One Salt Sea od-5

by Seanan McGuire

  I turned to lean against the counter, bringing Tybalt and Raj back into view. They were watching me, not making any attempt to hide their eavesdropping. That was fine. It would save me time when it came to getting them up to speed. “So you’re saying it was someone from outside the Kingdom?”

  “Not exactly.” He hesitated again, longer this time. “Look, Toby, I get that you have a thing for lost causes and shit, but maybe this is one you should leave alone. Dangerous people and dangerous places, y’know?”

  “Two hundred dollars, cash.”

  He took a deep breath. And then, reluctantly, he said the last thing I wanted to hear: “The folks that might know, the ones you’d think would get hired for something like this . . . they’re saying a little redhead girl did the deed. Came around the markets, dropped some cash in some pockets, and then poof. The kids were gone.”

  A little redhead girl. . . “Did they have anything else to say about her?” I asked, through lips that felt suddenly numb.

  “You don’t want to know this.”

  “Answer the question.”

  “Just that she had them yellow eyes,” said Bucer. “You know the ones.”

  Yes. I did. Every Torquill I’ve ever met has the same eyes, the color of honey wine. That includes Rayseline, Sylvester’s red-haired daughter, who disappeared after she tried—and failed—to kill her mother. “Are you sure?”

  “It’s not like I exactly went digging for this shit, seeing as how I’m not in the mood for a shallow grave in the Marin headlands, but I got it from multiple sources. Red hair. Gold eyes. Giggle like she’s already seeing you with your throat cut.”

  That was Rayseline all right. “Give me your address. I’ll send your money.”

  “This better not be a trick.”

  “Honestly, Bucer, I don’t have the time to fuck with you. It’s not a trick; you’ll get your fee. And if you learn anything else before you head for the hills, call this number and pass it on. As long as you keep talking, I’ll keep paying.”

  “Shit,” he said, suddenly hushed. “You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?”

  “Unfortunately, yes.”

  “Cash?”

  “Cash.”

  He gave me the address. I hung up, after repeating my offer to pay him for any additional information he could dig up. Then I turned to Raj, and asked, “Can you do me a favor?”

  “What?” he asked warily. Smart kid.

  “I need somebody to run payment to Bucer. I figure if you go as a cat, you can dart in, drop the cash, and dart out without him getting the drop on you. I’d do it myself, but it would take too long. Right now, I have more pressing commitments.”

  “Sure,” said Raj, looking relieved to have something to do. I understood the feeling.

  Tybalt didn’t share his nephew’s relief. Folding his arms, he asked, “Setting aside the question of what gives you the authority to give orders to a member of my Court, what could possibly press upon you more than visiting such a treasured contact?”

  “I’m not giving orders. I’m asking for a favor. As for why, I’ve got to start looking for these kids, and if I go to Bucer, Titania only knows how long he’ll keep me there.” I resisted the urge to grab the over-sugared coffee. Rubbing my forehead instead, I said, “I can’t afford the delay.”

  Tybalt’s expression turned suspicious, pupils narrowing. “What did he tell you?”

  “Hang on.” I grabbed an envelope from the counter, scrawling Bucer’s address on the back. “Raj, get two hundred dollars from the jar on my desk and take it to this address. Don’t let anybody see you.”

  “Sure.” Raj took the envelope, glancing at Tybalt one last time before practically running out of the kitchen. Tybalt watched without comment. His pupils were thin black slits against the green of his eyes when he turned back to me; if he’d possessed a tail in his human form, it would have been lashing.

  “October . . .” he said, a warning growl underscoring the word.

  “Bucer’s contacts have reason to suspect that Rayseline Torquill is involved with the kidnapping of the Lorden children.”

  My voice was as neutral as I could make it. Tybalt’s response was anything but. His lips drew back from his teeth in an agitated snarl as he asked, “To what ends?”

  “Who the hell knows with her? Maybe she was bored. Maybe she’s trying to kill us all. The possibilities are endless.” This time, I didn’t fight the impulse to pick up my too-sweet coffee. I’ve always had an easier time dealing with the world when over-caffeinated. “I need to go to Shadowed Hills. I have to talk to her parents.” I also needed to search the rooms she used to share with Connor, to see whether there was anything there that could tell me where to start hunting for the boys.

