Chimes at Midnight

by Seanan McGuire

  Patrick spoke first, saying uncertainly, “I smell . . . clover.”

  “I have dry grass,” said Quentin. He looked toward me. “I don’t know what kind.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Focus, both of you. Patrick, is there anything special about the clover?”

  “No. I’m not you, October. I can’t sniff the air and go ‘oh, it smells like red clover from the cliffs of Oregon.’ That’s your line. All I can give you is ‘wet clover,’ and that’s almost guessing.”

  I smiled, just a little. “See, Patrick, you’re better at this than you think you are.”

  He frowned. “Come again?”

  “Wet clover, and dry grass. We’re looking for a Tuatha teleporter. But not Arden.” My smile died as fast as it had come. “Arden’s magic smells like blackberry flowers and redwoods. She didn’t take Nolan. That doesn’t mean she won’t be looking for him.” My fingers itched with the almost undeniable urge to punch something. Arden had hidden for decades. She’d kept her brother safe and out of the Queen’s reach. And I, in my efforts to fix things, might as well have handed him to the very thing his sister had been trying to avoid.

  “So what do we do now?” asked Quentin.

  I took a deep breath. “Patrick, I need to ask you for the sort of favor that isn’t just unreasonable: it verges on obscene. Will you please not hit me until I can explain?”

  “You want me to keep the news of my wife’s arrest from the Undersea,” he said.

  “Yes,” I said, meeting his cold gaze with my own pleading one. “For now. Just long enough for us to find Arden. If we can give her the throne . . .”

  “You understand that this could get me banished.”

  “You understand that a war, right now, serves no one’s interests but the Queen’s.”

  Patrick took a breath, as if to object. Then he stopped and slowly nodded. “I will talk to the soldiers we brought with us. They’re still in the cove, waiting for instructions. If I can convince them, I will do so. But I make no promises.”

  “That’s all I can ask for.” I turned to Dean. “The next part is yours. I’m asking your father to help me avoid a war. I’m asking you to plan for one. The Queen will take Goldengreen if she has to. Don’t let her.”

  Dean frowned. “What are you going to do?”

  “Me? I’m going to find Arden and convince her there’s only one way this can end well for any of us. We’re going to find her brother. We’re going to get him back. And then we’re going to take the throne of the Kingdom of the Mists and give it back to the Windermere family, because it’s pretty damn clear that the current government isn’t working out.”

  “But you’re human,” said Dean.

  I looked at him, trying to project a calm I didn’t feel. “Only mostly,” I said. “I guess the universe decided it was time the Queen had a fighting chance. Now if you’re with me, it’s time to kick her ass out of this Kingdom.” I extended my hand. After a moment’s pause, he took it.

  Dianda was the only one who’d been arrested; she was the only one viewed as a threat. The Queen should have thought bigger. Because as long as any of us were free, she was finished.

  Hopefully. Assuming we could all stay alive that long.

  NINETEEN

  “WHERE ARE WE GOING?” asked Danny. He didn’t slow down the car; he just kept going, rocketing out of the parking lot at a speed that made his previous unsafe driving seem like child’s play. I clung to the oh-shit handle above the door, trying to keep my ass in contact with the seat. Quentin was rattling around in the backseat like a bouncy ball.

  Oh, well. He was a teenage boy. A few bruises were good for him. “Valencia,” I said. “We want a bookstore you’ve probably never noticed before, across the street from an Irish pub that you probably have.”

  “Dog Eared Books isn’t across the street,” protested Danny, taking a corner sharply enough that I would have sworn the back tires actually lifted off the pavement. “It’s down the block a ways.”

  “Yes, but we’re not going to Dog Eared Books,” I said. “We’re going to a place called Borderlands.”

  “No such place.”

  I gave him a sidelong look, or as much of one as I dared when we were moving that fast. “Danny. You’re a Troll, driving a cab. Yesterday, I was a superhero, and today I’m addicted to jam. Jam. Do you really think we get to pass judgment on what does and does not get to exist? There’s a bookstore on Valencia that you’ve never seen. I promise.”

