Rosemary and Rue

by Seanan McGuire

  He was still focused on Julie, cocking the hammer slowly back as I hit him from the side. He turned, gun now swinging toward me, and Julie fell back, obviously off balance. Oh, oak and ash. She wasn’t going to rush him this time; she was too scared. He wasn’t going to get distracted.

  “Whoa, big fella,” I said, stepping backward. I’d run if he missed . . . and if he didn’t, I was pretty much screwed. “No need to get violent—” The gun went off half a second before the pain hit. I screamed, clapping my hands over the new hole in my right thigh. Judging by the pulse of blood between my fingers, he’d managed to miss the major artery—and considering how close he was, that wasn’t good. He’d been shooting to wound. He wanted to take his time.

  Forcing myself not to hyperventilate, I raised my head. If I was going to die, I was going to do it with my eyes open. He was standing right in front of me, Julie crumpled on the ground behind him.

  “Nice driving, bitch,” he growled, and raised his gun.

  Evening, I’m sorry, I thought. I kept my eyes on his, squaring my shoulders, and waited for him to pull the trigger. This was it: end of game.

  Tybalt dropped out of the trees above us, landing solidly on the Redcap’s head.

  The gun went flying, and I fell backward, barely catching myself. I still don’t know why I didn’t pass out. I couldn’t move; all I could do was stare, openmouthed. I’d never seen the King of Cats fight before. He was suddenly everywhere, made of nothing but fangs and claws and fury, snarling like a chainsaw trying to sing opera. Our witless assassin never stood a chance.

  Julie crawled to her feet, shaking herself before running back into the darkness. My heart sank as I realized that I hadn’t heard a sound from Ross since the fight began. I wanted to follow her, but I couldn’t get my feet to move. Tybalt’s hand, claws extended, was coming down across the Redcap’s throat. I managed to turn my head before the blow fell, and spotted the gun, now easily three feet away. I struggled to my hands and knees, crawling across the grass to grab it. The wounds in my thigh and shoulder screamed with every move.

  There were still three iron bullets in the gun, enough to kill a dozen changelings. I guess I should’ve been honored that someone would go to so much trouble to get me out of the way. I just felt sick. The remaining bullets sang to the wounds in my shoulder and thigh, making the pain even worse. Iron knows itself. That’s part of what makes it so dangerous.

  A faint sniffling started behind me, climbing in pitch and volume to become a sustained wail. I pushed myself to my feet and turned, still looking at the ground. I didn’t want to see what I knew was waiting there—but I had to. Even the purebloods mourn their dead.

  Julie was cradling Ross in her arms, hair fanned out over both of them like a shroud. There wasn’t much blood, just a few streaks splattered down the front of Ross’ shirt; it wasn’t enough to explain why he wasn’t moving until Julie raised her head, the motion pulling her hair aside and revealing the pitted hole that had taken away most of his forehead above the left eye. He must have died almost instantly. Somehow, I doubted telling Julie that would help. Lily sent them to protect me. So why did I feel like I was the one that had failed to protect them?

  A hand fell on my shoulder. I tried to jump, and staggered as the pain in my leg reasserted itself. Tybalt slung a bloody arm around me, stopping my fall by bracing me against him. He looked down at me, pupils contracted to slits, and I swallowed.

  “I . . .” I said. He glanced over at Julie and Ross, then back to me. I nodded. “I didn’t mean to.”

  “I know you didn’t mean them any harm; neither did Lily,” he said, in a gentler tone than I’d ever heard him use before. “Julie will know that, too, when she can. But she won’t understand it now.”

  “Are you hurt?” I looked over as much of him as I could, from where I was pulled against his chest: none of the blood seemed to be his. The Redcap lay where he had fallen, not moving, but somehow—thinking of the blankness in Julie’s eyes—I couldn’t find any pity in my heart. He was hired to kill, and he did his job. Hopefully, whoever it was also paid him well enough to die.

  Tybalt blinked, looking startled. “I’m not hurt. You, on the other hand—”

  “I’ve already got iron poisoning. With this much Undine water in me, this isn’t going to make it any worse.”

