Late Eclipses

by Seanan McGuire

  “She didn’t,” May agreed, putting her head down against my shoulder. “She said she’d been in relationships with way bigger problems than one of us being a transitory manifestation of impending doom. Like this one girl who liked her computer more than she liked her girlfriend, and another one who smoked.”

  “She sounds sweet.”

  “She is.” May sighed again, the sound seeming to come up all the way from the soles of her feet. “I think I could’ve loved her.”

  “Hey. Don’t talk like that. It’s not over yet.”

  “It may as well be.” She closed her eyes. “I tried to be different from you. I tried so hard. I guess I just wasn’t good enough.”

  “Hush,” I said. “It’s not your fault. It never was.”

  May wasn’t to blame. She didn’t choose what she was. She did her best with what she had, and that’s all any of us can do. We’re handed the balance of our blood and the shape of our lives and told to do something with them. May started with nothing but a copy of my past, and became someone I couldn’t have been. The universe made her to show that I was going to die, but she developed a life of her own. She became real.

  We all have our roles to play. Even wayward Fetches with no fashion sense.

  We sat that way for a long time before she asked, “Will it hurt?”

  I hate the hard questions. “I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe you can tell me.”

  “I don’t know, either.” She pulled away. “I think it will. I can almost remember that it will, but it’s not there yet. I can’t know how you’re going to die in time to stop it.”

  “It’s okay,” I said, and I meant it. “I didn’t expect you to know.”

  “Good.” May settled against me, putting her head on my shoulder. “I’m scared.”

  “So am I.” I was starting to cry again, and my head was killing me. I wanted to stay with her and hold her forever, where nothing would ever find or hurt us. I wanted us both to live forever. I just didn’t see any way to make that happen.

  FIFTEEN

  EXHAUSTION CAUGHT UP WITH ME while I was sitting with May; serial killers and sleep deprivation are practically part of my daily life. I woke to the sound of a ringing phone. We’d slept through the dawn, me slumping forward until my elbows rested against my knees, May falling backward to sprawl across the mattress. She looked so damn fragile, one arm thrown over her eyes to block the light.

  “I’ll fix this,” I said, and kissed her forehead before I left the room. I propped the door with a pillow to keep the cats from complaining and still managed to reach the kitchen before the machine picked up. Snatching the receiver from its cradle, I tucked it under my ear and walked toward the kitchen. “It’s Toby.”

  “It’s Connor,” replied the voice on the other end, sounding even wearier than I felt. My breath caught in my chest. I hadn’t realized I was worried about him until I heard his voice. “Are you okay?”

  Connor’s known me longer than almost anybody else. There wasn’t any point in lying to him. “No,” I said. The coffeepot was still half-full. I grabbed a mug and filled it before shoving it into the microwave. Hot coffee. I was not going to survive the day without hot coffee. “You’ve heard?”

  “About Lily? I’ve heard. Luna’s no better, Sylvester’s not talking to anyone, and Rayseline . . . ” He hesitated, taking a breath before he continued, saying, “She’s stalking the battlements looking for victims. It’s like the haunted halls of Elsinore around here.”

  “Did you just make a Hamlet reference?” The microwave beeped, and I pulled out my mug, moving to get the milk from the refrigerator. The clock on the wall told me it was almost noon. “I guess I really am a bad influence on you.”

  “Yeah, I guess you are.”

  A brief silence fell while I prepared my coffee, broken only by the sound of our breathing. Finally, quietly, I asked, “Is Raysel a danger? Do we need to start thinking about getting you and Quentin out of there?”

  Connor smothered a bitter chuckle. “Has Raysel ever not been a danger? But no, I don’t think she’s more dangerous than usual. She’s focusing on things other than the two of us.”

  “Like pinning the attack on Luna on me,” I concluded, before taking a gulp of scalding coffee. “I’m serious. She starts looking like she’s going to hurt one of you, you get the hell out of there.”

  “Why, Toby. I didn’t know you cared.”

  “I never stopped caring.”

  Silence fell between us again, lasting an impossibly long-seeming time before Connor said, “Toby . . . ”

  “I know. We need to talk about it. Can it wait until things are a little less hectic, maybe?”