  “If you say so,” he muttered, and eased off the gas.

  “I do,” I said, breathing a near-silent sigh of relief. Finding Arden wasn’t going to do us any good if we got pancaked in the process.

  Silence from the backseat reminded me that Danny wasn’t the only one who’d never been to Borderlands. I twisted to see Quentin looking at me dubiously.

  “You want to say something?”

  “Yeah . . . are you sure there’s a bookstore there?” He at least had the good grace to look faintly abashed as he continued, “You might have dreamt it.”

  Anger rose in my throat like bile. I swallowed it back down and said, “I can understand why you might be concerned about that, but Tybalt and I went to Borderlands before I was hit with the evil pie.” No matter how many times I said “evil pie,” it never started sounding normal. “The store is there, it’s just hidden from anyone who claims allegiance to the Mists. Arden has been hiding there for a while. It may not be where she went to ground, but it’s the best lead we have.”

  “And if she’s not there?” rumbled Danny.

  Her magic smelled like redwood trees and blackberries. So did the place where I had heard her name spoken to open a shallowing that had been holding itself closed for decades. “If she’s not there, we head for Muir Woods,” I said. “She’s connected to the shallowing there, somehow. She might try running for it. It seems like less of a sure bet, but again. We take the leads we have when we’re dealing with something like this.”

  “I don’t like it,” said Danny.

  “Join the club,” I replied.

  We were in the strange hours of the night, where traffic became unpredictable, here heavy, there nonexistent. The route Danny was plotting took us straight through San Francisco, ignoring the daily logic of the city in favor of a more personal approach. He never slowed down. Somehow, he managed not to run any red lights or hit any pedestrians, either. Those Gremlin charms were worth their weight in whatever he had paid for them.

  When we reached Valencia, he took his weight off the gas, reducing our speed until we were almost obeying the law. “Now where?” he demanded.

  “Hang on.” I took the flask of fireflies out of my pocket, using my finger to coax one of the brightly-shining insects out. Carefully, I transferred it to his shoulder, where it settled into a pose of apparent contentment. “Look down the street until you see something you don’t recognize, and park there.”

  “What?” Danny frowned at me before turning to scan Valencia. “That’s about the dumbest thing I’ve ever—holy shit, girl, there’s a bookstore there. What the hell? When did they build a bookstore?”

  “Since the building is like a hundred years old, a while ago,” I said. “Can you park?”

  “I’m on it.” He twisted the wheel abruptly enough to make the tires squeal in protest. Somehow, this ended with us wedged into a space that had just opened in front of the Phoenix, the Irish pub almost directly across the street from Borderlands. “We’re here,” he said smugly, and turned off the engine.

  Other things that had happened during our unexpected hairpin turn in the middle of a San Francisco street: my hands were pressed flat against the dashboard, although I didn’t remember putting them there, and Quentin was bent almost double, his arms wrapped against my seat’s headrest. I forced the muscles in my arms to unlock. It wasn’t easy. Adrenaline had everything confused, and my body really wasn’t interested in listening to me.

  “Danny?”

  “Yeah, Tobes?”
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  “If you kill us trying to protect me, Tybalt will figure out a way to get through that skin of yours and introduce you to your own internal organs. He’s Cait Sidhe. He can do it.”

  To my surprise, Danny laughed. I blinked. He grinned. “See, as long as you’re capable of gettin’ pissed at me, I know you’re gonna be okay. You may not like what comes between here and actually getting to that point, and the rest of us will pretty much hate it, ’cause you can be nasty when you want to, but you’re gonna be okay.”

  I blinked again. Then I smiled. “I didn’t think of it that way.”

  “’Course not. You’re the hero. You’re never supposed to think about your own mental health.” Danny wrapped a human disguise around himself and slid out of the car before I could answer him. Stifling a snicker, Quentin did the same.

  I reached for my seatbelt. My hands were shaking too badly for me to undo the latch.

