Rosemary and Rue (36 page)

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Authors: Seanan McGuire

BOOK: Rosemary and Rue
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He blinked. “What? Why?”
“Because I need you to cut yourself.” He looked blank, and I sighed. “I just got attacked by a Doppelganger, Connor. I don’t really think whoever wants me dead is going to spring for another one when the first one failed, but a girl can’t be too careful.”
“You’re serious.”
“Usually, yes.”
Glowering, he took the knife and nicked his index finger, holding it up to show me. “See? Perfectly normal blood.”
Doppelgangers can fake a lot of things. They can’t fake bleeding. “Excellent. My knife, if you would?” I held out my hand, and, still glowering, he pressed the hilt back into my palm.
Sliding the knife back into my belt, I turned to look around the room. It seemed smaller with the lights on. A simple silver throne sat in the center, and doors were scattered almost at random around the perimeter, leading to who knew where. I’d never seen half of them used, and I was probably going to need to try them all before the day was out. Evening’s coat of arms hung on the wall, alone; there was another set of arms there once, but Dawn had been dead for almost twenty years. It just took her sister a while to catch up.
“It’s odd that she showed you how to work the lights,” I said. “She never showed me.”
“Would you have trusted her if she tried?”
That stopped me. Even before the pond, I was never the most trusting of people; afterward, I’d stopped paying attention to anything but my own paranoia. Would I have trusted Evening if she’d offered? Probably not. Was I hurt that she hadn’t asked? Unfortunately, yes.
“No,” I said, finally. “I wouldn’t have.”
“That’s probably why she didn’t.”
I shook my head, keeping my eyes on the wall. “I didn’t come here to talk about my personal problems.”
“So why are you here?”
“Because I have a job to do.”
“And that job is in Goldengreen? You should be calling Sylvester before he freaks out completely.”
“Like I said, I thought someone had already called him.” I looked back toward Connor, sighing. “My job is wherever Evening’s killers are. I don’t know where that is, so I’m starting here.”
“Are you sure you’re up for this?”
“Does it matter?” I asked. “What can they do at this point? Kill me? They’re already trying. It doesn’t matter whether I’m up for this: I’m involved, and I get uninvolved when this ends or I die. No sooner.”
Connor frowned. “You’re bleeding.” He sounded surprised.
“I know.” I took a look at the blood soaking my shirt, and sighed. “That’s the third shirt this week. I swear, I should just go topless.”
“What happened?” His surprise had shifted, becoming hurt irritation. Jeez. It wasn’t like I needed someone to protect me—and if I had, there were people in line ahead of him.
“Do you mean over the last week, or just now?” I deadpanned.
“Just now. I already know most of the last week.”
“Remember that Doppelganger attack I mentioned?” He nodded. “That happened. Look, you can come when I grovel at Sylvester’s feet about the fact that no one called him.”
“You’re still bleeding.” He put his hand on my shoulder, and my heartbeat doubled. Moving with what I hoped was casual slowness, I stepped out from under it. I didn’t need this. Not now. Probably not ever.
Get a grip, dummy,
I thought.
What, Devin’s not enough for you?
“I reopened the wound when I tackled you. Don’t worry. I heal fast.”
Connor took a deep breath and asked, “Will you let me help you?”
He just kept coming up with the stumpers. Next he’d probably ask how I got in without using the front door. I turned back to the wall, saying, “Connor, I can’t involve you in this.”
“You think Raysel did it, don’t you?” It wasn’t a question.
“I think she might have.” I shoved my hands into my pockets. “Does that bother you?” I looked over my shoulder, waiting for him to flinch or betray some sign of guilt—anything to get my hormone levels down.
He didn’t oblige. His expression was neutral as he said, “I don’t think she did it; it’s not her style. But I can see why you’d suspect her. Does
that
bother
you?
”
“Yes,” I admitted. “It bothers me.” There was no point in lying.
“Why?”
“Because I can’t figure out why you went and married someone like her.” There: I’d said it. Maybe he’d give me an answer I could believe.
“It was political.” It was his turn to look away. “Salt-mist needed a truce, Raysel needed a husband. She liked my looks, her parents approved, Duchess Lorden told me to go, I went.”
“It was an arranged marriage?” My opinion of his taste went up about twenty points, but I was still horrified. Being a feudal society doesn’t mean we have to be
that
feudal. “We still
have
those?”
“My wife certainly thinks so.”
“That’s just not right.”
“That’s how things are. My home Duchy needs the alliance, and I’ll do whatever it takes to protect my home.” He squared his shoulders, and my heart did a stuttering box step.
“I’m sorry,” I said, voice unintentionally soft.
He stepped toward me. “So am I.”
For a moment, we just stared into one another’s eyes. His were brown from edge to edge, darkening at the center rather than resolving into a defined pupil. You could drown in those eyes. I wanted to. It would have been safer than whatever I was doing with Devin, and a lot less likely to get me killed . . . and it wasn’t an option. If I was looking for sex, I already had it, and if I was looking for love, I was probably out of luck—and either way, this wasn’t my road to take. Bracing my hands against his chest, I pushed him backward.
“We can’t do this,” I said. My voice was hollow. It wasn’t so much that I wanted him as it was that I wanted the idea of him; the idea of someone who would hold me and tell me things were going to be okay, without having to go back Home.
Connor gave me a hurt look, reaching out to put his hand on my shoulder. “Why not? I want to. So do you. Why can’t we?”
“Let’s start with the easy stuff,” I said, stepping out from under his hand. “You’re married, and I don’t want to be banished. Is that a good answer?”
