Read A Local Habitation Online
Authors: Seanan McGuire
Tags: #Fantasy, #Fiction, #General, #Mystery fiction, #Science Fiction & Fantasy, #Fiction - Fantasy, #Science Fiction And Fantasy, #American Science Fiction And Fantasy, #Fantasy - General, #Fairies, #Women private investigators
A Local Habitation (19 page)
“You will come directly?” Her tone implied we’d get distracted and wander off, leaving her to take the blame.
“Yep.”
“Excellent.” She vanished. The air rushed into the place she’d been with a gentle popping sound, leaving the smell of ozone behind.
“Sounds like that’s our cue. Quentin, come on.” I stood, finishing my coffee. Grumbling, Quentin did the same, my half-eaten sandwich in one hand. I looked to Alex. “Come on, native guide. Lead the way.”
“My pleasure,” said Alex, and grinned as he led us out of the cafeteria.
The knowe remained convoluted, verging on labyrinthine, but Alex didn’t miss a beat, turning corners and navigating halls I would’ve sworn weren’t there earlier. It wasn’t that surprising; he’d been working there long enough to have adjusted to the fact that the ground floor was on the roof and could only be reached by going down three flights of stairs. It didn’t take me that long to learn how to park in San Francisco, and that’s arguably worse.
Jan’s door was propped open with a brick. She was seated on the desk inside, laptop balanced on her knees. Drifts of paper littered the floor, knocked aside by her fidgeting.
I rapped on the doorframe. “Hello?”
Her head snapped up. “What—oh. It’s you.” She relaxed, smiling. “Hi, Toby, Quentin. Hey, Alex.”
“Hey,” Alex replied. He didn’t enter the office.
“April said you wanted us?” I stepped inside, Quentin stuffing the last of my sandwich into his mouth, swallowing, and assuming his usual “I am in the presence of nobility” stance. He was definitely developing a working definition of teenage expedience: I’ve never seen anyone swallow that much ham and cheese without chewing before.
“Yeah.” She slid off the desk, putting her laptop aside. “Alex, could you excuse us?”
“No problem—I was sort of expecting it. Toby, if you need me, ask Jan to show you my office.” He waved and left, closing the door behind himself.
I watched him go, then turned toward Jan, looking at her speculatively before I spoke. “April looks like you, if you ignore the hair.”
“She does, doesn’t she?” Jan smiled. “She was protean at first—changed her face every time she appeared—but then she decided I was her mother and started looking like me. It’s a good thing she identifies as blonde, or we’d get really confused.”
“Alex told me what you did,” I said. “How did you . . .”
“She had a living branch when she escaped the grove. I thought ‘Dryads live in trees, but nothing says they have to live in physical trees’—they’re physical manifestations of the spirits of trees
anyway,
so why do they need wood?” She gave a one-shouldered shrug. “I cracked a server box and worked bits of the branch she was carrying into the circuitry before the sap dried. When she started to vanish, I closed the box and restored the power—and when it came back on- line, so did she. Instant cyber-Dryad.”
anyway,
so why do they need wood?” She gave a one-shouldered shrug. “I cracked a server box and worked bits of the branch she was carrying into the circuitry before the sap dried. When she started to vanish, I closed the box and restored the power—and when it came back on- line, so did she. Instant cyber-Dryad.”
“Impressive.” There was a new sharpness in her eyes and voice when she talked about April’s rescue; it was almost like talking to someone else. I was starting to understand how most people felt when they dealt with Sylvester for the first time. It was easy to assume that outward flakiness equaled stupidity. People have died making that assumption about Sylvester; I wasn’t going to make the same mistake about his niece.
Quentin was also watching her, frowning. The kid caught on quick. “Why did you call us here?” he asked.
Jan paused, enthusiasm dimming. “I needed to talk to you.”
“We’re here,” I said. “Talk.”
“I’ve got those files you asked for—and I wanted to know what you found in the basement.”
“Nothing.” I shook my head. “Quentin and I both tried, and we didn’t get anything. Maybe my mother could work with their blood, but we can’t. We’re not strong enough.”
