“Hey. Don’t worry. I’ll find out.”
“Things may not be as . . . simple as they sound at first. There are other complications.”
“Like what?”
“January is my niece, yes. She’s also the Countess of Tamed Lightning.”
My eyes widened. That put a whole new spin on the situation. January being Countess explained why Tamed Lightning had been able to become a full County in the first place; Dreamer’s Glass might be willing to challenge one small County, but they wouldn’t want to challenge the neighboring Duchy at the same time. Even if the relationship had been kept quiet, the people at or above the Ducal level would have known. Gossip spreads too fast in Faerie for something that juicy to be kept quiet. “I see.”
“Then you must see how it makes this politically awkward.”
“Dreamer’s Glass could view it as the start of something bigger than family concern.” I may not like politics, but I have a rudimentary understanding of the way they work.
“Exactly.” He looked up. “No matter what’s going on, Toby, I can’t guarantee that I’ll be able to send help.”
“But you’re sure this is an easy job.”
“I wouldn’t send Quentin if I didn’t think you’d both be safe.”
I sighed. “Right. I’ll call regularly to keep you posted.”
“And you’ll be careful?”
“I’ll take every precaution.” How many precautions did I need? Political issues aside, it was a baby-sitting assignment. Those don’t usually rank too high on the “danger” scale.
“Good. January’s the only blood family I have left in this country, except for Rayseline. Now, January’s an adult, but I’ve considered her my responsibility since her mother passed away. Please, take care of her.”
“What about—”
“I have no brother.” His expression was grim.
“I understand, Your Grace.” The last time Sylvester asked me to take care of his family, my failure cost us both: he lost Luna, and I lost fourteen years. His twin brother, Simon, was the cause of both those losses. “I’m going to try.”
“I appreciate it.” He put his cup down on a clear patch of coffee table, pulling a folder out of his coat. “This contains directions, a copy of your hotel reservations, a parking pass, and a map of the local fiefdoms. I’ll reimburse any expenses, of course.”
“Of course.” I took the folder, flipping through it. “I can’t think of anything else I’m likely to need.” I looked up. “Why are you sending Quentin with me, exactly?”
“We’re responsible for his education.” A smile ghosted across his face. “Seeing how you handle things will be nothing if not educational.”
I sighed. “Great. Where am I picking him up?”
“He’s waiting by your car.”
“He’s what?” I groaned. “Oh, oak and ash, Sylvester, it’s too damn early in the morning for this.”
“Is it?” he asked, feigning innocence. Sylvester’s wife, Luna, is one of the few truly diurnal fae I’ve ever met. After a few hundred years of marriage, he’s learned to adjust. The rest of us are just expected to cope.
“I hate you.”
“Of course you do.” He chuckled as he stood. “I’ll get out of your way and let you prepare. I’d appreciate it if you could leave immediately.”
“Certainly, Your Grace,” I said, and moved to hug him before showing him to the door.
“Open roads and kind fires, Toby,” he said, returning the hug.
“Open roads,” I replied, and closed the door behind him before downing the rest of my coffee in one convulsive gulp.
Sending Quentin with me? What the hell were they thinking? This was already going to be half baby-sitting assignment, half diplomatic mission—the fact that I was coming from one of the Duchies flanking Tamed Lightning made the politics unavoidable. Now they were adding literal baby-sitting to the job. That didn’t make me happy. After all, if Sylvester thought I was the best one to handle things, it was probably also going to be at least half natural disaster.
How nice.
THREE
MINDFUL OF SYLVESTER’S REQUEST for an immediate departure, I shoved clothes into a duffel bag, tossed my bag of toiletries on top, and called it good. The cats had migrated into the bedroom, curling up atop Tybalt’s jacket. I dislodged them and shrugged the jacket on, ignoring their protests. I didn’t want to leave it in the apartment for him to casually come back for.
Stacy didn’t answer when I called the house. I left a quick message asking her to come by and feed Spike and the cats until I got back. I glossed over how long my absence was likely to be. The last thing I needed was for her to start calling Sylvester, demanding to know whether he was trying to get me killed. I couldn’t blame her for reacting that way. After all, the last time I went on a job for him, I got turned into a fish and spent fourteen years swimming around a pond in Golden Gate Park. Still. That sort of thing doesn’t happen twice, and I didn’t want her to worry.
My liege knew where I was going, and my cats were taken care of. That just left one more call that needed to be made before I could leave. It wasn’t to a local area code, even though the apartment I was calling was only a few miles away. Strictly speaking, I wasn’t sure I was even calling a phone.
Balancing the receiver on my shoulder, I pressed the keys in rapid reverse order. There was a click, followed by the hum of an expectant silence as I chanted, “Mares eat oats and does eat oats, but little lambs eat ivy. A kid’ll eat ivy, too. Wouldn’t you?” It wasn’t much of a spell. It didn’t need to be. All it had to do was remind an existing connection of where it was supposed to lead me.
There was a pause as lines that had no reason to cross crossed themselves and wires were rerouted to lead to an apartment that had never signed any agreements with the phone company. The receiver clicked twice and began making a deep, murky buzzing noise. I waited. The Luidaeg likes special effects: if you can’t handle them, don’t call her. You could always just drop by—assuming you aren’t particularly fond of having legs. “Just dropping by” on a water- hag older than modern civilization isn’t the sort of hobby meant to ensure a long life span.
The buzzing stopped with a final click, and a husky, aggravated voice said, “Hello?”
“Hello, Luidaeg.”
“Toby, is that you?” Her irritation was fading.
“Yeah, it’s me.”
“What the hell do you want?”
“I’m going to Tamed Lightning.”
She paused. “Tamed Lightning? Why would you go there? It’s nothing but dirt and morons as far as the eye can see.”
“Sylvester’s sending me.”
“Right. The head moron.” She paused again. “Why are you telling me this?”
“I may not make it over this week, depending on how long things take. I thought I’d warn you.”
“Oh.” Her disappointment was briefly audible before she covered it with briskness, saying, “Well, good. I can get some things done without needing to worry about your happy ass showing up.”
“Glad you don’t mind.”
“Mind? Why should I mind?”
“No reason.”
“Good. Be careful out there. Don’t go into the dark alone; don’t let their eyes fool you. Remember what you’re looking for. Don’t trust what the blood tells you. Always look back.”
“What?”
“Nothing, Toby—it’s nothing,” she said, sounding slightly disgusted. “Get the hell off my phone.”
“See you when I get back.”
“Oh—Toby?” Her tone was almost hesitant. That was a first.
“Yeah.”
“I owe you an answer. Come back alive.”
“I will, don’t worry.”
“I get to be the one that kills you.” The connection cut off with a snap. I grinned, replacing the receiver in its cradle.
The Luidaeg and I met six months ago, when she provided me with an essential clue to the identity of Evening’s killer. That meeting left her in my debt, owing me an answer to any question I wanted to ask. She couldn’t kill me while she owed me, and I have to admit that it was kind of nice to know that she couldn’t follow through on her threats. Unpaid debts weigh on the purebloods; I have no doubt they weigh on the Firstborn even more. She started calling after our first meeting—unlisted numbers don’t mean much to someone who thinks the telephone is a cute idea that won’t last—demanding to know when I’d clear her debts so she could kill me. They weren’t the best conversations I’ve ever had, but they were reliable, and before long they were even welcome. It was good to have somebody I could talk to.