Текст книги "A local habitation"

Автор книги: Seanan McGuire

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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 22 страниц)

TWENTY-THREE

THIS TIME, THE PHONE RANG five times before it was answered: Sylvester again, out of breath and anxious, sounding almost terrified. “Hello? Who’s there?”

I paused. “Sylvester?”

“Toby! Oak and ash,October, why didn’t you call before? We’ve been waiting. Your hotel says you haven’t been checking messages there, either. What’s going on? Where are you?”

“What . . . what are you talking about? You know where I am! You told us to stay here.”

Now he sounded wounded; more than that, he sounded scared. “I did no such thing! Tybalt came to tell us you were worried about tampering with the phone systems, and I’ve been waiting here ever since. When it wasn’t me, it’s been Etienne, or Garm. Even Luna’s taken her turn. You haven’t called.”

Oh, Oberon’s blessed balls. Gritting my teeth, I said, “The problems with the phones may go a little bit past tampering.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I called you right after Connor got here, and you said we should all stay put.”

He paused. “Do you mean . . . ?”

“Uh-huh. Connor and Quentin are still with me.”

“Oh. Oh, October. That’s not good.”

I glanced over my shoulder toward the boys. Quentin was leaning against one of the soda machines, while Connor was making himself a cup of tea. I’ve always been wary of men who don’t drink coffee. Tea’s just such an inefficient way of getting your caffeine on. “No,” I agreed. “No, it’s almost certainly not.”

Something in my tone must have telegraphed how serious things had become, because there was a pause before he asked, “Are you hurt?”

“A little bit. Nothing I can’t handle.” My head was pounding, my hand felt like hamburger, and the cuts on my face had barely started to scab. Oh, yeah. I was in top condition.

“What about Quentin?”

“He’s scraped up, but he’s fine. We had a minor accident with the car.” It was technically true. We were already out of the car when it exploded. “Connor got here after that; he’s fine, too.”

There was another pause before he said, more quietly now, “Not everyone’s fine, though, are they? I can hear it in your voice.”

“January,” closing my eyes and letting my forehead rest against the cool metal of the pay phone. “She’s dead.”

“Ah.” There was a world of pain in that single tiny syllable; a world of mourning that he didn’t have time to give in to. “How?”

“We’re still not sure. She didn’t die like the others, though. Her death was more . . .” I hesitated. Somehow, I couldn’t quite bring myself to say “violent.” Not when I could already hear Sylvester crying. Lamely, I finished, “. . . disorganized. Either she wasn’t the intended victim, or it was more personal than the others were. I don’t know yet.”

“I see.” He was silent for a long time. I held the line, waiting until he said, “If she’s dead, I suppose Riordan’s wishes don’t matter as much anymore. Can you stay alive until I can get there?”

Before Luna, before peace and Shadowed Hills and developing a reputation as a sweet, slightly bewildered man who just happened to run the largest Duchy in the Bay Area, Sylvester was a hero. A real one. He was one of the lucky ones—he survived long enough to quit—but that didn’t change where he’d started out.

Almost crying from relief, I nodded. “We can. How long will it take you?”

“Not long. Tybalt’s already on the way.”

I jerked upright, eyes snapping open. “What?”

“You didn’t really think he’d sit out this fight, did you?” A flicker of dark amusement crept into his tone. “Not once you told him a Queen of Cats had died.”

“Oh, Maeve’s tits.” I glanced back at Quentin and Connor again. This was going to make things even harder to deal with. Just what I needed. “Any clue when he’ll get here?”

“Not a one. I’ll see you soon. Stay safe.”

“Always do,” I said, voice bright with artificial cheer.

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“I know. Just get here.”

“As quickly as I can. Open roads, all of you. And Toby . . . thank you for trying.” He hung up before I could say anything about his thanks—and more, before I could say good-bye. I understood that all too well. He didn’t want to hear it when it might just be forever.

“You, too,” I whispered, and set the phone back in its cradle.

“What did he say?” asked Quentin.

