A Local Habitation

“Dryad who lives in the local computer network,” said Quentin, sounding disinterested. I had to smother another snicker. The kid was definitely learning about playing blasé.

“She’s Jan’s adopted daughter,” I said, bouncing the bag she’d handed me to check the weight before I looked inside. It contained candles and feathers, just like she’d said. Normal Dryads can’t take things with them when they teleport. The Tuatha can, but their method of teleportation is more direct—they open doors between places, rather than actually disappearing and then reappearing somewhere else. The fact that April could move physical objects said a lot about just how much Jan’s procedure had changed her. “Take a look at this, will you?”

Both of them walked over to me, but it was Quentin who reached for the bag. I let him take it. He looked inside, then up at me, asking, “What about it?”

“Does it seem normal to you?”

“Um . . . yeah. Why?”

“Because April brought it with her when she teleported in.”

Connor frowned. “Weird.”

“Just like everything else about this place.” I reclaimed the bag, putting it down on the counter. “You guys want to help me move the tables?”

“Just tell us where,” said Connor, and smiled.

I smiled back. “Get ’em up against the walls.” Moving to an empty table, I started to push. Connor and Quentin nodded before doing the same.

The tables proved to be surprisingly light; plastic is a wonderful thing. We worked in comfortable silence for a while, moving the tables against the walls and stacking the chairs in tidy piles. I was going to need a lot of space if I wanted to make a circle large enough to be secure.

We were almost done when Elliot pushed open the cafeteria door, Gordan close behind him. Both of them were carrying armloads of dried flowers; Gordan had almost vanished behind her heap of foliage, leaving nothing but the white-topped crest of her hair visible.

Looking up, I nodded. “Great. Put those on the counter.”

“I’m sorry it took so long, but your list was very specific, and—”

“It’s all right. We still have . . .” I glanced up at the clock over the door. “Almost an hour before the sun goes down. That’s plenty of time to set up the circle.” I straightened, planting my hands in the center of my back as I stretched, then walked over to pick up the sea salt. “Quentin, get the candles. Connor, the juniper berries.” They nodded, moving to do as they’d been asked.

Elliot and Gordan watched me draw a wide circle of salt in the center of the cafeteria floor, making it large enough for me to sit in comfortably. Quentin followed me, handing me candles whenever I reached back toward him. I arranged all but one around the rim of the circle, using small piles of salt to hold them up. The last candle went into the circle just before I sealed it. There was no need to speak; Quentin understood the basics of ritual magic as well as I did, and he could see the shape of what we were making.

Finally, Gordan asked warily, “What are you going to do?”

“Connor?” I held out my hand, and he pressed the jar of juniper berries into it. I began walking around the circle, scattering berries as I went. “Well, most likely, I’m going to get myself carried off by the night-haunts. If that doesn’t happen, I’m going to find out why they aren’t taking your dead.”

“What?!” Elliot stared at me.

Even Connor eyed him strangely for that outburst. I put my free hand on my hip, saying, “You knew I was calling the night-haunts, Elliot.”

“You never said anything about them carrying you away!”

“What, you thought the night-haunts would be friendly? They don’t like to be disturbed, but the circle should protect me, if I’ve done it right.” I moved to pick up the silk-swaddled mandrake. “This is the sacrifice. Connor, get the feathers, would you?”

“Got ’em.”