The murders at Tamed Lightning two years ago weren’t the normal kind of killings. All the victims were purebloods, and they were killed in a way that meant the night-haunts wouldn’t come for their bodies. Faerie flesh doesn’t decay. The last time I’d been to Tamed Lightning, all the victims save one—January, who hadn’t been killed like the others, and whose body had been burned—were still in the basement, waiting for April to put together the necessary pieces and find a way to bring them back.
“Um, ew,” said Quentin, clearly following the same train of thought as I was.
“It would cause complications with the mortal authorities if we were to remove them,” said April, seemingly oblivious to the fact that other people might find a basement full of dead people creepy. “This is aside from the fact that they are presently unable to conceal their fae natures, you understand.”
“Right,” I said, and stuffed the second Twinkie into my mouth to save myself from needing to come up with anything else to say.
“Now that Toby isn’t on the verge of collapsing, can someone please tell me how Etienne’s daughter was able to open a door to Annwn? Does Sylvester know about this?” Jin paused and answered her own question: “Of course Sylvester doesn’t know. If he knew, he’d be here making sure you idiots didn’t get yourselves killed. Good job on that, by the way.”
I swallowed without chewing, grateful for the spongy nature of Hostess products. “Etienne said he was going to tell him.”
“I am,” said Etienne. “I just found out Chelsea existed. I wanted to have her safely recovered before I went to His Grace with the news.”
“This is a whole new level of ‘better to beg forgiveness,’” said Jin. “Annwn? Really?”
“Turns out Chelsea didn’t inherit the blocks that keep most Tuatha from using too much power and blowing themselves up,” I said grimly, digging the Luidaeg’s Chelsea-chaser out of my pocket. It was glowing a serene white, caught in its neutral state. “Quentin and I each have one of these. The Luidaeg gave us these to track Chelsea down. So far, we’ve managed to get to where she’s been a few times, but we only wound up where she was once, when Li bent our luck to bring us all together.”
“An endeavor for which I am very grateful, as it no doubt saved both our lives.” Tybalt took the hand I had left resting on his shoulder, lacing his fingers with mine as he stood. “The fact remains that she is loose, somewhere, she is afraid, and she is doing a great deal of damage.”
“I think we’re all on board with the idea that we need to find Chelsea and get her to stop punching holes in things,” I said. “We’re not covering enough ground.”
Etienne frowned, sudden resolve washing over his face. “I will stay,” he said.
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
“I will remain with you. I can’t ask you to do this for me and not be willing to help—or do you think having another teleporter won’t be an asset? You have a mechanism for tracking my daughter. I am a mechanism for following her if she opens a door while you’re in pursuit.” Etienne’s frown deepened. “If you’re concerned about getting paid—”
“If you finish that sentence, I’ll have to hit you, so how about you don’t?” I shook my head. “We’re glad to have you. We need all the help we can get, especially since Riordan—”
I was interrupted as the shadows behind the nearest vending machine rippled like a black muslin curtain, and Raj stepped into the room, a revolver in his hands. He leveled it on Tybalt before any of us had a chance to react. “Hello, Uncle,” he said. “I’m here to kill you now.”
Oh, this day just got better and better.
NINETEEN
I STARED. SO DID QUENTIN, Jin, and Li Qin. April frowned, irritation evident.
“I did not consent to your presence,” she said peevishly. “Please depart, and attempt your political assassination on someone else’s property.”
Tybalt just smiled. He took my hand off his shoulder and stood. Then he raised my hand to his lips, pressing a light kiss against my fingers, before letting me go and walking, with the utmost calm, toward Raj.
“Tybalt, what—”
“It’s all right, October,” he said, and kept walking. Raj trained the revolver on his uncle’s chest, the shaking spreading from his hands to his arms, until his entire body seemed to be caught in a wind that none of the rest of us could feel. Tybalt reached out and placed his hand atop the muzzle of the gun, pushing it gently downward.
Raj didn’t fight him. If anything, he looked relieved. Glass green eyes brimming with tears, he looked up at Tybalt and repeated hopelessly, “I’m here to kill you.”