  “Still . . .”

  “I can stand,” I said, and pushed myself away. After a moment’s hesitation, he let go. Never taking his eyes off me, he lowered his hand to the wound at my thigh, pressed two fingers against it, and raised them to his mouth, tongue flicking out to taste the blood. I suppressed a shudder.

  “This isn’t dying blood,” he said finally. “You’ll live.”

  “Great, that’s great reassurance. It makes me feel all better.”

  “It should. Having you die tonight would be inconvenient.”

  I pressed my hands tight around my leg, biting back several sharp retorts. The blood was slowing down—Tybalt was right. It wouldn’t kill me. “Because you’d be stuck with the damn box?”

  “Of course,” he said.

  Silly me. Why would he rescue me if it wasn’t for his debts? Under normal circumstances, he’d probably have brought popcorn. “You fought well. I’ve never seen you fight before.”

  He allowed himself a thin smile. “You kept him distracted long enough for me to get up into the trees.”

  That was as close as Faerie’s complex laws of etiquette would let us get to thanking each other. I nodded instead, asking, “What were you doing here?”

  “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  I blinked. That wasn’t what I’d been expecting to hear. “What?”

  “You were . . . injured when you entered the Tea Gardens,” he said, glancing briefly away. “I thought you might have trouble getting out again, and I was right. I’m usually right when it comes to you and trouble.”

  “You . . . why?” I asked, dumbfounded.

  He shrugged. “The terms of my promise.” I gave him a blank look, and he continued, “I said I’d give . . . it . . . back to you. I can’t do that if you die.”

  “I realize that. I just . . .” I paused. “I guess I didn’t think you’d take it quite that seriously.”

  “I take my promises very seriously—all my promises. Now if you don’t mind, this wasn’t exactly subtle, and the gunshots alone would attract the police. I need to dispose of the evidence.”

  Evidence? The Redcap’s body would need to be moved until the night-haunts came; the same went for Ross. I didn’t know if his body was different enough from the human norm to need replacing, or whether he was close enough to immortal for the night-haunts to want him, but it didn’t matter. Whatever happened to him now, he’d still be just as dead.

  He’d be dead. His blood wouldn’t. If there was one thing I’d learned from Evening’s death, it was that the dead still had a lot of things to tell me. A hired Redcap wasn’t likely to have any nasty blood curses lurking to surprise unwary changelings, either. “Tybalt, the body. I need to—”

  “You need to get out of here.”

  Julie was still wailing, rocking Ross’ body back and forth. I started to step toward her, but the pain in my leg stopped me even before I felt Tybalt’s restraining hand.

  “Go home, October,” he said, voice pitched low. “I’ll take care of this.”

  I turned back to glare at him. “Don’t you care?” I demanded, gesturing toward them.

  “I care more than you’ll give me credit for. But dead is dead, and I’m going to keep my word. Go get your leg taken care of, and make sure you’re not going to make me a liar by dying. Go home.”

  I shook his hand away from my shoulder, glaring at him, but turned to limp the rest of the way down the hill. If he wanted to pick up the pieces, I’d have to let him, and he was right; there wasn’t time to fiddle with the body before the mortal police showed up. I had enough to worry about without getting arrested for hanging around in a public place drinking t
he blood of a corpse.

  The taxi Lily promised was waiting on the street, radio turned up so loudly that the driver probably hadn’t even heard the gunshots. I slid into the backseat, snapping out my address. No one would follow me; Tybalt would make sure of that. I had to trust him, because I’d already committed myself to trusting him, and it was do or die.

  The driver grunted assent and pulled out, guiding us into the late December fog. Despite the blare of the radio, I thought I could still hear Julie crying. Whoever killed Evening now had more to answer for than the taste of phantom roses; they had a man who loved a Cait Sidhe girl, and who died in the company of friends that couldn’t save him. And they were going to pay.

  SEVENTEEN

  THE DRIVER KEPT HIS EYES on the road, grunting, “You’re gonna have to pay for that.” “What?” I looked up from my hasty attempt at turning my previously discarded bra into a tourniquet for my injured leg. It worked pretty well, once I remembered to remove the underwire.

