A Local Habitation

“Suicidal jerk,” Gordan said. I looked up. This time she met my eyes. “Are you going to let him decide whether or not he stays and dies?”


“Why not? I let the rest of you.” I stroked Quentin’s hair back with one hand, and looked to the door. There were footsteps coming down the hall. “Of course, unless that’s Elliot, it may be a moot point.” Connor’s hand found mine, and took it.

“Ha ha. Very funny.” Still, Gordan turned to watch the door, shoulders tense, and didn’t relax until Elliot stepped inside, followed by Alex. April appeared in her usual burst of static, standing several feet away from the new arrivals.

“I have brought him,” she said. It almost sounded like she was seeking approval.

“You did good,” I said, and stood. Elliot and Alex had both stopped just inside the door, eyes wide, staring at Quentin. I cleared my throat. “Hi.”

“Toby!” Elliot turned. “What happened?”

“Someone tried to kill us,” I said.

I couldn’t have gotten a better result if I’d tried. Elliot staggered, and Alex stared. “What?” he said, blankly.

“Kill us. Someone tried to kill us.” I shook my head. “There were two shots. The first missed. The second got Quentin.”

“He’s a lucky bastard,” said Gordan, standing. “They shattered the bones, but missed the artery. A little further and he would’ve bled to death before I got here.”

I shuddered, unable to hide it this time, and said, “We’ve already gone over why I can’t take him to a hospital. Does the room where I was napping earlier have a lock?”

“Yes . . .” Elliot said.

“Good. We’re going to move him there. Connor will stand guard. Sylvester’s on his way; I’m going to call and tell him to hurry, but I don’t know whether he’ll have left already. If he’s not here by sunset, I’m taking your car, and I’m taking Quentin home.” I looked at Elliot. “I refuse to let him die here. Do you understand?”

“You’ll abandon us?” Alex asked, horrified. I felt the half-familiar tickle of desire kindle in my stomach, and shoved it down again as hard as I could. He might be a master of glamour, but I was a Daoine Sidhe covered in blood, and few things are harder to control.

“I’ll come back, but yes. If it’s a matter of saving Quentin’s life, I will leave.” I looked to Gordan. “Is it safe to move him?”

“I’d recommend it,” she said. “This place is trashed.”

“And infection’s always a risk. Got it.” I stepped over, and knelt by Quentin’s head, asking, “Quentin, can you hear me?” There was no reply. I watched him for a moment to be sure that he was breathing. “Okay. He’s out.”

“I don’t think—”

“Elliot, shut up.” I said.

“I’ve got him,” said Connor, moving to Quentin’s other side.

“Good. Elliot, come get his feet. Connor, you’ve got the unhurt arm—just slide your hands under him. One, two, up.” The three of us lifted together, getting Quentin safely off the floor. “Alex, get the door.”

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” he said, but moved to push the door open.

“And what would be? Leaving him here? Going back to Shadowed Hills? Tell me, O wise one.” I glared at him, shifting my grip on Quentin.

Alex sighed. “I don’t think there are any good ideas left. Come on. It’s this way.”

We made a funny parade. Alex led the way, with April appearing and disappearing beside or ahead of him. Connor, Elliot, and I took the middle, fighting not to jar Quentin any more than we had to, and Gordan brought up the rear. We were all jumpy, even April, and we flinched from the slightest noises.

Nothing attacked.

Gordan took charge again in the break room, barking directions as we settled Quentin on the futon and tucked a pillow behind his head. The tattered, filthy condition of his clothes brought a fresh scowl to her face. Eyes narrowed, she targeted on Elliot. “This is an infection risk,” she said.