A Local Habitation

This was worse than trying to watch opera without a program book. I cleared my throat. Quentin gave me a stricken look, but the crowd didn’t miss a beat, continuing to debate foreign swear words. I cleared my throat again; either they couldn’t hear me, or I was being ignored.

“Excuse me?” I said, finally.

Elliot looked up and smiled, taking his hands out of his suit pockets. Quentin shrank back. I’m sure the expression was meant to be reassuring, but few things are less reassuring than a smiling Bannick: their teeth are sharp and mossy, and they look perfectly equipped for a nice dinner of young Daoine Sidhe. The teeth are misleading—the Bannick are actually very friendly people. They like to live in bathhouses and on coasts, and unlike the Kelpies, they don’t kill travelers. Well, not often. “I’m sorry; are you lost?” he asked.

“No, I’m not,” I said. “I’m looking for Countess Torquill. Is she here?”

“Sorry, no,” said the brunette, eyes still on her clipboard. “Can we help you?”

I bit back a sigh, saying, “I really need to talk to January. Will she be back soon?” Inwardly, I was fuming. It wasn’t her fault Sylvester hadn’t told her we were coming, but I’d still expected her to be there when we arrived. No one ever accused me of being logical.

She glanced up, smiling. “Probably not.”

“Damn.” The multilingual cursing was still going on. I looked toward it. “What is that?”

“That would be Gordan,” said Colin.

“Why is she screaming like that?” asked Quentin.

“Because she found a flaw, an error, nay, a veritable bug in her code,” said the blond, with obvious relish. “I think her poor obsessive heart may break.”

I blinked. “Does she do this often?”

“Every time,” he said, winking. For some reason, I felt my cheeks redden. Quentin scowled.

“You can set your clock by it,” Colin added.

“If you bother to set a clock at all,” said the brunette. The shouting stopped and she looked at her watch. “Twenty-one minutes, eight languages. She’s right on schedule.”

Talking to the entire group at once was making my headache worse. “Is there somewhere we can go to wait for the Countess?”

“Sure—have you eaten? You’re welcome to wait in the cafeteria.” Elliot glanced to the brunette, who shrugged and offered another brilliant smile. “You can get something in your stomachs while you wait for January to come talk to you.”

“Great,” I said, and realized I meant it. Headaches make me hungry. Next to me, Quentin perked up. Teenage boys are almost always ready for another meal. “Food would be wonderful.”

“All right, then. Follow me.” Elliot started down one of the paths into the maze, waving for us to follow. I shrugged and did as I was bid, nodding to the others as I passed. I had nothing else to do, and Quentin was looking almost pleasant for the first time since we’d arrived. Maybe after he ate something he’d stop glaring all the time.

“Later, Elliot,” called the blond, joining Colin at the water cooler. The brunette had gone back to her notes, and Peter was wandering calmly down one of the aisles. It seemed this really was just “business as usual.”

“See you,” Elliot said, waving again. “Keep walking,” he advised, more quietly. “They can smell fear; they’ll be on you like hawks if they know they make you nervous.”

“You’re pulling my leg . . . right?” Quentin glanced to me, anxious.

“He’s kidding,” I said. People who stand around taking notes while their friends scream usually aren’t dangerous to anyone but themselves.

“Yes, I’m pulling your leg,” Elliot said. “You both look so serious.”

“I’m on official business,” said Quentin, tone going stiff and formal.

I shrugged. “I just have a headache.”