Chimes at Midnight

ELEVEN

BRINGING THE UNDERSEA INTO THE PICTURE meant another round of introductions, none of which managed to top Arden meeting Dean for awkwardness, although all of them came with some measure of sizing up. Arden looked uncomfortable, the Undersea guards looked murderous—nothing new there—and Dianda looked murderously hopeful, like this was the opportunity she’d been waiting for since King Gilad died. I guess it’s not every day you get invited to overthrow the ruler of the neighboring Kingdom and get away with it.

“At least I hope we get away with it,” I muttered, picking at the ribbons snarled in my hair. I had retreated to stand near the wall while Dianda introduced her people to Arden. This was Dean’s County, not mine. Let him handle the tricky political bits. I just didn’t want to get dripped on by the admittedly damp representatives of the myriad Undersea races.

Where I went, Quentin inevitably followed. It’s been that way for years, so it wasn’t a surprise when he trailed after me. I elbowed him as best I could with my hands full of hair.

“Don’t you want to hang out and learn about the politics and stuff?” I asked. “Hell, it’s an opportunity to get to know a Princess. Isn’t that supposed to appeal to your inner romantic or something?”

Quentin snorted. “If you’re going to ask two questions in a row, could you not end them with ‘stuff’ and ‘something’? It makes you sound . . .” He stopped, apparently realizing there was no good way to end that statement. Finally, he mumbled, “Princesses aren’t that exciting. I’ve met princesses before.”

“Uh-huh.” I balled up a ribbon, flicking it at him before starting on the next one. “Where did you meet a Princess?”

“Not here.” He folded his arms, looking back to the gathering.

That meant that he’d probably met a Princess somewhere in Canada, and that telling me would give away too much about where he came from. Pressing the subject would have been rude, and so I didn’t try, asking instead, “What did you find at the Library after we left?”

“Lots of stuff about the history of the Kingdom of the Mists. The Kingdom was founded by Denley and Nola Windermere; they had two children, a daughter, who died before she could be named—a curse was suspected, but never proven—and Gilad, who was basically raised in a bubble.”

“They probably felt like that was the only way he’d live to take the throne.” I shook my head. “Does anyone royal ever die a natural death?”

“Statistically speaking, no,” said Tybalt, stepping out of the shadows beside me. I didn’t flinch. Years of putting up with his sense of humor even before we started dating have left me surprisingly desensitized to people sneaking up on me that way. It’s probably going to get me killed one of these days.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I was not in the Mists before Gilad’s reign, but it was common knowledge that his parents had been murdered. I would not be surprised if it was done to make room for someone else’s political agenda. Gilad was a young King. He had not been given sufficient time to prepare before he took his place.” He moved to stand behind me, pushing my hands away as he began delicately unwinding the ribbons from my hair. “The trouble with killing old Kings in hopes that young ones will be more easily controlled is that young Kings are frequently headstrong and angry over their change in status. They refuse to listen to reason, and they are not always as weak as they are expected to be.”

“Did anything indicate that King Gilad was involved with the conspiracy that killed his parents?” I asked, dropping my hands to give Tybalt room to work.

Quentin shook his head. “Kind of the opposite. Apparently, the High King had to coerce him into taking the throne, because he didn’t want to rule in the Kingdom where his parents had died. And then, once he was in charge, he was a good King. Not everybody liked him, but everybody agreed he was as fair as it was possible for him to be.”

“Faerie isn’t fair,” I said, automatically. My eyes strayed back to the water, where one of the Cephali was bowing to Arden. She looked discomforted by the whole situation. I guess having an octopus person bow to her wasn’t a normal thing back at the bookstore. “Did the books say anything about him having children?”

“They said he was really private. He didn’t like anyone knowing what he was doing, or where he was going when he didn’t have to be formally before the Court. Some people said he was arrogant, but most of them thought he was sad. He was all alone. He never had any lovers the Court knew about.” Quentin followed my gaze to Arden. “But there was nothing to say that he didn’t have children.”

“She does look like her father,” said Tybalt. “Even if I had not known, I would have suspected, once I saw her eyes.” He pulled another ribbon from my hair. “The question becomes, is she prepared for what lies ahead?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “She looks pretty unhappy to me.”

“Where did you find her, anyway?” asked Quentin.

“There’s a bookstore on Valencia,” I said.

“I know. Dog Eared Books.”