“With a firearm? In a fiefdom belonging to the Divided Courts? My dearest boy, do you truly believe this is a fight you could win?” Tybalt’s voice was soft, his words reasoned and calm. I didn’t feel nearly that serene, and I wasn’t the one who’d just had a gun pointed at me.
Raj shook his head. His eyes flicked to me, desperation evident in their depths, before returning to Tybalt.
“I’m sorry,” said Tybalt, still calm. “I didn’t hear that.”
“N-no, Uncle,” said Raj. He swallowed hard, and added, “I figured it was a fight I’d lose. I hoped it was.”
“But you came.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Who sent you?”
Raj said nothing.
Tybalt sighed. “This is senseless, and we do not have the time. October?”
“Uh, yeah?”
“Can my beloved nephew, the assassin, stay with you for a short time? I fear the Court of Cats may not be safe for him at present.”
I glanced toward Quentin, who shook his head, looking as baffled as I felt. Right. We were winging it again. That’s my favorite way to deal with crazy. “Sure,” I said. “Raj knows he’s always welcome in my home.”
“Thank you,” said Tybalt solemnly. It was the third time he’d thanked me in an hour. It was starting to feel like something I could get used to. He turned his attention back to Raj and said, “If you would like, I can banish you. It would be a fitting punishment for a failed challenge to my throne. I’d prefer not to do so. I’ve spent a great deal of time and energy preparing you to take my place. We both know you’re not ready and that you have no desire to depose me like this, without honor or the validity of fair combat. Now. What did he tell you?”
Raj’s face fell. I’d only seen him look that miserable once before, the day his mother died. Then he threw himself into Tybalt’s arms, heedless of the blood covering the older Cait Sidhe. “He said I had to come here and kill you, you were dying anyway and if I didn’t, I’d be useless, because I wouldn’t get the throne, and then he’d kill everybody! Quentin and Jazz and everybody!” He sniffled before adding, “He said Toby was already dead.”
I raised my hand. “Not dead.”
“Who said he was going to kill me?” asked Quentin.
“I’m pretty sure that was Raj’s dad,” I replied.
“He said he gutted you like a fish,” said Raj. He pulled away from Tybalt, just far enough to scrub at his eyes with the back of his hand. “There was no way you’d survive that.”
“Surprise,” I said grimly. “Tybalt? Is this normal?”
“Not in the slightest.” Tybalt pushed Raj the rest of the way away from him, holding his nephew and heir at arm’s-length. “Raj, I am sorry to do this, but I have no choice. Your father has seen to that. Do you stand with him? Or do you refute him as your parent and stand with me?”
Raj’s eyes went wide. “What?”
Tybalt sighed. “You were misled, and I am sorry. I allowed this to happen. I knew he wanted you to hold power because he never could, and I allowed it because I wanted you to be happy. I wanted you to know your mother’s eyes. I wanted to give you what most Princes never have. I was a fool. Perhaps your father is right, and I am unfit to be King—but you are unprepared. If you are loyal to him, run. Go to him, tell him you failed and have to flee, because otherwise, I will be forced to kill you
both. Do you understand?”
Raj nodded mutely.
“Good. If you are loyal to me…stay. Your father will be punished for what he has done, but you are still a Prince, and you are mine to punish or to pardon.” Tybalt looked at Raj, hope and anguish both clear in his face. “The choice is yours. The choice is always yours.”
It sometimes seems like Faerie reserves the hardest choices for the children. Raj bit his lip, glancing past Tybalt to me. His eyes widened again when he noticed my shredded shirt. Then they narrowed, his expression hardening. He turned back to Tybalt. “I won’t help you kill my father,” he said.
“I wasn’t planning to ask you to. Believe it or not, I have long since tired of killing.”
Raj nodded. “Okay.”
“Just ‘okay’?” asked Tybalt, raising an eyebrow.
“Okay,” repeated Raj. He stepped back and knelt, seeming not to notice the blood soaking through his pants. “My King, I beg forgiveness for my actions. I was misled.”
“I know, Raj,” said Tybalt tiredly. “Rise.”
“Being a King sort of sucks,” I said.
