A Local Habitation

I rolled my eyes heavenward. “Great. Just great.”


Connor’s arrival had triggered an impromptu assembly in the cafeteria; after notifying us of his arrival, April had gone off to tell her mother, who had, quite naturally, summoned Gordan. Recent events meant that it wasn’t a good idea for nonresidents to walk around without an introduction. Only Terrie and Alex had failed to show up, which Jan attributed to the coming end of Terrie’s shift. Quentin looked unaccountably disappointed by Terrie’s absence. I might have been upset over missing Alex, but Connor’s announcement that he’d been planning to take my car had quashed that emotion, covering it with irritation.

“I couldn’t have known that you were planning to blow up your car!” Connor protested.

“I wasn’t planning to blow up my car! It just happened!”

Connor blinked at me. I blinked at Connor. Then, almost in unison, we started laughing. The absurdity of it all was too much. People were dying, Quentin’s ride came without a car, I was exhausted and preparing to summon the night-haunts . . . my choices were “laugh” and “cry.” Laughter seemed healthier.

Jan and Elliot exchanged a look before she cleared her throat and asked, “Should I be concerned by all this? Because if you’re going to have hysterics, I’m going to scream.”

“I think this is normal,” said Quentin, uneasily. “I mean. They’re always like this.”

“Shadowed Hills must be a fascinating place,” said Elliot.

Quentin sighed deeply. “You have no idea.”

I wiped the tears from my eyes, getting myself back under control. “I’m fine. Honest. Connor’s a moron—”

“Hey!”

“—but I’m fine.” I dug my wallet out of my pants pocket, flipping through it until I found Danny’s business card. “Well, you can’t take my car, since it’s sort of ashes right now, but we can call for a nonmortal cabbie. It’ll just take him a little while to get here.” I smiled, rather sharply. “You can tell Sylvester why we had to put a round trip from San Francisco on his tab.”

“Doesn’t anyone here have a car that I can borrow?”

“I rode my bike,” said Jan, apologetically.

“I need my car,” said Elliot. “I’ve been asked to raid the local florists, and that’s difficult to do on the bus.”

Connor blinked. “Raid the local florists for what?”

“I’ll explain later,” I said.

“Toby’s summoning the night-haunts,” said Quentin.

“. . . or not,” I said, as Gordan and Connor exclaimed, in unison, “What?!”

“You can’t be serious.” Connor looked alarmed as he stepped toward me, raising one hand to brush the bandages on my cheek. “You’re already hurt. What if they go for you?”

“The Luidaeg gave me a ritual to keep them from hurting me.”

“This is supposed to calm me down because . . . ?” he asked. “She’s ancient and oh, right, crazy. She’s going to get you killed.”

I reached up, catching his hand and holding it firmly. “I trust her. It’ll be fine.”

I’m a good liar—I’ve had years of practice—and I’ve been lying to Connor longer than I’ve been lying to almost anyone else. He searched my face for a moment, and was apparently reassured by what he found there, because he squeezed my fingers, raising our joined hands to rest his knuckles very lightly against my cheek.

“You look like shit, Daye.”

“You don’t look so good yourself.” I was lying again, but at least this time I didn’t feel bad about it. Connor O’Dell is capable of a lot of things. Looking “not so good” isn’t one of them.