  “So, fifty years?” Connor laughed again, this time without the undercurrent of bitterness. “It sounds like a plan. I’ll call again if anything changes.”

  “Okay. Stay safe. Please. For me.”

  “I will.” There was a pause where it seemed like he was about to say something else. Then he whispered, “Open roads,” and the connection went dead, leaving the dial tone buzzing in my ear.

  I sipped my coffee as I walked the phone back to its cradle in the hall. That was an interesting way to start the day. At least everyone at Shadowed Hills was still alive. Lily was gone, but Luna still had a chance.

  The phone rang again as soon as I put it down. I snagged it, asking, “What now?”

  “It’s good to see you’ve been taking telephone etiquette lessons from the Luidaeg,” said Tybalt. He sounded exhausted. “Have I called at a bad time?”

  My stomach twisted into a knot as his tone registered. “I don’t think there are any good times left,” I said, walking back toward the kitchen. “Is everything okay?”

  “Intrigued as I am by the fact that you apparently think I’d call when everything was ‘okay,’ I’m afraid I have to answer that in the negative. No. Everything is most assuredly not ‘okay.’ How quickly can you come to the park?”

  “I can be there in half an hour.” I grabbed a thermos from the dish drainer next to the sink, tipping my coffee hastily into it. “Can you hold out that long?”

  Tybalt chuckled humorlessly. “I don’t suppose I have a choice. Hurry, October.” He hesitated before adding, “Please.” The line went dead.

  I stared at the phone before dropping the receiver on the counter and bolting for my bedroom. It only took me a few minutes to get ready. I detoured by the kitchen on my way to the door, grabbing my thermos and a box of Pop-Tarts. I wasn’t hungry. That didn’t mean my body didn’t need to eat. At least spending several hours dozing with May had helped my headache—I could think again, even if I wasn’t happy about the things I had to think about.

  Spike was still huddled on the couch. I paused to run a hand along its back, hoping it would wake up and come with me. The company would have been nice. It made a faint snuffling noise and didn’t move.

  “Okay, buddy” I said, and moved away from my sleeping rose goblin.

  There was an empty duffel bag at the bottom of the closet. I shoved the velvet-swaddled cup into it and tucked it under my arm before pulling the baseball bat from the umbrella stand. My knives were belted at my waist, but there’s something to be said for street-legal weapons and blunt trauma.

  There was a knock at the door.

  I frowned. “Who is it?” Better safe than sorry-you’redead.

  “Manuel.”

  “Manuel?” I dropped the duffel next to the umbrella stand and switched the bat to my left hand before opening the door. Manuel Lorimer was on the porch with his hands shoved into his pockets and his startlingly golden hair almost hidden under a baseball cap. It looked like he was trying to be inconspicuous. It wasn’t working. “Look, Manny, this isn’t a good time—”

  He looked at me challengingly. “Can I come in?”

  I blinked. He’d probably been sent on official business. I thought of human process servers tracking people to their homes, but dismissed the idea. I didn’t think they’d send an untitled ha
lf-blood to arrest me.

  Of course, I’ve been wrong before. “Sure.” I stepped out of the way. “Can I get you some coffee or something?”

  Manuel glared as he stepped inside. “Don’t play nice.”

  I closed the door. “I didn’t think I was playing anything. What do you need? I was on my way out.” I thought of telling him where I was going, and just as quickly thought better of it.

  “The body count isn’t high enough for you?” He looked at me with genuine loathing. “You should’ve stayed in the pond. People die when you’re around.”

  “That’s not fair.”

  “My sister’s blood is on your hands, and you say I’m the one who’s not fair?”

  “How can you say that? Dare died because—” I stopped, forcing myself to take a deep breath before my temper could run away with me. I’ve had the argument with myself a thousand times. I endangered her, I shouldn’t have let her interfere, I should have known better. I always cycle back to Devin. He’d changed while I was away, and I had no way of knowing how deep those changes went until it was too late. “I didn’t kill her. Devin did. He was sick.”