Quentin wrinkled his nose. “So does your outfit.”
“Blood is in this season.” I cleared my throat. “If we’re done with the political upheaval, can we move on to finding Chelsea, figuring out what Riordan thinks she’s doing, and stopping Samson from turning the Court of Cats against us? Because those all seem like high-priority items, and instead, we’re just standing around getting blood on everything in sight.”
“You need new pants,” said Quentin. “And a new shirt. And maybe new hair.”
“And we’re missing the point,” I muttered.
Tybalt turned to face me. “Not at all,” he said. “Samson has doubtless intended to have me overthrown for quite some time. He hasn’t been foolish enough to force his son to challenge me, but I’ve heard him talking to the guards, implying that I am not fit for my position. He lacks the power to take my place. Sadly, that doesn’t stop him from taking my life.”
“Only Raj isn’t strong enough to kill you empty-handed,” I guessed. “Hence the gun.”
Raj looked deeply embarrassed. He set the gun down on the nearest table, muttering, “Father didn’t think I could take Uncle Tybalt without help, even if he was wounded.”
“Your father is wrong about many things, but right about that much,” said Tybalt. “If Raj kills me, however he accomplishes it, he becomes King. Samson’s co-conspirators would then be absolved of their part in this. There is no shame in backing a revolution that succeeds.”
“And if you live?” I asked.
Tybalt didn’t say anything, but his smile seemed to hold far too many teeth.
I sighed, retrieving my jacket from the floor and shrugging it back on. “Okay. Raj, you’re with us now. Etienne, you go with Quentin. We know Riordan’s involved. I think she’s using a blood charm to call Chelsea back to her. Quentin has a duplicate of the charm I showed you. Take some of the power dampening solution from the cooler in the car. You see her again—”
“I’ll pour it on her,” said Quentin.
Etienne and Jin blinked. I raised a hand, signaling that I’d explain later, and said, “Good. Tybalt, can you reach the Shadow Roads, or are you still too beat up?”
Tybalt looked at Jin, who rolled her eyes, wings buzzing in annoyance. “I don’t suppose I can stop you from flying around like a pixie with its head cut off any more than I can stop Toby,” she said resignedly.
“No, you can’t,” he said, looking amused.
“Hey,” I protested. “I’m always careful after a healing.”
Jin didn’t dignify my blatant lie with a response. She glared at Tybalt instead. “Will you at least try to go easy on yourself for the next few days? I know it’s hard. Toby’s essentially a walking bad influence. But please.”
Tybalt quirked a faint smile. “I bow to the wisdom of milady chirurgeon.”
“Huh?” said Quentin and Raj, almost in unison.
Jin smirked. “It means ‘doctor.’ I’m glad someone here knows how to take medical advice.”
“He’s using words that are no longer recognized as valid in Scrabble,” I said.
“I don’t care, he’s a smart cat. And before you try to tell me where to go, I’m staying here. You people are going to need patching up, I’m sure of it.”
I wished I could argue with her. Sadly, she was probably right. “Fine. Tybalt and I will go to Berkeley on the Shadow Roads, see if we can pick up Chelsea’s trail where we saw her last. After that—”
My phone rang.
I blinked, digging for the phone. “What the—I thought my battery was dead.”
“It was,” said April cheerfully. “I recharged it for you.”
“Without taking it out of my pocket?”
April blinked. “Why would I need to take it out of your pocket?”
“Right.” The display said it was May calling. I flipped the phone open. “Hello?”
Screaming and the sound of something being smashed greeted me, followed by the sound of May shouting, “Toby! Get over here! I don’t know how long I ca—”
The line went dead.
I shoved the phone back into my pocket without thinking about it, already breaking into a run. “Tybalt! Shadows! My place! Now!”
Tybalt nodded, stepping back toward the wall. The others moved out of our way as I jumped for him; he grabbed my hands, and then we were falling into darkness.
