Late Eclipses

by Seanan McGuire

  “It’s okay. Truth is better.” He managed a wan smile, fangs showing through his fading human disguise. “I should go. I’m helping Uncle Tybalt with everyone.”

  “Right.” His dignity was already wounded; he needed to go and soothe it before it died. “You’d better go. Call the apartment if you need anything. May will be there even if I’m not.”

  “Okay.” He stood, melting into the shadows before I could say good-bye. That was fine with me; I wasn’t up for many more good-byes.

  I finished my coffee and tossed the empty cup into the nearest trashcan before tucking the tainted meat under my arm and walking back to the snack bar. I was trying to review what had happened without dwelling on it. It wasn’t working. I kept picturing Opal and her kittens, or Raj and his parents. The worst was the thought of Tybalt, somehow sick like the rest. The image sent shivers down my spine.

  The crowd at the snack bar had scattered, dispersing to do whatever it is tourists do when they’re not getting in my way. A breeze caressed the back of my neck as I circled the building to reach my car. The scents the wind carried were enough to make my nose itch. It smelled of roses, violets, fresh grass, and oleanders, all undercut with the distinct, deadly tang of sulfuric acid.

  I stiffened. The car doors were unlocked—I’d been in such a hurry to get out and puke that I hadn’t been as careful as usual. That was actually a good thing, just now. I dropped the meat on the passenger seat and pulled my baseball bat out of the back, every movement deliberate. My headache was fading, and my mind was clear; I didn’t want to kill her if I had a choice. The last of my mercy died with Opal’s kittens. I wanted to see Oleander stand trial and face the immortal, unforgiving judgment of the fae.

  A footstep scuffed the asphalt behind me. I whirled, falling into a defensive posture. I was ready for anything she could throw at me.

  There was no one there.

  “What the—” I could still smell the distinctive taint of her magic on the wind. So where the hell was she?

  Someone started to clap. I turned, holding the bat in front of me, to see Oleander standing in front of my car. She was totally relaxed, resting her elbows on the hood as she applauded. “Well done, October,” she said. “You still react without stopping to think.”

  “I’ll work on that,” I said, eyes narrowing. It was probably too much to hope that she’d stay where she was long enough for me to get behind the wheel and run her over.

  “See that you do.” She smiled. “You’re no challenge like this.”

  “Playing with your food?”

  “Are you surprised?”

  “I suppose not.”

  “Of course not. There’s no free will in Faerie—isn’t that what you children of Oberon say?” Her smile widened. “Blood will tell, isn’t it?”

  She was right about that: blood will tell, and Oleander told the story of the Peri in every snake-supple gesture and poisoned-sugar smile. Peri live in the high deserts, keeping their distance from the rest of Faerie, and Faerie doesn’t mind. They’re instinctively cruel, geared toward a type of sadism even monsters find hard to bear. By all rights, we should’ve cut off contact with them centuries ago.

  There’s just one problem: Peri are evil, but they’re also beautiful. The fae are as easily distracted as everyone else, and sometimes we only see the beauty, not what’s lurking underneath it. A Tuatha de Dannan got distracted by that beauty once, and Oleander was the result.

  “I’m not sure I want to know the story your blood’s telling.” There was no way I could get around the car fast enough to catch her. I needed her to come out into the open.

  “But it’s a lovely tale, all death and treachery.” She dropped her chin into her cupped hand. “Did you think I was an illusion, little girl?”

  “I was starting to.” I still wasn’t sure either way. If I’d chased an illusion through the botanical gardens, I could easily be talking to another one.

  “How do you know I’m not?” she asked, and vanished.

  “I don’t.” I circled the car. There was no sign that she’d been there at all. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Such petulance doesn’t suit a woman of your rank, Countess.” I turned toward the sound of her voice. She was standing behind me, arms folded across her chest. “What’s it like to wear a dead woman’s title? Do you finally feel like one of us?”

  “Leave Evening out of this.” I wasn’t sure I was talking to a real person, but I was becoming more convinced that the illusionist was Oleander. That was reassuring, in its way. I wasn’t losing my mind. Just my friends.