“He’s on his way, and he’s bringing in the cavalry. We just need to keep ourselves alive until he gets here.” I looked at him, seeing how much of the calm, arrogant facade he tried to project had collapsed since our arrival. He was pale and drawn, and the only reason I couldn’t say he’d gone white was that the bandages on his forehead were still whiter. My company wasn’t doing him any favors. “If it looks like I can’t do that, we’ll hot-wire a goddamn car and go meet him at the Interstate.”

Connor walked over, his tea in one hand, a cup of coffee in the other. He handed me the mug, smiling at my grateful expression, and asked, “So now what?”

“I don’t know.” I sighed, sipping my coffee. “If the killer had a political agenda, I think they’ve accomplished it. Jan doesn’t have any kids but April, and I don’t think April knows what an heir is, much less how to be one. Dreamer’s Glass will swallow Tamed Lightning. In a decade or two, nobody’s even going to remember that this was a County. That’s how it works.”

“That doesn’t work,” said Connor, now frowning deeply.

I turned toward him. “All right: tell me why.”

“Because from a political standpoint, there was no need for the other deaths. They just made Jan paranoid and harder to kill. Once she’s dead, the game is over. So why draw it out so long? Why risk that many violations of Oberon’s law?”

“Huh.” I sipped my coffee again, considering what he’d said. Maybe he was right. Maybe we’d been looking at things the wrong way. “Okay. Assume it wasn’t political. The politics are a red herring, they don’t matter. Where does that leave us?”

“And what about Barbara?” asked Quentin.

I paused. Barbara was spying for Duchess Riordan . . . and she was the first one to die. “Barbara’s what proves that it wasn’tpolitical,” I said finally. “Her cover was never compromised. So why kill her?”

“Someone who was loyal to the County found out, and . . .” Quentin dragged a finger across his throat, making a disturbingly suggestive sucking noise.

“You have been watching waytoo much television, dude,” said Connor.

“Besides, it still doesn’t work,” I said. “You kill Barbara out of County loyalty—why kill the others? You’ve stopped your spy. No, I think the politics were a factor in the paranoia, but not in the deaths. What does that leave?”

“Power?” suggested Connor. “Maybe somebody here wanted to be in charge.”

“That feeds back into politics. Without Jan, they lose the County. It doesn’t work.”

“All right, revenge, then.”

“On who, the company? Maybe.” I paused. “And there’s the way Jan died.”

Quentin blanched. “You mean the mess?”

“The other killings were quick, but Jan had time to fight back. Why?”

“Well, didn’t you tell Sylvester that Jan might not have been the target?” asked Connor.

“Maybe . . .” I stopped, frowning. The reflections on the soda machine next to Quentin were moving. Whatever was casting those shadows was behind me—and there were no windows on that side of the room. We weren’t alone. “Guys?”

“What?” asked Quentin. Connor sipped his tea, giving me a puzzled look.

“Hang on.” Whatever was moving had to be mostly hidden or he’d have seen it; judging by the reflection, Quentin had a clean line of sight. It very well might have been invisible, using an illusion spell that wasn’t properly set up to include mirrors. Never trust anything that skulks around invisible in a building where people keep dying. “Actually, Quentin, come over here a second.” It had too clear of a line on him. I didn’t like it.

“Why? I’m already right here.” He stepped forward, saying, “I don’t—”

The reflection started moving again. “Get down!”I shoved him as hard as I could, grabbing a handful of Connor’s shirt and diving for the floor as the gun went off.

Two shots echoed through the room, almost drowning out the sound of Quentin shouting.

The first hit the wall where I’d been standing a moment before, flinging bits of tile in all directions. I didn’t see where the second hit. I was too busy flattening myself against Connor and trying to see behind me, searching for our invisible assailant or assailants.

There was no one there.

The kitchen door we’d discovered during the search for Jan’s body was standing slightly open. It swung shut as I watched. There would be no more shots, but I’d missed the shooter. As the rush of adrenaline faded, I realized that a chip of flying tile had opened a cut along my left cheek. I’d landed on my wounded hand, and blood was soaking the gauze. Just what I needed: more pain. I don’t like being shot at—it makes me cranky—but I liked what the shots implied even less. None of the victims were shot. This was either someone new trying to get revenge for our failure, or the original killer was trying to scare us away. Neither option was good.

