Quentin closed his eyes, the smell of heather and steel gathering around him as he ducked his head. He sang six bars from the song we’d been listening to earlier—the one about the man and the boat—and the magic burst around us, leaving the car smelling like a Bath and Body Works air freshener. I glanced his way and decided that was one comparison I wouldn’t make out loud. He wasn’t in a position to appreciate it.
“Now what?” he asked, slumping in his seat.
The sedan was maintaining the exact same following distance. “We stop for coffee,” I said, and shifted over a lane. The sedan did the same thing. We were definitely being followed.
Not for long. The exit to downtown San Leandro involved going around a wide curve, and we were blocked from view several times before we reached the surface street. I promptly pulled off to the side, twisting around to see the other driver’s reaction to our disappearance.
He hit the gas as soon as he saw that we were “gone,” accelerating toward the street up ahead. He must have thought he could catch up with us. I watched intently as he blew by. For one second, I had a clear view of his face. I froze.
It was Officer Thornton from the SFPD.
“What the fuck is he doing here?” I whispered.
“Toby?”
I shook my head, looking back to Quentin. “That guy was one of the officers on duty when I got picked up the other night.”
Quentin frowned. “Why would he be following us now? And to Fremont?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea. But I do know one thing.” I started the car again. “I really, really need a cup of coffee.”
Getting food was complicated by the fact that with the hide-and-seek spell on the car, we couldn’t use the drive-through. I eventually had Quentin wait in the car with the Luidaeg’s still-glowing charm while I ran into the McDonalds for a sack of cheeseburgers, fries, and faux-apple pies. He got a soda large enough to qualify as a health hazard. I got a coffee large enough that I was in no position to throw stones. Officer Thornton was still nowhere to be seen when I returned to the car, handed Quentin his share of lunch, and got back on the road.
The drive to Fremont is boring under most circumstances. The roads are wide and reasonably well maintained—by California standards, anyway—and you don’t usually encounter people driving like complete idiots. That changes when you’re trying to eat lunch, drive an invisible car, and follow the directions of a magical snow globe at the same time. We nearly got sideswiped by a semi, and several single-passenger vehicles tried to merge, not into us, but close enough that I wasn’t comfortable. I wound up drinking my coffee through Quentin’s extra straw, muttering dire imprecations about my fellow drivers.
“You know they can’t see us, right?” asked Quentin, amused.
“Shut up.”
“I don’t think it’s fair to call them names if they can’t even see us.”
“Shut up, or you’re walking.”
Quentin just laughed. I didn’t say anything, but I was relieved. With Raj missing and Chelsea’s mother threatening police action—and at least one officer already trying to tail us—I couldn’t imagine that laughter was going to be much of a priority in the days ahead.
We had just reached the Fremont city limits when the charm in Quentin’s hand changed from red to its previous white. The air in the car went strangely flat, like something was being discharged. Quentin frowned, giving the charm a vigorous shake. Its color didn’t change.
“I think it’s broken,” he said.
“I don’t.” My coffee was almost gone. I sucked the last of it through the straw before dropping it into the empty McDonalds bag. “Chelsea’s moving again. Wherever she is now, it’s not here, and it’s not close enough for us to be drawn there. She was in Seattle before, remember?”
“So where is she now? Tokyo?”
“Wherever she is, let’s just hope she’s safe.” I moved over a lane, heading for the freeway exit.
“Are we going to turn around?”
“Nope.” I reached over to steal a few of his remaining fries. They were cold. I ate them anyway. “She stayed in one place long enough for us to get this far. So either she’s managed to find a safe house near here, or her captors are here, and they’re going to drag her back.”
“That’s a pretty big assumption,” he said dubiously.
“It’s what I’ve got right now. Besides, I want to talk to April. She’s a teleporter, and more, she’s a computer system. Maybe she can do some sort of magic…math…thing and tell where Chelsea has been.”
Quentin shot me an amused look. “Magic math thing?”