  “You’re not one of us. You’ll be mongrel scum until you die. Thank your mother for that, if you see her again before you go.” She was casting a shadow. Illusions don’t cast shadows unless the caster is smart enough to create one, and they don’t move naturally. Her shadow moved like any other.

  “Why did you kill Lily?” I asked, trying not to look at that telltale shadow.

  “So you’re sure of your villain, are you? Why would I kill your little Undine, I wonder?” Her tone was almost playful. “Did you know ‘Lily’ wasn’t her real name? She used that so the Americans could pronounce it. Her name was Katai Suiyou—‘honorable willow.’ Did you call her by name before she died?”

  The truth is sometimes the most effective weapon. I hadn’t known that, and I’d never tried to find out. I squared my shoulders, drawing myself to my full height. She barely came up to my chin. It wasn’t much of an advantage, but it was what I had. “Don’t talk about Lily.”

  “Or you’ll do what? Cry? Beg for mercy? Murder another one of your friends? Really, I can’t wait to see what you’ll do next.”

  That was all I could take. I lunged—

  —and grabbed empty air. I whirled, already searching for her as I tried to figure out what was going on. She’d been casting a shadow! The Tuatha can teleport, but I’d never heard of Oleander possessing that particular talent. Faerie magic matures as people get older, but it usually stops after the first century or two; adults rarely develop new gifts. So if she wasn’t an illusion, what did her disappearances mean?

  Oberon help me, I was afraid to find out.

  “Surely you’ve figured it out by now.” She was ten feet away, smirking. Her clothes had become skintight and a decade and a half out of fashion—the outfit she wore the day I caught her in the Tea Gardens. “You’re not that stupid.”

  “Figured what out?” I asked, resisting the urge to charge her again.

  Her smile faded. “You have to know I’m not here, October. Do you think I’d endanger myself to get back at you?”

  “What are you saying?” I asked, around the sinking numbness in my stomach. My head was starting to pound again. I knew what she was trying to tell me.

  I didn’t want to hear it.

  “Do I need to spell it out? Fine, then. I’m. Not. Real.” She vanished. She cast a shadow. But when April O’Leary—the only teleporter I knew who didn’t open some sort of visible door—moved like that, there was a flare of ozone and a rush of displaced air. When Oleander did it, there was nothing but emptiness. She wasn’t there.

  Her voice came from behind me: “You’re a changeling. You knew this would come.”

  “I’m not crazy,” I said. I wasn’t sure which of us was lying, and that was the worst part: the uncertainty. Because her words didn’t sound false to me.

  “So why am ‘I’ only targeting your friends? Why would ‘I’ do such a thing? You did it, all of it. It’s happened. You’ve gone over the edge.” She giggled. “Devin did it. Gordan did it. Even your mother did it—she’s as crazy as any changeling. It comes of confusion in the blood, and she was always confused. Falling doesn’t hurt you. Just the people you care about, and once you’ve fallen far enough, they won’t matter.”

  “You’re lying! ” I whirled. I was half-blind with tears, but I knew where she was standing. I could grab her before she had a chance to run.

  There was no one there.
>
  EIGHTEEN

  THE BASEBALL BAT SLIPPED FROM MY nerveless fingers, clattering against the ground. The noise was enough to break the haze and let me start moving. It was also enough to let me start thinking again. Taken together, those two things weren’t much of a mercy.

  I dropped to my knees, barely noticing the gravel biting through the thin denim of my jeans. I was alone, just like I’d been in the botanical gardens, just like I’d been on the terrace with Luna. I was alone, and Oleander . . . she had to be lying. If I was losing my mind—if I was the one doing these terrible things—I’d know. Wouldn’t I?

  Footsteps approached from behind me. I stood, slamming my back against the side of the car. The man who’d been jogging toward me stopped, expression concerned. “Miss? Are you all right?”

  “I—what?” I couldn’t see an illusion-haze around him; that was good. It meant he was probably human, and mankind’s instinctive tendency to ignore the fae would protect me if I could get him to stop focusing on me. Unfortunately, the words to reassure him wouldn’t come. I’ve always been good with words, and they’d deserted me. “I’m fine.”