“Connor?”

“I’m fine. I’m fine.” He laughed unsteadily as I pushed myself off of him. The color was high in his cheeks. “I forgot how exciting hanging out with you can get.”

“Yeah, well. Quentin? You okay over there?”

He didn’t answer.

I turned to face him, and froze. “Oh, oak and ash.”

He was sitting with his back against the soda machine, left hand clamped high on his right arm. Blood ran between his fingers, coming way too fast. His face had gone whey-white, bleached by shock. “Not really,” he mumbled.

“Oh, crap,” whispered Connor.

I scrambled over to Quentin, reaching for his arm. “Let me see.”

“See what?” he asked, eyes wide and glossy.

“Your arm. Move your hand and let me see.” Gunshot wounds require medical attention, no matter how minor they seem. The shock waves a bullet sends through the body are nothing to screw around with.

“Oh.” Still dazed, Quentin let go. I grabbed his arm just above where he’d been holding, squeezing hard. Blood loss was my first concern. If he lost too much, we’d lose him, no matter how bad the wound was.

“Toby—”

“I know, Connor. Quentin? This may hurt a bit, okay?”

He frowned and closed his eyes, saying, “It already does. Never been shot before. Don’t like it.”

“You’re being very brave. Now hang on.” Keeping the pressure on his arm firm, I pulled the gauze from his forehead and used it to start wiping away the blood. The bullet had passed straight through, which was good. It appeared to have broken his arm in the process, which wasn’t.

“Hurts . . .” he mumbled. His head was starting to loll forward, and the blood wasn’t slowing down.

“Hey. Stay awake, you. Stay awake, and stay with me.”

“Don’t want to,” he said, in a reflective tone. “Tired now.”

“I know you don’t want to. I don’t care. I’m ordering you to stay awake!”

“Are you pulling rankon me?” he asked, sounding oddly amused.

“If that’s what it takes, yes.” I leaned harder, putting more pressure on his arm. “Connor, get over here. I can’t hold this tight enough.”

Connor was almost as pale as Quentin by that point, but he nodded, scooting over to slide his hands under mine. The blood slowed when he clamped down, and I helped him slide Quentin over until he was flat on the floor.

“Connor, get his arm up above his heart.”

“Got it,” he said, keeping his hands tight on Quentin’s arm as he lifted.

“Okay, good. Quentin? Come on, kiddo,” I touched his cheek. “Don’t you leave me.”

“’M not going anywhere,” Quentin whispered.

“Liar.” I didn’t want to leave the boys alone; not with Quentin injured and Connor preoccupied with keeping the blood inside his body. Looking up, I shouted, “April! Come to the cafeteria right now!”

I wasn’t sure she’d come; she could have been too sick with grief to listen. Then the air crackled and she was there, confusion fading into wide-eyed shock as she saw us. It was the first time I’d seen her speechless.

There wasn’t time to enjoy it. “April, get us something we can tie around Quentin’s arm. Then get Gordan. Tell her it’s an emergency. You got that?”

“Yes, but—”

“No buts! Go!”

She disappeared.

“Toby . . .” Connor sounded worried. I turned back to Quentin, and winced.

He’d grown paler, and the blood between Connor’s fingers was getting darker. Both of us were soaked to the elbows. How much more did Quentin have to lose?

“Hey.” I put my hand on Quentin’s shoulder, squeezing. “No sleeping, you. Open your eyes. Come on,Quentin. Open your eyes. Please. Please? Please . . .”

April reappeared, holding a strip of white cotton. “Will this work?” she asked, sounding honestly worried.

Things were starting to get through to her.

“Yes.” I grabbed the fabric, edging Connor’s hands aside as I tied it around Quentin’s upper arm. The cotton was red by the time I had it in place, but the bleeding had stopped.

“Quentin, wake up.” I shook his shoulder. He made a small, grumpy noise, and I did it again. “Wake up.”

“No,” he said, opening his eyes.