  “The seat. I don’t care what happened, and if you don’t wanna go to the hospital, that’s your deal, but you’re gonna have to pay for the upholstery.”

  Oh. Right. “I thought Lily already paid you,” I said, lamely.

  “For the ride, she paid me. For the cleaning I’m gonna have to do after I drop you off, she didn’t pay me.” He glanced at me through the rearview mirror. “You don’t mind my saying, you should really rethink that hospital idea.”

  “I’ll take it under advisement,” I said, sagging back against the seat and closing my eyes. “I don’t have my purse with me.” I didn’t have my purse anywhere, since I’d left it in the car when I turned and ran. “If you’ll walk me to my door, I can pay you for the cleaning.” If he walked me to my door, I was guaranteed to get there.

  “Deal,” he said.

  We made the rest of the drive in silence.

  At my apartment complex, he pulled into one of the visitor’s spaces in front of the manager’s office and stopped the cab, moving to open my door before I could convince my stiffening leg to move. “Come on,” he said gruffly, offering his arm. “You ain’t gonna make it up there on your own.”

  I gave him a startled glance, finally noticing the shimmer of the human disguise wrapped around him. He smiled, amused.

  “What’s the matter? You ain’t never seen a cab driver before?”

  “It’s been a while,” I said, using his elbow to pull myself out of the car. I tasted the balance of his blood automatically as I rose, and relaxed. Bridge Troll. They’re big, placid, dependable people, and they take their responsibilities—even ones as small as walking a woman to her front door in order to get paid—seriously.

  We didn’t talk as he helped me up the path toward my apartment. I came to a sudden stop when the door came into view, almost stumbling.

  “Hey, lady, careful,” he said, big hand going to my shoulder to steady me. He eyed my porch with suspicion. “That guy a friend of yours?”

  “Yeah,” I said, relief washing over me. “He is.”

  For the second time in less than a week, there was someone waiting on my doorstep. Devin looked up when he heard our voices, and then jumped to his feet, almost running toward us.

  “Toby!” Ignoring the cabbie entirely, he put his hands on my shoulders, yanking me toward him. I hissed as he hit the poultice, world briefly whiting out from the pain. “Oh, root and branch, Julie said it was bad, but I had no idea . . .”

  “Julie?” I said, as the cabbie said, startled, “Toby?”

  Devin and I both turned to stare at him. That was all right; he was staring at me.

  “Toby?” he repeated. “As in October Daye?”

  “Sadly, yeah,” I said, blinking as confusion won out over the pain in my thigh and shoulder. “Do I know you?”

  “No, but you helped my baby sister outta a tight spot once, about seventeen years ago.” He grinned, showing teeth that not even an illusion could make look like anything but chunks of craggy stone. “You forget what I said about the upholstery, you hear? I don’t want your money. There’s a Bannick I know, he’ll do it almost free anyhow. You need a cab, you just call and ask for Danny. ’S the least I can do.” He paused before adding, almost shyly, “ ’S good to see you’re back in business. This Kingdom needs more folks like you.” Then he was gone, heading rapidly back down the path, leaving me to lean on Devin and stare be musedly after him.

  “That was weird,” I said finally.

  “I don’t really care about weird.” Devin’s tone was sharp. “I care about getting you inside and taking a look at those wounds. What did you do, Toby?”

  “Oh, the usual,” I said, letting him lead me toward my front door. “Wrecked my car. Got shot. Twice, actually. With iron bullets. Lost a lot of blood. Lily managed to give a lot of it back to me, but that was before I got shot the second time . . .” The world was spinning. I leaned on Devin’s hands. That was a familiar feeling: being dizzy with blood loss and leaning on Devin.

  “When you decide to go back to work, you don’t screw around, do you?”

  I didn’t have an answer for that. Instead, I stumbled, and Devin picked me up, carrying me into my apartment. That seemed wrong somehow. Frowning, I asked, “Didn’t I lock the door?”

