The Winter Long (14 page)

Nothing happened. My magic hung heavy in the room, the smell of it almost strong enough to be overpowering. “Live!” I commanded, and grabbed my knife. No time for chewing now; the ritual, if you could call it that, was too far along. I slashed the inside of my wrist open, cutting too hard and too deep for safety, and filled my mouth with my own blood. Then, before I could think better of what I was doing, I leaned forward and clamped my lips over the Luidaeg's, forcing my blood through them until some of it was forced down her throat by simple gravity.

The magic snapped solid with a painful flash, the blood suddenly rushing out of my mouth, and off of my body, like it was being pulled into a whirlwind. I could
feel
the heavy stickiness being pulled from my hands and arms, leaving them clean. I tried to pull away, and the Luidaeg's arms closed around me with impossible strength, holding me fast.

I didn't know what to do. I couldn't pull away; I couldn't breathe. So I bit her, and the cold strength of her blood filled my mouth, strangely devoid of memories. I swallowed it anyway, trying to use it to break free. It didn't work. Black spots were beginning to swim in front of my eyes as I struggled ineffectually against her hold. I could hear Tybalt shouting something in the distance, but he was too far away to help me; only the ghosts of his hands could reach me where I was, scrabbling uselessly at the edges of the world. I shouldn't still have been bleeding, but I was, and the Luidaeg was somehow taking it all.

There's only so much blood a body can afford to lose, and the hammering pulse of my heart warned me that I was rapidly running out. Then, abruptly, the Luidaeg let me go, and I was shoved away, collapsing like a rag doll into Tybalt's waiting arms.

“October?” He sounded closer now. That was a good thing, since he was holding me. I raised my head, and found him staring down at me. “What just happened?”

My headache, almost gone before, had blossomed anew like some perverse flower, spreading to fill my entire skull. I groaned as I forced myself to turn toward the bed, squinting against the candlelight. “I don't know,” I said. “Hopefully, something good.” My vision cleared and I sighed, half from relief, and half from simple exhaustion.

The Luidaeg was sitting up.

Whatever force had cleaned up the blood that had been covering me had done the same for her; her clothing, while torn to the point of uselessness, was spotless, and her hair fell in its usual heavy curls, shining and unsnarled. She was staring in awe at her hands, looking at them like she'd never seen them before. Her wounds were gone. Even the bruise on her cheek had vanished.

“Hey,” I said, trying to pull away from Tybalt and stand on my own two feet. I stumbled, and he caught me, lending me the stability I needed. My head was pounding. I did my best to ignore it. “Welcome back to the land of the living.”

The Luidaeg raised her head, focusing on me. Her eyes were a clear, simple driftglass green. “What did you do?” she asked.

“Do?” I echoed. There were still black spots dancing around the edges of my vision. I tried to shake them away. Bad move; shaking my head just made the black spots double while my headache throbbed.

“Do,” said the Luidaeg, holding her hands out to me like they were all the answer I could possibly need. There was a thin white line of scar tissue on her left arm, where the deepest of the cuts had been. I was willing to bet that, given time, even that would fade away.

“I . . . you weren't responding, but I thought there was a chance you weren't quite dead yet, and so I . . .”

“You brought me back.” There was no mistaking the quiet wonder in her tone. “I was dead.”

“Not quite.”

“Yeah, Toby, I was dead.” She shook her head. “I know what dead feels like. It's cold there. It's very cold. And I was dead.” She wrapped her arms around herself, shivering hard.

“I couldn't let you go,” I said. It was a small statement, too awkward to encompass everything that it meant: I didn't have the
words
to encompass everything that it meant. Then again, I
had
just brought her back from the dead, so she probably had some idea of what I was trying to say. “I just . . . I couldn't let you be dead.”

“Thank you,” she said. She sagged backward on the bed. “I can't . . . I didn't stay dead long enough. The geas still holds.”

“That's okay,” I said. “I didn't . . . I wanted you to be okay not because you could help, but because you're my friend. I couldn't just let you die.”

“There are people who won't be very happy with you for this.” The Luidaeg closed her eyes. “You have to hide me. I can't stay where I am.”

