keep saying the same thing over and over until she gets fed up and gives you what you want. All preschoolers have an instinctive grasp of this concept, but most don’t practice it on immortal water demons. That’s probably why there are so few disembowelments in your average preschool.
“Why?”
I outlined the situation as quickly as I could without leaving anything out. Dealing with the Luidaeg is a bit like juggling chainsaws, except for the part where you can’t master the trick. A chain saw won’t flip randomly in midair and dive for your throat: the Luidaeg might. Worse, if she thought I was holding back on her, she could refuse to help.
Elliot paled as I described what I’d found in Barbara’s desk, but kept listening, horrified and fascinated. Quentin gave me a wounded look and turned away. It wasn’t that I was calling for help: it was that I was calling the Luidaeg, who had every reason to hurt me after she helped. Almost everyone’s heard of the Luidaeg; she saw most of Faerie born, and she may see it die. Even for people who are supposedly immortal, that kind of age is scary. Some people say she’s a monster. I just say that she’s got issues.
When I finished she said, “And that’s why you want to summon the night- haunts?” She didn’t sound angry; just tired, and a little bit exasperated.
“Yes. I’m hoping they can tell me why they haven’t come for the bodies.”
“What if they won’t tell you? What if they don’t know?”
“I don’t know,” I said, opting for honesty before cleverness. “I’ll think of something.”
The Luidaeg snorted. “I’m sure you will. How many of the people you’re ‘guarding’ will die while you think?”
That stung. “I’m doing the best I can.”
“Is it good enough?”
“Are you going to help or not?” Across the room, Quentin winced. The Luidaeg’s had millennia to learn how to piss people off. It was probably always a natural talent, but at this point, she can pack a world of insult into a single word.
“I shouldn’t, but I will,” she said. “Mostly because if I don’t, I’m sure you’ll try anyway and get yourself killed while I’m not there to watch. Do you have a pen?”
“Yes,” I lied, and gestured to Elliot, making scribbling motions in the air. He handed Quentin a notebook and pen, and Quentin brought it to me, quickly. I nodded to him, saying into the phone, “Go ahead.”
“Ask me the question first.”
“Luidaeg, I—”
“You know the rules. Ask me, and I’ll tell.”
“How do I summon the night-haunts?”
“Good girl. Now, here’s what you’ll need . . .” And she started rattling off ingredients and ritual gestures the way most people assemble shopping lists. Fortunately, I take good shorthand. Quentin watched, grimacing as I wrote out more and more elaborate instructions. I ignored him, continuing to write until she finally stopped, snapping, “You got that?”
“I think so. First, you . . .”
She cut me off, saying, “Good. Remember, don’t get cocky, and be sincere. It’s the intention they’ll be listening to, not the shape; if you don’t believe in what you’re saying, the night- haunts have the right to demand you go with them as a sacrifice.” She paused. “I should set up a deal like that. Bother me and I get to eat you.”
“Luidaeg?”
“Yes?”
“Will this work?”
“Follow my instructions and it will. Do you understand what you’re summoning?”
“I think so.”
“Good. You do this alone. They won’t answer if they feel the calling isn’t unified.”
I glanced at Quentin and Elliot, wincing. They weren’t going to like this. “All right. I understand.” I’d have to explain while we prepared.
“Understand this, too—that was your last question. My debt to you is paid. I don’t owe you anymore.” The line went dead.
I set the receiver back in the cradle, saying, “I know, Luidaeg. I know.” She’d owed me one true answer to any question I cared to ask. She didn’t owe me anymore. If I survived ALH, I might be coming home to my own execution.
Is there a law that says life can’t be simple?
“Toby? What’s wrong? What did she say?” Quentin sounded like he was on the verge of panic. It’s not every day you watch someone call the monster under your bed for help.
“She said . . .”
“You’re going to do what?” Elliot asked, eyes wide.
I turned to look at him. “Weren’t you listening? I’m going to summon the night- haunts so they can tell me why they haven’t been coming for the bodies.”
“Are you sure that’s wise?” Elliot looked more worried than Quentin. Between the two of them, I could tell which one actually had an idea of what the night-haunts could do.
“No. But the Luidaeg told me how to do it, and I guess I should follow her directions.”
“How can you just
“It helps to have the number.” I sighed, looking at my hastily-written list of ingredients. “Elliot, is there a florist near here?” The ritual the Luidaeg outlined was a gardener’s nightmare, demanding dried samples of all the common fae flowers and about a dozen of the uncommon ones. It made sense, from a symbolic standpoint. From the perspective of obtaining the flowers, it was just annoying.
“Yes . . .” he said, slowly.
“Great. Would you do me a teeny little favor?” Anyone who knew me would have known better—when I ask for favors, run, especially if I’m using words like “teeny.” Cute phrases and I don’t meet often. Stacy and Mitch would’ve been out the door as soon as I opened my mouth, heading for a sudden appointment in Tahiti. Fortunately, Elliot didn’t know any better. The sap.
“Sure. Uh . . . what do you need?” He looked nervously at the phone. Considering what he’d overheard, he was probably expecting me to ask for a live chicken and a boning knife.
“These.” I flipped to a clean page, copying the list. “Dried is better, dead will do. The florists may not want to sell you dead flowers—you may have to dumpster dive.” I ripped out the page, handing it to him. “I need them to construct my circle. The ritual starts at sunset.”
I have to give him credit: he took the idea in stride. “I’ll get right on it,” he said. “Is there anything else you need?”
I consulted my notebook. “Half a pound of sea salt, six unmatched candles—preferably ones that have been burned before—juniper berries, a mandrake root, and some raven’s feathers.” It sounded like I was getting ready for a supernatural Girl Scout Jamboree.
“Oh.” He considered. “There’s sea salt in the kitchen, and about a dozen candles in the earthquake preparedness kit.” Most California fae keep earthquake kits. Immortality’s not that useful when the earth opens up and swallows you whole.
“Really? That helps.”
“Hold on . . .” Elliot pinched the bridge of his nose. “Do they need to be feathers from a real raven, or will skin-shifter feathers do?”
I paused. Selkies are the most common breed of skin-shifter, but there are others, including the Raven-men and Raven-maids. “I can’t tell the difference,” I said, finally, “so they should work.”
“Our last receptionist was a Raven- maid, and she left a lot of feathers in her desk. They should be in the storage closet in front.”
I looked at him quizzically, but it was Quentin who asked, “Do you people ever throw anything away?”
Elliot shrugged. “Not really.”
