Late Eclipses

by Seanan McGuire

  “Good.” I shuddered.

  “You must’ve been hell as a kid,” he said, turning to drop the test tube into a rack. “I’d have hated being your family doctor. Imagine trying to give you a shot!”

  “I mostly grew up in the Summerlands.”

  “That explains a few things.” He added some clear liquid to the test tube, flicking it gently with his forefinger. “What and where have you eaten today?”

  “A few Pop-Tarts and some coffee, in the car. May made the coffee. Oh, and some coffee from the snack bar in Golden Gate Park, but I didn’t get to drink much of that before Tybalt froze it solid.” I paused. “Long story.”

  Walther looked up. “I’ll take your word for that. You said May made the first batch of coffee—you mean your Fetch?” I nodded. He frowned. “She lives with you?”

  “Why not? She pays half the rent, and she does dishes.”

  “But isn’t she supposed to, well, kill you?”

  I almost laughed. “If anyone’s interested in keeping me alive, it’s May. She’s the one who ceases to exist when I die.”

  “I see.” Walther held up the test tube. Somehow my blood and the clear liquid had combined to make something bright purple. He shook it, and the contents turned green. He frowned. “That’s strange.”

  I moved to stand behind him. “Is that supposed to happen?”

  “No.” He dropped the test tube back into the rack, starting to chant in Welsh. The liquid flared incandescent white before dimming to a dark gray.

  “What does it mean?”

  “It means you were poisoned more than twenty-four hours ago, with a recent ‘booster.’ ” The liquid kept getting paler. “If you didn’t eat anything questionable, did you drink? Touch anything unusual? Get something in your eye?”

  “No—wait. Yes. A goose splashed water in my eyes. How can you tell I’ve been poisoned?” I’d almost been expecting him to say it, but it was still jarring.

  “Are you sure it was a goose?” He looked at me levelly until I shook my head. I couldn’t be sure. Life in Faerie doesn’t work that way. “What I’m doing isn’t exactly chemistry; it’s a sort of cheater’s alchemy, a mix of science and magic. I get faster results, and science can’t handle most Faerie things, anyway.”

  “You should meet my friend Stacy’s eldest daughter,” I said. Cassandra would love this guy. “But how do you know I’ve been poisoned? Or when?”

  “The colors tell me.” The stuff in the test tube was almost white now. “I don’t know everything they used, but there’s absinthe and gentians in here, and maybe some lavender. This wasn’t supposed to kill you, just confuse you. Probably also give you one mother of a headache.”

  “You’re doing a pretty good job of confusing me right now,” I said. “Aren’t gentians for protection?”

  “In magic, yes; when you ingest them, no. Everything I can identify here acts as a mild hallucinogen to the fae. This should make you more susceptible to suggestion and less likely to understand what’s going on around you. Have you been seeing things?”

  “I think so.” Oleander laughing; my headache; the scent of sulfuric acid and oleanders on the wind; hallucinogenic poison in my blood. Things were making sense. Bad sense, but sense. “Does this stuff make it easier for me to get caught in a glamour?”

  “Definitely. Anybody with halfway decent illusions could ensnare you. Hell, I might be able to do it.” Walther turned, squinting into my eyes before I could move away. “How long have you had the headache?”

  “Since the Beltane Ball at Shadowed Hills,” I answered. “How—?”

  “That’s probably when you were first dosed. As for how I know you have a headache, you wince every time I raise my voice. I can make an antitoxin for this, but it’s going to take longer than the cure for Tybalt’s people. Hell, if I were working with a mortal lab, I wouldn’t be able to make you an antitoxin at all. Without magic . . . ”

  “Am I in immediate danger?”

  “It’s not going to kill you, if that’s what you mean. You should take some Tylenol and try to avoid getting poisoned again.”

  “Good.” I stepped back, raking my hair away from my face with both hands. “The Cat’s Court comes first. No deaths because you were busy trying to cure me.”

  “I knew you’d say that.” He sighed. “I’ll take care of the Cait Sidhe first, but you shouldn’t make major decisions or operate motor vehicles while you’re like this.”

