One Salt Sea

same way.

Doing things the exact same way wasn’t an option for me—not now. I’d dealt with big issues in the past, but this one was more personal than anything had ever been before. Gillian. Oak and ash, Gillian. She was the one thing that was never supposed to be touched by Faerie and its troubles; after she shut me out of her life, she should have been home free. Instead, she was lost, and completely unprepared for what was happening to her. And it was all my fault. If I’d been there for her, if I’d forced her to let me come back, this might not have happened. As it was . . .

I needed to focus. I pinched the skin between my left thumb and forefinger until it turned white and I had to bite my lip to keep from exclaiming at the pain. It was enough to snap me out of my growing despondence. According to the night-haunts, the children were probably being held in an underground room with stone walls, one where the air smelled like redwoods, old earth, and spices. None of those things were as much of a lead as I wanted them to be. Redwoods aren’t as common in the Bay Area as they used to be—the humans cut down most of the old forests when they moved in—but there are still enough of them around that I couldn’t go: “A-ha, they must be in this one specific place.” If they were in a shallowing, they wouldn’t need to worry about earthquakes, which meant the room could have been dug almost anywhere, even right above an earthquake fault. As for the spices . . .

I sat upright, eyes widening. I was still sitting that way, frozen, when Marcia walked over and set a mug in front of me. “Here,” she said. “Coffee, two sugars, no cream. I’ll have your sandwich in a few minutes.”

I reached for the cup without thinking about it, raised it to my lips, and took a large gulp. The near-boiling coffee hit the back of my throat. I immediately started coughing.

Marcia looked alarmed. “Toby? Are you okay?”

No. “Yeah, I’m fine. The coffee’s just a little hot.” I put the cup down gingerly. “I’ll let that sit for a minute. Marcia, have you ever met a man named Dugan Harrow? He serves in the Queen’s Court.”

“Um . . . he’s Daoine Sidhe, right? Blue hair, sort of snooty?”

“That’s the one.”

“I’ve met him a few times.” She didn’t try to hide her disdain. “He came around the Tea Gardens once.”

That was news to me. “Really? What for?”

“He was trying to convince Lily to swear to the Queen of the Mists. He promised her anything she wanted, if she would just be the one to crack open the door keeping the Queen out of Golden Gate Park.”

“I hope Lily told him to shove it up his ass.”

“Not in those words, exactly, but that was the sentiment.” Marcia walked back to the counter, picking up my sandwich. “I don’t think he even realized I was there. He never looked at me.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.” As a quarter-blood, Marcia was too close to human to really be protected by the rules of fae etiquette. If Dugan wanted to ignore her, no one was going to get angry at him for it. No one but Marcia, anyway, and maybe Lily, when she was alive. “Did he use any magic in your presence?”

“Yeah.” Marcia walked back over, handing me the plate with my sandwich. The strawberry juice leaking around the edges looked uncomfortably like blood. “He removed his human illusion as a courtesy when he came into the knowe. He had to put it back on before he could leave.”

“Do you remember what his magic smelled like?”

Her cheeks reddened. “You know I’m not very sensitive to that sort of thing.”

“I know. I just want to know what his magic smelled like to you.” I’m good with magical signatures, but I’d only been around once or twice when Dugan was actually casting spells. I wanted outside confirmation.

“It was . . . I don’t know. Spicy, I guess. Like cinnamon.”

“Cinnamon and cardamom?” I asked.

Marcia blinked, once, before she smiled brightly. “That’s exactly it! Cinnamon and cardamom. He smelled like Finnish sweet bread.”

“Uh, I guess so. I’ve never smelled Finnish bread. What he does smell like, definitely, is spices.” I took a bite of strawberry-and-chicken sandwich—a surprisingly tasty combination, despite the fact that the bread still looked like it was bleeding—and swallowed before glancing to the door. “Where are they?”

“Knowing May? Possibly at the bottom of the Pacific by now. You have to give them time to get here.”

“Time is something we don’t have enough of at this point.” Rayseline wasn’t working alone. Rayseline couldn’t be working alone, because she didn’t have the skill for it—and someone hit Margie from behind. I put my sandwich down, pulling out the phone.

“Who are you calling?”

“Walther.” I raised the phone to my ear, and waited.

I didn’t have to wait for long. “Professor Davies speaking. How can I help you?”

“Hey, Walther. You alone?”

“Toby? What’s going on?” He sounded surprised and tired. I felt a small pang of guilt. I wasn’t just running myself ragged—I was doing the same thing to my allies.

I’d apologize later. When we weren’t dead. “Have you had a chance to look at that needle I gave you yet?”

“Not in any detail. I’ve been trying to figure out the base for that sleeping potion you found. I think I’m almost—”

“Was it brewed by a Daoine Sidhe?”

He paused. Then, slowly, he said, “It could be. What makes you ask?”

“I don’t want to say until I’m sure. Can you check?”

“Normally, I’d say no—if it were one of the standard apprentice recipes, it could have been anyone with a little skill for alchemy. But it’s unusual enough that I may be able to deduce the nature of the brewer from the compounds that were used. How soon do you need to know?”

“As soon as possible. It’s important.”

“ ‘Life and death’ important, or ‘it would be nice’ important?”

Dugan had access to all the Queen’s resources. To her dungeons, her guardsmen, anything he could take control of while her back was turned. “Life and death,” I said, without hesitation. “I think I know who Rayseline is working with. But I have to be sure.”

“I’ll get right on it,” Walther said. “Call if you need me.”

“Don’t worry. I will.” I closed the phone, sliding it back into my pocket before meeting Marcia’s wide-eyed stare. “What?”

“You think Dugan is working with Rayseline?” she asked.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t need to.” She shook her head, looking profoundly uncomfortable. “If he is . . . Toby, he’s got a lot of pull at Court.”

“Yeah, he does, as long as he stays on the Queen’s good side. How happy do you think she’s going to be when I tell her he’s been trying to instigate a war she can’t possibly win?” The “can’t possibly win” part was really the important thing. I was pretty sure the Queen of the Mists would be more than happy to get involved with a war if she thought she’d be leading the winning side.

“Not very,” admitted Marcia.

“Exactly my thought. All I have to do is prove that he’s the one who’s been providing Raysel with magical support. She can take things from there.”

“So why not tell her now?”

“Because if I’m right, and he’s behind all this, he could lead her to the children. I don’t want that to happen.” I shook my head, reaching for the coffee. “I’m supposed to stop this war, not give the Queen a bargaining chip she can use to force Saltmist to surrender. I don’t want anyone to surrender. I just want this whole thing to be over.”

“You and me both,” said May. I turned to see her standing in the kitchen doorway. Quentin was behind her, looking a little green around the edges, like he’d just taken the worst roller coaster ride of his life. “Your car’s out front. You should probably get your brakes checked.”

“The brakes would be fine if you ever drove under seventy,” muttered Quentin.

“What was that?” asked May.

“Nothing,” he said quickly, and pushed past her into the kitchen, staggering over to collapse on the bench