Rosemary and Rue

by Seanan McGuire

  NINETEEN

  VOICES DRIFTED THROUGH the haze. I tried not to react, waiting for the things they were saying to come clear before I took the irrevocable step of opening my eyes. Once you’ve admitted you’re alive, you usually aren’t allowed to go back to playing dead.

  “I thought I told you two to take care of her!” shouted Devin. His voice sounded like it was coming from just a few feet away—and it sounded like he was pretty pissed. If it was possible for a changeling to die of high blood pressure, he’d probably manage it one day. When did Devin come back to the apartment? I sorted through my recollections of the day and couldn’t remember letting him in.

  The air smelled like cigarettes. I’ve never been a smoker, and that thought introduced the revolutionary idea that maybe we weren’t in my apartment. I tensed, then relaxed, waiting. If Devin was there, I wasn’t in danger. Well, not much danger, anyway.

  “We got there in time!” Dare protested, voice desperate. Poor kid. She was a brat, but she’d done her best. If nothing else, she’d saved my ass, and I appreciated it.

  “In time for what? In time to watch her get slaughtered? What a great idea! Why didn’t you bring a camera? You could have taken pictures!”

  “She’s not dead!” Dare yelled, sounding like she was on the verge of tears. Devin never taught his kids to defend themselves from him; instead, he taught them that submission was a virtue. If you wanted to keep him off your back, you learned how to do it on your own time and without any outside help. That was the first lesson you needed to learn before you could leave him.

  “No thanks to the two of you!”

  The two of them? I’d only heard Dare speak—where was Manuel? Frowning, I opened one eye, treating myself to a blurry view of Devin’s office. I bet the neighbors enjoyed watching a pair of blood-spattered teenagers carry me out down the walkway. It was probably the most entertaining thing they’d seen all week.

  Opening the other eye, I blinked until the room came into focus. Dare and Manuel were sitting on folding chairs in front of Devin’s desk, watching as he stalked back and forth. The kids looked almost sick, and Dare was clinging to Manuel’s arm like it was some kind of lifeline.

  “But we—” she said.

  Devin lunged, shoving her shoulders against the back of the chair. It rocked up onto its rear legs. She whimpered, and he yelled, “Be quiet! You were stupid! You should have been there hours before you were!”

  “Manuel said we had time—” she protested weakly.

  That was enough. Maybe I loved the man and maybe I didn’t, but no matter how scared he was, there was no reason for him to go taking it out on Dare. Using my right arm as a brace, I pushed myself upright. “Be nice to them, Devin. They did their job.” It felt like I was talking through a mouthful of cotton, but nothing hurt—at least not yet. I was sure the pain would be catching up with me soon.

  “Toby!” Devin let go of Dare and rushed to kneel beside me, anxiously scanning my face. “Toby, what happened? Why did that thing attack you? Are you all right? What did it want? You’re awake!”

  “Talking usually indicates consciousness,” I said, reaching out to gingerly pat his shoulder. “I’m okay. For meanings of the word that include ‘just got the crap kicked out of me by a Doppelganger,’ that is.”

  Manuel turned toward us, smiling wanly. “Hello, ma’am.” Dare just kept clinging to his arm, shivering. She looked terrified, and I couldn’t blame her. Devin could be pretty scary when he put his mind to it.

  “Hey, guys,” I said, matching Manuel’s smile with one of my own. Looking back to Devin, I added, “Those two saved my life, so knock it off. Stop yelling at them.”

  His expression twisted, turning dark. “They were the ones that let your life be put in danger in the first place. If they’d been there when they were supposed to be . . .”

  “I would have still been in bed,” I said, and shook my head. “It used my daughter’s face to get into the apartment, Devin. It was Gillian. I’d have let it in whether or not they were there. Hell, if they’d been there when it showed up, I would’ve thrown them out. If they’d been there when you wanted them to be, I’d be dead now.”