  “I’ll take that under advisement,” I said. “How long will the antitoxins take?”

  “A few hours for the Cat’s Court; longer for yours. I have to figure out exactly what I’m countering. And I’m going to need more blood.”

  “Do whatever it takes.” I held out my hand, not looking away this time.

  “Toby . . . ” Walther took my hand, reaching for a clean lancet. “Whoever did this didn’t want you dead, just confused.”

  “I figured that part out for myself.”

  “They could be . . . ” He paused, slow horror creeping across his face. “They could be planning to frame you for Lily’s murder.”

  “They’re probably going to frame me for more than Lily; there’s also Luna and the Cat’s Court.” I managed not to wince as he pricked my index finger and pressed it against the side of a jar. “I figure they plan to set me up and have me executed.”

  “How can you be so calm?” he asked. “This is dangerous!”

  “That’s why I have to get back to Shadowed Hills. Sylvester needs to know what’s going on.” Assuming he’d understand what I was trying to say; assuming Luna was still alive. Those were some pretty big assumptions, but they were what I had.

  “What?” Walther frowned. “You’re not driving anywhere . You could kill yourself if you got behind the wheel of a car. Doesn’t Shadowed Hills have telephones? Just call them. And don’t argue with me. You’re not safe to drive, and I don’t want to be forced to shake my finger at you in a threatening manner.”

  “Walther, Rayseline has decided I’m trying to kill her mother. What makes you think Sylvester will get any message I try to give him?” He was still holding the hand he’d pricked. I had to fight the urge to pull it away from him and use it to shove my hair back. “If I want him to hear what I need to tell him, I have to tell him myself.”

  Walther frowned. “I don’t like this.”

  “I don’t expect you to. When do you think you can have results on that cup?”

  “I can start testing it while the antitoxin for the Cat’s Court is brewing. Will you be careful, at least?” He put the jar down and reached for a scrap of gauze, wrapping it over the dressing Marcia had already taped in place.

  “I’ll be as careful as I can. It’s not my first priority.”

  “Not being careful doesn’t mean you have to be stupid.” He turned back to the flasks of chemicals littering the counter, beginning to mix something rapidly together.

  “You’re right. It doesn’t, and I try not to be. What are you doing?”

  “Helping.” He picked up the result of his efforts: a beaker half-filled with clear liquid. “Rinse your eyes with this.”

  “What is it?” I asked, taking the beaker from his hand.

  “Willow bark, rose oil, and a few other things, mixed together with a hedge charm whammy. It won’t counter the poison completely, but it should help a little.”

  “Right.” I tilted my head back, drizzling the liquid into my eyes. “Ow. Stingy.”

  “But good for you.”

  I offered a smile instead of the forbidden thanks, blinking the excess liquid from my eyes as I handed the beaker back to him. “Find Tybalt when the antidote is ready. The Court of Cats usually has an anchor in the alley next to the Kabuki Theater outside Golden Gate Park. Failing that, ask Marcia. I’ll call when I finish dealing with Sylvester, and I’ll try to be careful.”

  Walther nodded. “Deal. Open roads. If you have an accident, I’ll kick your ass.”

  “Open roads,” I echoed. It
was time to get moving. Oberon protect us all.

  TWENTY

  I TOOK THE ROADS BETWEEN BERKELEY and Pleasant Hill at a speed that would’ve made me public enemy number one in the eyes of most traffic cops, if they’d been able to see through my don’t-look-here spell. Walther’s little concoction did something right: my headache was almost gone, and performing minor magic was no longer an insurmountable problem.

  Walther put a name to what was wrong with me: I’d been poisoned. Fine. I couldn’t fix it, but I could understand it, and it fit with Oleander’s way of operating. I needed to figure out how she’d been able to get to me during the Ball, but until then, I needed to keep moving and trust Walther to fix things as quickly as possible. I hadn’t known him long enough for the trust to come easily.

  If I was being honest, I’ve never trusted anyone easily. It wasn’t a comfortable feeling, especially considering that Walther wasn’t the first: by putting my life in Tybalt’s hands, I’d declared my trust for him. That was unsettling. I trusted Tybalt enough to let him decide whether or not I should be allowed to live?