“No, there’s another one. It’s called Borderlands. They have a café.” I paused before adding, in my most portentous tone of voice, “It sells coffee, and I had no idea it was there.”

Quentin turned back to me, eyes going very wide. “Wow. Whatever spell she’s been hiding under, it’s a doozy.”

“I know, right? She’s been hiding in plain sight this whole time. Hiding and hoarding all the coffee.” I shook my head. Tybalt’s fingers promptly snagged in my hair, and I winced, going still again. “She’s been living in the basement with her brother. He’s upstairs now. The Queen had him elf-shot sometime in the 1930s, and any chance Arden was going to lead an uprising on her own died when he went to sleep. I guess we could wait another decade or two for him to wake up, but somehow, I doubt the Queen is going to put up with me lurking around the borders of her Kingdom until then.” Not to mention all the changeling children who’d become addicted to goblin fruit before that could happen—and once they were addicted, they were as good as lost.

No. It had to be Arden. The Queen was part of the problem, not part of the solution. I couldn’t do anything if I was banished from the Kingdom of the Mists. Quentin would have to find a new Knight, and Tybalt . . .

That wasn’t even worth thinking about. I sighed, and continued, “Arden didn’t want to come, we didn’t really give her a choice, and now we have to talk her into a revolution. If anyone can do it, it’ll be Dianda.” The Undersea Duchess looked positively gleeful about the entire situation. I couldn’t hear them from where I was standing, but handing her the opportunity to overthrow the Queen of the Mists was probably just shy of her personal Christmas.

“The Lordens are a good choice,” Tybalt agreed. “They knew her father well.”

“Yeah. For now, we need to go put in an appearance where the Queen’s men can see me.” Both Tybalt and Quentin looked at me blankly. I swallowed the urge to roll my eyes, and said, “If I disappear completely, she’s going to assume we’re up to something. Since we are up to something, it’s important we keep her from thinking that.”

“Ah,” said Tybalt. “Misdirection.”

“That, and having me around isn’t going to help Arden make up her mind. Getting out of the way and letting her talk to people who remember her father just might.” I held out my hand. “Can I have the ribbons, please?”

“Certainly.” Tybalt handed them to me. “If I may say so, the style does not exactly suit you. Perhaps if you were a trifle more staid . . .”

Quentin snorted.

“I’m not going to put them back in my hair, and you,” I pointed to Quentin with my free hand, “no commentary from the peanut gallery, you got me? I’m going to go get Raj, and then we’re getting out of here.” I turned and walked toward the group gathered near the water, where Raj had joined the others in studying our lost Princess.

Patrick saw me coming and smiled. “You know, October, I’m starting to think you’d be a dangerous enemy to have. You have a disturbing tendency to find what people don’t want you looking for.”

“I can’t take all the credit this time; I’d never have done it if the Luidaeg hadn’t pointed me in the right direction,” I said, and turned to Arden. “Are you going to be okay here for a little while? I need to go be seen in public so the current Queen doesn’t start an inquisition looking for me.”

Arden blanched. “Is that a risk?”

“Only if I don’t go. There’s no way she followed us here, and you’ll be safe with the Lordens. They’re some of the best people I know.” Assuming “best” meant “most potentially deadly if thwarted.” “Your brother is safe here, and we’re going to be looping back to the Library of Stars. I’ll see if there’s anything about waking up elf-shot victims early.”

“I’m not sure . . .” said Arden, still looking uncomfortable.

I tried to smile. “Look, you’ve known us, what, an hour longer than you’ve known everyone else here? And you’re a Tuatha de Dannan. Worst comes to worst, you can teleport yourself straight home. Please. Stay, and listen to what everyone has to say.”

There was a long pause, where I was afraid Arden might insist on coming with us rather than staying in this strange new place, surrounded by strange new people. Finally, she nodded, and said, “If I’m not here when you get back, don’t look for me.”

“I won’t,” I said. I turned to Raj. “Ready to go?”

“I was thinking I’d stay here.” He snuck a glance back at Tybalt and stepped closer to me before saying, softly, “I want there to be more than one person who can move fast without going into the water.” He shuddered at the very idea.

It made sense, tactically. Arden couldn’t teleport more than one or two people. That didn’t mean I had to like it. “If there’s a problem, where will you go?”

“Shadowed Hills,” he said. “I can carry someone there if I have to, I think. Or I can do short jumps and lead the way for the Princess.”