“Okay, Luidaeg. Just rest, okay?” I was saying “okay” so much that the word was losing all meaning. Maybe that was more accurate than I liked to think. It felt like the world was never really going to be “okay” again.

The Luidaeg sighed. “I can't tell you what's coming, Toby, even though I want to. But I can tell you one thing that might help.”

“What is it?” I pulled away from Tybalt, moving to stand closer to her. Everything still smelled like my blood. That helped, a little, even if it wasn't enough to chase the black spots entirely away.

“Your mother,” said the Luidaeg. “She told you to beware the Lady of the Lake, but to be more afraid of Morgane. Do you remember?”

I blinked. “I do, but I don't remember telling
you
.”

“Your lover was a Selkie; he told me quite a bit, after he died,” said the Luidaeg. “My name . . . my name is Antigone. But there was a time when they called me Viviane. When everything was swords, and stones, and so simple . . . your mother feared the wrong woman. I think I'm going to sleep now. I'll trust you to survive what's coming.”

“Wait—what?”

Tybalt's hand closed on my shoulder. “‘Viviane' was one of the names for the Lady of the Lake,” he said.

I stared at the Luidaeg. “You can
not
drop this on me and go to sleep. Luidaeg? Luidaeg!”

She didn't wake up.

M
Y PHONE RANG. I
stiffened, instinctively pulling away from the Luidaeg before I recognized the sound and pulled the phone from my pocket. “Hello?”

“I'm parked on the street,” said Quentin's familiar voice. He sounded like he was scared out of his mind, which was only to be expected, given the circumstances. “Toby . . . the shadows that should be blurring the Luidaeg's alley aren't there. It's like she dropped all her illusions.”

“She did,” I said. “Come on in. Make it quick, we're not going to linger here long.”

“Okay,” he said, and hung up.

I lowered the phone. “Quentin's here,” I said. “He says the normal defenses are down. I was sort of hoping he'd be smart and go straight for Arden instead of following instructions and coming here.”

Tybalt chuckled. There was an edge of strain to his voice, but it was fading; I had saved the Luidaeg without killing myself in the process. He could stop worrying about me for a few minutes, at least until he figured out how much blood I'd lost. As long as I didn't try to stand up ever again, he'd never know. “He simply puts great stock in your ability to survive even the most ridiculous of situations. To be fair, you have yet to prove him wrong. Also to be fair, it is not as if seeking the assistance of the Queen is something you have encouraged him to do. It will take some time to adapt to the idea of the monarchy as an ally, not an enemy.”

“Whose side are you on, anyway?” I demanded peevishly. I recognized my own relief, spreading through me and trying to make me giddy. I pushed it aside—we weren't out of the woods yet. We still didn't know who had attacked the Luidaeg, or whether they were coming back. Raising my voice, I called, “We're in the bedroom, Quentin. Did you crash the car?”

“I'm a better driver than that,” my squire protested, steps coming faster as he hurried down the hall to the open bedroom door. “Did you see the apartment? The place is trashed. Where's—” He stepped inside and stopped, going statue-still as he took in the scene in front of him. Finally, quietly, he said, “Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh,'” I agreed. “She was almost dead when we got here.” No need to tell him that “almost” was understating the case. “I managed to bring her back, but she's still in pretty bad shape, and she's not waking up. We need to move her someplace safe before whoever came here and did this to her realizes that they need to finish the job.”

Quentin blinked, sky-colored eyes widening. “You think they'd know?”

“Whoever this was knew when the Luidaeg answered one question she shouldn't have answered,” I said grimly. “They're going to know she's not dead. We need to move her before they come back. The only question is where.”

“What of the Library?” asked Tybalt. “The place has its own defenses, and could no doubt protect her, if the lady Librarian was willing to let her inside.”

“I don't think Mags would agree, and I don't know that the Luidaeg could handle any of the available Roads, or that we'd be able to carry her,” I said. I hesitated before I continued, “Shadowed Hills is out—”

“For more reasons than I can list in a day,” said Tybalt.

“—and so is my mother's tower. Whoever attacked the Luidaeg has Simon under a geas, and the tower recognizes him as family. He could just walk right in and take her.”