  “When the hell did that happen?” I asked, and jumped, startled by the sound of my own voice. I started to laugh, relaxing even more. Did it matter when I started trusting Tybalt? It was too late to change it, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to. Either he’d betray me, or he wouldn’t. I needed to believe he wouldn’t.

  I needed that to be enough.

  I turned on the radio, scrolling through stations until I found one that promised “all eighties and nineties, all the time.” Those stations always play songs written after I disappeared, but I don’t mind the way I used to. It’s nice to hear bands I recognize, even if the songs are strange. If it weren’t for the DJs, with their modern phrasing and to-the-minute slang, I could pretend I was listening to radio transmissions from my own time.

  The Paso Nogal parking lot was empty, and the afternoon air was cold, making me draw my jacket a little tighter. It wasn’t winter by a long shot, but the air felt colder than it should have, like it was promising worse things to come. The hillside was marshy, the ground softened by recent, unseasonable rain. It still took me less than ten minutes to race through the complicated approach to the knowe. Stress, anger, and mild panic will do that for a girl.

  The door didn’t open when I knocked. I frowned, knocking again. The door usually swings open on its own if there’s not a page close enough to answer it, and even that almost never happens. The Torquills pride themselves on their hospitality. Unless the entire knowe was in mourning, someone should have answered.

  The door opened when I knocked for the third time. I stepped through—and stopped dead.

  Heavy curtains covered the entry hall windows, giving the room a haunted, funereal air. Flickering candles illuminated the room, their flames sending dancing shadows up and down the walls. I shuddered. Fear of the dark is a human phobia—or so I thought, before I got myself lost in Blind Michael’s lands. Now my heart tries to stop every time I see shadows dancing by candlelight.

  Blind Michael is dead. I killed him myself. And when the lights are low and the shadows dance, it doesn’t matter, because I’ll be waiting for him to come back for the rest of my life.

  I won’t be waiting alone. A small figure was curled in one of the entrance hall chairs, eyes closed, head tucked forward until his chin rested against his chest. I walked over and put a hand on his knee. “Hey. Wake up.”

  His eyes opened immediately, betraying the shallowness of his slumber. He offered me a small smile that was fueled almost entirely by relief. “Toby.”

  “In the too, too solid flesh.” I stepped away. “Come on. Let’s go see how Sylvester’s doing.”

  “Okay.” Quentin scrambled out of the chair, sticking close to me as we started down the hall. He wasn’t looking at the candles either.

  I glanced at him. “They’re bugging you, too?”

  “They give me the creeps. It’s like . . . ”

  “I know.” Admitting it seemed to help. “Can you take me to Sylvester?”

  Quentin nodded. “He’s in the Duchess’ chambers. I can take you there.”

  “Good. Has there been any change?”

  “Rayseline’s been ranting a lot. It’s impressive. She seems to think she’s in charge because her parents aren’t coming out of their rooms. And we had to cancel the post-Beltane Court,” Quentin said. “I’m scared. What’s going to happen if Luna dies?”

  “I don’t know. I wish I did.” I sighed, raking my hair away from my face. “It depends on whether Sylvester steps down, and whether Rayseline inherits, first off. If she becomes Duchess, things are going to change. How long are you fostered for?”

  “I’m sworn to Shadowed Hills until I turn twenty-five or my liege finds me a suitable knight.” He glanced away. “I’ll probably still be here. Most of the knights I know are sworn to Shadowed Hills. But there’s a chance my oaths will be transferred when he finds someone appropriate.”

  I blinked. That was a long term of service. Daoine Sidhe are considered immature until they reach their early hundreds, but fostering normally ends when they reach physical adulthood. Given the rate he was maturing, Quentin should have been released when he turned eighteen, or thereabouts. “Well, I guess we’d better hope Raysel doesn’t inherit.” I shoved my hands into my pockets, trying to ignore the dull throbbing in my fingers.

  “Yeah, I guess.” He paused. “What did you do to your hands, again?”