“Shut up.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard of the magic math thing. How does it work, exactly?”
“Shut up twice.” Inwardly, I was beaming. Quentin’s reaction was exactly what I’d been hoping for: entertained, relaxed, and not tangled up with his concern about Raj. I was worried, too. That didn’t mean we could lose sight of the larger problem. As much as I hated to even have the thought, if I had a choice between saving Chelsea and saving Raj…
Who was I kidding? I’d save Raj, and Faerie would pay the price. I’m a lot of things, but rational where the people I love are concerned has never been one of them. I just hoped it wasn’t going to come to that.
Quentin snickered as I pulled off the freeway. Time to get ourselves over to Tamed Lightning and see what kind of help we could get from the locals.
The San Francisco Bay Area claims to be a single place, much like the United States of America claims to be a single country. In reality, the Bay is divided into four regions, maybe more. There’s San Francisco, with its high fogs and deep-sunk roots. There’s the East Bay, industrial city, and the deep East Bay past the Caldecott Tunnel, where the suburbanites dream of something past the hills. Fremont is in a different country entirely: the South Bay, land of technological advancements, stucco buildings that fade into the landscape like ghosts, and heat that bakes the pavement even in relatively temperate weather. If there was any place on the planet designed to be infiltrated by fae pretending to be human while they ran a computer company, it’s Fremont. No one was ever going to look there twice.
We pulled up in front of the pseudo-medieval gate to ALH Computing less than twenty minutes after we got off the freeway. The fact that they could have that gate at all was one more illustration of how perfect a city Fremont was for them. None of the fae in San Francisco would have dared to install a doorway that looked like something out of a BBC drama about King Arthur. We’d have been too afraid of getting caught. The fae in Fremont just assumed they’d be written off as geeks…and they were right.
The portcullis spanning the gate slid upward as we approached, signaling that we’d been recognized and welcomed. I drove through, shuddering as we passed under the points of the portcullis itself. The first time Quentin and I went to ALH, that portcullis—or one like it—tried to kill us. It was only able to do that because someone had used magic to tamper with the control systems, and that someone was long dead. I didn’t care. The portcullis was still a damn big piece of metal, and I knew firsthand how much damage it could do to a car.
“I hate that thing,” Quentin muttered. He waved a hand, releasing the hide-and-seek that hid us. The smell of heather and steel filled the car.
“You and me both, kid,” I said, and kept driving.
The driveway wound gently down to the parking lot. The cats that had decorated the place on our first visit were gone; the Queen of Cats they’d been gathered to mourn had long since been avenged, and they had scattered on whatever strange errands drive the felines of the world. Two people were waiting for us outside the main building when I pulled up to the curb.
One was tall and blonde, with the pointed ears and delicate bone structure characteristic of the Daoine Sidhe: April O’Leary, the least Dryad-like Dryad in the world. Whatever she looked like originally—probably small and lithe, with green hair and skin like bark—she looks like her mother
now. There are worse ways to remember the people you love.
The woman next to April was unfamiliar. She was shorter, with sleek black hair pulled into a high ponytail, a pleasant smile, and eyes that were black from side to side, like polished jet. She was clearly of Chinese descent, and she clearly wasn’t human. Beyond that, I had no idea what she was.
I waved as I got out of the car. “Hey, April. Sorry to drop in on you like this.”
“I was online,” she said, with a hint of amusement in her tone. That alone represented a huge leap for her. When we first met April O’Leary, she didn’t understand the concept of “humor” as it applied to other people. These days, she actually makes jokes. Bad ones, but still jokes. “What is the purpose of your visit?”
“It’s kind of a long story. Can we come inside?”
April nodded. “Of course.”
Quentin glanced at me. I shrugged. Apparently, April wasn’t planning to introduce her friend. The polite thing to do would have been to ignore the other woman until she was identified or chose to identify herself.