“All right,” I said, finally. “But be careful.”

He grinned, showing over-long incisors. “That wouldn’t be any fun at all.”

“Yeah.” I turned to Dean, who had moved to stand next to his mother, and bowed. “My Lord, I must take my leave. I’ll be back as soon as it’s safe. Do you have my phone number?”

“I do,” he said. With a faint smile, he added, “If we can pull this off, we’re even.”

“A rebellion for a rescue? Works for me.” I held up the handful of ribbons. “Do you mind if I borrow some of your pixies?”

He blinked. “They’re not mine to loan, but if they want to go with you, sure.”

“I appreciate it.” I glanced toward the Lordens. “Nice seeing you, Patrick, Dianda.”

“Always a pleasure,” said Patrick. Dianda just smirked, which somehow seemed like the perfect answer from her.

I walked back to Tybalt and Quentin. “Let’s go upstairs. I have some pixies to bribe.”

“It is a terrible thing that this statement seems completely reasonable to me,” said Tybalt.

We walked back up the spiral staircase to the hall upstairs. Marcia was there, viciously sweeping the pristine-looking floor. I stopped, blinking. I hadn’t realized she wasn’t downstairs with the rest of us. In the crowd, it had been hard to see who was and wasn’t there.

“Marcia?”

She jumped, expression seeming oddly mired between guilt and terror as she whipped around to face us. Then she relaxed, somehow forcing herself to smile. “Toby. You scared me. Are you leaving so soon?”

“For a little while. Dean has everything taken care of with Arden, and I need to keep moving, or the Queen’s going to get suspicious. Speaking of which . . .” I held up my handful of ribbons. “Do you know where the pixies are? I have a business proposition.”

Marcia blinked, blue eyes going puzzled within their protective mask of fae ointment. “What kind of proposition?”

“Simple: I want them to take these ribbons and scatter them around the city. That way, when the Queen sets her men on me, she’ll be able to find traces of my presence everywhere, not just where I’ve actually been.” I shrugged. “If she’s going to insist on transforming my clothing without my consent, she can deal with the consequences.”

“That’s . . . actually pretty clever,” said Marcia.

“I try,” I said, and watched as she raised her broom and rapped it against the rafters. Tiny, multicolored heads popped into view as the pixies that had been lurking overhead checked to see what was going on. I offered them a little wave. “Hi. You guys want to do me a favor?”

The pixies left the rafters in a swarm, surrounding us. Some landed on my shoulders and head. More hovered in front of my face, waiting to hear what the “favor” would constitute.

“I need to mess with the Queen,” I said. “Can you take these ribbons and scatter them around the city, so she can’t tell where I am?”

One of the pixies rang in a questioning tone.

“I’m prepared to pay you three bags of cheeseburgers from the fast food joint of your choosing.” They’d choose McDonald’s, if the swarms of pixies around the dumpsters were anything to go by, but that was no big deal. There are several in the city, and they’d all seen stranger things than a woman buying half her bodyweight in food.

The pixie rang again.

“Three bags a week for the next month,” I amended.

A third ring.

“With fries.”

That seemed to satisfy her. She turned to the other pixies, ringing turning strident. I held out the fistful of ribbons. Pixies darted in from every direction, each snatching a single ribbon before darting away. A few even went for my hair, fishing out ribbons Tybalt had missed. It was like being at the center of a very accessory-oriented swarm. I didn’t move until they were done. Neither did Tybalt and Quentin. Pixies are nowhere near as harmless as they look. If I didn’t keep up my side of the bargain, they’d begin invading the house, and their homemade spears were frequently tipped with poison. I made it a rule never to break a bargain with a pixie.

After the last ribbon had been whisked away and the last pixie had vanished down the hall, I turned back to Marcia and said, “We’re going to take off. You okay here?”

Marcia worried her lip between her teeth before she nodded. “I’ll be fine. I’m just not sure how Dean is going to handle all this. He’s only been Count for a little while.”

“He’ll be fine,” I said. “He’s had way more preparation than I did, and I didn’t get us all killed. Besides, he has you to help.”

“That’s not as encouraging as you think.” She flapped her free hand at us. “Go. We’ll call if there’s any trouble.”

“Okay. Can you also call if Arden decides to cut bait and run? I need to know if I should start packing my things.”

“We will,” she pledged.

“I know she’s in good hands,” I said.