  “I’m coming with you.”

  “What?” I blinked. “Why?”

  “Her intentions toward you have been well-established by this point, unless you can somehow interpret her attempts to have you executed for murder as a gesture of friendship. What sort of ally would I be if I allowed you to chase after her alone?”

  The less confusing kind of ally, for a start. “Tybalt . . .”

  “If you’re under the assumption that this is negotiable, I suggest you reconsider. I’m coming with you. The only question is whether we travel together or apart.” There was cold amusement in his smile. “I bet I can even beat you there.”

  I eyed him. He looked calmly back until I sighed and moved to grab a thermos from the cupboard. If I mixed my over-sweetened coffee with the rest of the pot, it might be halfway drinkable. “Fine, whatever. Just try to stay out of my way.”

  “There is nothing less obtrusive than a cat.”

  “Uh-huh.” I decided to leave that one alone. “I should also go back to the Luidaeg’s. I have the feeling I’ll be visiting Saltmist in person soon, and that means I need to be able to survive underwater.” I couldn’t suppress my shudder. I have water issues. I used to be a bubble baths and beaches kind of girl, but spending fourteen years as a fish sort of changed my outlook. It’s strictly showers these days, and I’m happiest staying inland.

  Tybalt raised an eyebrow. “Is she having difficulties with her telephone connection?” His tone indicated that he knew the Luidaeg’s phones were fine.

  I grimaced. “I’d rather talk to her in person if I’m going to be asking her to do something for me. Besides, knowing her, she’ll just tell me to come over if I call.” It’s harder to make me drink disgusting things when I’m not in her living room.

  “I see. And you’re forgetting an errand.”

  “I am?”

  “Unless you wished to let my people invade your knowe without warning those already there? A second war could be amusing, but probably unproductive.”

  Images of Marcia trying to shoo the entire Court of Cats out with her broom filled my head. I sighed. “Right. Adding a stop at Goldengreen to the agenda.”

  “Well, then.” Tybalt straightened. “With so much to do before tomorrow night, we should be underway.”

  “True enough.” I poured the contents of the coffee pot into the thermos. They fit nicely on top of my original mug of coffee. “If you’re planning to be underfoot all night, you can get me the milk.”

  “As you like.” Tybalt opened the fridge and pulled out the milk. Our fingers grazed when I reached for the carton. I felt my ears go red, and Tybalt smiled, a slow, cat-with-a-canary expression that did its best to chase all thoughts of war—and Connor—from my mind.

  Connor. Oh, oak and ash, what was going to happen if we wound up on opposite sides of a war? Would the Undersea blame him if his ex-wife turned out to be the cause of their current situation? Maeve forbid, would the Queen?

  I snatched the carton from Tybalt’s hand with a quick, almost jerky motion, topping off the thermos before thrusting the milk back at him. “Put this away.”

  “Certainly,” said Tybalt, taking the milk.

  “Be right back.” I trotted down the hall to bang o
n May’s door. “Hey!”

  She didn’t open it. “Hey, what?”

  “I’m going out. Call Danny if I’m not back by sunrise. Got it?”

  “Got it!” She didn’t ask any questions. May knows me well enough to know better. Any answers I gave would just make it harder for her to stay calm.

  There wasn’t anything else I could do in the apartment. I walked back to Tybalt, sure I was making a mistake, and utterly unable to guess what that mistake might be. “All right, come on. If you want a ride, now’s the time.”

  “After you,” he said, and followed me to the front door.

  I grabbed my leather jacket from the rack as we passed. Even in June, the nights can be chilly in San Francisco. The fact that my jacket originally belonged to Tybalt didn’t make any difference at all. Honestly, it didn’t . . . and maybe if I kept telling myself that, it would start being true.

  With Tybalt behind me and the thermos in my hand, I stepped out into the night.