  “I’m Paul,” he said, holding his hands out in the palms-upward gesture men always seem to use with distressed women they don’t know. I tentatively filed him under the mental category of “harmless.” My panic was fading, replaced by numb focus distorted by the pounding in my head. “Did something happen? Should I go for help?”

  “I’m fine,” I repeated. People need to be reassured; he’d leave when he was sure I wasn’t hurt. He’d probably be glad his good deed had been so easy. “It was the heat.”

  That was an answer he could understand. He offered a relieved smile. “It’s getting warmer. You shouldn’t be wearing that coat, especially if you’re going to park your car back here near the vents. Be more careful, okay?”

  I forced myself to smile. The numbness made it easier. “Sure thing. I’ll head straight home and change.”

  “Good.” Turning, he jogged on toward the parking lot. I waited until he was out of sight before bolting for the botanical gardens, heading for the hawthorns where the shadows would be deepest.

  Oleander was a liar. I knew that . . . but suppose, just suppose that “she” was a figment of my imagination, a little part of me trying to tell myself the truth. If I was going crazy—if I was losing time—I didn’t know it. But that didn’t make it impossible.

  Luck was with me in at least one regard: I didn’t see any tourists as I ran to my destination. The day was bright enough that even the shadows around the hawthorns were shallow, and they didn’t part at my approach. I had no key to the Cait Sidhe kingdom. I didn’t know how to get their attention, but I had nowhere else to go, and nothing else to try. I flung myself at the bushes, beating my fists against the thorns.

  “Tybalt!” Maybe I was going crazy and maybe I wasn’t, but there was a killer on the loose and I didn’t know what to do. Worse, I didn’t know whether that killer was me. I needed Tybalt, and I needed him now, because I trusted him enough to let him be the one to decide whether he couldn’t trust me anymore.

  I called his name until the words were gone and there was nothing left but sobbing, and still I kept beating my hands against the thorns. My head was killing me, and I couldn’t think, and I was so scared . . .

  Tybalt’s hands gripped my shoulders, pulling me away from the hawthorns. I didn’t question how he’d managed to get behind me; I just huddled against him and cried, cradling my bloody hands in my lap. He plucked the twigs out of my hair, one by one, before putting a hand under my chin and turning my face toward him.

  And then he slapped me.

  I clapped a hand over my cheek and stared at him, ignoring the blood covering my fingers. Blood’s something I can always understand, even if I hate the sight of my own. Tybalt gave me an impassive look. “Are you done, or should I come back later?”

  “What . . . ”

  More gently, he said, “We don’t have time for you to fall apart. Raj said he spoke to you; you helped him feel better. Why are you like this now? What happened?”

  “I—” I licked my lips. They tasted like blood. That steadied me a little. Blood generally does. “I saw Oleander.”

  “What?” His eyes narrowed. For a moment he was the Tybalt I’d always known—cold and predatory. It was oddly reassuring. “Where?”

  I pointed to the dumpsters, and he took off at a run. I levered myself off the ground and followed, more slowly. He was crouching next to my car when I caught up with him, letting a handful of gravel and broken glass trickle through his fingers. “Are you sure this is where she was?” he asked. His tone was soft and distracted.

  “I’m sure.”

  “I see.” He stood. “Toby . . . ”

  “Stop, please.” I held up my hand, looking away. “Don’t say it.”

  “If she’d been here, I’d smell her. I can smell you—I can smell how scared you were—but not her.” He paused. “Oleander hasn’t been anywhere near here.”

  “She was here,” I said, balling my hands into fists. “I saw her.”

  “Look at me. She wasn’t here.” I turned back to him, flinching at the look in his eyes. He was scared. I could see it in his face. Did he know that I was going crazy? Worse, did he know I was already too far gone to save?

  “Then she was right. I’m crazy.” I started laughing helplessly.

  “Please.” He sounded like he was on the verge of panic. I was right there with him. “You’re not making sense.”

  “She wasn’t here, and that means I’m crazy, and I killed them. I killed them all.” My hands were starting to shake. I realized the rest of me was shaking, too. “You can’t trust me. She wasn’t here. I did it all.”