  Slowly, I raised them to a level with my face, trying to make the shaking stop. If I really focused, I could stop the worst of it, but a fine tremor remained, like my body was caught in its own private earthquake.

  Danny knocked on the window. I jumped.

  “You okay in there?” he asked. His concern was visible; he knew something was wrong.

  All I had to do was admit it. All I had to do was say, “I’m sorry, I’m done, I’m starting to break down,” and he’d take me back to Shadowed Hills. Jin could put me to sleep until Tybalt or the Luidaeg got back with Mom, however long that took, and I’d be okay, or at least I’d have a shot at it, which was more than I had now. All I had to do was say the word.

  And Nolan would die, if he wasn’t dead already. Because there was no chance that anyone other than the Queen had taken him, and there was less than no chance that she was going to let him live a second time. His life had been the coin she used to buy Arden’s silence. Well, Arden wasn’t silent anymore. Not even running away would save him now. And then there were all the humans and changelings who would waste away yearning for goblin fruit . . .

  I lowered my hands and plastered a smile across my face, hoping the unfamiliar humanity of my features would make it harder for him to know that I was lying. “I got a splinter from the protection charms on your stupid dashboard,” I said. “I’ll be right there.”

  Danny didn’t look like he believed me, but he said, “If you’re sure,” before straightening again.

  I wasn’t sure. I was so far from sure that we weren’t even in the same time zone. But I was doing the best I could. I raked my shaking hands through my hair, trying to catch my breath. Then I reached into my jacket and pulled out the second baggie. I wasn’t sure about this, either. I didn’t see any other way.

  Opening the baggie, I reached in, pulled out a frozen piece of the Luidaeg’s blood, and dropped it onto my tongue.

  There was no taste of mint and lavender this time, no soothing feeling that I was somehow repairing myself. Instead, it felt like my entire mouth was freezing solid, a cold so profound that it actually crossed some unmarked internal line and started to burn. I gasped and folded forward, clutching my stomach.

  Somewhere outside the car, Danny and Quentin were shouting my name. I managed to peel one hand free and wave to them, trying to signal that I was okay. It was hard to focus through the burning chill. Slowly, it was replaced by the taste of loam, the smell of bonfires in the night. I tried to pull myself out of the memory I could feel building around me, but it was too late; I was already lost. And then . . .

  And then . . .

  “Dammit, Amy, you’re not listening to me!” I’m angry with her, and with myself. This is my fault as much as it is hers. She’s the youngest. She should never have been given so much freedom, never allowed to make so many poor decisions. But we were scattered, broken by what had happened to our parents, and we left her free for so long. Too long. This is my fault.

  She whirls, blonde hair flying, hands balled into fists, and shouts, “You had no right!”

  The Luidaeg’s memory was showing me my mother, back when she was vital and engaged and not hiding from the world for some reason she’d never shared with me. I gasped and stopped fighting the blood. If the Luidaeg’s memory had been focused on my mother when she was bleeding for me, there must have been a reason. Maybe this would tell me what it was.

  And maybe it would kill me. Too late now.

  “I had every right, Amy; I had every right. That little girl deserves better than what you were trying to do to her, and you know it.”

  “She deserves a life!”

  “She’s not human! No matter what you do to her, no matter how deep you go, Faerie will always know her as its own. Do you understand? You can’t free her. All you can do is make her defenseless. She’ll belong to Faerie until she dies. You’re making sure that happens sooner.”

  She looks at me, my pretty Amy, and her broken heart is shining in her eyes. Finally, she shakes her head, and speaks. “So be it,” she says, and I know.

  I know she’s given up again.

  The blood haze was starting to loosen, and with it, the bands constricting my lungs and gut. I took a great, gasping breath, and the bands loosened further. Scrabbling along the door with one hand, I found the handle and wrenched it open. Only my still-fastened seatbelt stopped me from fully spilling out into the street.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Massive hands were suddenly there to support me as Danny interrupted my fall and hoisted me back into the seat. “What’n the hell was that all about? You need a cup of coffee or somethin’?”

