Rosemary and Rue

by Seanan McGuire

  “Let’s start with the easy stuff,” I said, stepping out from under his hand. “You’re married, and I don’t want to be banished. Is that a good answer?”

  “Raysel won’t care; you know that. As long as we stay married, she stays heir, and that makes her happy. It’s not a marriage. It’s a treaty.”

  “I care. I won’t step on her toes.” I took another step back, shaking my head. “It’s not worth it, Connor.”

  “I don’t think you mean that,” he said, voice pitched low. The tone sent a thrumming down my spine. My central nervous system voted to abdicate. No, no, no. This was not going to happen. Not with him.

  “Look, Connor, maybe it would be worth it. I don’t know. Ask me again when we know who killed Evening, and maybe I’ll have a good answer.” I shoved my hands into my pockets. “For right now, can we just try to figure out who did this before they decide to try it again?”

  He nodded, somewhat reluctantly, and let his hand fall to his side. I felt a surge of relief mixed with remorse, and took a deep, slow breath. Oberon’s bones, what had I been thinking?

  I cast a sidelong glance his way. He was studying one of the carvings on the wall, carefully not looking at me. The answer was simple: I hadn’t been thinking at all. I’d just been reacting. I didn’t love him, but there was a time when I might have, and that was enough to move me forward. I needed to be needed. This wasn’t the right way.

  “Toby?”

  “Yeah?”

  “What are you looking for?”

  His tone told me he wanted to move on. I seized the opening. “I don’t know—something useful. Answers, maybe.”

  “Are answers usually that easy to find?”

  “After the week I’ve had, the world owes me some easy answers.”

  “Are you finding any?”

  That ranked high on the stupid questions list. “Not yet. Just some empty halls and you.” I turned in a circle, scanning the room. There were shadows in the corners, even with the lights on. There were no bodies, and the ghost of Hamlet’s father didn’t seem likely to show up, but it was bad enough. I almost thought I could hear faint noises drifting down the center hall.

  “Welcome to the haunted halls of Elsinore,” I muttered.

  Connor glanced at me. “What was that?”

  “Shakespeare.”

  “Why?”

  I paused, and in the silence of that moment, I heard the sounds from the hall again. They were real, and they were getting louder. “Did you come alone?”

  “What?” He blinked. “Of course. Who would I have brought with me? Sylvester has people checking every place you might’ve gone.”

  “Right.” I stepped backward. Whoever was coming down the hall was too quiet to be Manuel or Dare. “Not to be alarmist or anything, but there are people trying to kill me right now, which means staying here might not be the best plan.”

  “What?”

  There was a clean snapping noise from the direction of the hall. It’s hard to mistake the sound of a bullet being chambered, especially when people have recently decided shooting you is great fun. I grabbed Connor’s hand and bolted for the nearest door, hissing, “Run!”

  There was a muffled snarl from the hall, followed by the sound of running footsteps. Sometimes I hate being right.

  The door didn’t want to open. I yanked the key out of my pocket and shoved it against the lock, shouting, “Open, dammit! In Evening’s name!” Nothing happened. The steps were getting closer. Not letting myself look backward, I shouted, “In Oberon’s name! In somebody’s name! In my mother’s name, open up, damn you!”

  The lock released and the door slammed open, sending Connor and me tumbling into a narrow hallway. I paused long enough to kick the door shut and throw the lock before taking off down the hall. I didn’t know where it would take us, but I knew what would happen if we stayed where we were, and in this case, I preferred the unknown. Connor stumbled, and I caught his hand as I ran, hauling him behind me.

  Connor was already starting to strain to keep up—Selkies are built for endurance in water, not on land. “Where are we going?” he gasped.

  “Away!” I heard the door smash behind us, and the sound of running feet. I didn’t know how much of a lead we had, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to. We’d escape, or we’d die. Even odds.

  “We don’t know they want to hurt us! We don’t even know who they are!”

  “Pardon me if I don’t wait around to find out!” The strain of dragging Connor was making my shoulder throb in earnest, but I didn’t let go. He’d die if I did.

  “But—”

  “They have guns! Now shut up and run!”