“Tough,” I said, managing not to start crying in relief. He was alive. He might not stay that way, but he was alive.

The cafeteria door slammed open, and Gordan came running into the room, first aid kit in her hand. “Holy crap!” she exclaimed, skidding to a stop. “What the hell happened in here?”

Now I did start to cry, slumping against Connor. Quentin stared at me, and then he started crying, too. It was just too much. We’d lost Jan, and I had no idea how badly Quentin was hurt, and . . .

Everyone has a breaking point. I was starting to wonder how close I was to mine.

TWENTY-FOUR

IT TOOK GORDAN TEN MINUTES to splint Quentin’s arm and get a pressure bandage in place. I helped as much as I could, holding his head when she had him stretched out on the floor, fetching and carrying things from her first aid kit. I’ve never been interested in emergency medicine, but I was starting to think I needed to learn. The people around me get shot too often.

I couldn’t keep the image of Ross out of my head. Just like Quentin, he was shot when he was with me; unlike Quentin, he took the bullet in the head. All that saved Quentin from the same fate was the fact that my paranoia wouldn’t allow me to ignore a glint of motion in a supposedly empty room. If I’d been paying less attention—if I’d been just a little bit more self-absorbed—I’d have lost him.

Oak and ash. That was too damn close.

April watched for a long time before she asked timidly, “Is he leaving the network?”

“What? No! No.” I glared. I couldn’t help myself. “He’s going to be fine.”

“I am glad,” she said, voice grave. “Do you require further assistance?”

I looked at Quentin’s silent, tear-streaked face—when did he get that pale? How could he be so pale and still be breathing?—and said, “Can you go get Elliot for us, please? We’re going to need help moving him.”

“Yes,” April said, disappearing.

When I raised my head, Gordan was staring at me. “What?”

“I told you he didn’t belong here.” She tied off another strip of gauze. “Guys like him are too delicate for this kind of thing.”

“Don’t start, Gordan.” I pushed my hair back, ignoring the way it caught at my blood-tacky hands. I was filthy. For the moment, I really didn’t care. “It’s not his fault someone decided to pick us off.”

“So whose is it? Yours?”

Her words stung more than I wanted to let them. “No. It’s just the way it is.”

“Uh-huh. Let me tell you about ‘the way it is.’ ” Her finger stabbed toward Quentin’s chest. “You see how he’s breathing? He lost a lot of blood. I mean a lotof blood. I can’t do stitches, and I can’t do blood transfusions. You’re going to get that boy to a healer or a hospital, or he’s going to die. So pick one. Or is that too much like accepting responsibility?”

“I’m not listening to you.”

“Of course you’re not. I suppose you’re not going to listen when I tell you that you can’t take him to a hospital, either.” She started cramming bloodstained first aid supplies back into the box. “Get out of here, or he’s a casualty. That plain enough for you?”

“What the fuck do you want from me? Sylvester’s already on the way. I can’t get us out of here any faster without a flying carpet!”

“Sorry, I left mine at home,” Quentin said, his voice a faint croak.

“You’re awake,” I said, bending over him again. “Don’t try to move.”

“Wouldn’t,” he said, and smiled—very slightly. “See? I follow orders.”

Connor barked an unsteady laugh. Gordan snorted. I shot her a warning look, saying, “April’s getting Elliot, and we’re going to move you.”

“Can’t leave.”

“Quentin . . .”

“No.” He opened his eyes. They were pained but clear. “Let me wait until His Grace comes. We’ll never avenge them if you leave now.”

“I can’t keep you here.” I knew how ludicrous we looked—both of us covered in blood, arguing. Never let it be said that fate doesn’t have a sense of humor.

“Can’t risk moving me, either.” He closed his eyes again. “Put me in a room with a lock. I’ll be fine.”

“Suicidal jerk,” Gordan said. I looked up. This time she met my eyes. “Are you going to let him decide whether or not he stays and dies?”

“Why not? I let the rest of you.” I stroked Quentin’s hair back with one hand, and looked to the door. There were footsteps coming down the hall. “Of course, unless that’s Elliot, it may be a moot point.” Connor’s hand found mine, and took it.