  “He was our guardian!” Manuel shouted, the pretense of rationality dissolving in the face of an anger that had been allowed to fester for far too long.

  That made it strangely easier to stay calm. I don’t like anger, but I understand it. “He used you the way he used everybody else. Dare got in his way. Now please, can we discuss this like adults? My roommate is asleep, and I’d like her to stay that way.”

  “No, I’m not,” said May. I turned to see her leaning against the hallway wall, holding her robe closed with one hand. “Hey, boss. Hey, Manny.”

  “Filth,” Manuel spat. “You’re so in love with death you even let it live with you. You’re disgusting.”

  “I think it’s time for you to leave,” I said, quietly. “I’m not going to let you talk about her that way.”

  He thrust his open hand toward me. “Give me my sister’s knife, and I’ll go.”

  “What?” I stared at him. This conversation was a bit too full of bombshells for my tastes. “You’re kidding.”

  “It was hers. I want it back.” He glared, still holding out his hand. “It was a loan. As her brother, I’m telling you the loan is over. Give it back.”

  “It was a gift,” said May. The conviction in her voice was enough to make us both turn. She shrugged, looking Manuel in the eyes as she said, “Ask the night-haunts if you disagree. Toby can call them for you.”

  His eyes widened, and he looked briefly lost. Then he shifted his attention away from May, focusing on me. I stifled a sigh, seeing where this was about to go. Manuel was on the streets for years before he went to Shadowed Hills, and all Devin’s kids learned how to fight.

  Trouble is, most of them only learned to fight well enough to make it from one day to the next. I was Devin’s favorite for a long time, and I got better lessons than most. I braced myself when I saw Manuel tense, letting the objects I’d been holding fall as he started to charge. He wasn’t expecting my hands to be free; his approach left him no defense against a grapple. I caught his arm, using his own momentum to spin him around and pin him against the wall.

  It was over in seconds. Planting my knee against his back, I said, “I don’t have time to fight you. Do you get that? I refuse to do this when people are dying.”

  He made a thin choking noise. For a moment, I was afraid I was even more out-of-practice than I thought, and that I’d hit him hard enough to hurt him. It was somehow even worse when I realized he was crying.

  I dropped my foot to the floor and let go of his elbow, stepping back. He stumbled away from me, fumbling for the doorknob.

  “You’ll be sorry you ever touched me,” he said.

  “Go back to Shadowed Hills, Manuel. It’s over.”

  “It’s not over!” He wrenched the door open. “It’s not. You’ll pay.”

  “Whatever.” I closed the door behind him and started retrieving my things. The thermos had rolled halfway under the couch. Thank Maeve for locking lids; if I’d been forced to leave the house without coffee, someone would have died. “May? You okay?”

  “Yeah.” She tossed something at me. I caught it automatically with my free hand, and almost laughed when I saw what I was holding.

  A bottle of Tylenol.

  May smiled when I looked up. “I’m getting your headaches now, too. Try keeping it to a dull roar until you dodge certain death, okay?”

  “Okay,” I said, solemnly. “May—”

  “I know.” Manuel danced with Raysel at the Ball; if she really wanted me blamed for the attack on her mother, having my knife to plant in a convenient place wouldn’t be the worst approach. “Just get moving.”

  “All right,” I said, opened the door, and left.

  My headache was bad enough to make spinning an illusion a bad idea. I scurried to the car with my hair pulled over my ears, wishing like hell that I didn’t feel like there was something shameful in being myself. I’ve spent my whole life being ashamed of what I am. There’s no place in the human world for fae, and no place in the fae world for humans. I just wish they’d stop trying to meet in the middle. It’s too hard on the kids.

  I opened the Pop-Tarts after tucking the baseball bat and duffel bag behind the seat. The smell of powdery sugar and fake fruit filled the car. I took a massive bite from the first pseudo-pastry, stuck the key into the ignition, and drove.

  Distance was making it easier to think about what was going on. Lily was an untitled landholder; her death was tragic, but it wouldn’t inspire the nobility to lead a manhunt. Luna was a Duchess. If she died, the game would change completely. Poison doesn’t break Oberon’s law unless somebody dies. There are circles where putting your enemies to sleep for a thousand years is perfectly normal.

