A Local Habitation

“I see.” The pieces of the puzzle were fitting together. I didn’t like the results, but they were the ones that fit. “That’s where you had the most problems, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, it was.” Elliot stopped walking, staring at me. “Oh, Oberon’s teeth . . .”

I glanced to Tybalt, trying to read his expression. It had gone completely neutral, but his eyes were locked on Elliot. Still, I pressed on. “You tried with cats first, didn’t you? They remember everything. They were perfect.”

“I knew there was a plan to try with feline test subjects, but I was never involved.”

“Yeah, well, if you ask the cats, the ones who went to be ‘tested’ never came back.”

Elliot licked his lips nervously. “Barbara was very upset.”

So was Tybalt. His shoulders were locked, and the smell of pennyroyal and musk was rising in the air around him. Reaching over, I took hold of his wrist, keeping my eyes on Elliot. “And you never asked?”

“I . . . it didn’t seem . . .”

“Did you know that half the cats in a Cait Sidhe’s entourage are changelings?”

“No. I never . . . no.” Elliot seemed to realize he was on thin ice, even if he wasn’t sure how he’d ended up there. “Barbara never said . . .”

“You broke Oberon’s law, whether you knew it or not,” I said. Glancing up to Tybalt, I asked, “Is the Court of Cats going to demand recompense?”

“That remains to be seen,” he said, in a voice that was surprisingly level.

I let go of his wrist. “Okay. Elliot, start moving. We need to get inside.”

“We did it for Faerie,” Elliot protested, as he began to walk again.

“Will that make it easier for you to sleep at night?” asked Tybalt.

I couldn’t blame him for his anger. I shared it. “What happened after the problems were brought to light?”

“We were going to rebuild the physical interface,” Elliot said, in a small voice. I could finally see a door on the wall ahead; it took everything I had to stay calm and keep walking.

“Was Gordan still going to be in charge of the project?”

“There was going to be a review.”

“Did she know?” He nodded. “Was that when the deaths began?” He nodded again. “Did the recording device always connect at the wrists and throat?” So help me, if he said yes, I was going to throttle him.

“No.” He opened the door. The familiar hall past the cafeteria was waiting on the other side. Quietly, he added, “The wounds are new.”

“You know it was Gordan, don’t you?” I asked, as we walked slowly down the hall.

“Yes. I do.” He sighed. “I just don’t want to believe it.”

“Did you know all along? Did you suspect?” I wasn’t shouting; I was too angry. My voice was quiet, calm, and level as I asked, “Did you even care?”

“Look at Yui’s body, or Jan’s, and ask me if I cared,” said Elliot, wearily. “We screwed up. We made mistakes. But we were here of our own free will, and we made those mistakes on our own. Everyone I love is dead. Is that enough? Or should I grovel?”

“It is enough,” said Tybalt, as gravely as a judge passing sentence. He was a King of Cats. The people of Tamed Lightning wronged his people. In a way, he really was passing judgment on what Elliot had done.

Elliot met his eyes, and nodded, accepting the sentence. “We’re almost there.”

“Good. I—” My foot hit something damp and I slipped, nearly falling before I caught myself against Tybalt. I looked down, and went cold.

“Are you all right?” asked Elliot.

“No,” said Tybalt. “She isn’t.”

The blood I’d slipped in was still fresh enough to be wet and red. There wasn’t much of it, and I hadn’t been expecting it; that explained why I hadn’t caught the smell of it before. Now that I was “looking,” it was everywhere, almost overwhelming me.

Pulling away from Tybalt, I sprinted down the hall toward the futon room with an energy I hadn’t realized I still had. Dizziness and panic fought a brief war for control of my actions, and panic won, spurring me to run even faster. I’d told myself Connor and Quentin would be safe where they were . . . and we had a killer who killed her best friend, working with an accomplice who could walk through walls. I’m an idiot. All I could do was hope that I wasn’t already too late.

Sometimes hope is the cruelest joke of all.

THIRTY-ONE

THE FUTON ROOM DOOR WAS OPEN. I skidded to a stop as I turned the final corner, staring, before beginning to walk slowly forward. It felt like I was moving in a dream.

That only lasted as long as it took for me to realize just how much blood had been spilled, and that there was a dark, torpedolike shape lying motionless in the middle of the floor. There was no sign of Quentin. “Connor!” I exclaimed, almost falling over myself as I dropped to my knees next to the seal. “Don’t be dead, don’t be dead, come on, baby, don’t be dead . . .” My hands fumbled across his blood-tacky fur, looking for a pulse. “How the fuck do you find a harbor seal’s pulse?”

“He’s not dead.” Tybalt was standing in the doorway, studying the blood splattered on the walls and floor as casually as a man studying the menu at his local diner.

“How do you know?”

“He doesn’t smell dead.”

That would have to be good enough. I stood, wiping my hands against my jeans as I looked around the room. I hadn’t wanted to believe that they could be in danger. I’d wanted to believe I was just panicking, paranoid as always, and everything would be fine. You can’t always get what you want.

“He went to seal form when he was injured,” I said, my voice sounding distant to my own ears. “It must have been a shock. That’s usually what triggers an involuntary shift in Selkies.”

“You mean like this?” Tybalt stooped to pick something up, holding it up to show me.

A stun gun. “That’d do it,” I agreed. I walked over to the futon, running my fingers along the mattress. The blood matted on its surface was sticky and still warm. Once again, we’d almost made it in time.

Quentin wasn’t Gean-Cannah; there was nothing special about his blood, nothing I could use to save him. He was going to die, just like all the others. Just like Dare. I was going to have to bury another one. I was . . .

I stuck my fingers in my mouth, trying to break that train of thought before it reached its inevitable destination. I was rewarded with a brief, unfocused flash of blackness and silence as the blood-memory flickered and broke. Oh, thank Maeve. He was asleep when he bled. Not dead, not yet. Just sleeping.

“Toby?” Elliot was standing in the doorway, face gone whey-white. “What happened here? Where’s Quentin?”

“Gordan took him.” I was starting to see the blood trail on the floor, marking out the way in blotches and streaks. Only half of it was real blood. The rest was potential blood, ghost-blood, made visible by the magic I inherited from my mother. I could track him. As long as he was bleeding, I could track him. “She messed Connor up, too. Pretty badly.”

“What can we do?”

“We go.” I looked squarely at Elliot. “We go now, because there’s no time to wait. Tybalt, can you—”

“I’ll guard him. I should be able to coax him back to human form.”

“Good.” I started to follow Elliot back into the hall. Tybalt caught my hand, stopping me, and I turned to stare at him. “What—?”

“Be careful,” he said, voice pitched low. His eyes searched my face until finally, with a sigh, he let go of my hand. “I’ll keep the seal-boy safe. Go. Find your charge.”

I nodded, and turned, following the blood trail into the hall. I followed the blood; Elliot followed me. We made our way through the knowe and out onto the lawn, my eyes never leaving the floor.

All the cats in Tamed Lightning seemed to have gathered while we were inside, waiting for us on that lawn. Tabby faces peered out of corners and calico bodies covered picnic tables; all of them fell into step behind us as we