  A dim light was starting to fill the hall, illuminating rough stone walls. The floor shifted under our feet, going from raised cobblestones to hard-packed sand. Connor stumbled again, but I kept dragging him, picking up speed as we went. “Come on, we’re almost there!” I had no idea where “there” was, although I was betting against popping out of a magic wardrobe. The sand made me think of beaches: that was fine. There are plenty of beaches in San Francisco—there was even one right next to the museum.

  In retrospect, I shouldn’t have been surprised when the ground dropped out from under our feet and we ran out into the open air.

  There was time to glimpse the face of the cliff behind us, and the narrow mouth of the cave we’d just run out of. Then we were falling, and there was no more time for anything but screaming. Being dropped a hundred feet above the Pacific has a tendency to bring out the worst in me. Connor’s hand slipped out of mine as we fell. I strained to catch it. Then it was too late: I hit the water feetfirst, knocking the air out of my lungs. The waves closed over me like a fist, and the world went dark.

  TWENTY-TWO

  I DRIFTED, EYES CLOSED, head down, until the pressure in my chest snapped me awake and I started to thrash, looking for the surface. I hadn’t panicked, but it was only a matter of time, and if I didn’t hit the air before I lost control, I was going to be another red mark on the Coast Guard’s already checkered record. Everyone has something they can’t handle. For some people it’s tight spaces or heights. For me, it’s water. I can’t take baths anymore, much less go swimming: it’s showers and polite excuses all the way. It’s too much like going back to the pond.

  The sea around me was getting darker. It was light when Connor and I hit the water; the sun should have been visible. Unless I was swimming the wrong way.

  I flipped myself around, pushing as hard as I could in the opposite direction. The waves weren’t helping—but then, oceans aren’t known for helping stranded swimmers, especially not ones foolish enough to dive from great heights while fully clothed. I was amazed that I hadn’t broken my neck.

  It was getting harder to keep swimming: exhaustion, oxygen deprivation, and my wounded shoulder were conspiring with terror to slow me down. Just to make matters worse, the taste of roses was tickling the back of my throat. I was weak, and the curse was getting stronger; I couldn’t defend myself. If it grabbed me before I reached the air, the threat it represented was going to become a self-fulfilling prophecy, because there was no way I’d survive.

  Something hit me from below. I kicked down, suddenly fueled by a new brand of panic, and was rewarded when my heels hit something soft. That would teach the local wildlife not to mess with a drowning changeling. I continued to flail upward until it hit me again. My answering kick was weaker this time. I was running out of energy; I couldn’t tell which way I was going, and the lack of oxygen was starting to blur my vision. The something hit me a third time, and I went limp, giving up. The sharks could have me.

  Whatever it was grabbed the back of my shirt and started swimming upward, towing me easily to the surface. I gasped for air, and it held me up until I started treading water. The waves were fairly mild; once I could breathe again, I started looking for shore. If I could reach it before—well, there were a lot of “befores” to worry about. Before the curse hit, before I panicked complete
ly, before I drowned . . .

  Something barked behind me, and I turned, coming face-to-muzzle with a harbor seal. I was startled enough that I dipped below the surface for a moment before bobbing back up again, coughing. The seal barked merrily, seeming amused by my surprise.

  Selkie. I’d fallen off a cliff into the ocean with a Selkie, and I’d been worried about drowning. I would’ve been embarrassed if I hadn’t been so tired. The curse was burning like it was going to hit at any second; I didn’t have much time.

  “Connor?” I said, voice shaking. “Will you take me to shore?” He nodded, swimming closer and letting me loop my arms around his neck. His body was almost as long as mine, strong and healthy as real seals so seldom are.

  We were only about a hundred yards from shore, but when you’re traveling by seal-back, that’s more than far enough to be decidedly unpleasant. I kept my eyes closed, trying to ignore the waves slapping my face. It’s rude to get seasick on your escort, however tempting it may be.

  The tide tossed us onto the sand just as I thought I couldn’t stand anymore. I staggered to my feet, stumbling away from the water. I almost made it to the dry sand before the curse hit me like a rose-tinted anvil, dropping me to my knees. There wasn’t time to fight; there wasn’t even time to scream. The real world dropped away, and I was lost.

