Late Eclipses

by Seanan McGuire

  I was faintly dizzy from pain, which didn’t make it any easier to get out of the car. I staggered the few feet between my bumper and the back of the snack bar, barely catching myself against the wall before I was enthusiastically and messily sick. So much for actually eating something.

  “Dammit,” I mumbled, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. That didn’t do anything about the taste. Well, I knew how to deal with that.

  I was waiting for my coffee at the snack bar’s pick-up window when the familiar scent of pennyroyal rose behind me, which could only mean one thing: Tybalt in a recently-crafted human disguise.

  “I was on my way to meet you,” I said.

  “Did I sound overly relaxed on the phone, or did you simply choose to ignore the fact that I was requesting your help?” His voice was tight with anger, making him sound cold and distant. It took a moment to realize why that was so familiar.

  That’s how he used to talk to me all the time.

  When given a choice between confusion and irritation, I’ll almost always go with irritation. It’s easier to deal with. “Neither,” I said, stepping up to claim my coffee from the teenage attendant. He gave me an uneasy look. My strained smile didn’t make him look any calmer.

  “So what possible motive can I assign to this little detour?” asked Tybalt.

  “How about ‘Toby was just vilely ill, and didn’t want to have puke-breath when she showed up at your place’?” I asked, turning to face him. “Call it a matter of etiquette, and let it go, okay?”

  Tybalt glared at me, arms folded over his chest. His human disguise was a good one, smoothing away the black streaks in his hair and adding an overlay of hazel to his overly-green eyes. It wouldn’t have fooled me for a second. He could look like a man, but he’d always move like a cat.

  “Your opinions of proper behavior are always fascinating,” he said finally, shaking his head. “It’s no matter. Come along.”

  “What?”

  “You’re not that dense. Now come.” He turned and stalked away, forcing me to scramble after him. I don’t usually have trouble keeping up with Tybalt, but I had to pace him at a jog, making it impossible to drink my coffee.

  We crossed the parking lot to the botanical gardens. Tybalt stopped at the hawthorn bushes. I did the same, taking the opportunity to down half my coffee, and didn’t see him reaching for me until he grabbed my arm. “Hey, what are you—” I managed. Then the world went black and freezing cold.

  I swore inwardly, fighting to keep from breathing. Maybe Cait Sidhe are comfortable on the Shadow Roads, but I’m not, and I don’t appreciate being pulled onto them without my consent. We fell through darkness for some unmeasured time—long enough for me to realize this wasn’t the road I’d walked with him before, this was something new—before we tumbled into the light.

  Tybalt caught me before I hit the ground. My coffee wasn’t so lucky; it fell from my hand, landing with a “thud” that meant the contents were no longer liquid. “Are you all right?” Tybalt asked.

  I staggered away from him, glaring. “Why did you do that?”

  “I needed to get you to my Court.”

  “There wasn’t an easier way? Like a door?”

  “Not to get you this deep.” He sounded more like the Tybalt I’d grown used to now that we were in his Court. I wasn’t sure how reassuring that really was. “I’m sorry, but the other roads would all have taken too long.”

  “This deep?” I echoed. Abandoning my glare, I looked slowly around.

  The hall was wider than it was tall; I could have reached up and touched the ceiling. Tattered lengths of silk and velvet hung from the walls. Muddy foot- and paw-prints marred the gray marble floor. This wasn’t the Court of Cats I knew. This was something else. “Tybalt?” I glanced back to him. “Where are we?”

  “When Faerie was divided, Oberon gave the lost places of the world to the Cait Sidhe,” Tybalt said, falling into the strange half-cadence almost all purebloods use for reciting history. It couldn’t overcome the weariness increasingly coloring his voice. “The hidden halls and shadowed corners are ours. We hold Court in alleys and groves, plain to all eyes, but we live in the places that have been forgotten.”

  My gut clenched as I realized what he was saying. “This isn’t the Court of Cats. This is your Kingdom.”

  “Yes,” he said, with a tiny smile. “It is.”

  “Why are you telling me this? Why am I here?”

