sulfuric acid. Either I was having the world’s worsttimed drug flashback, or it was her.” We zipped through the tollgate on the heels of a little red sedan, barely making it before the gate came down.
“Wow.” May resumed her thoughtful stare. Finally, she said, “You have to take me home.”
“What?” Taking your eyes off the road when you’re driving under a don’t-look-here is never a good idea, but I couldn’t keep from glancing in her direction.
May shook her head. “If it’s Oleander, she’s going to be watching for you. You’re under a don’t-look-here that doesn’t feel like your work, and I was made to look like you. Let me do my job. Let me go back to the apartment and play decoy.” She chuckled darkly. “What’s she gonna do? Kill me?”
“If you’re sure—”
“I’m sure.”
We drove on in silence, both lost in our own thoughts. Raysel was right when she said she could have me executed; Oberon’s law forbids the killing of purebloods for any reason other than royal command. My life was forfeit under the law the moment I killed Blind Michael, if anyone cared enough to claim it. I’ve done a lot for this Kingdom, but people have died on my watch. The purebloods don’t like death. It makes them uncomfortable. My former mentor turned out to be a psychopath, and changelings go crazy all the time. How many people would believe Raysel if she said I’d finally snapped?
Too many. That was the problem.
I pulled up in front of the apartment, keeping the engine running. “Take Spike with you? I don’t want it vanishing into the park.”
“I don’t think it’s in the mood—poor thing’s still asleep.” May snapped her fingers, the smell of cotton candy rising as a version of my normal human disguise locked into place around her. She cradled Spike to her chest as she opened the door. “Be careful out there. I’ve got a bad feeling about all this.”
“Funky Fetch powers?”
“I’ve met you.”
“Jerk.”
I managed to keep smiling until the door was closed and May was walking up the sidewalk toward our apartment. Letting the expression die, I leaned over to rummage through the glove compartment and pull out the Tylenol. I popped the bottle open with my thumb and dry-swallowed three pills. They wouldn’t kill my headache, but they’d keep me functional a little longer, and I was ready to take whatever I could get.
Midnight had come and gone in the chaos surrounding Luna’s collapse. I returned the bottle to the glove compartment as I pulled away from the curb, too aware of the time. The last thing I needed was to cap my evening by getting caught out at dawn.
Searching the Tea Gardens was a long shot, but it was the best idea I had. If anyone knew how to poison an Undine, it was Oleander—and she’d have needed to get inside the Tea Gardens to do it. Her willingness to mix fae and mortal methods was part of what made her so effective, and if she’d done anything with mortal components, something would’ve been left behind. I just had to find it.
The entrances to Golden Gate Park are never locked, even though the park supposedly closes at sunset. The police make periodic sweeps, unaware of how pointless it is. They may catch the human homeless, but they’ll never catch the fae who make up most of the park’s nighttime population. I parked across from the Tea Gardens, leaving the cup in the passenger-side footwell as I twisted around to dig my emergency sneakers out of the back. I might not be able to change the fact that I was about to go wandering around Golden Gate Park after midnight in a hacked-off ball gown, but I could at least do it in sensible shoes.
Donning sneakers and my leather jacket made me feel considerably more capable of handling what was ahead. I hesitated, finally tucking my hair over my ears before getting out of the car. They were the only thing that really gave me away as anything but human, and I wasn’t kidding when I told May I needed to conserve my strength; magic-burn is nothing to sneeze at.
Neither is murder.
The ghostly outline of the car was visible until my fingers broke contact with the door. Then it vanished, leaving the parking space apparently empty. The spell would keep anyone from parking on top of me. It would also keep me from getting busted by the cops for being in Golden Gate Park after “closing.”
“Hope I can remember where I parked,” I said, and started walking.
A narrow strip of grass separated the Tea Gardens from the parking lot. I knelt to study it, but saw nothing more telling than some half-chewed bubblegum. Countless tourists visit the park every day. If Oleander had been there, her tracks were long gone.
Sometimes I regret my choice of careers. I like my work. I enjoy finding out where people have hidden their secrets, and I like knowing nothing’s ever as secure as people think, even if it means knowing that none of my secrets are safe, either. Still, there are times when something a little stronger than my own knowledge of human behavior would be nice. A full forensics lab, for example.
“Devin was right,” I muttered. “I should’ve joined the police.”
I turned as I stood, and found myself nose-to-nose with a male pixie. He was about four inches tall, glowing with a warm amber light that almost distracted from the fact that his short toga-style garment was made from a Snickers wrapper.
“Uh, hi,” I said. “Can I help you with something?”
It’s hard for pixies to hold still for more than ten seconds—their wings aren’t built for it, and a light breeze has a longer attention span—but he was just hovering there, expression giving every indication that he was waiting for something. I squinted. He was holding something behind his back.
“What’ve you got there?” I asked, and held out my hand.
The question seemed to delight him. Laughing, he darted forward and dropped something into my palm before vanishing into the underbrush. I looked down, just in time to see the oleander flower in my hand burst into pale flames. They burned without heat. The flower was gone in a matter of seconds, leaving an ashy smear behind.
Feeling suddenly exposed, I turned in a slow circle, rubbing my hand against my hacked-off skirt as I studied the area. Something moved behind the fountain on the far side of the parking lot. I took a cautious step forward.
Black hair flashed through blue water as Oleander turned and ran.
There wasn’t time to think, and so I didn’t; I just bolted for the fountain. Everything was suddenly clear, like I’d fallen into a dream where the course of events couldn’t be changed. She ran, and I chased. That was the only way it could go.
She was ten yards ahead of me when she came into view. My legs were longer, and I was gaining when she ducked into the botanical gardens. I didn’t remember drawing my knives, but I must have, because they were in my hands. That was fine. If I caught her, we’d be done. Killing her would violate Oberon’s law. I didn’t care, just like I hadn’t cared when I killed Blind Michael. He was a monster, and so was she.
Trees choked the path, cutting off most of the ambient light. I would have paused to get my bearings, but I didn’t need to; the bitter tang of acid hung in the air, marking her trail so clearly that I didn’t need eyes to follow her. I just ran.
The path opened into a clearing. Oleander stood at the center, silhouetted by moonlight. She looked over her shoulder as I ran into the open, and smiled. The smell of sulfuric acid and oleander flowers was suddenly overwhelming. I gathered the last scraps of my endurance and dove, intending to tackle her—only to slam headfirst into a young elm tree, the illusion shattering around me.
The pain broke through the haze that had fallen over me, leaving me suddenly aware of my own actions. What in Maeve’s name was I
Behind me, Oleander laughed. I turned in time to see the bottom of one bare foot vanish between two rose bushes, and the dream slammed back down, too strong to be denied. I ran after her, close enough now to hear her feet hitting the ground.
She was always just a few steps ahead and a few feet out of reach, almost in sight but never quite there. My lungs were burning. I promised myself that if I lived, I’d start working out. Better cranky and alive than cheerful and dead. That thought probably contained some vast truth, but I had better things to worry about, like what would