“Ha ha. Very funny.” Still, Gordan turned to watch the door, shoulders tense, and didn’t relax until Elliot stepped inside, followed by Alex. April appeared in her usual burst of static, standing several feet away from the new arrivals.

“I have brought him,” she said. It almost sounded like she was seeking approval.

“You did good,” I said, and stood. Elliot and Alex had both stopped just inside the door, eyes wide, staring at Quentin. I cleared my throat. “Hi.”

“Toby!” Elliot turned. “What happened?”

“Someone tried to kill us,” I said.

I couldn’t have gotten a better result if I’d tried. Elliot staggered, and Alex stared. “What?” he said, blankly.

“Kill us. Someone tried to kill us.” I shook my head. “There were two shots. The first missed. The second got Quentin.”

“He’s a lucky bastard,” said Gordan, standing. “They shattered the bones, but missed the artery. A little further and he would’ve bled to death before I got here.”

I shuddered, unable to hide it this time, and said, “We’ve already gone over why I can’t take him to a hospital. Does the room where I was napping earlier have a lock?”

“Yes . . .” Elliot said.

“Good. We’re going to move him there. Connor will stand guard. Sylvester’s on his way; I’m going to call and tell him to hurry, but I don’t know whether he’ll have left already. If he’s not here by sunset, I’m taking your car, and I’m taking Quentin home.” I looked at Elliot. “I refuse to let him die here. Do you understand?”

“You’ll abandon us?” Alex asked, horrified. I felt the half-familiar tickle of desire kindle in my stomach, and shoved it down again as hard as I could. He might be a master of glamour, but I was a Daoine Sidhe covered in blood, and few things are harder to control.

“I’ll come back, but yes. If it’s a matter of saving Quentin’s life, I will leave.” I looked to Gordan. “Is it safe to move him?”

“I’d recommend it,” she said. “This place is trashed.”

“And infection’s always a risk. Got it.” I stepped over, and knelt by Quentin’s head, asking, “Quentin, can you hear me?” There was no reply. I watched him for a moment to be sure that he was breathing. “Okay. He’s out.”

“I don’t think—”

“Elliot, shut up.” I said.

“I’ve got him,” said Connor, moving to Quentin’s other side.

“Good. Elliot, come get his feet. Connor, you’ve got the unhurt arm—just slide your hands under him. One, two, up.” The three of us lifted together, getting Quentin safely off the floor. “Alex, get the door.”

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” he said, but moved to push the door open.

“And what would be? Leaving him here? Going back to Shadowed Hills? Tell me, O wise one.” I glared at him, shifting my grip on Quentin.

Alex sighed. “I don’t think there are any good ideas left. Come on. It’s this way.”

We made a funny parade. Alex led the way, with April appearing and disappearing beside or ahead of him. Connor, Elliot, and I took the middle, fighting not to jar Quentin any more than we had to, and Gordan brought up the rear. We were all jumpy, even April, and we flinched from the slightest noises.

Nothing attacked.

Gordan took charge again in the break room, barking directions as we settled Quentin on the futon and tucked a pillow behind his head. The tattered, filthy condition of his clothes brought a fresh scowl to her face. Eyes narrowed, she targeted on Elliot. “This is an infection risk,” she said.

“What do you want me to do about it?” he asked. He didn’t sound defensive; just tired.

“Take care of it. Them, too.” She jerked a thumb toward me and Connor. “Infection risk. Also, they smell lousy.”

“Of course.” He sighed, turning toward us. “Embarrassed as I am to ask under these circumstances . . . may I clean you?”

“Sure,” said Connor.

“Of course,” I said. I was still bleeding, and that was probably going to hurt, but that wasn’t as important as getting Quentin taken care of. Anything that reduced the risk of infection was all right by me. “You have my consent for Quentin, too.”

“April, you should go now; this is bad for your circuits.” The Dryad vanished. Elliot raised his hands. “If you would please cover his nose?”