The Shadow Roads were cold and airless, but nothing came to attack us as we ran through the black. That made it a more pleasant trip than our last one. When I inevitably faltered—I may heal like a superhero, but it takes a lot out of my body, and I hadn’t eaten nearly enough to make up for it—Tybalt caught me smoothly and ran on through the dark with me cradled in his arms, holding me tight against his chest. This close, the heat from his skin was enough to beat back some of the chill. I relaxed as much as I could with blood freezing in my hair and terror pounding in my veins and let him carry me home.
I knew we were getting close when he slowed long enough to drop me back to my feet, murmuring next to my ear, “Seconds, little fish. Hold fast…”
And then we were bursting back out into the warmth and light of my cluttered living room, where May promptly hit me in the back of the head with my own aluminum baseball bat.
The reverberating “bong” of metal meeting bone was still audible as I dropped to my knees, no longer interested in focusing on much of anything beyond the shooting pain in my head. Tybalt snarled, a sound as inhuman as it’s possible for a mostly human throat to make, and May yelped. I managed to twist around, squinting past the tears in my eyes, to see Tybalt holding her off the floor by her throat. May was scrabbling uselessly at his fingers, trying to pry them away. Jazz was in the hall behind her, face pale, eyes wide and terrified. The smell of their mingled blood hit me a split second later, washing the scene in red.
It was the blood that gave me the strength to speak, focusing past the pain as I said, “Put her down, Tybalt.” I swallowed, tasting the air, and added, “It’s May. Not an impostor. She bleeds right.” A wave of nausea washed over me, and I stopped speaking. I really hate head injuries.
“She hit you,” snarled Tybalt.
“She thought you were that man again!” shouted Jazz. There was a harsh note under her normally soft voice, like a raven’s shriek. She was a skinshifter, not a shapeshifter—she’d need her cloak of feathers to transform—but some aspects of her avian nature were bleeding through. “Put her down!”
May didn’t say anything. She couldn’t. Talking would have required air. She just went limp in Tybalt’s hand.
Tybalt sighed, looking clearly unhappy as he lowered May back to her feet and took his hand away from her throat. Livid red bruises shaped like his fingers remained behind, striping her skin. May took a hasty step backward, out of his reach. Jazz was right there to catch her, putting her left hand on her girlfriend’s shoulder and
glaring murder in Tybalt’s direction.
The room was still spinning, and I was pretty sure that getting up was a terrible idea. I did it anyway, forcing myself first to my knees, and then to an unsteady standing position. Another wave of nausea hit me. I wobbled. “Wow, May,” I said. “I think maybe you cracked my skull. Please don’t do that again.”
Tybalt growled, low and deep in his throat.
“Chill,” I said. Moving as slowly as I could to avoid setting off any more alarm bells in my head, I looked around the living room. It wasn’t just cluttered, which would have been normal; it was destroyed.
The coffee table was shattered, as if something had been dropped on it from a considerable height. One of the legs protruded from the broken remains of the television set. Pictures and knick-knacks, some of which I hadn’t even known we owned, were shattered on the floor, amid the confetti remains of May’s gossip magazines and several of my books. Even the cat beds were shredded, bits of cloth and puffs of cotton filling scattered everywhere.
“What the hell happened here?” I asked.
“Why do you think I hit you with a bat?” May asked.
I turned to see her glaring at me. Jazz was doing the same, with a considerably more pained look in her eyes. Her right arm was dangling at her side, with a sharp new bend below the elbow. There were fingermarks on her throat, too, and I knew they weren’t from Tybalt.
“It was one of your people,” spat Jazz, that harsh croak still underlining her words. Her eyes flicked from me to Tybalt as she spoke, making it plain whose people she was referring to. “Gray hair. Green eyes. Tried to kill us both.”
“Samson,” said Tybalt, eyes narrowing. “He should not have done that.”
“Raj’s father,” I explained, for Jazz and May’s benefit. “He tried to kill us a little while ago. Actually, he nearly succeeded.”
“Well, when he failed, I guess he decided to take out his anger on something a little more defenseless,” said May. For the first time, I noticed the blood streaking the back of her blouse. May saw me looking. Her expression hardened. “He was a little surprised when I didn’t die. I guess no one told him Fetches are indestructible.”
Ashes of Honor: An October Daye Novel Page 25