  “I’m telling you because you need to know, and because you’re the first child of Oberon to walk here since I claimed my throne.” He shook his head. “There was a mortal woman here once. But that was years ago, and there have been none of any fae line but the Cait Sidhe. Bringing you here would be treason if I weren’t King.”

  “But you are King.”

  “I suppose that means it’s just foolish. Now come.” He grabbed my hand, pulling me down the hall. My footsteps echoed on the marble. His made no sound.

  We passed through an arched doorway into a hall with walls of golden wood. Tall windows were spaced every few feet. I glanced through one into a ballroom full of broken, mismatched furniture. The angle of the view was somehow wrong, like the rooms had been shoved together through a bend in space. Tybalt pulled me through another door and into a massive room with a domed ceiling. It looked like a church. A pile of wooden benches was heaped against one wall, adding credence to the theory.

  I pulled my hand free and stopped, staring. “Oh, sweet rowan . . . ”

  The floor was obscured by dozens of makeshift pallets, each one holding an unmoving Cait Sidhe. Some of the Cait Sidhe were in human form. Others were cats, and more were caught between shapes, blending human and feline features in ways that were simply wrong. The only sounds were groans and muffled whimpers, and the air was filled with the stench of sickness.

  My life has left me far too familiar with death. I know what it looks like, what it smells like; the flat, tinny taste of it. And there was death in the air all around us.

  “This is what I wanted you to see,” Tybalt said. “Now do you understand why I’m willing to break my own laws?”

  I gave him a startled look. He looked back, some desperate, unexpressed hope in his eyes. I didn’t know what he wanted from me. I just had to try to give it to him.

  I crossed to the nearest prone Cait Sidhe and knelt, pressing my fingers against his throat. His skin was hot, and his pulse was irregular enough to feel like it might stop at any moment. I studied his face, noting the tabby pattern on his cheeks and forehead. His features were rough-hewn, lacking the beauty of the Cait Sidhe nobles: he was a back-alley scrapper, not a show cat. My breath caught. “Gabriel?”

  “And Louis, and half the rest of my guard,” Tybalt said. “This is just one room. We’ve filled three.”

  “Oh, oak and ash.” I straightened, looking around. I could see at least twenty Cait Sidhe, from men Gabriel’s size to kittens no bigger than my fist. Three rooms like this? That made at least sixty—and that was just the sick ones. I hadn’t realized there were so many Cait Sidhe in the Bay Area. The fae cats guard their numbers carefully, but still. How big was Tybalt’s kingdom?

  I crossed to a pallet occupied by a white cat and two tiny tabby kittens. She roused herself enough to hiss when I reached for the smaller kitten. I stopped, hand outstretched, and said, “I’m not going to hurt your babies.”

  The cat looked at me before turning to Tybalt.

  “It’s all right, Opal,” he said. “I trust her.”

  She flattened her ears at that, but didn’t stop me as I scooped the kitten into my hand and stroked it with one finger, noting the unsteadiness of its breath. It panted, tiny legs making swimming motions against my palm. It was fighting to hold on, but I didn’t know how much longer it could last.

  “What happened?” I asked, looking up.

  Tybalt reached over and took the kitten, cradling it against his chest. It relaxed, nuzzling his sleeve. “Someone poisoned the food supply,” he s
aid. “The nobility hunts; our subjects are fed, either from our kills or from supplemental food we purchase from local shops. They eat better and with more dignity when they hunt for themselves, but no one goes hungry. It’s part of my duty as King.”

  “Who eats the food that you provide?”

  “My guards, when they’re on duty; they don’t have time to hunt. Nursing mothers, the young, the injured. All the weakest and most vulnerable of my subjects.”

  “And someone poisoned them.”

  “Yes.” His expression was pained. “The nursing children collapsed first. We didn’t know why. By the time we understood, even the strongest had succumbed.”

  “The children . . . ” My breath caught again. “Is Raj all right? Is he here?”

  He shook his head. “Raj will be King someday. He hunts for himself.”

  I nodded, not bothering to conceal my relief as I reached down and ran a hand over Opal’s side. She stayed limp, not reacting. I reached for the second kitten, and froze, hand still outstretched. “Tybalt?”

