at me for a moment, stunned into silence. Finally, he said, “I knew loving you would be dangerous. I had no idea how dangerous.”
“Sorry.” I grabbed my shoes and sat down heavily on the edge of the bed. I didn’t have socks. That was really the least of my current concerns.
“Yes, well. I suppose this is my own fault.” He laughed, a sharp, dry sound. “I will go and advise my guards that they should watch for any signs of odd behavior in their fellows. After Samson, they have started watching each other much more closely than they ever did before. If someone is compromised, they will know.”
“Sounds good,” I said. “When you get back, we’ll figure out what happens next.” I bent to start lacing up my shoes.
Behind me, the door opened and closed again, marking Tybalt’s exit. I tried to focus, keeping my fingers as steady as I could. Tripping over my own shoelace and breaking my neck while I was trying to figure out how to stop a rampaging Firstborn would just be silly.
Evening was Firstborn, and more, Evening was angry. If she realized the Luidaeg wasn’t dead—and I couldn’t discount that possibility—she had to at least suspect that I was the one hiding her sister from her. That meant Tybalt’s sense of duty would keep him in the Court of Cats until the Luidaeg was well enough to be moved; he wouldn’t risk his people needlessly by leaving them there with her and not staying to come to their defense if Evening somehow got in. He also wasn’t going to let me walk away and deal with things on my own, no matter how much I wanted to.
We were going to have to work this out, somehow. Evening had to be stopped, even if I still had no idea how to go about accomplishing that.
My phone rang again. I stood, moving to retrieve it once again from my jacket pocket, and blinked. The display listed the caller as “East of the Sun, West of the Moon,” which was definitely not within the local service area. Sure that this was some sort of a trick—and not at all sure what I was supposed to do about it—I raised the phone to my ear.
“Hello?” I said.
“Please, I implore you, don’t hang up.”
Only two people had that voice, and there was no reason for Sylvester to be calling me from an unfamiliar number. “Hello, Simon,” I said wearily. “How did you get this number?”
“Is that really what you want to know right now?”
“Given that you tried to turn me into a tree, and all the other antisocial crap you’ve pulled, yeah, it is. Did you hurt someone to get my number?” The door opened and Tybalt stepped back into the room just in time to hear my last comment. His eyes widened. I held up my hand, signaling for him to stay quiet. Just for the moment; just for now. “Answer me, Simon.”
Simon sighed. “The Hobs at Shadowed Hills have your number written on a piece of paper posted next to the telephone. I copied it down. It’s all very primitive there. I thought my brother would have made more strides toward modernity. He always thought of himself as a progressive, when we were younger.”
“You didn’t hurt anyone.”
“No, I did not,” said Simon. “Pray greet your feline swain for me, as he has clearly entered the room. You may stop ostentatiously using my given name and repeating everything I say. I promise, I am not calling to distress you.”