A Local Habitation

All I got was the bitter, watery taste of diluted blood. There wasn’t a flicker of memory.

Quentin coughed and dropped his cup on the tray. “There’s nothing there.”

I sighed, putting my cup next to his. “It must have been too old.” He didn’t have to know that I was lying. I crossed to Yui’s cot and folded the sheet back, saying, “Maybe three weeks will make the difference.”

“You’re going to try again?” Alex asked.

“Have you got a better idea?” I picked up the third cup, scraping the blood off Yui’s right wrist. “If so, please share. I’m all out of good ideas.”

“Not really. I just . . . I want this to stop.”

“Yeah, well, if I were you, I’d have left by now. Gone somewhere safer.” Like the middle of a minefield.

“I can’t.”

“Why not?” I handed Quentin his cup, started preparing my own.

“It’s a little hard to explain.”

“Doesn’t Terrie want to go?” I asked. Quentin looked up at the mention of Terrie’s name, suddenly interested.

Alex flinched. “Not really. That’s part of it.”

“Have you tried explaining that staying here might be fatal?”

“We don’t see each other much,” he said, uncomfortably. “It makes it hard to explain things.”

“She works the night shift, and she found the first body, right?”

“Yes,” he said, sounding startled and a bit wary. Not a good sign. “How did you know?”

I looked at him blandly. “Jan told me.”

“Right.” He sighed.

“If you see her, let her know I want to talk to her.”

His eyes widened. “Why?”

I expected his reaction: no one wants to hear that someone wants to talk to their relatives as part of a murder investigation. What I didn’t expect was the expression on Quentin’s face—for a moment, he looked like I’d slapped him.

“Calm down,” I said, directing the statement to both of them. “I just want to ask her a few questions. I’m not accusing anyone of anything.” Yet.

Alex calmed marginally, saying, “If I see her, I’ll let her know.”

“Good.” I sipped the bloody water instead of gulping this time, trying to linger. Quentin saw this and did the same. Not that it did any good; the blood was as empty as Barbara’s. I spat it back into the cup. “Well, that was useless.”

“Nothing here, either,” said Quentin. He was starting to look green around the edges. The magic wasn’t working, but he was still tasting the blood.

Alex peered at us. “Are you going to throw your cups at me if I say you look like hell?”

I considered for a moment, finally saying, “I won’t.”

“I might,” Quentin said.

“I’ll risk it. You look like hell. Have you had anything to eat since breakfast?”

“No,” I admitted, and sighed. “I’m still mad at you.”

“I know. But that doesn’t mean you don’t need to eat.

Come on. We can hit the cafeteria and get some food into you. The cooks are gone, but the vending machines still work.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” I said, grudgingly, as I dropped my cup back onto the tray. There wasn’t any blood on my fingers. They just felt that way. I wiped them against the legs of my jeans, trying to be casual about it. “Is there a phone in the cafeteria?”

“Yes,” said Alex.

“I’m not hungry,” said Quentin.

“Is there coffee?” I asked.

“You can have a pot to yourself.”

“I’m sold.” I looked toward Quentin. “Come on. I’ll buy you a soda.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You’re a teenager. You’re always hungry.” I was hungry, whether or not Quentin was, and I’d focus better after a sandwich and some coffee. “Can we get an escort to the cafeteria?”

Looking amused, he asked, “You two need a native guide?”

“Please. Unless you think you have enough staff left to send search parties.”

“The place isn’t that bad.”