“Got it.” I put my hands over Quentin’s mouth and nose, closing my own eyes. Heat and moisture surrounded me, accompanied by the feeling of hundreds of small, scrubbing hands. The cuts on my face stung like fire, but I held myself firmly in check, keeping Quentin’s face covered. I just had to hope he wouldn’t wake up and panic in the middle of the process.

The dampness abated. I opened my eyes, straightening. Quentin looked almost infinitely better, clean, groomed, wearing clothes that seemed almost new. Connor and I had received the same treatment, and even the dressing on my hand had been repaired, becoming smooth and snowy white. That’s Faerie for you, split between psychopaths and people who can steam clean your entire body with a thought.

Gordan bent to adjust the bandages on Quentin’s arm. “He needs sleep. You should check him once an hour, at least, and get him to a healer as soon as you can.”

“I will,” I said.

“Great. I’m going back to my desk.” She started for the door.

I cleared my throat. “Not alone.”

“What?”

“You can’t go alone.”

“I’ll go,” said Alex, looking from me to Quentin and back. “I have stuff to do anyway.”

“Fine,” said Gordan sullenly, and stepped out of the room. Alex gave me a mournful look and followed her. Neither one said good-bye.

I sat on the edge of the futon, jerking a thumb toward the door. “What’s hisproblem?”

“Other than being one of Nature’s grade– A ass-holes?” Connor asked, stepping over next to me. He didn’t sit, for which I was grateful; we didn’t want to jostle Quentin.

“He likes you, and he feels that he’s upset you,” Elliot said, moving to close the door.

“He didupset me. Has he pulled this ‘you must love me’ stunt with anyone else, or am I lucky?” Connor shot me a startled look, which I did my best to ignore.

Elliot sighed. “Would it matter if I said he can’t really help it?”

“Not when he tried to take advantage of me.” There’s room in Faerie for everything. That doesn’t mean I need to put up with it. “He kissed me. After I told him not to.”

“Now I want to hit him even more,” Connor said darkly.

“Sometimes Alex has . . . poor impulse control,” said Elliot. “I apologize.”

“I don’t care. If he touches me again, I’ll break his face. We clear?”

“We’re clear.” Elliot looked from me to Connor, and asked, “Did you need a phone?”

“Please. I need to call Sylvester.” It was obvious he didn’t want to continue the discussion. Fine. I meant what I’d said; if he didn’t want to listen, that was his problem.

“I’ll get you one of the modified mobiles.” He raised his hand, adding, “And I’ll call for April. I won’t go alone.”

“Good,” I said. “We’ll wait.”

“Of course.” He stepped out of the room, closing the door.

“Toby—”

“Hang on a second, Connor, okay?” Twisting around to face Quentin, I asked, “So, how much of that did you catch?”

He opened his eyes, blinking. “How did you know?”

“You think I’ve never played possum? You breathe differently when you’re awake.”

“I woke up a while ago,” he admitted. “I just thought it’d be a good idea not to react.”

“Good plan. You feeling okay?”

“My arm hurts like . . .” He winced. “It hurts a lot.”

“That’s normal with gunshots, I’m afraid. It’ll heal.”

“Good.”

“Elliot’s bringing a phone. I’m going to let Sylvester know what’s going on, see if they can get here any faster. And if he says they can’t, I’m calling Danny. He must know someone with a cab around here.”

“This is such a goddamn mess,” said Connor, shaking his head.

“Hey.” Quentin managed a wan smile. “The Duke wanted me to learn some stuff.”

“Well, you’re learning.” I returned his smile, doing my best to make it look genuine, and stood. “Connor, you’re not going to like this—”

“If you’re about to say what I think you’re about to say, you’re right.”

“—but I need you to stay here with Quentin.”

“You’re right,” he said, grimly. “I don’t like it. Reasoning?”

“I don’t want to leave him alone.”

“So you’rejust going to wander off on your own?”

“I’m not badly wounded enough that I can’t do my goddamn job.”

“Yeah, well, you seem determined to change that if you can.” Connor glared, eyes dark and angry. “This isn’t a good idea.”

“So you’d rather I left Quentin here by himself?”

“I’d rather you didn’t go anywhere at all!”

