“I’m not badly wounded enough that I can’t do my goddamn job.”
“Yeah, well, you seem determined to change that if you can.” Connor glared, eyes dark and angry. “This isn’t a good idea.”
“So you’d rather I left Quentin here by himself?”
“I’d rather you didn’t go anywhere at all!”
“I have to,” I said, with sincere sorrow in my tone. “People are still dying.”
Connor looked at me, anger fading. I glanced toward Quentin. His eyes were closed again, shutting out our argument. He was staying put, no matter what we decided.
Closing the distance between Connor and me was easy. Closing the distance between his lips and mine was the work of years. He kissed me like he was a drowning sailor instead of a Selkie, pulling me as close as he could. I returned the favor, plastering myself against him until the scrapes on my hands and the bruises on my knees protested. I ignored them in favor of the salt-sweet taste of his skin and the feeling of his heartbeat filtered through his chest into mine, running faster for the longer that we held each other there. It had been so long since we touched each other. Somehow, our bodies still knew the way.
Finally, regretfully, we let each other go, neither stepping back for a few seconds. Both of us were breathing just a little too fast.
“Don’t you dare die,” he hissed, forehead almost touching mine before he stepped back. I hadn’t known how much comfort I was taking from his heartbeat until I couldn’t feel it anymore.
“Do my best.” On that uninspiring note, I left the room. The lock clicked home behind me almost as soon as the door was closed, and I leaned against the wall, groaning.
This mess kept getting deeper. I’d kissed Connor. Rayseline would kill me if she ever found out. And at the moment, that was the least of my problems, because someone in the building with me was a much more immediate threat. It couldn’t be April—she was too upset when Jan died—and I could eliminate Elliot the same way. Gordan would have been in the running if it weren’t for Barbara, but I couldn’t see Gordan killing her best friend, even if they were fighting. Who did that leave? I knew where everyone was during at least one murder, even Alex . . .
Everyone but Terrie. Terrie, who found the first body. Terrie, who hadn’t lost anyone who seemed to be particularly important to her. Terrie, whose mourning verged on parody, even when people were dying all around her. Most damning of all, Terrie, who’d been nowhere to be seen during the search for Jan.
I started to pace, looking for an explanation that didn’t leave Terrie as our killer. I wasn’t finding one. By the time Elliot returned, I was so deep in my own thoughts that I didn’t hear him approach. He cleared his throat. I jumped.
“Don’t
“Sorry,” said Elliot, grimacing, and held up a portable phone. “I had to find one that was modified
“It’s all right,” I said, getting my breath back. “I’m just jumpy.”
“I think we all are,” he said, handing me the phone. “I’m glad you’re staying.”
“Quentin’s out of here as soon as the cavalry comes, but I’ll be here as long as I can. We need to stop this while some of us are still alive.”
He smiled bitterly. He’d already lost everyone he really cared about. Someday I’ll learn to think before opening my mouth. “Do you have any ideas?” he asked.
“Does anyone here have a gun registered in their name?”
“Barbara did.”
“Well, somebody stole her gun.” I sighed. “It’s a local. Monsters don’t use guns.” He flinched. “It’s the only answer I can see. I’m here to save you if I can. Not to coddle you.”
“I know. I just can’t believe one of us would do this. That one of us would kill Jan, or my Yui. Why would they do this?”
“I don’t know—I’m trying to find out. But I have a pretty good idea of who it was.”
“Really? Who?”
“Terrie.”
Elliot sputtered. For a moment I thought he was trying not to laugh. Then he got himself back under control, and said, “I don’t think that’s plausible.”
“If she has an alibi, she hasn’t shared it. She found the first body, and she didn’t join the search for Jan. It doesn’t look good.”
“There were reasons for all those things, Toby,” he said.
“I doubt they’re good enough. Everyone else has an alibi.”
“Actually, you might find these reasons quite . . . legitimate.”
I folded my arms across my chest. “Try me.”
He looked at his watch. “It’s four-thirty. You’ll have an answer at sunset.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Which is when?”
“Seven o’clock. Terrie won’t be here until then.”
“If her excuse isn’t good enough, I’m taking her into custody for breaking Oberon’s law. When the sun goes down, the game’s up. Got that?”
“Yes,” he said, sadly, “I rather suspect I do.”
TWENTY-FIVE
THERE WAS NO SIGNAL IN THE HALL. I snapped the phone closed, glaring at it like it had done this just to spite me, and moved toward the futon room door. “I need to go outside and find a signal. Just let me tell Connor where I’m going.”
My knuckles hadn’t even hit the door when April appeared, expression—for her—distraught. My arm was going straight through her throat. I yelped, jerking backward.
“Quentin is sleeping. Connor is monitoring his condition. Please do not persist in your attempts to disturb him. His batteries must recharge if he is to remain on the network.”
I glanced at Elliot, bemused. He looked as bewildered as I felt. “All right, April. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“Apology accepted. Leave now.” She vanished, the smell of ozone hanging in the air.
“That was weird,” I said.
“She seems to have taken a shine to your assistant. Maybe it’s just that he’s the age she appears to be. Shall I show you the way outside?”
“Please.”
The simplification of the knowe had continued while I slept; Tamed Lightning was in mourning, just like the rest of us, and there was no reason to complicate the halls. It had nothing left to hide. The more I see of our world, the more convinced I am that everything in Faerie is alive. April was a sentient computer, and one of my pets is a rosebush with feet. Why shouldn’t the places where we live be just as awake? In Faerie, the land can hold opinions.
Elliot respected my obvious desire for silence, pulling a few steps ahead of me as we approached what was presumably the door to the outside. He undid the lock and pulled the door open—only to squawk in surprise and vanish, yanked out the door by the hand that had suddenly latched around his throat. Swearing, I broke into a run, rocketing out the door only a few seconds behind him. Then I stopped, clamping a hand over my mouth, and stared.
Tybalt was holding Elliot a foot off the ground. He’d shown at least a little bit of mercy, letting go of Elliot’s throat in favor of grabbing his collar. While this seemed less likely to rip Elliot’s jugular open, it wasn’t doing him any favors in the “breathing” department; Elliot was thrashing, face turning a worrying shade of plum. Every cat in the place seemed to have gathered around them, turning the lawn into one teeming, furry mass.
“Tybalt?” I said, lowering my hand.
He turned toward me, and dropped Elliot. “October?” His eyes flicked from my pristine condition to the scrapes on my cheek and the bandages on my hands before narrowing, attention swinging back to Elliot, who was