She smiled a little. “I do my best.”

We could have kept on saying good-bye for hours, since none of us were in a hurry to go back into the Queen’s line of sight. With a sigh, I turned away from her, offering Tybalt a wan smile, and asked, “Shadowed Hills?”

“I’ve been waiting for that particular request, since I know the Queen will be expecting you to be seen there,” he said. “May I suggest, instead, that we return to your house? Once there, you can drive yourself and Quentin to Duke Torquill’s domain, and I can handle certain necessities at the Court of Cats before I come to collect you.”

Moving the car would certainly lend credence to the idea that I was desperately racing around the Bay Area, looking for a way out of my banishment. And Tybalt didn’t need the strain of transporting two people along the Shadow Roads for more than a few miles twice in one night. I nodded. “Works for me.”

Quentin and I each took one of Tybalt’s hands, and together, we stepped into the dark, leaving the warm, uncomplicated halls of Goldengreen behind us. It was a shorter passage through the darkness than many of them, maybe because we were traveling such a short distance, maybe because we were moving from one familiar location to another. Whatever the reason, we stepped out into my living room not much later.

I wiped the ice from my eyelashes and called, “Hello, the house!” A rattling noise answered me as Spike—my resident rose goblin—woke up and jumped onto the back of the couch, making a puzzled mewling sound. I leaned over to scratch behind its thorny ears. “Hey, buddy. Where are May and Jazz?”

“Jazz is getting some sleep, and it’s my turn to keep watch,” said May, stepping into the living room with a cup of coffee in her hand. She held it out to me. “She’s gone to bed. We’ll switch off in an hour or so. Where’s Raj?”

“We left him at Goldengreen,” I said, taking the cup. “What are you up to?”

“I did laundry, I cleared some things off the TiVo, and I waved to the men the Queen has lurking around the edges of the park, trying to look unobtrusive.” May grinned. “I mean, to be fair, I probably wouldn’t have known they were there if I weren’t, you know, a Fetch, but wow, did I freak ’em out.”

May’s fae abilities were something of a guessing game, since no Fetch had ever existed this long before. One of the first things we learned about her powers was that she was virtually impossible to sneak up on, especially if your intentions weren’t good. I frowned. “How do you know they’re freaking out? I thought you couldn’t see through illusions.”

“Oh, I can’t see them—I just know where they are, and every time I wave, they run around and get into new hiding positions, like that’s going to fool me somehow.” May looked entirely too pleased with herself. I couldn’t say that I blamed her. “Hours of enjoyment. Seriously.”

“Well, we’re about to take your pretty toys away.” I sipped my coffee as I outlined the plan, using as few words as possible. Tybalt and Quentin chimed in a few times, but mostly left things to me. That was probably for the best; it was confusing enough as it was.

May waited until I was finished before nodding and asking, “Is there anything I can do?”

“Start packing,” I said. “I’m sure some of the Queen’s men will stay to watch the house, even if most of them go after me. Make it look like we’re planning to leave the Kingdom if we have to, while I try to convince them I’m frantically looking for a loophole. Hopefully thus concealing the one loophole we have managed to find.”

“Arden,” said May. “It’s risky.”

“What about this hasn’t been?”

She sighed. “Right. Well, just be as careful as you can, okay? I don’t think Sylvester will let me keep the house if you get yourself slaughtered.”

I laughed. “I love you, too. I just need to get some more coffee in me, and then I’m good to go. Quentin, if you need anything from the house, now would be the time.”

“Okay,” he said, and turned to head off toward his room. May followed him, running a hand through her hair as she walked. It was a gesture she’d borrowed from her memories of being me, rather than any of the other people who made up her patchwork lifetime. She still made it entirely her own.

Tybalt touched my shoulder. I looked back at him and smiled.

“Hey.”

“Hello,” he replied. He raised an eyebrow. “You’re in surprisingly good spirits for someone who’s been given every reason to be furious with the world. Should I be checking to be sure you’re not your own Fetch in disguise?”

“Nope,” I said. “You’d smell the difference. And I’m in good spirits because things are actually . . . I don’t know. I’m starting to think this might work.” I had good allies on my side—and better, I had family.

Tybalt leaned in and kissed me before taking his hand away. “Optimism suits you,” he said. “I’ll do my best to see that it endures—but for the moment, I must be on my way.”