  NINE

  TYBALT DIDN’T SAY ANYTHING as we drove; he just stared fixedly out the window. I spent a few minutes trying to figure out what I’d done wrong this time before I realized that it wasn’t about me at all. Tybalt’s older than I am. I’ve never asked how much older, but some of the things he’s said make me guess that he’s at least three hundred. I grew up with cars, and he didn’t.

  That’s the thing about living forever. You eventually stop getting used to the way the world changes. “We’re almost there,” I said, as reassuringly as I could.

  He shot me a grateful look before catching himself and sitting up in his seat. “Are we? I was enjoying the scenery.”

  “Well, we could go around the block a few times if you want—”

  “No,” he said hurriedly. Then he sighed, rubbing his face with one hand. “No, please. I’m quite prepared to be out of this infernal construction. We could have walked the Shadow Roads, you know. We would have been there long since.”

  “What, and miss the fun of driving?” I offered a sympathetic smile. “It’s okay. Have you been to the Luidaeg’s before?”

  “I have never had the privilege—or the need.” It was his turn to smile, putting a trace of wryness under the expression. “It seems you spend more time than most in a state of sheer emergency.”

  “It’s a gift.”

  “Yes.” He chuckled. “I suppose it is.”

  We drove in silence for a while longer. I was thinking about turning on the radio when Tybalt said, almost to himself, “I don’t understand why it always comes to this.”

  I barely stopped myself from twisting to look at him. That would probably have sent us careening into the nearest tree. “I don’t understand.”

  “War. It seems that in Faerie, conflicts such as these must always come to war.”

  “But . . . you’re Cait Sidhe. No offense, but your people are some of the most violent I’ve ever seen. You fight constantly.”

  “Yes; we fight from the day we’re born—and we learn that fights have consequences. When you cut someone, he bleeds. When someone cuts you, you scar. Nothing is free. Sometimes I think we’re the only ones in Faerie who remember that.”

  I slanted a frown toward him. “Everyone knows wars have costs.”

  “If they did, they wouldn’t fight them. Watch. The veterans are smart enough to leave for other Kingdoms while they still can; most of the ones who come when the call goes out won’t have ever fought a war before. They’ll come because they think it’s honorable, or because they want to be called heroes. They’ll show up in their pretty armor, and they’ll litter the battlefield like leaves.” He sighed, running a hand over his face. “I’ve been to war. Believe me. What’s coming won’t be anything honorable.”

  “I thought Cait Sidhe didn’t have wars.” Bloody, brutal battles for succession, sure, but not wars.

  “We don’t.” Tybalt flashed a humorless smile. “What makes you think you’re the first of your kind to befriend me? I’m older than you. I’ve had time to put some skeletons in my closet.”

  “It’s the ones you buried in the backyard that worry me.” My attempt at levity sounded flat even to my own ears. If we went to war, people were going to die.

  The joke pretty much killed the conversation. He shook his head, turning his gaze back to the window. I sighed and kept driving. Only a few blocks later, we entered the Luidaeg’s neighborhood, and a thick fog that smelled like brine and ashes rose to envelop the car. The buildings that lined the street were dark, the mist blurring them into architectural ghosts. I was willing to bet that the Luidaeg’s mortal neighbors, few as they were, had been gripped with the sudden desire to visit friends or relatives as far from the coast as possible, leaving their homes abandoned.

  I caught Tybalt looking out the windows in confusion, like he didn’t remember where we were or what we were doing there. “This is a seriously good misdirection spell,” I said. “It’s a good thing she told it I was coming, huh?”

  Tybalt glanced at me, seeming briefly confused that I was there. The moment passed. “You’re an ally,” he said, shaking his head. “She’s wise to remember that.”

  “Maybe,” I agreed, pulling up to the curb. Tybalt was out of the car before I turned the engine off. He stopped about five feet away, half-bleached by the fog, and stayed there, shuddering slightly and taking large, shaky breaths. I took my time getting out of the car, giving him a chance to calm down.

  He jumped when I closed my door, casting another bewildered glance my way. Acting purely on instinct, I crossed to him and took hold of his elbow. His expression cleared, replaced by embarrassment.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I forgot . . . briefly, I’m afraid that I forgot you were here.”

