A Local Habitation

“Uh-huh.” I spread the sheets back over Barbara and Yui. Maybe they wouldn’t care, but I did. Quentin was tossing the cups into the garbage can, not bothering to empty them first. “Have you ever been to Shadowed Hills?”


“No, I can’t say that I have.”

“Amateur,” Quentin muttered, and started up the stairs.

“Quentin . . .” He didn’t stop. Sighing, I followed.

Alex came along behind me, pausing to close the basement door. It didn’t lock. “So what’s the big deal about Shadowed Hills?”

He was clearly trying to get back into my good graces. I considered the sincere unhappiness in his expression, and gave in, saying, “Shadowed Hills is just about as bad as this place. I guess the Torquills just have a family grudge against linear space. I’m practically a native, and I still get lost there.”

“This place is confusing at first, but it gets better. You’ll catch on.”

“I hope so.” Quentin was ten feet ahead. I called, “If you don’t know where you’re going, stop.” He glared back at me, but stopped, letting us catch up. “That’s better. Come on.”

Alex led us through the halls, choosing what I assumed was the best route through rooms that connected without attention to the laws of architecture or common sense. I was sure the physical buildings were more sanely constructed, but we weren’t in the physical buildings: we were in the knowe. Quentin walked in sullen silence, but Alex made up for it by chattering wildly, pointing out interesting quirks of the knowe’s construction and cracking bad jokes. I didn’t pay attention to a word. People were dying.

“Are we there yet?” Quentin demanded.

“Patience, young one!” Alex said. Quentin glared, and he amended, “Almost. The cafeteria’s just ahead.” Then he turned to wink at me, smiling broadly. I smiled back, almost unintentionally. It was hard to stay mad when he was working so hard at winning my approval.

“Good,” Quentin said.

We turned a corner, bringing the cafeteria door into view. Quentin sped up, dashing through, with Alex following at a more sedate pace. When he reached the door, he stopped, opening and holding it for me.

“After you,” he said, with exaggerated gallantry.

“After Quentin, you mean.” He was obviously trying to make me feel better. It was almost working. All this would make more sense once I’d eaten. Food would settle the queasiness in my stomach and my head; if it didn’t, it would at least cover up the taste of blood. This looked like it was going to be a long day, and I needed whatever help I could get.

“Right,” he said, and followed me inside.





TEN



AFTER GETTING MYSELF a cup of coffee, I made my way to the pay phone mounted on the wall. There was no dial tone. I frowned at the receiver before remembering what Jan said about outside lines, and dialed “nine.” Success: the familiar buzz began. I punched in the number for the Japanese Tea Gardens, pumped in quarters until the prerecorded operator stopped prompting me, and waited.

The ringing went long enough that I was starting to lose hope when a soprano voice picked up with a breathless, “Hello?”

I relaxed. “Hey, Marcia. How far did you have to run?”

“Other side of the—Toby? Is that you?”

“That’s me,” I confirmed.

As a quarter-blooded changeling, Marcia is proof that Lily has a generous soul; most purebloods would never think of employing someone like her. She’s too human to have any real magic, too fae to want to live in the human world, and too flaky to do much beyond sitting around and looking decorative. Still, she’d been nice enough, after we got past the part where I introduced myself by enchanting her into letting me in without paying.

“Did you want me to get Lily?” she asked.

“No, actually, I was calling for you. I wanted to ask a favor.”

Now her tone turned wary. “What kind of favor?”

“I know the Court of Cats doesn’t have a phone. Can you go find Tybalt and tell him I need him to call me at ALH Computing? I have the main number, and I need to talk to him.”