  He froze, expression faltering as my words sunk in. I was right and he knew it: it wasn’t fair to blame them for my stupidity. He settled for folding his arms and glaring, saying, “You should be more careful.”

  “How?” I asked. “Stop talking to people? Don’t leave the house—or what, better yet, just stay here forever? I can’t find out what happened to Evening if I do that, and if I don’t find out who killed her, you don’t get paid.” If I don’t find out what happened, paying you is going to be the least of my worries.

  Devin sighed, reaching out to lay the back of his hand against my cheek. “I’d rather have you alive than get paid, Toby. There’s still time to walk away. If you don’t want this in the hands of the Courts, just tell me what you have so far, and I’ll make it someone else’s problem. You can let it be, and know that you did what you could.”

  “I can’t,” I said, shaking my head. “I gave her my word.”

  That was a lie: I didn’t give my word, Evening took it. Devin didn’t know that. There’s nothing shameful or embarrassing about getting caught in a binding, especially one thrown by someone as powerful as Evening, and I’d been planning to come Home to tell him everything. I opened my mouth to tell him and stopped. Something wasn’t right. The idea of telling him just seemed wrong.

  “Toby . . .” he sighed.

  “I know.”

  We sat there looking at each other for a few minutes, Dare and Manuel watching from their seats. The poor kids must have felt like they were sitting on a nuclear testing site. Which of us was scarier—him or me?

  I was almost ready to start apologizing for being dumb enough to get myself cursed when Devin shook his head, turning his face away. “If anything happens to you . . .”

  “We’ll just run on past experience and assume I’ll be back in fourteen years. You can yell at me then.”

  He didn’t look at me. Apparently, this was one of those situations that humor couldn’t defuse. I’ve never been very good at spotting those. “That’s not funny.”

  The pain hadn’t returned; except for the couch springs poking me in the small of the back, I felt fine. That worried me. It might mean I was finally too broken to fix. “Can I walk?”

  Turning back to me, Devin smiled, eyes still sad. “Would I be trying to keep you here if you couldn’t walk?” he asked, and offered his hands. “Get up. There’s a mirror in the bathroom.”

  Getting up was easier said than done, even with his help. Once I was upright, I kept hold of his hands, waiting for the world to stop swimming in and out of focus. At least my legs were doing what I told them to.

  “I got it,” I said, letting go and turning to stumble toward the door.

  Going from the well-lit office to the dark hall was disorienting. My toes caught on the doorframe, and I tripped, catching myself against the wall with my left arm. I froze, staring at my outflung arm. Nothing hurt. Not my leg, not my shoulder, nothing.

  Another unpleasant thought hit me as I pushed myself away from the wall as slowly as I could manage without overbalancing. What time was it? I’d promised Sylvester that I’d call if I needed help, and that was before I went and got myself shot. He had to be frantic with worry.

  I could call once I knew how bad the damage was. Opening the door to the women’s bathroom, I stepped inside.

  The only difference between the bathrooms at Home is that the men’s room gets better graffiti and the women’s room is quieter. The men’s room also has a working urinal—the one in the women’s room was spray-painted purple and filled with cement before I came to live there. I don’t know why, but I’m sure that there was a lot of beer involved. A Gwragen half-blood was slouching against the sink, a cigarette dangling from her candy-apple red lips. The color was definitely not lipstick. She straightened as I entered, dropping her cigarett
e to the tile floor and making a hasty exit. I watched her go, blinking. Root and branch, was I that frightening?

  Steeling myself, I turned to risk a glance in the mirror. I was ready for anything, except what I actually saw.

  “What the . . . ?”

  The change Toby’s clothes while she’s asleep trend had continued: my bloody bathrobe was gone, replaced by a gauzy purple nightgown probably purchased from the sort of catalog that came wrapped in brown paper. It was ankle-length, but left my shoulders—more than just my shoulders—bare. That might have bothered me, but I was too busy taking in the view to care.

  My hair was tied in a ponytail, uncovering my face and neck. The dark circles under my eyes were gone, and my skin was smooth, not even bruised. I still looked like death warmed over, but it wasn’t an immediate death anymore; more like something found in a ditch.