I’ve never been good at polite. “Hi,” I said, offering her my hand. “I’m October Daye, and this is my squire, Quentin. Sorry if we interrupted your meeting.”
“You interrupted nothing of any import, I assure you; just a tour.” She took my hand, shook once, and let go. “Li Qin Zhou. It is a pleasure.”
“Hi,” said Quentin.
Li Qin looked like she belonged at Tamed Lightning. She was wearing gray slacks and a white cotton tank top, with plastic flip-flops that showed off her electric green pedicure. She looked back and forth between us, still smiling. “The timing is fortuitous; I was hoping to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you. I apologize for not creating the opportunity before. I’ve been traveling, and I’ve only just returned to California.”
“Business? Pleasure?”
“Mourning,” she said. A flicker of pain crossed her face. “My wife died. I wasn’t there. I needed some time to put my world back together before I could come home.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, the words feeling lame in my mouth. “How long ago?” I might not know what this woman was, but I knew she was pureblooded; there was nothing human about her. If I breathed deeply enough, I could taste the undiluted black tea and white hydrangea ghost of her magic. Purebloods measure time differently than changelings and humans do. Li Qin could easily have been mourning someone who had died a century before.
“Two years next week,” she said, and smiled again. “But that’s not why you’re here.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I said. Turning to April, I asked, “Can we go inside? We’re here on a case, and I need to bring you up to speed.”
“Certainly.” April cocked her head, looking as if she were listening to something I couldn’t hear. April is the eyes and ears of her fiefdom; if she looked like she was listening to something, that’s because she almost certainly was. She blinked and straightened up again. “Alex is the only one in the building, and he is occupied with hardware restoration in the main server room. We should be undisturbed in the main cafeteria. Li can take you.” With that, she was gone, leaving the scent of ozone hanging in the air.
“I still hate it when she does that,” said Quentin.
Li Qin laughed. “Follow me,” she said, and waved for us to accompany her into the building.
As always, access to the fae side of Tamed Lightning involved going through the over-refrigerated reception area and from there to the labyrinthine maze of cubicles that served as the company’s primary workspace. Being staffed entirely by fae meant the middle of the day was a dead time, and we walked through a tomb that would become a thriving business when the sun went down.
Li Qin walked as if she knew where she was going, not hesitating as she led us through the maze and out the door on the far side, to the lawn that stretched between the company’s two main buildings. We had crossed into the Summerlands when we entered the reception area, and we had left the mortal daylight behind; when we stepped outside, we were greeted not by sunlight, but by the clear bright glow of three full moons and countless silvered stars. It’s always twilight trending into nighttime in the Summerlands.
“So have you known April long?” asked Quentin, filling the silence with words. That’s a habit he’s picked up from me. He was a lot more stoic when we first met.
“Yes,” said Li Qin. “Inasmuch as it matters, you could say I’ve known her all her life.”
“She’s a good kid,” I said. I took a peek into my pocket as we walked across the lawn, checking the Luidaeg’s charm. It was glowing passive white. Wherever Chelsea was, it wasn’t nearby. “She’s done a pretty good job with this County.”
“She has. Jan would be proud of her.” Li Qin pushed open the door into the next building, holding it as Quentin and I walked past her. “April has been a fantastic Countess. I always knew she would be, given the opportunity.”
“I appreciate your faith.” Somehow, it wasn’t surprising to hear April’s voice coming from behind us.
“What did I say about sneaking up on people?” asked Li Qin.
“That I should do it only when it was funny.” There was a faint inrush of air as April vanished, reappearing in the hall about six feet ahead of our little group. She turned to me. “I have started a fresh pot of coffee. I remember that this is essential to your normal operations.”
“I love you right now,” I said gravely.
April smiled.
Five minutes later, the four of us were settled in the cafeteria, Quentin with a can of Dr Pepper and a platter of sandwiches from the vending machine, me with an entire pot of coffee that I didn’t have to share. Li Qin was making tea on the other side of the room when April looked at me, cocking her head to the side again, and asked, “So what is going on?”
