A Local Habitation

“There’s no trouble here.”


“Are you sure?” I asked. The trembling in her hands was getting worse. She put the coffeepot down, shooting me a defiant look. “He’d want me to help if there was.”

“I’m totally sure. If there were trouble, I’d know—we have an excellent reporting system in place.”

In English that probably meant the building was on fire and I was the only one who hadn’t noticed. Shifting topics, I said, “I’ve never seen a Daoine Sidhe with glasses before.”

“Consequence of the modern era,” she replied, relaxing. “I stared into too many bright lights as a kid.”

“And they couldn’t heal you magically? I’d think an Ellyllon . . .”

“I did the damage to myself. I figure I should live with it.”

“I see. So you figure you have to live with whatever’s broken here, too?”

“Nothing’s broken,” she said calmly. “Everything is going great.”

I shook my head. “You’re a terrible liar.”

Jan’s mouth dropped open. I took a step back. Blood means power, and this scrawny, bespectacled girl could probably fling me halfway around the world before I had time to ask for the truck’s license number.

“I am not lying,” she snarled. I flinched, and she took a deep breath, adding more calmly, “It’s just been a little busy lately. That’s all.” She picked up the coffeepot again, finally pouring herself a cup.

I thought Sylvester was being overly concerned when he sent me to Fremont: thanks to Jan’s reactions, I was rethinking my opinion. Even I don’t normally cause panic attacks just by asking a few questions. She’d lied to me twice already. If nothing was wrong, why had she left so many messages for her uncle? “Well, do you mind if we stay a few days, just to be sure? Sylvester asked me to show Quentin the ropes, and I hate to disappoint my liege.”

Her eyes widened as she realized she couldn’t say no without risking her uncle sending an entire diplomatic detachment. I was her one shot at subtle. Then the moment of panic was gone, replaced by another glossy smile. “Of course. Do you have somewhere to stay?”

“Yes, we do,” I said, letting her think that she was fooling me. If she wanted to lie to herself, I was glad to help: it might keep her from realizing how much she was giving away. “Luna arranged hotel rooms for us.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Her smile became a little more honest, affording me another brief look at the fear lurking underneath. “How’s she doing?”

“Luna’s doing well; she’s planning a new garden.”

“Oh? What kind?”

“Wildflowers.” It was going to be a mourning garden, dedicated to the memory of those who died while I was searching for Evening’s killer. There was even a plot for Devin. Luna sent Quentin to show me the plans, and I cried until I was almost sick. But I didn’t want to tell Jan any of that.

“It’s good that she’s keeping busy.” The lightness of her tone was obviously intended to divert me, and it didn’t win her any points.

“Jan?”

“Yes?”

“Can we finish this later? I need to check in with Sylvester, and Quentin has studying to do.” That last bit was a lie, but there was no way I was going to go off and leave the kid in this loony bin. I have too much respect for him.

“Of course.” Jan glanced toward the window. “Wow, is it sunset already? How about you come back in the morning? That’ll give me time to check on a few things.”

Like whether or not we’d really come from her uncle. “That’ll be fine.”

“Great.” She walked back to her desk, setting her mug on an already dangerously cluttered corner. “Do you need someone to walk you out?”