“I know,” I said, before kissing him. Turnabout is fair play, after all. “We’ll be at Shadowed Hills when you’re done with whatever needs doing.”

“I’ll come for you there,” he promised, and then he was gone, stepping into the shadows by the wall and fading into nothingness.

Finding myself alone in the living room, I checked the flask of fireflies in my pocket and started for the kitchen. I already had my knives, and for once, I’d managed to leave the house and come back without getting my clothes soaked in blood, ichor, or anything else. My dress wasn’t restricting my motion, and the fact that I was still wearing it would look good to the Queen’s men. It meant I was too distraught to bother getting changed.

“Quentin, hurry it up!” I shouted, as I capped off my thermos. Coffee would make everything all right. “We’re burning daylight.” It felt like half of the Kingdom was staying awake during the day on my account.

“Coming!” He came half-trotting into the kitchen. He hadn’t visibly changed, but I was sure he’d filled his pockets with something, even if it was only beef jerky. “I’m ready.”

“Good.” I waved a hand, grabbing the necessary magic to weave myself a human disguise. Quentin did the same, finishing several seconds before me even though he’d started after I did. I wrinkled my nose at him. He grinned.

“Being Daoine Sidhe has to come with some advantages.”

“Brat,” I said, without rancor, and opened the back door.

I didn’t see any of the Queen’s guards in the park, but I trusted May’s magic: they were there, and they were no doubt watching as Quentin and I got into the car. I started the engine, resisting the urge to wave as we drove past the spots with the best cover. There was no point in taunting them for doing their jobs. The fact that they had to deal with the Queen of the Mists on a daily basis was punishment enough. I even felt a little bad about what had happened to the guards who had been assigned to watch the Luidaeg’s place. They couldn’t have known what they were getting into, and I couldn’t imagine the Queen being someone who’d willingly accept a letter of resignation.

Sometimes living in a feudal society stinks. I focused on driving while Quentin fiddled with the radio, finally settling on one of the modern country stations he liked so much. We were both tired; it had been a long night, and it looked like the day wasn’t going to be any shorter. We drove in silence across the Bay Bridge, the Pacific Ocean stretching out like a blue satin sheet below us, and onward into the East Bay.

Driving in the morning after rush hour is peaceful. Having a boyfriend who can transport me without needing to worry about finding parking is nice, but I was glad to be making this trip by car. I’d been driving this road for literally decades, and no matter how much everything else around me changed, the road remained essentially the same.

We pulled into the lot at Paso Nogal Park in Pleasant Hill a little over an hour after leaving the house. Quentin was the first one out, as always, speed-walking to the base of the nearest hiking trail before turning to wait for me with ill-concealed impatience.

“Well?” he said.

“I’m coming!” I took my time locking the car, enjoying the mild frustration on his face. Quentin had lived at Shadowed Hills for years before he moved in with me. Coming back was exciting. Homecomings always are. I started toward him. “Just hold your horses.”

I was halfway to the spot where he was waiting when a male voice said, “Hey, lady, you got a quarter?”

“Sorry, no,” I said, automatically looking over my shoulder to assess the voice’s owner for signs that he might be a danger.

He was a skinny mortal man in a long black trench coat—or at least, that’s all I saw before he pulled his hand from behind his back and was suddenly next to me, crossing the intervening distance at a speed that was anything but human. I reached for my knife, but I was too slow, too slow to do anything but open my mouth in preparation for a shouted warning. Then the pie he was holding was slamming into my face, filling my mouth and nose with sticky sweetness.

Wait. Pie?

Quentin shouted something as I clawed the pastry from my face, wiping fruit and chunks of crust away from my eyes. My attacker was gone, leaving the parking lot empty except for me, Quentin, and the pretty floating lights that were dancing a slow quadrille around us.

Oh.

I looked down at my pie-covered fingers. I should have recognized the smell, if not the taste—and why would I have recognized the taste? I had always been so careful. I had never tasted goblin fruit before in my life.

“Quentin,” I said. I wasn’t quite sure why it was important that I tell him what was going on—the lights seemed a lot more pressing—but he was my . . . he was my brother? My son? My squire. He was my squire, and that meant telling him I was going to be unavailable. “I think you should get Sylvester.”

“Toby?”

He sounded scared. Why should he sound scared? This was wonderful. I raised my head and beamed. He was beautiful. Everything was beautiful.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” I said, and passed out in the parking lot.