Chimes at Midnight

“—not that anyone’s found.” Mags. She sounded frustrated. This argument, if that was what it was, had clearly been going on for a while. “I’ve pulled out all the books, I’ve even pulled out books where the footnotes might have been relevant, and there’s nothing. No one has ever found a treatment for goblin fruit addiction in humans. No one has really even looked.”


“Merlins, then. Or Selkies. They’re both almost human, and they’re both powerful enough to do their own research.” Quentin. He didn’t sound frustrated. He sounded angry, and determined—and yes, a little bit scared. If I hadn’t known him for so long, I wouldn’t have been able to hear that part. “Maybe they know something.”

“The merlins don’t have any answers,” said Mags. “You’re grasping at straws.”

“Yeah, and the Selkies don’t know anything either,” I said, stepping out of the stacks. Mags and Quentin were sitting across from each other. They still both jumped when they saw me, looking like they’d been caught in the act of doing something wrong. “I just got done talking to the Luidaeg. She’d know if the Selkies had a treatment for goblin fruit, and since she wants me to stay among the living, I sort of figure she would have told me. She didn’t—she didn’t even hint—so I’m guessing there’s nothing.”

“You’re looking . . . well,” said Mags, clearly unsettled.

“You mean I’m not totally lost in DTs and screaming for a fix? Yeah, I’m pretty impressed with that, too.” I crossed my arms. Tybalt was a comforting presence behind me. “How’s the research going? Have you two found anything of any use?”

“No,” said Quentin. “There are some treatments for three-quarter changelings, but they’re all hit-or-miss. There’s nothing that works on half-bloods, much less . . .”

“Much less whatever the hell I am right now,” I said, finishing his sentence for him. “Okay, we stick with the plan. We kick the current Queen off the damn throne that wasn’t hers in the first place, get Arden confirmed, and get the hope chest out of the royal treasury so I can shift myself back to normal. And we hope that we can do it really fast, before this stuff gets the better of me. Does anybody have any objections?”

Silence.

“Does anybody have any better ideas?”

More silence.

“Great. Quentin, get your things. Danny’s waiting outside, and we should get over to Goldengreen. Arden doesn’t know it yet, but the timeline on our insurrection has just been moved up by circumstances beyond our control.” I shook my head. “We’re going to fix this.”

“How?” whispered Mags.

I shot her a glare. Stalking over to the coffee table, I snatched the flask of fireflies and tucked it back into my jacket pocket where it belonged. She looked mournfully after it. “Does it matter? As long as it gets fixed, I’m willing to call it good.” I turned to go.

“Wait,” said Mags.

I stopped, looking back at her, and raised an eyebrow.

She stood, wings vibrating nervously, and asked, “Did the Luidaeg know anything that might help you find a hope chest? I’m happy to keep researching while you do whatever you feel needs to be done.” She indicated the stacks around her, a wry smile briefly painting her mouth. “It’s not like I’m exactly crawling in company. This is the most excitement I’ve had in decades. I want to help.”

“The Luidaeg doesn’t know where any of the hope chests are right now, except for the one the Queen has,” I said. It seemed somehow too . . . personal . . . to tell Mags that the Luidaeg was Antigone of Albany. The Firstborn traded their names for titles for a reason, and I would respect that, as long as I could do so without making things even worse. “Since the Queen isn’t going to let me borrow it, we need to get moving. We’re on a deadline here.”

“I’m ready,” said Quentin, trotting over to stand next to me.

I had to look up slightly to meet his eyes. I wrinkled my nose. “Who gave you permission to be taller than me?”