  “Yeah, well.” I shrugged. “I’m forgettable. You okay?”

  “No.” He stepped a little closer as he scanned the fog surrounding us. “Perhaps you’d best keep your grip. This enchantment seems somewhat over fond of claiming me.”

  “Not a problem.” I started into the fog. “This way.”

  “As you like.” Tybalt let me pull him along. His footsteps made no noise on the broken, gravel-studded sidewalks, while I sounded like an entire invading army all by myself. “What, if anything, do you know about the Lordens?”

  “Patrick seems nice. Dianda was a little cranky, but I’d be cranky, too, if someone stole my kids and tried to put an arrow through my husband.” I shrugged, kicking a chunk of glass out of the way. “Why? Do you have some great revelations to share?”

  “Not great, but they might be of use.” His gaze went distant as he tried to put his next words in order. “The Duchess—Dianda—has reigned in Saltmist since before I moved to the Mists. She used to be seen in the Courts quite often, when Gilad was King. She’s a traditionalist, of a kind, but unlike some, she’s never preached separation of land and sea. That’s part of why she married Patrick.”

  “Only part?”

  Tybalt gave me a half-amused, half-exasperated look. “They fell in love,” he said. “It does happen.”

  I was grateful for the fog surrounding us. I could at least pretend he couldn’t see me blushing. “Right. So what does that mean?”

  “It means she didn’t take it well when people started shunning him, or when he started having ‘accidents.’ King Gilad was an attendant at their wedding—he didn’t just approve, he gave his blessing—but things changed when the new Queen took the throne. It wasn’t acceptable to be a land noble married to a sea Duchess anymore. That’s when Patrick renounced his titles.” Tybalt started walking faster. I tightened my hand on his elbow.

  “Do you think you can find the Luidaeg’s on your own?” I asked.

  He eyed me. “No,” he admitted.

  “Then slow down.”

  Grudgingly, Tybalt slowed his pace.

  “That’s better. Now, back to the Lordens. You’re saying they had some resentment before some idiot decided to snatch their kids.”

  “They’ve had a lo
ng time to feel hurt and persecuted, and the Duchess has never forgiven easily.” He cast a sidelong look at me. “That’s something her Court and mine have always had in common.”

  I didn’t know how to answer that. I didn’t have to; we’d reached the Luidaeg’s door. It was open, flooding the surrounding fog with warm lamplight, and the Luidaeg herself was sitting on the threshold, eating Ben and Jerry’s Phish Food out of the carton. She stuck the spoon into the ice cream and stood when she saw us, flicking one electric-taped pigtail carelessly back over her shoulder.

  “I thought that was you,” she said. “And you brought a friend. It’s good to see you playing nicely with the other children, even if this isn’t the best time to develop a social life.”

  Tybalt folded a hand over mine as he offered her a cordial bow. “Milady of the Moors. It has been too long.”

  “No, it hasn’t,” the Luidaeg replied, mildly enough. The last time they’d seen each other, he’d been helping to steal me back from Blind Michael. Not exactly the sort of thing that inspires a lasting friendship. “Has the Court of Dreaming Cats declared alliance?”

  “Yes,” he said. He didn’t let go of my hand.

  The Luidaeg lifted an eyebrow, looking amused. “Is that so? Well, you’re here now. I guess you might as well come in.” She turned, heading into the hall. Tybalt and I exchanged a look before shrugging, almost in unison, and stepping inside.

  The door slammed shut behind us.

  The smell of brine and ashes was stronger inside the apartment, and golden lamplight seemed to radiate from the walls, probably anchoring the misdirection spell blanketing the neighborhood. The light made the mess in the hall seem less severe, blunting the edges into an abstraction, like the treasure in a dragon’s lair. The muck-colored carpet still crackled underfoot. I found that reassuring.

  The Luidaeg was settled on the couch in a disarmingly casual pose when we reached the living room. “Well?” she asked, around a mouthful of ice cream. “Why are you already back? Did you save the world or something?”