A Local Habitation

hours if they’d both gone down, and asleep hard if I didn’t even hear them coming in.

“When did you last see her?” I stood. Dizziness washed over me. I caught myself against the wall.

“About an hour after sunrise.”

Oh, oak and ash. “What time is it now?”

“Almost eleven-thirty.”

I stared. “Why the hell didn’t you wake me sooner?” I demanded. Quentin made a small grumpy noise and rolled over, still asleep. That wasn’t going to last long.

“Elliot said to let you sleep until we were sure she was gone. Gordan just got back from checking her apartment. He said it was time to wake you.” Catching my expression, he added, “He’s her seneschal, Toby. Whether or not it was a good idea, he’s allowed to make the call.”

“I know. I know.” I took a deep breath, trying to calm down. “Is her bike still here?”

He paused. “I don’t think so.”

“That’s a good sign. Everything we know about has happened on company grounds, so if her bike’s gone, she’s probably okay. You go check; I’ll wake the guys and be right there.”

“Can you find your way out?”

I felt the irrational need to comfort him, and glared. He put his hands up.

“I’m not doing it on purpose, I swear. I’m just nervous. It happens when I get nervous.”

“We can find it. Now get out.” I was willing to believe he couldn’t help it. That didn’t mean I wanted him near me. “Go see if her bike is there.”

“All right.” He shut the door as he left, and my thoughts cleared almost immediately. I shook my head, disgusted.

My dislike of Alex didn’t have anything to do with the matter at hand. Jan was missing. Oberon help us all. Bending over the futon, I shook Connor’s shoulder. He muttered something unintelligible and opened his eyes.

“Get up,” I said. “Jan’s missing.”

Connor sat up almost as fast as I had, swinging his feet around to the floor and kicking Quentin in the shoulder. Quentin staggered to his feet with eyes still half-closed, looking dazedly around the room.

“What happened?” asked Connor.

“I don’t know. They just woke me.” I put out an arm, steadying Quentin. “Wake up. Jan’s missing.”

The sleepiness cleared from his face like I’d flipped a switch. “What do we do?”

“Follow me, both of you. And stay alert.” I crossed the room in two long steps, Connor close behind me, Quentin bringing up the rear.

The halls were amazingly straightforward, running in almost straight lines. We found our way to the parking lot without a single wrong turn, bursting out the door. Elliot was outside, staring into the underbrush. He ran over when he saw us, grabbing my hands. I winced at the pressure on my wounded palm but managed not to scream or pull away.

“Please, you have to find her,” he said. “Please.”

“We’ll do our best,” I said. Anything less would have been unfair; anything more would have been a lie. Unless she’d gone off-site or locked herself in an empty office to get some work done, she was probably dead. I’m enough of a realist to know that . . . but I also knew that wasn’t the kind of reassurance he was looking for.

“That’s all we can ask,” he said, and dropped my hands. He looked smaller somehow, deflated. He’d already given up. I couldn’t blame him; he’d lost his lover, and now we both knew he’d lost his liege as well. It would have broken anyone. It would have broken me.

Alex wasn’t far away. He was standing to one side, staring at his hands. I didn’t have to ask to know whether he’d found her bike. The tears running down his face told me everything.

“Toby . . .” Quentin said.

“I see him.” Turning, I walked to the main entrance with Connor and Quentin behind me. No one followed; no one saw us go.

The halls were empty, and our footsteps echoed as we walked. It was like walking back through time to Shadowed Hills right after Luna disappeared . . . only this time we weren’t expecting to find the missing regent pruning roses in a garden somewhere. This time, we weren’t expecting to find the missing regent at all.

Connor’s hand found mine, fingers slipping into place. “Where do we start?”

“We’re not starting anywhere,” I said. “We’re going to let the knowe show us the way.”

“What?” asked Quentin.

“Just follow me.” This wouldn’t have worked earlier, while Jan was alive and controlling the knowe with her expectations. It might not work now. It was the best idea I had. Turning the first corner we came to, I walked.

Knowes shape themselves to fit the subconscious desires of their keepers. That’s why Shadowed Hills has so many gardens; that’s why my mother’s hall never had any mirrors or locks on the doors. I was counting on that to take us to the body. I would never have tried it with a moving target or with anyone less tied to the County than Jan . . . but the King is literally the land in Faerie, and if she were dead, the knowe would want us to find her.

We didn’t pass anyone as we walked. I was following the patterns in the tile and the directions indicated by careless arrows on bulletin boards, trusting anything that looked like it could be a sign. It seemed to be working. Our route was leading us through more and more places that I recognized, taking us onto familiar ground.

Quentin looked at me as we walked, asking, “Is she dead?”

“Probably.” I studied our surroundings, finally starting for the door that seemed most aligned with the scuff marks on the floor.

“Why didn’t they wake us sooner?”

“Because that would have made it real,” said Connor. We both looked toward him, and he shrugged. “As long as they were looking on their own, it wasn’t happening.”

The door led to the cafeteria kitchen, revealing a second entrance previously concealed by the cupboards on that wall. The cafeteria was spotless, all traces of my ritual circle and its messy results wiped away by Elliot’s magic. I wondered how long we’d been asleep before he gave in to the urge to clean.

“Come on,” I said. “We’re getting closer.”

“But what are we doing?” Quentin was looking increasingly frustrated.

“We’re letting the knowe lead us. Jan was Countess, and the land will be in mourning if she’s dead. It’ll want us to find her.” I stepped into the hall, noting without surprise that we were only a few doors down from Jan’s office. There wasn’t much chance of finding her there—they’d almost certainly looked there first—but it was a start. Even endings begin somewhere.

“How can that even work?” Now Quentin looked perplexed. From his expression, Connor got it, but was willing to let me be the one to explain.

“The King is the land, Quentin. That’s all. That’s how it’s always worked in Faerie.” The door to Jan’s office was standing ajar. Someone inside was crying. I pulled my hand out of Connor’s, signaling him and Quentin to stay where they were. When the sound didn’t change, I pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The office lights were off and the shades were drawn, casting the room into an artificial twilight. I squinted. “Hello? Jan?” The sobbing continued, bitter and brokenhearted. “Jan?”

“That’s not her,” said Quentin, as he and Connor stepped into the room.

I paused, listening. He was right. The voice was too high to be Jan’s. “No,” I said, and started toward the desk, stepping carefully. Heaps of paper had fallen to cover the walkway, creating minor avalanches that would probably never be cleaned up. That hurt. The difference between clutter and chaos is control, and Jan’s control had been broken.

Her notes on Barbara’s connection to Dreamer’s Glass were stacked on the desk chair. I knelt, pushing it aside to reveal April, compacted into a ball with her hands over her face, weeping.

“April?” I put my hand on her shoulder, or tried to; it passed through and hit the back of the desk. It was like reaching into a fogbank. I withdrew my hand. “Can you hear me?”

She shuddered, sobs fading as she chanted, “She’s gone she’s gone she’s gone . . .”

“Who’s gone? April, where’s Jan?” I kept my tone calm. The last thing I wanted to do was upset her more.

“Mommy’s off-line. No more reboots.” She raised her head. Tears were falling in straight lines down her cheeks, like they’d been drawn on. It would have been unnerving under normal circumstances, but her distress