Late Eclipses (21 page)

I rose, putting my hand on Tybalt’s shoulder. Not looking at me, he said, “She and Gabriel married two hundred years ago; this was their first litter. They may never have another, even if they both survive. Two hundred years to produce four kittens, all born alive and perfect.”

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered.

“I’ve lost six of my people since last night. I don’t know how many will follow. How can I tell Gabriel his children are gone? How can I claim to be a good King to Opal when I provided the meat that killed her family?” He raised his head, pupils narrowed to thin slits. “I don’t know how to stop this. I don’t know what to
do
.”

I didn’t think before I acted; I just put my arms around his shoulders, squeezing before I said, “I don’t know, either. That doesn’t matter. We’re going to stop this. I can’t bring back the dead, but I can help you avenge them.”

He stared at me, hands still cupping the kitten. I reddened and let go, stepping away. Voice soft, he said, “If you do this, I’ll owe you a debt I can never repay.”

“You won’t owe me a thing. I refuse to believe there’s more than one person targeting the people I care about. This is my fight.” I looked around the room again, resisting the urge to comfort him. “Six dead. Two more rooms like this. Is any of the meat left? I was getting ready to go have Walther analyze some samples when you called. I can ask him to do a little more.”

“What’s left of the meat is in the alley. The children collapsed halfway through the meal; Gabriel and Louis called me before they succumbed.”

“Good.” I paused. “Where’s Julie? She should’ve attacked me by now.”

“Julie?” Tybalt sighed. “She’s not nobility, Toby. She eats with the Court.”

“Oh, Maeve.” I closed my eyes. “Dammit, Julie.”

“Come on.” Tybalt put his hand on my shoulder. When I opened my eyes, he nodded toward the door. “I’ll get you out of here. Raj will bring you the meat.”

“What about the baby?” I asked. The kitten was still cradled against his chest.

“I’ll leave him for the night-haunts.” He started walking. “He was one of us. Even if it was only for a little while.”

I trailed behind him, breathing shallowly as I tried to get the taste of death out of my mouth. Tybalt didn’t speak, and so neither did I; we walked through the patchwork halls in silence, both trying not to look at the kitten lying limply in his hand. There were tears on his cheeks. I tried not to look at them, either.

And then he took my hand, and we stepped into the shadows, leaving the Kingdom of the Cats behind us.

 

 

 

I
SAT ON A BENCH NEAR THE LAKE, drinking a fresh cup of coffee as I waited for Raj. The sun glittering off the water made it seem transparent and impossibly blue at the same time. Most of California gets too hot in May, but not San Francisco; the “perfect summers” they talk about in movies really happen here. I wished I’d thought to bring bread for the ducks. It was a stupid, escapist idea, but it was a beautiful day, and my head hurt, and I was so tired of running.

A fat gray goose waddled over, webbed feet slapping the ground, and gave me an inquisitive look. “Sorry, no bread,” I said. It flapped its wings, spraying water in my eyes. It stung. I wiped my face dry, laughing. “I guess I deserved that, huh?”

Something in the bushes rustled. The goose hissed, neck snaking out, before waddling away. I stiffened, forcing myself not to turn around. Humans notice beautiful days, too, and the park was full of tourists. Stabbing one of them wouldn’t help.

“Hello,” I said. “I’m in a pretty rotten mood, so you might want to move along. And I don’t have any spare change.”

“I . . . ” The speaker paused, clearing his throat. “I don’t want any spare change.”

I knew that voice. I turned, flashing a small, tired smile. “Hi, Raj.”

“Hi.” Raj stepped out of the bushes, clutching a package wrapped in white butcher paper against his chest. His human disguise was flickering, barely covering the points of his ears. He hadn’t bothered to hide the circles around his eyes or the tearstains on his cheeks. With half the Court down for the count, Tybalt had to have been working him pretty hard. Just another consequence of being a prince, but one I was glad I didn’t have to bear.

“Is that the meat that got everyone sick?” I asked.

“Yeah.” He held out the package, eyes wide and vacant. I’d seen that look on his face before, when he thought we were going to die in Blind Michael’s lands. “He said to let us know if you need more. There isn’t much, but he won’t get rid of it until you say you don’t need it.”

“Good.” I took the package, putting it down on the bench. “Are you all right?”

He glanced away. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t sound fine.” I studied his face. “Is Tybalt working you too hard? Do you need me to talk to him?”

“It’s my duty as Prince to follow my King’s commands.” He should have sounded proud when he said that. He didn’t. He just sounded numb.

“Hey, if Tybalt’s being a dick, tell your parents you need him to lay off and let you get some sleep. They’ll talk to him.” He froze, and I realized what the missing piece had to be. “Raj, are your parents . . . ”

He stared at me before crumpling to the bench, already sobbing. I put my arms around him, and he clung to them like they were the only anchor he had, crying even harder. I started stroking his hair. I know what it’s like to lose someone; the last thing you need when you’re grieving is some well-meaning moron telling you it’s going to be all right. It’s
not
going to be all right. It’s never going to be all right again.

Raj cried for a good fifteen minutes before he pulled away, stiffening. I shook my head, leaning over to brush his bangs out of his eyes. “You don’t have to do that,” I said. “I don’t mind.”

“I’m not supposed to cry,” he said, in a dull, wounded voice. “Princes don’t cry.”

“Did Tybalt tell you that?” There was a time when I wouldn’t have asked. I was learning I didn’t understand Tybalt as well as I’d always assumed I did.

He shook his head. “It was my father.”

“Your father?” I echoed, irrationally pleased to hear that it
hadn’t
been Tybalt.

“He says I’ll never be King if I’m weak enough to cry.”

I frowned. “Crying isn’t weak. It’s good sense. It means you know it’s all right to mourn the dead and let them go.”