  “Hush. You locked it, but I’m the one who taught you how to pick locks, remember?” He put me down on the couch. “Get your pants off.”

  “Always the romantic, aren’t you?” I pulled the gun out of my waistband, leaning over to put it on the coffee table. The last thing I needed to do was shoot myself.

  “After Julie called, I thought heroic measures might be required.” Devin picked up a large black box, shaking it in my direction. “I brought the first aid kit.”

  Devin’s line of work wasn’t exactly gentle, and it didn’t attract healers. Consequentially, he had a lot of experience with healing potions, charms, salves, and anything else that could patch a body back together faster than nature could manage on its own. Healing potions take their toll, but when you’re hard up enough to need them, it always seems like a fair trade.

  Normally, I would’ve been eyeing the box with unalloyed delight. This time, however, there was a little problem. “Iron bullets, Devin,” I said, closing my eyes. “You’re not gonna have a charm that can handle iron poisoning.”

  “Maybe not, but I can at least take care of the blood loss and the flesh wounds,” he said. I felt his fingers un-snapping the buckle of my jeans as he knelt. “You won’t do anyone any good if you’re dead.”

  “That’s debatable,” I said, and went limp, letting him work.

  Devin hissed as he peeled my jeans back. “What were you planning to do about this? Wish it away?”

  “I dunno. Think it would work?”

  “Not unless you’ve got a Djinn hiding in your closet.” I smelled the sharp, antiseptic tang of disinfectant, and felt him starting to wipe the blood off.

  “Not last time I checked.” Opening my eyes, I looked down.

  It wasn’t all that bad at first glance. The bullet had passed cleanly through, leaving a small, almost tidy hole on the front of my thigh. The damage was worse around the exit wound; I couldn’t see it, but I could feel the ragged edges of the muscles there scraping against each other. As Devin wiped away the blood, thin red-and-white lines became visible, radiating out from the wound like the heralds of infection. That was the real danger. Not the blood loss, not the injury; the iron.

  “Have you tried to spin an illusion since you were shot?” Devin asked, head still bent as he worked at my leg.

  “I cast a confusion spell on the girl working the gate,” I offered, starting to feel faintly nauseated by the sight of so much blood. How much blood is in a body, anyway? And how much of that could I afford to lose?

  “And after the second time?”

  I hesitated. Tybalt had pushed me toward the cab, and my hair was down, covering my ears . . . “No,” I confessed, eyes going wide. “Maeve’s teeth, Devin, I just took a tax
i without an illusion on! What if the driver had been human?”

  “He would’ve thought you were a comic book geek on your way home from a convention,” Devin said, briskly. “People ignore more than you give them credit for. Can you try weaving an illusion? Just a little one? I want to see if you can do it.”

  “Sure,” I said, and raked the fingers of my left hand through the air, intending to gather a handful of shadows to work with. I caught nothing. My magic, always reluctant to answer my commands, didn’t even stir.

  I went cold.

  “Devin . . .”

  “Iron poisoning. You’re lucky it passed straight through; you’d be dead by now if it hadn’t,” he said, reaching into the first aid kit and coming up with a bottle of something green. “Drink this. It should help with the dizziness.”

  “Do I want to know where you bought this?” I asked, taking the bottle. The liquid inside smelled like wasabi and pineapple.

  “Probably not,” he said, beginning to rub a thick purple cream around the wound in my thigh. I gritted my teeth against the stinging. The cream sank into my skin, leaving a cool numbness in its wake. “Try not to get shot again. You can only have one dose this month.”

  I looked at the bottle with new respect. “Or what?”

  “You melt.”

  “Got it.” The liquid tasted like it smelled and tingled all the way down. I handed the bottle back to Devin, not terribly surprised when I realized that my dizziness was gone. “So, iron poisoning. How long am I going to be reduced to living by my wits alone?”

  “A few days. You’ll need to guard against infection, but it won’t kill you.” He gave my thigh a critical look. “This needs stitches. I can do it, or you can. Whichever makes you more comfortable.”

  “Go ahead,” I said, closing my eyes again. “You’ve had more practice.”