  “Coffee doesn’t cure all ills, Danny.” My hands were steady enough now that I could undo the seatbelt. Score one for the Luidaeg and her weirdly invasive style of magic. Using Danny’s arm to steady myself, I stood. “I haven’t had a cup of coffee since the pie.”

  “Huh,” he said, looking impressed. “Maybe you can kick caffeine and goblin fruit at the same time.”

  “I doubt it.” I looked across the car to Quentin. He was pale, and his lips were pressed into a thin line—something he only did when he was really concerned. “I’m okay. I just wasn’t prepared for the remedy the Luidaeg made me to kick as hard as it did.”

  He blinked as he looked at me, and said, “Maybe you should fix your hair.”

  “What?” I reached up to feel it with one hand. “It’s my hair. It’s fine. It always looks like this.”

  “Yeah, but your ears don’t.”

  Now it was my turn to blink. I dropped my hand lower, to where the edge of my right ear was just visible through the tangled strands of my hair. It was still mostly rounded . . . but the edge was more pointed than it had been at the start of the evening. “Oh,” I said.

  “Yeah,” Quentin said.

  My magic—which was currently way too willing to act outside my conscious control—must have decided I needed help focusing on the Luidaeg’s borrowed memory, and so inched a little closer to fae. Not enough closer; I still couldn’t taste Danny or Quentin’s heritage, and I knew from the depth of the shadows across the street that if I lost the firefly, I’d be fae-blind once again. But enough to stop the shaking.

  Enough to buy me a little more time.

  “Luidaeg, you are a fabulous monster, and an even better bitch,” I muttered.

  “What’s that?”

  “Nothing.” I smoothed my hair down over my ears, looking back to Quentin. “Better?”

  “Better,” he said. “You still don’t need, um . . .” He waved his hands, encompassing the length of my body.

  I decided to show mercy for once. Taking my hand off Danny’s arm, I said, “I’m still human-looking enough that I don’t need to worry about a full-body disguise, huh?”

  Cheeks flaming red, Quentin nodded.

  “Okay. At least we know what we’re working with. Come on. Quentin, you need to stay close to either me or Danny, since otherwise I don’t think you’re going to be able to see the place.” I could have given him a firefly of his own, but I was starting to do the mental
math, and I didn’t like the numbers. I’d started with ten. We lost one finding Arden; I had one on me, and so did Danny. They could fly away at any time. As long as they were my only reliable way of seeing into Faerie, I was going to hold onto the seven I still had with an iron fist.

  “Okay,” said Quentin, and took my elbow as we jaywalked across Valencia Street.

  Jaywalking is common in San Francisco. It’s not that there aren’t crosswalks—there are—it’s just that as a populace, we’re all too damn lazy to walk to the end of the block when we can see our destination right across the street. So it wasn’t until we were halfway across the street that I realized what was wrong.

  There were no other jaywalkers. There were no other pedestrians of any kind, not on the sidewalks, not even clustered outside the Phoenix or the corner store. Even if everywhere else was deserted, there should have been someone outside the two nearest sources of alcohol. I stopped, not particularly caring that we were in the middle of the street. “I’m an idiot,” I murmured. “Quentin?”

  “Um, yeah?” he asked, automatically dropping his voice to match mine.

  “I need you to throw up a hide-and-seek spell, and it needs to be big enough to cover all three of us.” I started looking around, trying to focus on the places where the shadows were deepest. The firefly was supposed to let me see through illusions. That was fine and dandy, except for the part where I had to find those illusions before I could see through them. I hate loopholes.

  “Tobes? You wanna tell the rest of us what’s going on?”

  Doing emergency planning in the middle of the street might seem counterintuitive, but it actually wasn’t a bad idea. If anyone tried to sneak up on us, we’d see them coming. That wouldn’t stop listening charms. There’s always an element of risk. “As soon as the hide-and-seek is in place, grab Quentin and run,” I said, quietly. “I’ll be running in the opposite direction. I hate to split up, but we’re walking into a trap, and I bet the Queen set it. She’s trying to find Arden’s hiding place.”