A Local Habitation

Terrie’s skin was still warm, even warmer than Peter’s had been. We’d almost made it in time. Too angry and exhausted for delicacy, I lifted her arm, raised her punctured wrist to my mouth, and drank.

Blood is always different. It has a thousand tastes, spiced by life and tainted by memory. Take away those flavorings and all you have left is copper, cloying and useless. Terrie’s blood was empty. I prepared to spit it out, and paused, licking my lips. There was something there. Ignoring Elliot’s choked-off gasp, I took another mouthful. Yes; there was definitely something there, something not quite gone. It was just a flicker of memory, a distant whisper of clover and coffee, too faint to tell me anything . . . but it was there.

I sat back on my haunches, frowning. What was different here? What distinguished this death from the rest? The others were purebloods; Terrie was a changeling. Maybe that was it. Or maybe it was the fact that she was two different people . . . and only one of them had died.

“Elliot? What time is it?”

“A little after eight.” He hesitated. “Why?”

I smiled, and he blanched. I could feel the blood drying on my lips. “Let’s move her to the basement. I want to check on Quentin, and then I’m going to sleep until Sylvester gets here. I need to be alert in the morning.”

“Why?” he asked. He didn’t sound like he really wanted to know.

Tough. Still smiling, I said, “Because at sunrise, I’m going to wake the dead.”





TWENTY-SEVEN



WE WAITED FOR TYBALT to return before moving the body. His mood had grown even worse while he was scouring the knowe for cats; someone, he reported, had driven them away with a high-pitched sound, leaving them skittish and miserable. Someone was going to pay for that if he had any say in the matter.

He and I carried Terrie’s body through the knowe together. Ignoring Elliot’s disturbed stare, we moved Colin’s body to the floor, settling Terrie in his place. I’d need easy access to her body, and Colin wasn’t in a position to object. The dead are usually pretty mellow about that sort of thing. The basement was getting crowded. Most of the bodies looked like movie models, too pristine to be real; the only body that seemed even halfway natural was Jan’s beneath its mottled sheet of red and brown. I still didn’t understand why Jan had been killed so differently from the others. What was I missing?

“You can go,” I said, glancing toward Elliot. “Call April, and stay with her. Make her take you to Gordan.”

For a moment, he looked like he might argue. Then he nodded, heading up the stairs without another protest. I watched him, trying to ignore the pain in my head and hand. I was so tired. I needed to sleep before the morning’s work, or I wasn’t going to survive it. And there were still things I had to do.

Tybalt remained silent until Elliot was gone. Then he swung his head around to look at me, asking, “What do you intend to do?”

“Something really, really stupid.” He narrowed his eyes, and I shrugged. “Look: Terrie and Alex share a body, but they’re not the same person. If Terrie’s dead, and Alex isn’t, I might be able to jump-start him somehow. That could wake the blood back up.”

He paused. “I don’t know whether that’s brilliant or suicidal.”

“That’s all right.” I offered him the ghost of a smile. “Neither do I.”

“Charming.” He walked toward me, fingered the collar of the jacket I was wearing, and said, “It suits you, I think. You should keep it.”

“Tybalt, I—”

“Not that I would have it back, after the amount of blood you’ve doubtless shed on it.” He pulled his hand away. “You’re about to ask me for something. I recognize the look.”

“I am.” For a moment, I wanted to catch his hand, just to have something to hold onto. The moment passed. “I don’t know where Sylvester is, and he shouldn’t be taking this long. Can you go and try to find him?”

“Not until I’ve seen you safe.”

I shot him a sidelong look. He looked imperiously back.