  A knot of scar tissue marked my left shoulder, exactly where I expected the gunshot wound to be. There was no pain. Slowly, I pulled up the nightgown and bared my right leg to the hip. The bullet hole through my thigh had been healed the same way. No wonder I could walk: as far as my legs knew, they were fine. Devin somehow managed to patch me up all the way while I was out.

  Of course there were scars. There’s no magic in the world that can heal iron without leaving a scar.

  I paused, registering the other thing that had changed. My head was clear. Whatever healed the gunshot wounds also managed to cure my iron poisoning. I didn’t think that was possible. How could that be possible?

  The taste of roses tickled the back of my throat. I stiffened. “Oh, no, not now . . .”

  That was all the time I had. Evening’s binding flowed over me like a wave, strengthened by my return to health and anxious after my enforced idleness. Memories of her death slammed down on me, smothering the room in a veil of red, and my blood rose to meet the memories headlong, not giving me time to brace myself. Silly me, thinking I could act like I was Daoine Sidhe without paying the cost. There are always costs. The pixie, the key, the gunshots and the blood and the screaming—they were in the roses, waiting for me and dragging me down. They were all the same, as they had always been the same and always would be. Death doesn’t change. Death never changes.

  Breaking free before the memory pulled me all the way into Evening’s grave was even harder this time. My blood had been in contact with iron, and recently. It didn’t just remember what it felt like to die by iron—it knew.

  Let me go, I thought. If I die here, you lose, too. Let me go . . .

  I slammed back into my body to find myself clinging to the edge of the sink, dry-heaving over the floor. I didn’t remember dropping to my knees or anything else after the roses hit. The world was spinning, making my chest and stomach ache.

  Moaning, I let my head drop against the sink. I knew the binding would keep me moving; that sort of thing never lets you hold still for long. I just hadn’t realized how far it would go to motivate me.

  It was at least partially my fault. The memories I took from Evening’s blood strengthened the binding, wrapping it around me until there was no way out. It would have goaded me on and made me miserable if I hadn’t ridden her blood, it would even have killed me, but it wouldn’t have used her death against me. And it was getting stronger. Eventually it would be strong enough that I wouldn’t be able to fight it, and it would force me to ride the memories of Evening’s dying moments until my heart gave out.

  She probably didn’t mean for it to be that way, but unfortunately for the both of us, she thought like what she was: she thought like a pureblood. A pureblood could have ridden the blood without complications, gathering the information they wanted and shrugging the rest of it away. Evening thought in terms of what she knew, but I was just a changeling, and my magic wasn’t that strong. Her binding was too much for me to hold off forever. And it was getting stronger.

  I was in serious trouble.

  The door opened behind me. I didn’t move, keeping my eyes closed and trying to steady my breathing. Anything that wanted to kill me would have to come through Devin and his kids, and if they’d done that already, there was no point in trying to run. Leaving my head against the sink seemed like a much better idea. At least that way there was a chance I’d die without throwing up again.

  Hesitant footsteps crossed the floor, stopping about a yard away. “Yes?” I said, still not taking my head off the sink. It was a nice sink. Well, actually, it was a filthy, disgusting sink, and I didn’t want to think about the things caked around the drain, but it was giving me something to prop my head against, and that was what counted.

  “Ms. Daye?” Dare, sounding uneasy and a little scared. For once, I couldn’t blame her. I’d made it pretty clear that I didn’t like her, and Devin was probably threatening to do all sorts of nasty things to her if she didn’t get along with me, or at least keep me alive. The two have never been mutually exclusive. That was a good thing; Evening and I would never have been able to handle it if we were required to get along.

  “Yes, Dare?”

  She took a step forward, feet scuffling against the linoleum. I lifted my head to watch her progress, not bothering to try and stand. I’m not that stupid.

  “Are you feeling okay, Ms. Daye?”