  “What is it?” He crouched, putting the first kitten next to its mother. I indicated its sibling. His face went blank. “Oh. I see.”

  I bit my lip. “Is it . . . ?”

  Opal raised her head, eyes half-open and pleading. Tybalt shook his head and rose, folding his hands around the kitten as he lifted it away from her. “Opal, I . . . I’m sorry. I regret your loss.” Opal moaned and closed her eyes, putting her head down.

  I rose, putting my hand on Tybalt’s shoulder. Not looking at me, he said, “She and Gabriel married two hundred years ago; this was their first litter. They may never have another, even if they both survive. Two hundred years to produce four kittens, all born alive and perfect.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I whispered.

  “I’ve lost six of my people since last night. I don’t know how many will follow. How can I tell Gabriel his children are gone? How can I claim to be a good King to Opal when I provided the meat that killed her family?” He raised his head, pupils narrowed to thin slits. “I don’t know how to stop this. I don’t know what to do.”

  I didn’t think before I acted; I just put my arms around his shoulders, squeezing before I said, “I don’t know, either. That doesn’t matter. We’re going to stop this. I can’t bring back the dead, but I can help you avenge them.”

  He stared at me, hands still cupping the kitten. I reddened and let go, stepping away. Voice soft, he said, “If you do this, I’ll owe you a debt I can never repay.”

  “You won’t owe me a thing. I refuse to believe there’s more than one person targeting the people I care about. This is my fight.” I looked around the room again, resisting the urge to comfort him. “Six dead. Two more rooms like this. Is any of the meat left? I was getting ready to go have Walther analyze some samples when you called. I can ask him to do a little more.”

  “What’s left of the meat is in the alley. The children collapsed halfway through the meal; Gabriel and Louis called me before they succumbed.”

  “Good.” I paused. “Where’s Julie? She should’ve attacked me by now.”

  “Julie?” Tybalt sighed. “She’s not nobility, Toby. She eats with the Court.”

  “Oh, Maeve.” I closed my eyes. “Dammit, Julie.”

  “Come on.” Tybalt put his hand on my shoulder. When I opened my eyes, he nodded toward the door. “I’ll get you out of here. Raj will bring you the meat.”

  “What about the baby?” I asked. The kitten was still cradled against his chest.

  “I’ll leave him for the night-haunts.” He started walking. “He was one of us. Even if it was only for a little while.”

  I trailed behind him, breathing shallowly as I tried to get the taste of death out of my mouth. Tybalt didn’t speak, and so neither did I; we walked through the patchwork halls in silence, both trying not to look at the kitten lying limply in his hand. There were tears on his cheeks. I tried not to look at them, either.

  And then he took my hand, and we stepped into the shadows, leaving the Kingdom of the Cats behind us.

  SEVENTEEN

  ISAT ON A BENCH NEAR THE LAKE, drinking a fresh cup of coffee as I waited for Raj. The sun glittering off the water made it seem transparent and impossibly blue at the same time. Most of California gets too hot in May, but not San Francisco; the “perfect summers” they talk about in movies really happen here. I wished I’d thought to bring bread for the ducks. It was a stupid, escapist idea, but it was a beautiful day, and my head hurt, and I was so tired of running.

  A fat gray goose waddled over, webbed feet slapping the ground, and gave me an inquisitive look. “Sorry, no bread,” I said. It flapped its wings, spraying water in my eyes. It stung. I wiped my face dry, laughing. “I guess I deserved that, huh?”

  Something in the bushes rustled. The goose hissed, neck snaking out, before waddling away. I stiffened, forcing myself not to turn around. Humans notice beautiful days, too, and the park was full of tourists. Stabbing one of them wouldn’t help.

  “Hello,” I said. “I’m in a pretty rotten mood, so you might want to move along. And I don’t have any spare change.”

  “I . . . ” The speaker paused, clearing his throat. “I don’t want any spare change.”

  I knew that voice. I turned, flashing a small, tired smile. “Hi, Raj.”

