Chimes at Midnight

“Yeah.” I nodded grimly. “I still don’t know how she knows about any of this, but we have to assume she may know we’ve found Arden and Nolan. So what I need to know is who took him.”


“There’s no blood,” protested Patrick. “I can’t do blood magic without blood.”

“Ah, but you can look for traces of other spells. Daoine Sidhe aren’t as good as Dóchas Sidhe, maybe, but you’re better than anything else Faerie has on tap. So come on, you two. Dig deep, and use what Titania gave you. Tell me who took the Prince.” I stepped to the side, motioning them into the room.

Patrick squared his shoulders and stepped past me. Quentin hesitated.

“I’m not sure . . .”

“Quentin. You’re my squire. You’ve followed me into Blind Michael’s lands. You’ve survived being shot, being transported to Annwn, and riding in a car with May. I’ve overseen your education gladly, and I’ve been perpetually amazed by the man you’re growing up to be. You can do this. And if you refuse to even try, I’ll kick your ass.” I put a hand on his shoulder, shoving him after Patrick. He stumbled, but not for long. Glancing back at me, he smiled anxiously, and then hurried to join the other pureblood.

I took a step backward, getting out of the way. What came next would have nothing to do with me, and everything to do with the two of them. Marcia and Dean moved to flank me.

“Do you really think this will work?” asked Marcia.

“I don’t have a damn clue,” I said. “I also don’t have a better idea.” I dug the baggie of blood gems out of my pocket almost without thinking about what my hands were doing and popped one into my mouth. It dissolved like the others, but my stomach didn’t stop growling. I pulled out another one. That dulled the hunger, and replaced it with a new, gnawing worry.

Walther said these wouldn’t last forever. Just how short was “not forever” going to be?

“What are those?” asked Dean.

“All that stands between me and wasting away for want of goblin fruits,” I said, tucking the bag back into my pocket. “So let’s hope this gets taken care of fast, shall we?”

Inside the guest room, Quentin was pacing, while Patrick was standing frozen at the center of the floor. His eyes were closed, and his chin was tilted back, allowing him to sniff the air. Quentin, meanwhile, was peering at every crack in the wall and every bit of pixie dust on the tapestries. It would have been a comic scene if they hadn’t looked so damn serious. This wasn’t a game. People were going to get hurt if we didn’t figure out where Nolan was. This was my strength: tracking people through their magic. And I was benched for the duration.

Patrick spoke first, saying uncertainly, “I smell . . . clover.”

“I have dry grass,” said Quentin. He looked toward me. “I don’t know what kind.”

“Okay,” I said. “Focus, both of you. Patrick, is there anything special about the clover?”

“No. I’m not you, October. I can’t sniff the air and go ‘oh, it smells like red clover from the cliffs of Oregon.’ That’s your line. All I can give you is ‘wet clover,’ and that’s almost guessing.”

I smiled, just a little. “See, Patrick, you’re better at this than you think you are.”

He frowned. “Come again?”

“Wet clover, and dry grass. We’re looking for a Tuatha teleporter. But not Arden.” My smile died as fast as it had come. “Arden’s magic smells like blackberry flowers and redwoods. She didn’t take Nolan. That doesn’t mean she won’t be looking for him.” My fingers itched with the almost undeniable urge to punch something. Arden had hidden for decades. She’d kept her brother safe and out of the Queen’s reach. And I, in my efforts to fix things, might as well have handed him to the very thing his sister had been trying to avoid.

“So what do we do now?” asked Quentin.

I took a deep breath. “Patrick, I need to ask you for the sort of favor that isn’t just unreasonable: it verges on obscene. Will you please not hit me until I can explain?”