  “Toby—”

  “Will you kill me, Tybalt? May said I’d die soon. I didn’t think it would be now, but that’s okay.” Laughter overwhelmed me, threatening to turn into sobs.

  “October, listen!” He grabbed my wrists, forcing my hands open. “You can’t break down on me. My people need you. Raj needs you. I need you.”

  “But how do you know you can trust me? How do you know I—”

  “I know because I know.” His claws dug into my wrists, not quite hard enough to break the skin. “Maybe she wasn’t here physically, but there are other ways of being places. Oleander is half-Peri. She has more tricks up her sleeves than just the standard parlor games and illusions.” He shook me slightly. Somehow, that stopped my own shaking. “I know because I know.”

  “I . . . you’re right. If I’m going crazy, why see Oleander, not Devin or Gordan? Even Simon would make more sense. This is too real. It can’t be entirely me.”

  “You’re a lot of things, Toby, but I promise, you’re not crazy.”

  “She has to have been here, somehow. Are her illusions that strong?” Maybe I wasn’t crazy. Maybe I just needed to kick Oleander’s ass. “The Peri do a lot with illusions, but she was casting a shadow.”

  “We don’t know what she’s capable of.”

  “You’re right.” I nodded, and then yanked my hands out of his as the pressure of his fingers finally registered. “Ow! That hurts!”

  “I’m sure it does,” he said, smiling. The panic in his eyes was gone; he was looking at me again, not some possible, dreaded future.

  “I guess that means I’m still alive.” And being alive meant having options.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Do?” I looked up at him. He was still smiling, and somehow, that made me feel better. The world was falling apart, but Tybalt could find something to smile about, even if I wasn’t sure what it was. “I’m going to finish this.”

  “How?”

  It was a good question. “Remember Walther, the chemistry teacher from—” I swallowed “from Lily’s Court” before I quite said it, substituting, “—from the Tea Gardens?” Tybalt nodded, and I continued, “I’m going to take him your meat, and the cup Luna drank from just before she collapsed.
He can check for traces of poison and try to devise some possible treatments.”

  “What then?”

  “When we have the results, I’ll contact you and Sylvester to let you know. Will you make me a promise?”

  He froze, mouth tightening as he realized what I was about to ask. Slowly, he nodded. “Yes. But I don’t want to.”

  “I know. I still need you to promise.”

  “Tell me what you want me to promise.”

  “I think you know.”

  “So say it, and let me be sure.” His shoulders were hunched, braced against my request. It was almost funny. There was a time when I’d have expected him to celebrate what I was about to ask, not turn away from it.

  People change. “If it turns out it’s not Oleander—she’s just a hallucination, and it really was me who did all these horrible things—I need you to kill me, because I think we’ve reached the point where I can’t be trusted to do it myself. Will you do it? If I’ve snapped, will you kill me?”

  He raised a hand, pressing it against my cheek. Something told me if I spoke before he did, he’d refuse me and walk away. I didn’t want that. So I stood there, and I watched him, and I waited.

  Finally, his voice pitched so low I’d have missed it if I were any farther away, Tybalt said, “Yes. If you’ve lost your mind, I’ll kill you. Just me, and no one else. I’ll take you to the place that no one leaves, and I’ll take you there alone.”

  I frowned, studying his expression. There was something there that I didn’t quite understand. Still . . . “I owe you for this.”

  “You owe me for allowing you to ask.” He pulled his hand away and shook himself, like he was trying to get water off his skin.

  “Tybalt . . . ”

  “We’re wasting time. We need to get your hands taken care of before you go.” He turned and stalked toward the Tea Gardens. I hesitated before following. I owed him. If I wanted him to kill me, I was going to need to wash my hands.

  NINETEEN

  NOT EVEN MARCIA’S BEST EFFORTS had done more than dull the pain in my hands. That was another complication for the denizens of the Tea Gardens—Undine can’t teach their natural skills, and without Lily, they didn’t have a healer. The Court of Cats wasn’t in a position to be much help. Cait Sidhe are better at hurting than they are at healing.