  “I didn’t say,” I said. He gave me a wounded look. I shrugged. “I had a fight with a hawthorn bush. The hawthorn won.”

  Quentin eyed me for a moment before he sighed, shaking his head, and offered me his arm. “Okay, I give up. You hurt yourself in the weirdest ways.”

  “It’s a talent.” I took his arm, letting him lead me deeper into the knowe. We made it halfway down the hall in companionable silence before the footsteps started behind us.

  Quentin tensed. “Toby—”

  “Shhh.” I counted to ten, listening. I knew who it was before I reached five. I stopped walking. Quentin did the same, every inch of him vibrating with stress. Neither of us turned. “Hello, Etienne.”

  “You came back,” said Etienne. There was a hint of reproach in his voice.

  “Not expecting me?” I looked over my shoulder. He was carrying a spear. That worried me; the guards at Shadowed Hills don’t normally go around the knowe armed with more than ceremonial swords.

  “I thought you had more sense than that.” He leveled a narrow-eyed gaze on Quentin’s back.

  “Don’t blame Quentin for my being here; he didn’t do it. I have news, and I have proof, and that means I need to see the Duke.”

  “You know that isn’t a good idea.”

  “Lily’s dead.”

  Quentin made a small sound of protest. I hadn’t told him. Damn.

  Etienne’s eyes went wide. “What?”

  “Lily, the Lady of the Tea Gardens, has stopped her dancing,” I said, tension adding a clipped cadence to the traditional announcement of a pureblood’s death. I kept my eyes locked on Etienne’s. “She dissolved in my hands, Etienne. Now, are you going to let me tell Sylvester what I’ve learned before the same thing happens to Luna, or are you going to keep standing there?”

  “Oberon’s balls, October, you—” He hesitated, stepping closer and dropping his voice before he said, “It’s not safe here. You, of all people, should know that.”

  I raked one bandaged hand through my hair. “She’s gunning for me?” He nodded marginally. “How badly?”

  “Badly enough to make this a terrible idea.” He sighed. “Don’t even think about trying to slip me. Rayseline will take it as an excuse to have you arrested, and I won’t be able to stop her.”

  “Believe me, I won’t.”

  “Fine. This way.”

  Shadowed Hills was living up to the “shadow” part of its name; the halls were dim, and most of the windows were covered. A heavy silence hung over the place,
forming a shroud that didn’t want to be disturbed. It was like the knowe was in mourning. Goldengreen was like that after Evening died: bitter, cold, and empty.

  I paused. Goldengreen was mine to use as I saw fit. It wasn’t a small knowe. Evening only used a percentage of its space, and she hadn’t been using the grounds on the Summerland side at all. Lily’s people needed a place to go, and thanks to the Queen, they just might have one.

  None of the people we passed would meet my eyes; it seemed that Raysel’s opinion of me was more popular within the Duchy than I’d hoped. It made sense—no matter how many times I saved their asses, I was still the misfit changeling daughter of a crazy woman—but I won’t pretend I was happy about it.

  Something was wrong with the rooms around us. I frowned, trying to figure out what it was. We passed through a hall whose floors were being polished; the windows were open to let air circulate, and I glanced up instinctively. The wrongness became suddenly clear, and suddenly terrifying. “Oh, oak and ash,” I breathed.

  There were no roses around the windows. There were no roses anywhere.

  Every Duchy has something that makes them unique. Golden Gate excels at political intrigue, Wild Strawberries produces amazing chefs, Dreamer’s Glass threatens to invade the neighbors, and so on. They’re proud of their distinctions, and they take every chance they get to show them off. Shadowed Hills grew roses, and now those roses were gone.

  We stopped at a marble arch. “Wait here, and don’t wander off,” said Etienne.

  “Check,” I said, leaning against the wall. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Etienne nodded and vanished through the arch. Quentin glowered after him. I put a restraining hand on his arm.

  “Don’t. He knows me well enough to know that I’d go chasing shadows right now if I thought it would help, and that would just get us in more trouble.”

  Quentin gave me a plaintive look. “He should trust you.”

  “He does.” I nodded toward the nearest window. “When did all the roses die?”