“Is there anything else you can try?” she asked.
“Not without access to a police lab. Forensics isn’t my strong suit, and without proper equipment, it’s practically impossible.”
“We can’t involve the police.”
“I know.” The Fair Folk have it pretty good these days; no one believes in us anymore, and so we’re free to live our lives. It wasn’t always like that—there were bad times before we were forgotten, centuries filled with fire and iron. Not even the truly insane members of the Unseelie Court want to go back to that . . . but give the mortal world three fae corpses and we wouldn’t have a choice. That much proof of our existence would bring the old days back, whether we wanted them or not, and I’d face down Oberon himself before I’d let that happen.
Jan sighed. “I tried calling my uncle again.”
“And?”
“And nothing.” She shook her head. “I can’t get a person. I left another message.”
“I left a message for him, too, and one for the San Francisco King of Cats. I’m hoping he can help me figure out what would have been able to get the jump on Barbara.”
Jan nodded. “Keep me posted?”
“Of course.”
“Good. Is there anything else you need?”
“Yes, actually,” I said. “I want a list of the people who had access to the cafeteria when Barbara was found. If there are any security cameras that
didn’t
have mysterious breakdowns just before the killings, I’ll need to see what they recorded. I also want the places where bodies have been found roped off until Quentin and I can go over them—that includes the lawn outside the knowe.”
didn’t
have mysterious breakdowns just before the killings, I’ll need to see what they recorded. I also want the places where bodies have been found roped off until Quentin and I can go over them—that includes the lawn outside the knowe.”
“Done and done. Do you have any idea what could be behind this?”
“I don’t think it’s a ‘what.’ I think it’s—” I stopped as the overhead lights flickered and died. The computers along the back wall went dark, and something started beeping stridently.
“This isn’t right,” said Jan. Her posture had shifted, reflecting tightly controlled panic.
“You don’t get power outages?” Dim light slanted through the room’s single window, outlining the desks. I walked to the window, pulling the drape aside and looking out at the grounds. “Quentin, check the door.”
I’ll give him this: he moved with admirable urgency, taking up a blocking posture next to the door. He wasn’t letting Jan out until I said he could.
Jan didn’t seem to have noticed. “No, we don’t. The power never goes out.”
“The electric company does it to me all the time.” There was no one on the lawn; just the standard assortment of cats.
“We have generators that kick in before the lights even flicker. We can’t
afford
to lose power.” She started for the door. “We have systems that should never go off-line. April—”
afford
to lose power.” She started for the door. “We have systems that should never go off-line. April—”
“Jan, stop.” She froze. “Give me a second. Where are the generators stored, and who has access?”
“They’re in a room next to the servers, and everybody’s got access. I don’t even know if the door locks. What’s going on?”
“I don’t know.” I started for the door. “We need to go check the generators.”
“Follow me.” She reached for the doorknob. I nodded to Quentin and he stepped aside, letting her lead us out of the room.
The halls were even stranger in the dark, filled with shadows that didn’t quite match the objects casting them. Jan strode through them without flinching. Quentin followed close behind while I dropped back, taking the rear. Maybe we weren’t going to be attacked, but I refused to count on that when Jan was so
sure
the power couldn’t go out. She knew her company.
sure
the power couldn’t go out. She knew her company.
Jan stepped into the generator room and screamed.
ELEVEN
I
ONLY CAUGHT A GLIMPSE of what was in the room before I yanked Jan back into the hall, slamming the door behind her. “Peter,” she said, staring at the door. “That was Peter.”
ONLY CAUGHT A GLIMPSE of what was in the room before I yanked Jan back into the hall, slamming the door behind her. “Peter,” she said, staring at the door. “That was Peter.”
“I thought you didn’t have any night vision. How can you be sure?”
“No one else in this company has wings.”
“Damn.” I looked back toward the door. “I need to go in there.”
“Are you sure that’s wise?” Jan asked, frowning.
“Without backup?” asked Quentin.