“I guess,” he said, looking down. “If you say so. But he said I shouldn’t.”

“I do say so.” I paused. “If your father’s alive—”

“My mother.” He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “Her blood was weak. She was a pureblood, but she wasn’t strong. That’s why I was such a surprise. She couldn’t even be human when she was pregnant with me, because she was so weak.”

“I’ve known some people like that,” I said. “Being a pureblood doesn’t always mean you’ll have strong magic.” Usually, but not always.

“You have to have strong magic to be noble, and she didn’t,” he said, huddling against me again. “She almost always hunted, because she was proud. But she got hit by a car a week ago, and her leg was broken, and so . . . ” He stopped.

“So she ate the tainted meat with the others,” I finished softly.

“Yeah. She fell down, and she wouldn’t open her eyes, and we called Uncle Tybalt, but he . . . he . . . ”

“He couldn’t wake her, either.”

Sniffling, Raj nodded. “Dad was holding her, and she just stopped. She wasn’t supposed to stop. We’re supposed to live forever. Aren’t we?”

“We’re supposed to, but sometimes it doesn’t work that way.” Not for Raj’s mother, or for Lily, or Evening. Maybe not for any of us.

“Will I live forever?”

I paused, looking at him. His eyes were wide, earnest, and glossy with tears. He’d believe whatever I told him. He was offering me the chance to soothe away his fears, if I’d just lie to him. And I couldn’t do it. Sometimes I hate my sense of honor.

“You might not,” I said. “The only way to be sure you’d live forever would be to stay in the Summerlands and lock the doors so nothing could ever touch you. But I don’t think that’s living. Do you?”

He frowned, considering. “No. I don’t think it is.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. There are some truths you shouldn’t be forced to learn, and that’s one of them. But he asked, and I couldn’t lie to him.

“It’s okay. Truth is better.” He managed a wan smile, fangs showing through his fading human disguise. “I should go. I’m helping Uncle Tybalt with everyone.”

“Right.” His dignity was already wounded; he needed to go and soothe it before it died. “You’d better go. Call the apartment if you need anything. May will be there even if I’m not.”

“Okay.” He stood, melting into the shadows before I could say good-bye. That was fine with me; I wasn’t up for many more good-byes.

I finished my coffee and tossed the empty cup into the nearest trashcan before tucking the tainted meat under my arm and walking back to the snack bar. I was trying to review what had happened without dwelling on it. It wasn’t working. I kept picturing Opal and her kittens, or Raj and his parents. The worst was the thought of Tybalt, somehow sick like the rest. The image sent shivers down my spine.

The crowd at the snack bar had scattered, dispersing to do whatever it is tourists do when they’re not getting in my way. A breeze caressed the back of my neck as I circled the building to reach my car. The scents the wind carried were enough to make my nose itch. It smelled of roses, violets, fresh grass, and oleanders, all undercut with the distinct, deadly tang of sulfuric acid.

I stiffened. The car doors were unlocked—I’d been in such a hurry to get out and puke that I hadn’t been as careful as usual. That was actually a good thing, just now. I dropped the meat on the passenger seat and pulled my baseball bat out of the back, every movement deliberate. My headache was fading, and my mind was clear; I didn’t want to kill her if I had a choice. The last of my mercy died with Opal’s kittens. I wanted to see Oleander stand trial and face the immortal, unforgiving judgment of the fae.

A footstep scuffed the asphalt behind me. I whirled, falling into a defensive posture. I was ready for anything she could throw at me.

There was no one there.

“What the—” I could still smell the distinctive taint of her magic on the wind. So where the hell
was
she?

Someone started to clap. I turned, holding the bat in front of me, to see Oleander standing in front of my car. She was totally relaxed, resting her elbows on the hood as she applauded. “Well done, October,” she said. “You still react without stopping to think.”

“I’ll work on that,” I said, eyes narrowing. It was probably too much to hope that she’d stay where she was long enough for me to get behind the wheel and run her over.

“See that you do.” She smiled. “You’re no challenge like this.”

“Playing with your food?”

“Are you surprised?”

“I suppose not.”

“Of course not. There’s no free will in Faerie—isn’t that what you children of Oberon say?” Her smile widened. “Blood will tell, isn’t it?”

She was right about that: blood will tell, and Oleander told the story of the Peri in every snake-supple gesture and poisoned-sugar smile. Peri live in the high deserts, keeping their distance from the rest of Faerie, and Faerie doesn’t mind. They’re instinctively cruel, geared toward a type of sadism even monsters find hard to bear. By all rights, we should’ve cut off contact with them centuries ago.

There’s just one problem: Peri are evil, but they’re also beautiful. The fae are as easily distracted as everyone else, and sometimes we only see the beauty, not what’s lurking underneath it. A Tuatha de Dannan got distracted by that beauty once, and Oleander was the result.

“I’m not sure I want to know the story your blood’s telling.” There was no way I could get around the car fast enough to catch her. I needed her to come out into the open.

“But it’s a lovely tale, all death and treachery.” She dropped her chin into her cupped hand. “Did you think I was an illusion, little girl?”

“I was starting to.” I still wasn’t sure either way. If I’d chased an illusion through the botanical gardens, I could easily be talking to another one.

“How do you know I’m not?” she asked, and vanished.

“I don’t.” I circled the car. There was no sign that she’d been there at all. “Why are you doing this?”

“Such petulance doesn’t suit a woman of your rank,
Countess
.” I turned toward the sound of her voice. She was standing behind me, arms folded across her chest. “What’s it like to wear a dead woman’s title? Do you finally feel like one of us?”

“Leave Evening out of this.” I wasn’t sure I was talking to a real person, but I was becoming more convinced that the illusionist was Oleander. That was reassuring, in its way. I wasn’t losing my mind. Just my friends.