  “Hi.” Raj stepped out of the bushes, clutching a package wrapped in white butcher paper against his chest. His human disguise was flickering, barely covering the points of his ears. He hadn’t bothered to hide the circles around his eyes or the tearstains on his cheeks. With half the Court down for the count, Tybalt had to have been working him pretty hard. Just another consequence of being a prince, but one I was glad I didn’t have to bear.

  “Is that the meat that got everyone sick?” I asked.

  “Yeah.” He held out the package, eyes wide and vacant. I’d seen that look on his face before, when he thought we were going to die in Blind Michael’s lands. “He said to let us know if you need more. There isn’t much, but he won’t get rid of it until you say you don’t need it.”

  “Good.” I took the package, putting it down on the bench. “Are you all right?”

  He glanced away. “I’m fine.”

  “You don’t sound fine.” I studied his face. “Is Tybalt working you too hard? Do you need me to talk to him?”

  “It’s my duty as Prince to follow my King’s commands.” He should have sounded proud when he said that. He didn’t. He just sounded numb.

  “Hey, if Tybalt’s being a dick, tell your parents you need him to lay off and let you get some sleep. They’ll talk to him.” He froze, and I realized what the missing piece had to be. “Raj, are your parents . . . ”

  He stared at me before crumpling to the bench, already sobbing. I put my arms around him, and he clung to them like they were the only anchor he had, crying even harder. I started stroking his hair. I know what it’s like to lose someone; the last thing you need when you’re grieving is some well-meaning moron telling you it’s going to be all right. It’s not going to be all right. It’s never going to be all right again.

  Raj cried for a good fifteen minutes before he pulled away, stiffening. I shook my head, leaning over to brush his bangs out of his eyes. “You don’t have to do that,” I said. “I don’t mind.”

  “I’m not supposed to cry,” he said, in a dull, wounded voice. “Princes don’t cry.”

  “Did Tybalt tell you that?” There was a time when I wouldn’t have asked. I was learning I didn’t understand Tybalt as well as I’d always assumed I did.

  He shook his head. “It was my father.”

  “Your father?” I echoed, irrationally pleased to hear that it hadn’t been Tybalt.

  “He says I’ll never be King if I’m weak enough to cry.”

  I frowned. “Crying isn’t weak. It’s good sense. It means you know it’s all right to mourn the dead and let them go.”

  “I guess,” he said, looking down. “If you s
ay so. But he said I shouldn’t.”

  “I do say so.” I paused. “If your father’s alive—”

  “My mother.” He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “Her blood was weak. She was a pureblood, but she wasn’t strong. That’s why I was such a surprise. She couldn’t even be human when she was pregnant with me, because she was so weak.”

  “I’ve known some people like that,” I said. “Being a pureblood doesn’t always mean you’ll have strong magic.” Usually, but not always.

  “You have to have strong magic to be noble, and she didn’t,” he said, huddling against me again. “She almost always hunted, because she was proud. But she got hit by a car a week ago, and her leg was broken, and so . . . ” He stopped.

  “So she ate the tainted meat with the others,” I finished softly.

  “Yeah. She fell down, and she wouldn’t open her eyes, and we called Uncle Tybalt, but he . . . he . . . ”

  “He couldn’t wake her, either.”

  Sniffling, Raj nodded. “Dad was holding her, and she just stopped. She wasn’t supposed to stop. We’re supposed to live forever. Aren’t we?”

  “We’re supposed to, but sometimes it doesn’t work that way.” Not for Raj’s mother, or for Lily, or Evening. Maybe not for any of us.

  “Will I live forever?”

  I paused, looking at him. His eyes were wide, earnest, and glossy with tears. He’d believe whatever I told him. He was offering me the chance to soothe away his fears, if I’d just lie to him. And I couldn’t do it. Sometimes I hate my sense of honor.

  “You might not,” I said. “The only way to be sure you’d live forever would be to stay in the Summerlands and lock the doors so nothing could ever touch you. But I don’t think that’s living. Do you?”

  He frowned, considering. “No. I don’t think it is.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. There are some truths you shouldn’t be forced to learn, and that’s one of them. But he asked, and I couldn’t lie to him.