One of the nice things about dealing with April is her lack of subtlety. There was no need to beat around the bush with her. “We have a missing half-Tuatha changeling. The last sign we had of where she might be going put her somewhere in this area. You’re the only teleporter I know who lives out here, and I was hoping you might help us.”
“Ah.” April frowned. “Why is it vital she be found? Perhaps she has simply taken a vacation.”
“That seems unlikely, since she’s ripping holes in the fabric of Faerie. She’s gating all the way into the sealed lands, and that’s not good.”
There was a clanging sound from the other side of the cafeteria. We turned to see Li Qin staring at us, the teapot lying at her feet in a spreading pool of liquid. Quentin and I stared at her. She stared back. Finally, slowly, she said, “You have to find her. You have to find her now.”
“Yeah, we know,” I said. “That’s why we’re here. She—”
“You don’t understand,” Li Qin interrupted. “The shallowing has been unstable all day. I thought it was being cranky. I didn’t know someone was actively undermining reality. If you don’t find her, if you don’t stop her, knowes are going to start collapsing…and they’re going to start collapsing soon.”
“Oh,” said Quentin faintly. “That’s new.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “That’s very new.”
Crap.
THIRTEEN
LI QIN TOOK A BREATH, composing herself. “This isn’t new,” she said. “This is old. This goes all the way back to when Faerie was first setting roots into the mortal world.”
I frowned a little. “Sorry, but I have no idea what that means. I skipped my remedial Fairyland history classes.”
“I see why Jan liked you.” Li Qin picked up her teapot. She set it on the counter and reached for a towel. “The Summerlands are the only realm of Faerie directly connected to the mortal world. That’s why all knowes are anchored there. It’s like building houses by digging holes in the skin of an orange—they touch on both the orange and the air, but are really suspended between them, fully part of neither. Do you understand?”
“No,” I said.
Q
uentin shook his head. “My theory lessons haven’t gotten that far yet.”
“All right, then, to put it more simply: knowes and shallowings exist because the Summerlands are connected to the mortal world. Normally, teleporters move through the space between the anchors, and that makes the ties between worlds stronger by making the open spaces part of the binding. Like a spider weaving a web around a few solid sticks. A teleporter who’s ripping through, on the other hand…” Li Qin knelt, beginning to wipe up her spill. “She’s forcing her way through the places where the worlds are directly connected, and that can damage the connections. A knowe can exist severed from one world, provided it has a sufficiently large foundation in the other. A knowe severed from both worlds will crumble, and anyone inside will be lost forever.”
“Wow,” I said. “That’s basically the cherry on top of this week’s sundae of suck. Got any more good news for us?”
“Duchess Riordan has recently withdrawn the majority of her forces from our border,” said April.
I paused, trying to catch up with her change of subjects. “What does that have to do with anything?” I asked finally.
“It changes the status quo. Changes, while interesting, often have negative consequences.” April vanished again, reappearing next to Li Qin. She grabbed a towel of her own and dropped to her knees. “Riordan has never, in my records, committed to a troop movement of this size without royal orders or intent to commit invasion.”
“…Huh.” I refilled my coffee cup, using the action to buy me a few seconds to think.
Tamed Lightning is a relatively new County; April is only its second regent. It was formed by taking unclaimed land from between two Duchies, Shadowed Hills and Dreamer’s Glass. Sylvester, who ruled Shadowed Hills, didn’t mind. Treasa Riordan, the Duchess of Dreamer’s Glass, minded a lot. She didn’t approve of anything that encroached on her borders, or made her plans for long-term expansion more difficult. She was paranoid, greedy, and aggressive toward her neighbors—in short, a classic Daoine Sidhe regent. There’s a reason they hold so many fiefdoms. They’re good at it, sure. But they’re also willing to step in and take what they want, when they want it, without caring who gets hurt in the process.