“Raysel won’t care; you know that. As long as we stay married, she stays heir, and that makes her happy. It’s not a marriage. It’s a treaty.”
“I care. I won’t step on her toes.” I took another step back, shaking my head. “It’s not worth it, Connor.”
“I don’t think you mean that,” he said, voice pitched low. The tone sent a thrumming down my spine. My central nervous system voted to abdicate. No, no, no. This was
not
going to happen. Not with him.
“Look, Connor, maybe it would be worth it. I don’t know. Ask me again when we know who killed Evening, and maybe I’ll have a good answer.” I shoved my hands into my pockets. “For right now, can we just try to figure out who did this before they decide to try it again?”
He nodded, somewhat reluctantly, and let his hand fall to his side. I felt a surge of relief mixed with remorse, and took a deep, slow breath. Oberon’s bones, what had I been thinking?
I cast a sidelong glance his way. He was studying one of the carvings on the wall, carefully not looking at me. The answer was simple: I hadn’t been thinking at all. I’d just been reacting. I didn’t love him, but there was a time when I might have, and that was enough to move me forward. I needed to be needed. This wasn’t the right way.
“Toby?”
“Yeah?”
“What are you looking for?”
His tone told me he wanted to move on. I seized the opening. “I don’t know—something useful. Answers, maybe.”
“Are answers usually that easy to find?”
“After the week I’ve had, the world owes me some easy answers.”
“Are you finding any?”
That ranked high on the stupid questions list. “Not yet. Just some empty halls and you.” I turned in a circle, scanning the room. There were shadows in the corners, even with the lights on. There were no bodies, and the ghost of Hamlet’s father didn’t seem likely to show up, but it was bad enough. I almost thought I could hear faint noises drifting down the center hall.
“Welcome to the haunted halls of Elsinore,” I muttered.
Connor glanced at me. “What was that?”
“Shakespeare.”
“Why?”
I paused, and in the silence of that moment, I heard the sounds from the hall again. They were real, and they were getting louder. “Did you come alone?”
“What?” He blinked. “Of course. Who would I have brought with me? Sylvester has people checking every place you might’ve gone.”
“Right.” I stepped backward. Whoever was coming down the hall was too quiet to be Manuel or Dare. “Not to be alarmist or anything, but there are people trying to kill me right now, which means staying here might not be the best plan.”
“What?”
There was a clean snapping noise from the direction of the hall. It’s hard to mistake the sound of a bullet being chambered, especially when people have recently decided shooting you is great fun. I grabbed Connor’s hand and bolted for the nearest door, hissing, “Run!”
There was a muffled snarl from the hall, followed by the sound of running footsteps. Sometimes I hate being right.
The door didn’t want to open. I yanked the key out of my pocket and shoved it against the lock, shouting, “Open, dammit! In Evening’s name!” Nothing happened. The steps were getting closer. Not letting myself look backward, I shouted, “In Oberon’s name! In
somebody’s
name!
In my mother’s name, open up, damn you!
”
The lock released and the door slammed open, sending Connor and me tumbling into a narrow hallway. I paused long enough to kick the door shut and throw the lock before taking off down the hall. I didn’t know where it would take us, but I knew what would happen if we stayed where we were, and in this case, I preferred the unknown. Connor stumbled, and I caught his hand as I ran, hauling him behind me.
Connor was already starting to strain to keep up—Selkies are built for endurance in water, not on land. “Where are we going?” he gasped.
“Away!” I heard the door smash behind us, and the sound of running feet. I didn’t know how much of a lead we had, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to. We’d escape, or we’d die. Even odds.
“We don’t know they want to hurt us! We don’t even know who they are!”
“Pardon me if I don’t wait around to find out!” The strain of dragging Connor was making my shoulder throb in earnest, but I didn’t let go. He’d die if I did.
“But—”
“They have guns! Now shut up and run!”
A dim light was starting to fill the hall, illuminating rough stone walls. The floor shifted under our feet, going from raised cobblestones to hard-packed sand. Connor stumbled again, but I kept dragging him, picking up speed as we went. “Come on, we’re almost there!” I had no idea where “there” was, although I was betting against popping out of a magic wardrobe. The sand made me think of beaches: that was fine. There are plenty of beaches in San Francisco—there was even one right next to the museum.
In retrospect, I shouldn’t have been surprised when the ground dropped out from under our feet and we ran out into the open air.
There was time to glimpse the face of the cliff behind us, and the narrow mouth of the cave we’d just run out of. Then we were falling, and there was no more time for anything but screaming. Being dropped a hundred feet above the Pacific has a tendency to bring out the worst in me. Connor’s hand slipped out of mine as we fell. I strained to catch it. Then it was too late: I hit the water feetfirst, knocking the air out of my lungs. The waves closed over me like a fist, and the world went dark.
TWENTY-TWO
I DRIFTED, EYES CLOSED, head down, until the pressure in my chest snapped me awake and I started to thrash, looking for the surface. I hadn’t panicked, but it was only a matter of time, and if I didn’t hit the air before I lost control, I was going to be another red mark on the Coast Guard’s already checkered record. Everyone has something they can’t handle. For some people it’s tight spaces or heights. For me, it’s water. I can’t take baths anymore, much less go swimming: it’s showers and polite excuses all the way. It’s too much like going back to the pond.

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