“Maybe Patrick and Dianda could let her stay with them?” asked Quentin. “She's the sea witch. Unless her attacker was from the Undersea, she might be safe there.”

“I think there's a better option,” I said, looking at Tybalt.

His eyes widened minutely and then narrowed again, turning considering. Finally, slowly, he said, “You do not understand the scope of what you are asking me.”

“Actually, I do,” I said. “That's why I'm asking. A place where no one can go without permission, not even the Firstborn, because Oberon told them they weren't allowed. A place we can reach and our enemies can't. A
safe
place.”

“A place for things that have been lost,” said Tybalt slowly.

“Wait,” said Quentin, as the penny finally dropped. “Are you talking about taking her to the Court of Cats? She can't hold her breath on the Shadow Roads if she's unconscious!”

“So we move her to a place where the Court is closer to the surface.” I looked to Tybalt. “Will you do this?”

Silence. Then, finally: “Yes. But we must hurry.”

I smiled. I couldn't help myself. “Okay, you two. Help me get her to the car.” Thankfully, when I stood, my legs agreed to support my weight, and my headache was a dull enough roar that I could walk without crying. I was messed up, but I would heal. Hopefully.

Tybalt seemed to know that something was wrong, but since he didn't ask me directly, I didn't have to answer him. It was relatively easy for the three of us working together to carry her down the junk-choked hallway to the gaping wound of the door, and out into the cool afternoon air. I carried her feet this time, while Tybalt held her head and arms and Quentin walked near her hip, helping to keep her body from knocking against anything. Once again, Tybalt walked backward, leading the way.

My car was parked to fill the mouth of the alley. I don't think I'd ever been happier to see it, especially not after Quentin ran ahead, peered into the backseat, and called, “It's clear.”

“Thank Maeve,” I said, and started toward the car.

As soon as my foot left the Luidaeg's front step, there was a grinding, shifting sound from behind me, like rocks sliding into position. Tybalt stopped where he was, a nonplussed expression on his face.

“Well,” he said. “That's one means of guaranteeing the security of your belongings.”

I glanced over my shoulder. The Luidaeg's door was gone, replaced by an unbroken expanse of plain red brick. “I hope she can reopen that when it's time to come home,” I said. “Now let's move.”

Buckling a limp, unresponsive body into the backseat of my car was not something I'd rank among my favorite experiences, although it didn't make the list of the worst things I'd ever done, either. With a lot of shoving, swearing, and prayer, we managed to fold her into the vehicle and secure her with a seat belt, thus hopefully guaranteeing that she wouldn't fly out of a window in the event of an accident. I straightened up, swiping my sweat-dampened hair out of my eyes with one hand, and turned to Quentin.

“Keys, please,” I said.

“You're going to make me ride in the backseat with the unconscious woman, aren't you?” he grumbled, digging the keys out of his pocket and dropping them into my waiting palm.

“Got it in one,” I said. “We need to get the Lu—get
her
to our destination, and I need you free to focus on casting the best don't-look-here spell you've ever put together in your life.”

“Promise you'll at least turn the radio to something decent?”

“No,” I said. “Now get in the car.”

Quentin sulked theatrically as he climbed into the backseat. He might have seemed flippant to someone who didn't know him, but I could tell how worried he was by the way he twisted in his seat as soon as his own belt was buckled, his eyes going to the Luidaeg's face. She had been his friend for almost as long as I had, and their relationship had always been refreshingly straightforward, unlike the relationship I had with her. She always threatened to kill me like she meant it; when she threatened to kill him, it was like she was saying “I care.”

Then again, maybe she'd been threatening us both that way, and I'd just been too close to the situation to understand. I turned on the ignition, trying to push my own concerns to the back of my mind. She was going to be all right. I had saved her. I was a hero.

Speaking of heroism . . . “Quentin, do you know if Arden has the phones working yet?”

“They're not stable,” he said. “April's got them doing all kinds of weird stuff with wires and fast-growing vines, but it's going to be a little while before they're consistently accessible via phone. Why?”