  “Of course,” I said, putting my head back down. “I always snuggle up with the bathroom fixtures.”

  “You don’t look like you feel okay,” she said, coming a few steps closer. Brave girl. “Should I get Devin?” That showed a certain unexpected courage on her part—Devin’s kids never called him by name where anyone could hear them.

  “I’d rather you didn’t.” I abandoned the comforting stability of the sink and climbed back onto my feet, bracing one hand against the mirror. I was ready to catch myself if I fell, but that didn’t mean I was looking forward to the possibility. “I’m fine.”

  Dare eyed me dubiously, saying, “You don’t look fine . . .”

  “Okay, let’s try I’m better now than you’re going to be if you call Devin.” I leaned against the mirror, trying to look fierce. There are better conditions under which to look intimidating—any conditions that don’t involve me being dressed in a low-cut purple nightgown, for a start. “I think he’s worried enough, don’t you?”

  The implied threat actually seemed to relax her. You take comfort in the things you know, and what she knew was the chaotic and sometimes violent world of Home. “You want me to give you a few minutes to get back together?”

  “That’s probably a good idea, yeah.” I swallowed, trying to clear the taste of roses from my mouth. It wasn’t working very well. I hadn’t really expected it to.

  Dare hesitated, rocking back and forth on her heels before turning wide eyes toward me again. I was grateful for the reprieve in the rocking—watching her do that in high heels had been making me dizzy. “Can I ask you a question, Ms. Daye?”

  “Sure,” I said, with a shrug. It wasn’t like she couldn’t learn my darkest, deepest secrets just by breaking into Devin’s files. I expected her to ask something vulgar or pointless and be finished.

  She surprised me. “How did you meet Devin?”

  “Devin?” I straightened, really seeing at her for the first time since she entered the room. She looked anxious, almost strained, like she was breaking some sort of vast, unwritten law. I didn’t understand it. “It was a long time ago,” I said slowly.

  “Do you remember?”

  Of course I remember, I thought. The question is why you care. “I met him a long time ago, when I ran away from . . . never mind what I was running away from. I was trying to avoid places where people might know me, and I managed to get myself pretty messed up. One day I just turned around and he was there. Said a friend told him where to find me. He asked if I might want to try something new.” I shrugged. “I came Home with him.” And that was the end of that. By the time I realized what I was getting myself into, it was too late.

  “Were you . . .” Dare paused.

  “Were
we what? Friends? Yeah, after we established that me working for him didn’t mean belonging to him.” Those first few years had been nothing short of chaos, filled with power plays and tiny battles that never quite escalated into war. “Lovers? Yeah, that, too. At first it was because I needed to pay my debts, and then it was because he cared about me. Or seemed to, anyway.” Our relationship—if you wanted to call it that—ended the night I came into the room we sometimes shared and found him fucking Julie like it was an Olympic sport. Sex for payment was one thing. Sex with my friends was another. I took Connor up on his offer of dinner the very next day. “He bought me, the same way he probably bought you. I needed a place to go, and Home was that place, at least for a while.”

  Dare’s cheeks reddened, embarrassment betraying her age. “Oh.”

  The sex. People always focused on the sex. “You know the rules,” I said, more gruffly than I intended. Memory does that to me: that’s part of why I don’t like it very much.

  But Dare didn’t deserve that. Softening my tone, I said, “If you don’t like the way it works here, get off the street. Find yourself someplace else to go.”

  “I’m trying,” she said, so softly that I almost missed it. Then she looked up again, eyes pleading as she asked, “How did you get away?”

  I blinked at her. “He’s not holding you captive.”

  “If you think that, you got stupid.” She shook her head. “We came here because no place else would take us when our momma died. They all said go away, come back when you’re older, when you know better, when you’ve learned. Only no one wants to teach us how to be older, or how to know better—not even Devin. They just teach us how to be broken.”

  “Dare . . .”

  “Devin’s not so bad. He knows the deal, but—it’s like you said. There’re always costs.”