A Local Habitation

another step toward success!”

“You’re talking about killing us!”

“Isn’t it sad? But this is important! We’re making sacrifices for the greater good!”

“Sacrifices like Barbara?”

Her manic cheer slipped for a moment, showing the anger behind it. “That was an accident,” she hissed, finger tightening on the trigger.

I have a few basic rules for dealing with guns. First, don’t let anyone else have one. Second, if you must let someone else go armed, try not to tease them. I put my hands up, saying soothingly, “I’m sure it was.”

“I didn’t know it would kill her! I thought I’d fixed the problems, and she was so upset about the cats. She was going to demand we abandon the whole project, and . . . and . . .”

“And you thought you’d show her just how well it could really work.”

“Yes,” she said, desperately. That’s the nice thing about insanity: evil people kill you, but crazy ones try to make you understand. “I could do it one last time—do it right—and she’d see. We’d be finished. We could go public, and everything would be . . . better.”

“But something went wrong.” She was silent. I frowned. “You still don’t know what went wrong, do you?”

“I’ll find it!”

“I’m sure you will.”

Gordan shook her head as if to clear it, and then smiled. “I will, thanks to you and your courtly boy. Every bit of data helps. If you survive, it’ll tell me everything, and if you die, you’ve helped save Faerie. Be proud. You’ll be remembered as pioneers of our brave new world.”

“Sacrifices are always remembered that way.”

“If it bothers you to think of yourselves as sacrifices, don’t. Think of yourselves as . . . explorers running the risk of sailing off the edge of the world. It’ll only hurt for a second. Once the current starts up, you won’t feel anything at all. You won’t even be able to move.”

That explained why none of their victims struggled. Use April to get the machine on them, flip a switch, and they were frozen while they died. April didn’t help to kill Jan, and so she wasn’t caught the right way. “Let Quentin go, Gordan,” I said. “He doesn’t have anything to do with this.”

“Maybe if you’d sent him away when I told you to, I could have, but it’s too late now.” She glanced over her shoulder. “April should be back soon. It’s nice, having an assistant who doesn’t understand that space is supposed to be linear. She’s so efficient.”

I began inching away from the wall. She turned immediately, a small, chiding smile on her face. “Uh- uh. No funny business.”

“You’re using her,” I said, slumping back against the wall.

“Who, April? I didn’t use her. She came willingly.”

“Did she understand what she was doing?”

“What we were doing, you mean? Of course she did. She understood we were helping others be like her. Of course, she didn’t know they wouldn’t come back after they were shut down, but that doesn’t matter. She still agreed.”

“It matters to me.”

“It doesn’t. No one’s coming to save you. I’ll kill you, and the boy, and then we’ll take out your stray cat and the seal. Don’t worry. I’ll tell your liege you died heroically. So sad. April and I will be the only survivors, and we’ll be heartbroken . . . but we’ll continue our work.” She glanced around. “Where is she? April!” The echo of her shout bounced off the walls. “Stupid girl.”

I knew the cavalry wasn’t coming; all I could do now was stall for time. “The only thing I don’t understand is how you killed Peter. The generators . . .”

“Panic buttons can have multiple purposes.” Gordan’s smile grew. “April hooked him up, I pressed a button, and the power died. No way April could have done it. Instant alibi. And he’d never have gone off like that with me.”

“And Jan? She didn’t know what you were doing.”

“She would’ve figured it out. Or you would’ve. She was going to tell you.”

“So you killed her to protect yourself. Why did you kill her differently? None of the others were cut up like that. Didn’t that hurt your data?”

Gordan narrowed her eyes. “Are you trying to keep me talking? It’s not going to do you any good. It’s over. You two are part of the project, whether or not you want to be.”

“You’re right; it’s over. They’re all gone. You killed them.” She’d killed them chasing a dream they’d shared and would have helped her pursue, if she’d just been patient. None of them needed to die—no one ever needs to die—but I somehow doubted her madness would let her see that. She’d gone too far.

Gordan shook her head, snarling, “You don’t understand! We were trying to save them! I was going to save them all!”

“You knew the process killed people. After Barbara, you had to know.”

She glared at me, madness flooding back into her eyes. “You’re nothing to them, do you realize that? Nothing—hell, less than nothing. Humans have iron and fire, but changelings? We have no iron, no fire . . . no power. We’re tools to them. You have the nerve to wonder why I had to kill them? I’d expect that from him,” she indicated Quentin with the hand that held the gun, and for a sickening moment, I was afraid she was going to shoot, “but not from you.”

“I don’t understand.” I was lying, but I didn’t think she could tell; I’m pretty good at hiding that sort of thing. She was standing on the edge of sanity, and I was afraid that if she lost her balance, she’d take Quentin with her. I couldn’t let that happen. I needed her distracted.

“We’d all have been the same inside the crystal! There would’ve been no more borders and no more differences! We could all have been what we were meant to be!”

“Static. Dead. Unchanging.” I shook my head, not caring how stupid my words were. She had the gun and Quentin was unconscious; I had to defend us both, and for the moment, words were my only weapon. “That’s not life. That’s just programming.”

“It’s the best chance we have for Faerie—for us. Have the purebloods gotten their lies so close to your bones that you can’t see them anymore? Have you forgotten what they call you?” Her voice rose, taking on a sharp, mocking tone. Remembered pain and stolen mockery. “Half-blood. Mongrel. Mutt. Have you forgotten the way they hurt and hurt and never care?” Tears were gleaming in her eyes; she was too busy ranting to hide them.

“I’ll never forget what I am,” I said, softly. “But I know how to forgive.”

“They own you! You’re one of their dogs! When the purebloods order you, you go. You even baby-sit their kids while you’re marching off to die!” She laughed. “We found everything we needed to know when we were trying to find out how we could stop you from destroying everything. Sylvester points and you go. Dog. Stupid, mongrel dog.” Her words were meant to wound, but it’s hard to hurt me with words. I’ve heard them before.

“I’m his and he’s mine. Everyone owns their family, for good or bad. It’s why we don’t kill each other.” There were only a few feet between us. If she kept distracting herself, I might be able to make it. “If I’m their dog, it’s because they’re family, and I want to be.”

“Then why didn’t they stay for me?!” Her grip on the gun was loosening. Hysteria was breaking her focus. That didn’t mean she wasn’t dangerous; it might actually mean we were in more danger. Insanity is unpredictable. “If family works that way, why didn’t mine stay?!”

“I don’t know, Gordan. I’d tell you if I did,” I said.

“They wouldn’t listen!” She was lost in her own private pain: my world and hers weren’t meeting anymore. “They would never listen! Not my mother, not Barbara, not anyone! I wasn’t pureblooded and they were, so I wasn’t good enough to listen to! Idiots!”

“Why wouldn’t they listen?” I asked, inching forward. I was almost close enough.

She didn’t notice. “They thought being pureblooded meant they knew better than I did,” she said bitterly. “No matter what we do, no matter how much we improve Faerie, it’s never going to make them accept us. You should know that. It’s not my fault Daddy left. It’s not my fault I was born the way I am. So why do they blame me?”