  “What the hell kind of game is Oleander trying to play?” I muttered, washing down my Pop-Tart with a swig of coffee. Did she just want to hurt me, or did she have a bigger plan? It couldn’t be coincidence that both people who’d been attacked were ones I loved but could easily have hated. If you didn’t know me, you’d almost expect me to hate them. If Oleander was targeting me, she was doing it the right way. She was keeping me off-balance and had a good shot at getting me executed. Bully for her.

  If anyone would know how to poison an Undine, it was Oleander. Poisons have always been her trademark. The question was really “what did she expect to gain?” The entire Torquill family had good reason to hate her. She stole Raysel’s childhood, and stole her sanity in the process. There was no way—

  My hands tightened on the steering wheel as a chilling thought struck me. Raysel was insane, and she wasn’t surprised to hear that her mother was sick. Was she that crazy? Or was she the one who let Oleander into the knowe? It was a horrible idea, but I couldn’t afford to dismiss it out of hand. Raysel wanted the Duchy; this might be the fastest way to get it, if she was crazy enough to work with Oleander. If.

  Was I paranoid enough to imagine a conspiracy between my liege-lord’s daughter and the woman who tried to kill me sixteen years ago? More importantly, could I afford not to be that paranoid?

  Some idiot in an SUV pulled out in front of me. I swerved, swearing, and managed to dump the rest of my coffee on the seat, where it immediately soaked into the upholstery. “This day had better not get any worse,” I snarled, resolving to swing through the first drivethrough I passed and buy an entire gallon of coffee. Without it, I doubted I’d survive to see the sun go down.

  Still swearing, surrounded by the taunting smell of the spilled coffee, I drove on.

  SIXTEEN

  IT TOOK LONGER TO REACH GOLDEN GATE park than it should have, largely because the tourists were out in force. I wasn’t sure whether they were more annoying in their cars, where they missed lights and tried to drive the wrong way down one-way streets, or out of their cars, where they jaywalked with suicidal abandon. I settled for “yes.” More and more, I’ve come to app
reciate the fact that the fae are naturally nocturnal. It lets me live in San Francisco and still avoid all the damn tourists. Most of the time.

  I managed to get to the park without having an accident or giving in to the siren song of road rage. My headache actually helped, since it required me to focus on the road, keeping me too distracted to get really pissed. The pounding was back at full force, and had lasted way too long to be magic-burn—not that I’d cast any large spells recently. It was the sort of thing that would normally send me running for Lily. As it was . . .

  I shivered, and pushed the thought away.

  The parking lot nearest the Tea Gardens was packed with tourists, some of whom had managed to take up two or more spaces with their outsized SUVs. I indulged in some good, old-fashioned swearing as I drove around the pavilion to park in the shadows next to the snack bar dumpsters. The smell of cooking oil and decaying vegetation assaulted my nostrils as soon as I stopped the engine. Swell. Just swell.

  The pain in my head was bad enough to make me unsure of my ability to cast an illusion without some sort of help. Thankfully, Devin was firm that all his kids would understand how to use hedge magic and “cheap tricks”—just in case.

  “You always did know best, you old bastard,” I muttered, digging the bottle of marsh water and crushed mint leaves out of the glove compartment. I always keep one in the car. Just in case.

  I squirted water around the inside of my car until I was nearly gagging on the smell of mint. My magic rose with sullen sluggishness, sending a warning bolt of pain through my temples. I did my best to ignore it, closing my eyes and chanting, rapidly, “Pussy-cat, pussy-cat, where have you been? I’ve been to London, to visit the Queen. Pussy-cat, pussy-cat, what did you there—

  The spell burst without my telling it to, leaving me sticky with marsh water and mint. My head hurt worse than ever. “I frightened a little mouse under her chair,” I said, half-gasping, and dropped the bottle, reaching up with one shaking hand to feel the curvature of my ear. Round. Whether it was a good idea or not, the spell was cast. Now I just needed to get to Tybalt and find out what the hell was going on.