  Maybe it was the result of my barely restrained panic; maybe the curse was getting better at hurting me. Either way, it wasn’t just Evening’s death this time. It rifled my memory with casual ease, pulling up the gut-wrenching moment when my lungs forgot what air was and handing it back to me in a tidy package of blood magic and iron. The sand shuddered, first becoming bloody carpet, then the damp, sun-warmed wood of the Tea Garden path. If I screamed, the sound was buried under the memories. There was no present. There was only the past, and I was drowning in it.

  Someone was shaking me. Neither of the loops of memory that had ensnared me included shaking—thrashing, bleeding, and dying, but no shaking. I tried to rise toward it and was slapped back by a branch of phantom roses, shoving me down. Dimly, far away, I heard screaming. I couldn’t tell if it was mine or not, and it didn’t matter. This time there was no tourist to help me into the water. The pulse of my heart was like a drum-beat, slowing down under the weight of blood and iron and tangled memory.

  I wondered if I was ever going to stop hurting.

  Connor slapped me.

  The new pain was physical and sharp, letting me reclaim just a little ground. My heartbeat sped up as Connor slapped me again and again, the pain spiking each time to let me climb another step closer to the real world.

  He was pulling back his hand to slap me again when I opened my eyes. “Hey,” I said, voice harsh, “you can stop now. Please.”

  “I thought you were going to die,” he said, eyes wide.

  “Join the club,” I said, trying to be flippant. I wasn’t succeeding. I tried to sit up, and he put an arm behind me, letting me lean against his side.

  “What happened?”

  “I inhaled too much water.”

  “Try again,” Connor said, voice cold. “I’m a Selkie, remember? We drown people semiprofessionally: I know what drowning looks like. If you think I’m going to believe you inhaled too much water, you must think I’m either blind or stupid. I don’t know which is worse.”

  I blinked at him, flushing. I hadn’t meant to offend him; I just didn’t realize my lie would be that obvious. Of course, most drowning victims don’t go fetal in the sand and scream their throats raw. The water in their lungs sort of prevents that. “I . . .”

  “What happened, Toby? The truth.”

  You have to trust someone eventually. That’s just how it works. Maybe Connor O’Dell wouldn’t have been my first choice, but it looked like he was my last one. “Evening happened,” I said, closing my eyes. “When she died, she made sure that I’d do what she asked. She wanted to be avenged, and so she—”

  “Dare! She’s over here!” I opened my eyes to see Manuel and Dare running toward us, Dare stumbling in her high heels. “Ma’am! Ms. Daye!” Spotting Connor, they sped up, sudden murder in their expressions.

  Connor tensed, and I smiled weakly, lifting one hand to wave. “They’re with me.” More loudly, I called, “Hey, guys. He’s with me, too.”

  The pair staggered to a stop. Uncertainly, Manuel asked, “Are you all right, Ms. Daye?”

  “I’m fine, Manuel; just a little damp. Connor was kind enough to fish me out of the water.” The ease of the lie astounded me. I guess battered, aching, and cursed had become status quo. “What are you two doing down here?”

  “We saw these men go inside, only they were wearing don’t-look-heres so we couldn’t really look right at them, and Manny thought that maybe meant we should follow them, only we couldn’t find a way in, and—” I held up my hand, stopping Dare’s breathless tirade.

  “Let’s try it this way,” I said. “Manuel? What happened?”

  “We followed some men to the museum; they had a key, we didn’t. We circled the building and reached the cliff just in time to see you fall,” he said, tone brisk and formal.

  “So you followed me after I told you not to, and saw us come out of the cliff?”

  “Yes.”

  “Manuel?”

  “Yes?”

  “That was dumb.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Turning to Connor, I asked, “Can you help me up? I need to get these two Home.” He shook his head, and scooped me into his arms as he stood. I yelped. “Hey!”

  “What?”

  “Put me down!” He started to walk down the beach, Manuel and Dare trailing along behind us. “Aren’t you listening? Put me down!”

