My guts felt suddenly cold.
(I’m not Lloyd Slate.)
(Neither was he. Not at first.)
“Doesn’t matter who it is,” Bob prattled on. “Over time, it changes them. Somewhere down the line, you wouldn’t be able to find much difference between Maeve and her successor. Meet the new Maeve. Same as the old Maeve.”
I swallowed. “So . . . so Lily, who took the Summer Lady’s mantle after I killed Aurora . . .”
“It’s been what? Ten years or so? She’s gone by now, or getting there,” Bob said. “Give it another decade or two, tops, and she might as well be Aurora.”
I was quiet for a moment. Then I asked, “Is that going to happen to me, too?”
Bob hedged. “You’ve . . . probably felt it starting. Um, strong impulses. Intense emotions. That kind of thing. It builds. And it doesn’t stop.” He managed to give the impression of a wince. “Sorry, boss.”
I stared at my knuckles for a moment. “So,” I said, “even if I frag this Maeve, another one steps up. Maybe not for decades, but she does.”
“Immortals don’t really care about decades, boss,” Bob said. “To them, it’s like a few weeks are to you.”
I nodded thoughtfully. “Then maybe it’s about the timing.”
“How so?”
I shrugged. “Hell if I know, but it’s the only thing I can think of. Maybe Mab wants a less Maeve-ish Maeve for the next few years.”
“Why?” Bob asked.
I growled. “I already have one why. I don’t need you adding more.” I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel. “Why doesn’t Mab do it herself?”
“Oh, I see. It’s okay if you add more whys. You have complicated rules, Harry.”
I ignored that with the disdain it deserved. “I’m serious. Mab has the power. What’s stopping her from tearing Maeve to shreds?”
“Something?” Bob suggested.
“I can’t believe I got my tux shredded for brilliant analysis like that,” I said.
“Hey!” Bob said. “I just told you something so valuable that it could save your life! Or get you killed!”
“Yeah.” I sighed. “You did. But it isn’t enough. I need more information.”
“You do know a few people around here,” Bob said.
I growled. “My physical therapist, who I’ve known for three whole months, nearly died tonight because she showed up at a party with me—and that was with Mab looking over my shoulder as a referee.”
“How is that any different from the last time you played with faeries?”
“Because now I know them,” I said. It was actually sort of scary looking back at the me from a decade ago. That guy was terrifying in his ignorance. “Aurora and her crew were basically a decent crowd. Misguided, yeah. But to them, we were the bad guys. They were tough, but they weren’t killers. Maeve’s different.”
“How?” Bob asked.
“She doesn’t have limits,” I said.
“And you figure you’re up against her.”
“I know I am,” I said. “And she’s grown powerful enough to challenge Mab in her own court. I also know more about Mab now, and all of it scares the crap out of me.” I snorted, and felt a tremble of winged insects in my midsection. “And apparently Maeve is a threat to her. And I’m supposed to deal with it.”
Bob whistled. “Well. Maybe that explains it.”
“Explains what?”
“Why Mab was so hell-bent on getting you to be the new Knight,” Bob said. “I mean, you’re kind of an avatar of the phrase ‘Things fall apart.’ Mab has a target she wants to be absolutely sure of. You’re like . . . her guided missile. She can’t know exactly what’s going to happen, but she knows there’s going to be a great big boom.”
“I’m a missile, huh?”
“Her big, dumb bunker buster,” he said cheerily. “Of course, you know the thing about missiles, Harry.”
“Yeah,” I said, as I put the Caddy back in gear again. “They’re expendable.”
“Buck up, little camper. At least you had a hot redhead jump your bones tonight. Not the right bone, but you can’t have everything.”
I snorted. “Thanks, Bob.”
“Andi totally got the drop on you. Where was your tiny secret service team?”
“I forgot to invite them past the threshold,” I said. “Besides, I think she’d hit me before anyone could have shouted a lookout anyway.”
“You ever think about replacing them with some real bodyguard goons, Harry? I know a thing that knows a thing.”
“Screw that. Toot and his gang aren’t exactly gangstas, but I trust them. That means more.”
“That means you’re a sucker!” Bob said. “Did The X-Files teach you nothing? Trust no one.”
I grunted. “Cat Sith gave me almost the same advice.”
“Ack,” Bob said. “That guy. He still got the attitude?”
“I feel safe in assuming that he does.”
“I don’t like him, but he’s no dummy,” Bob said. “At least he gives good advice.”
“Mathematically, maybe,” I said. “But trust isn’t one of those things that lends itself well to math.”
“Sure it does,” Bob said. “You trust somebody, they betray you, you get a negative value. You never trust, they can never disappoint you, you break even.”
I laughed. “Or you trust, it’s vindicated, and you’re better off.”
“Shah,” Bob said. “Like that happens.”
“Life’s about more than breaking even,” I said.
Bob snorted. “Which is why the first thing you did, when you got back to town, was call all of your friends and immediately tell them you needed their help, and trust them to help you.”
I scowled out at the road.
“It wasn’t like the first thing you did was abuse one of your friends and inflict property damage on his house and steal a powerful magical counselor whose loyalties are transferrable to whoever happens to be holding an old skull—presumably so that you’d have a lackey who would agree with whatever you said instead of give you a hard time about it. And the only beings you’re allowing to help you are a bunch of tiny faeries who worship the ground you walk on because you buy them pizza.” Bob made a skeptical sound. “I can see how important trust is to you, boss.”
“That’s why I got you, clearly,” I said. “Because I wanted a yes-man and you’re so good for that.”
“Hey, I’m just a mirror, boss. Not my fault you’re ambivalent.”
“I’m not ambivalent.”
“You know better, but you’re being a moron about it anyway,” Bob said. “If that ain’t ambivalence, maybe Mab’s getting to you. Because it’s a little crazy.” He sniffed. “Besides, if you weren’t of two minds about it, I wouldn’t be giving you this kind of crap, now, would I?”
I was going to say something sarcastic, but the red glare of a stoplight suddenly appeared about ten feet in front of the old Caddy’s nose. I stared at the light for a fraction of a second, and then mashed the brakes down. I had an instant to see that it wasn’t a traffic signal, but Toot-toot, his aura glaring brilliant scarlet, frantically waving his arms at me. As the Caddy lumbered forward, I saw him take a couple of steps forward, running up the windshield, and up out of sight above me.
As the heavy old piece of Detroit iron began to slide on the asphalt, I saw an object tumble out of the air in front of me and hit the street, turning over and over. I had another instant to recognize a plain black nylon duffel bag.
And then the world went white and a hammer the size of the Chrysler Building slammed me back against the old Caddy’s seat.
Chapter
Twelve
The bomb might have been fifty feet away when it exploded.
Mab’s therapy had paid off. On raw instinct, I’d already begun to form a defensive shield in front of me when everything went boom. I hadn’t had time to build much of a shield, but what little I could do probably kept me conscious.