“I have to,” I said, with sincere sorrow in my tone. “People are still dying.”

Connor looked at me, anger fading. I glanced toward Quentin. His eyes were closed again, shutting out our argument. He was staying put, no matter what we decided.

Closing the distance between Connor and me was easy. Closing the distance between his lips and mine was the work of years. He kissed me like he was a drowning sailor instead of a Selkie, pulling me as close as he could. I returned the favor, plastering myself against him until the scrapes on my hands and the bruises on my knees protested. I ignored them in favor of the salt-sweet taste of his skin and the feeling of his heartbeat filtered through his chest into mine, running faster for the longer that we held each other there. It had been so long since we touched each other. Somehow, our bodies still knew the way.

Finally, regretfully, we let each other go, neither stepping back for a few seconds. Both of us were breathing just a little too fast.

“Don’t you dare die,” he hissed, forehead almost touching mine before he stepped back. I hadn’t known how much comfort I was taking from his heartbeat until I couldn’t feel it anymore.

“Do my best.” On that uninspiring note, I left the room. The lock clicked home behind me almost as soon as the door was closed, and I leaned against the wall, groaning.

This mess kept getting deeper. I’d kissed Connor. Rayseline would kill me if she ever found out. And at the moment, that was the least of my problems, because someone in the building with me was a much more immediate threat. It couldn’t be April—she was too upset when Jan died—and I could eliminate Elliot the same way. Gordan would have been in the running if it weren’t for Barbara, but I couldn’t see Gordan killing her best friend, even if they were fighting. Who did that leave? I knew where everyone was during at least one murder, even Alex . . .

Everyone but Terrie. Terrie, who found the first body. Terrie, who hadn’t lost anyone who seemed to be particularly important to her. Terrie, whose mourning verged on parody, even when people were dying all around her. Most damning of all, Terrie, who’d been nowhere to be seen during the search for Jan.

I started to pace, looking for an explanation that didn’t leave Terrie as our killer. I wasn’t finding one. By the time Elliot returned, I was so deep in my own thoughts that I didn’t hear him approach. He cleared his throat. I jumped.

“Don’t dothat!”

“Sorry,” said Elliot, grimacing, and held up a portable phone. “I had to find one that was modified andcharged. My battery died yesterday, and the charger’s at home.”

“It’s all right,” I said, getting my breath back. “I’m just jumpy.”

“I think we all are,” he said, handing me the phone. “I’m glad you’re staying.”

“Quentin’s out of here as soon as the cavalry comes, but I’ll be here as long as I can. We need to stop this while some of us are still alive.”

He smiled bitterly. He’d already lost everyone he really cared about. Someday I’ll learn to think before opening my mouth. “Do you have any ideas?” he asked.

“Does anyone here have a gun registered in their name?”

“Barbara did.”

“Well, somebody stole her gun.” I sighed. “It’s a local. Monsters don’t use guns.” He flinched. “It’s the only answer I can see. I’m here to save you if I can. Not to coddle you.”

“I know. I just can’t believe one of us would do this. That one of us would kill Jan, or my Yui. Why would they do this?”

“I don’t know—I’m trying to find out. But I have a pretty good idea of who it was.”

“Really? Who?”

“Terrie.”

Elliot sputtered. For a moment I thought he was trying not to laugh. Then he got himself back under control, and said, “I don’t think that’s plausible.”

“If she has an alibi, she hasn’t shared it. She found the first body, and she didn’t join the search for Jan. It doesn’t look good.”

“There were reasons for all those things, Toby,” he said.

“I doubt they’re good enough. Everyone else has an alibi.”

“Actually, you might find these reasons quite . . . legitimate.”

I folded my arms across my chest. “Try me.”

He looked at his watch. “It’s four-thirty. You’ll have an answer at sunset.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Which is when?”

“Seven o’clock. Terrie won’t be here until then.”

“If her excuse isn’t good enough, I’m taking her into custody for breaking Oberon’s law. When the sun goes down, the game’s up. Got that?”

“Yes,” he said, sadly, “I rather suspect I do.”