  “No. I am taking you—all of you—back to Shadowed Hills. You can leave when I’m sure you’ll survive.”

  Considering recent events, that would probably be sometime in June. I sighed, settling back in his arms. My shoulder was starting to throb, providing a handy reminder that we weren’t safe where we were. Shadowed Hills? All right, that would do.

  “This isn’t gonna calm Sylvester’s nerves,” I mumbled.

  “Tough.”

  “Shouldn’t we call Home first? To say where we’re going?” Manuel sounded unaccountably nervous, like he was afraid Devin would blame him for my impromptu swim. Maybe he would.

  Digging into my pocket, I produced the waterlogged cell phone and tossed it onto the beach. “With what? My phone’s ruined. Have you got one?”

  “No . . .”

  “There you go, then. Connor, how are we getting to Shadowed Hills?”

  “You have a car.”

  “I can drive!” Dare said.

  Connor and I exchanged a look, and he declared, “I’ll drive.” Dare pouted. Connor shook his head. “Sorry, kid. Not this time.”

  Confident that Connor had matters in hand, I closed my eyes, letting myself relax. Shadowed Hills is safer than almost anywhere I know; most people have better things to do than bother Sylvester, who has a history of permanent solutions to temporary annoyances. He used to be a hero, after all, and some habits die hard. Besides, how often do you get to watch a Selkie try to drive?

  Not that often, it turns out, even when the opportunity actually bothers to arise. Connor put me into the passenger seat, I closed my eyes, and we were there, exhaustion blanking out all the miles in between. I woke up when Connor stopped the car. Dare and Manuel cast worried glances my way as Connor scooped me out of the passenger seat, but I didn’t fight; I just let him carry me up the hill and into the knowe. I wasn’t entirely certain I could have made the walk.

  Luna was waiting in the entry hall. There were no footmen in evidence; they had all apparently figured out that the safest place to be was far away from their worried Duchess. Her hair was uncombed, and her tails were knotting themselves behind her, winding and unwinding around each other in agitation.

  “Are you all right?” she demanded, turning toward our sandy, water-stained party. The
fact that I was curled in Connor’s arms probably made things look even worse, but I didn’t really have the strength to do much else. Manuel and Dare were trying to vanish behind us. Like most of Devin’s kids, they were fine when they were following orders, but they didn’t ad lib well. He never taught them how to be flexible. “Sylvester’s gone to challenge Devin for proof that you’re not dead. I hope you’re pleased with yourself.”

  “Hi, Luna,” I said, smiling tiredly.

  She studied me, frowning, before she said, “You look terrible. What happened?”

  “We sort of fell out of a cliff and into the ocean.”

  “We?”

  Connor winced. “It wasn’t exactly intentional . . .” he began.

  Luna ignored him. “What were you doing?”

  “Running,” I said.

  “From what?”

  “I don’t quite know,” I said. “Mostly from the noises in the hall.”

  “You fell off a cliff because you were running from noises?”

  “In Goldengreen,” Connor said, apparently deciding he needed to contribute. Bad idea. Luna turned on him, glaring, and he cringed. I would’ve expected him to know better.

  “Were you hurt?” she asked, turning back to me.

  “Not badly.” I gestured to my bleeding shoulder. “I got shot a few days ago, but that’s mostly been healed.”

  “Shot and injured enough that you couldn’t manage to make a phone call. Oh, that’s not bad at all.” Looking around us to Manuel and Dare, who were trying not to be noticed, she added, “And you brought guests.”

  Dare stared at her feet, ears turning a deep red. Manuel bobbed a quick bow and mumbled, “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

  Luna’s icy demeanor melted fractionally as she smiled. She’s never been good at staying mad, and she usually gets that way because she’s worried about someone—frequently me. I have a talent for panicking her. “It’s good to meet you, too.”

  I poked Connor in the shoulder. “Put me down.” He gave me a dirty look, but wasn’t going to argue in front of Luna. I staggered as he lowered me to my feet, and Dare stepped forward, offering me her arm. I took it gratefully. “Hey, kid.”