“I need to know if May and Jazz have reached her safely and brought her up to speed. I also need to let her know that someone beat the holy hell out of the Luidaeg, and damn near killed her.”
Had
killed her, but that wasn't something I wanted to advertise. Ever. If I could raise the dead, that was going to be my little secret, at least for now. “If I were Queen, I'd want to be informed if something powerful enough to mortally wound a Firstborn was loose on my lands. You know. Just because I'm nosy that way.” I scowled at the traffic around us. “Call May. I know her phone works in the Summerlands.”

I hated to delegate something as important as bringing the Queen in the Mists up to speed, but even after we put a don't-look-here on the car, I was going to need to focus on traffic, or we were going to die. I always drive a little sloppily when I have a headache, and tempting as it might be to take the time to heal up after a serious injury, I couldn't afford the delay. I'd been awake for more than a full day at this point. Exhaustion was going to hit me sooner or later, and it was going to hit me hard.

That didn't mean I could stop. Not even for a second. Simon showing up in the Mists made everything personal. The Luidaeg being attacked made it urgent. Someone was going to pay for what had happened to her.

“Okay, I'll call May,” said Quentin. “What do you want me to tell her?”

“Explain that the Luidaeg has been attacked, and that we're taking her somewhere safe, but we can't say where. Tell her I may not be available by phone for a while.” I paused before adding, “And tell her what we learned about Mom. Arden can confirm it if she says you're full of shit.” Arden knew my mother had been married to Simon—she'd been shocked when she met me, because she couldn't believe Mom would have a half-human child. So at least she'd be able to help May cope with that part. Everything else . . .

It was what it was.

While Quentin pulled out his phone and dialed, I glanced to Tybalt and asked, “Can you cast the first don't-look-here? You're better at them than I am.”

“Only because you refuse to practice,” he said, but raised his hands, sweeping them through the air in a grand gesture before saying, “My good lords and ladies, if you will attend to the stage, I would like to prepare you for an evening of wonders untold, and miracles such as the eye has never once beheld . . .” The smell of pennyroyal and musk rose and burst around us, perfuming the air inside the car. Quentin sneezed in the backseat.

I gave Tybalt a sidelong look, keeping most of my attention on the road. “What's that from?”

“Something a friend of mine used to say before curtain on each night's show.” He smiled, the expression visible in the tension of his cheek and the way his lip curled upward. “He would be pleased to know that his magic lives on in the spells and wastrel charms of this modern world.”

“May's caught up, and she called you some things I don't want to repeat,” said Quentin, poking his head up between the seats. “She said to tell you that Jazz is awake and feeling better, even though she's still shaky, and that Arden has a really sweet guest room. We should go there for a vacation after all this is over.”

“The day I get a vacation is the day the world ends,” I said. “Still, you have done well, my squire, and as your reward, you may choose the radio station.”

Quentin made a noise of wordless satisfaction, leaning farther forward as he clicked on the radio dial. The sound of Canadian folk-rock filled the car. I strongly suspected he'd convinced April to mess with my radio reception, since we seemed to get more folk music than was strictly normal, but it made him so happy that I didn't care that much. He pulled back into his seat, resuming his position next to the Luidaeg, and I drove on.

Quentin cast a don't-look-here on top of Tybalt's when we neared Golden Gate Park. It seemed like the safe thing to do.

The most common entrance to the Court of Cats appeared periodically in the alley next to the old Kabuki Theater. I don't know why Tybalt chose that location—I would have expected something on Market, in the actual theater district—but it was isolated enough to be safe, and with two don't-look-here spells shielding the car, I was able to drive right up to the mouth of the alley. I parked to block the sidewalk. A lot of people were going to find themselves jaywalking to the other side of the street without being able to explain why.

Once again, the three of us wrestled the Luidaeg's unmoving body out of the backseat. As soon as she was clear of all obstructions, Tybalt swung her up into his arms, holding her in a perfect wedding carry. He looked down at her sleeping face, and then back to where Quentin and I stood in momentary silence.

“I will be back,” he said, and turned, carrying the Luidaeg into the alley like her weight meant nothing to him. I watched him walk away. Between one step and the next he was simply gone, taking the sea witch with him out of the world.