“I need to see the body, and that means I need to get the generators back up. How do I do that?” Death doesn’t bother me, but murder makes me edgy, and my lack of weaponry suddenly felt like a potentially fatal mistake. If we got back to the hotel alive, I wasn’t coming here again without my knife and the baseball bat. And maybe a tank, if I could find one fast enough.
“Right.” Jan sighed. “There’s an orange switch on the second box inside the door. If there’s any gas left in the generators, you should be able to force them back online by flipping the switch, waiting thirty seconds, and flipping it again.”
“Okay.” Looking to Quentin, I said, “Stay here. If you see anything out of the ordinary or anyone acting strangely, grab Jan and run; I’ll catch up. Understand?”
“Yes,” he said. If he disapproved of my orders, he wasn’t showing it.
Jan looked like she was going to argue, but quieted when I glared at her. She was starting to display signs of sense.
“Good,” I said, before opening the generator room door and stepping inside.
The room was dark, lit only by a small, thick-glassed window, and looked deserted. That didn’t mean there was nothing in the room with me—just that anything that might be hiding in those shadows knew how to be quiet. Sometimes I wish I wasn’t such a positive thinker.
I paused, scanning the shadows while my eyes adjusted. I caught a flicker of motion out of the corner of one eye and whirled. There was nothing there. The “motion” was just the late afternoon sunlight slanting through the window and glinting along the edge of a steel girder. I stopped, taking a shuddery breath.
Finding the second generator from the door wasn’t hard: I inched along the wall until my thigh hit something sharp, stepped back, and then inched forward again until I hit something else. I wasn’t willing to move away from the wall; Peter was a dark blur at the center of the floor, and I didn’t want to step on him by mistake.
I was jumpier than I thought. I groped around until I found the panel with the switches; figuring out which one to flip was harder. The longer I stood there, the shakier I was getting, and Jan and Quentin were in the hall alone and unarmed. Time mattered. I settled for flipping the largest switch I could find, waiting thirty seconds and flipping it again. My heart thudded in my ears like a steel drum until the sound of the generator revving drowned it out. The engine coughed twice, turned over—and the lights came back on. I almost immediately wished that they hadn’t.
Peter was on his back, barely recognizable as the man we met when we arrived. Death had finally removed his human disguise. He was four feet tall, with delicate antennae and feathered gray hair, lying on a blanket made by his own gray-and-green wings. He’d been a Cornish Pixie, almost the only pixie breed large enough to interact with the bulk of Faerie as an equal.
Well, he wasn’t going to be doing anything as an equal anymore: he wasn’t going to be arguing about whether Klingon was a language, or confusing visiting changelings by wearing a human disguise when everyone else had shed theirs. It was starting to look like the ALH retirement plan was “get found dead in the back room.” Punctures broke his skin at the wrists and throat, dispelling the illusion that he was only sleeping. He was never going to wake up.
I knelt, touching his throat, and winced as I felt the lingering warmth of his skin. Blood and a thin film of dust covered my fingers: pixie-sweat. That gave me a time of death. Pixies stop “dusting” when they die, and the glittery traces they leave behind dissolve quickly. He couldn’t have been dead when the lights went out, or the pixie-sweat would have already faded.
The lights came back up too easily to have been sabotaged, but it made no sense for whoever had killed Peter to have also killed the power. The body would have gone undiscovered for hours, maybe even days, if we hadn’t needed to restart the generator. The killer could have had time to make a clean run of it . . . unless they knew that turning off the generators would lead us to the body, and were hoping to lead me—or maybe Jan—straight to Peter. This could have been a trap or a sick display. And, either way, someone wanted us to find the body.
Things were
not
looking up.
not
looking up.
Other books
Departures by Robin Jones Gunn
Second Nature (When Seconds Count) by Roan, D.L.
The Famished Road by Ben Okri
4 Hemmed In by Marjorie Sorrell Rockwell
Black money by Ross Macdonald
The Admiral's Daughter by Julian Stockwin
Washing the Dead by Michelle Brafman
A Conspiracy of Kings by Megan Whalen Turner
Come and Take Them-eARC by Tom Kratman
Catch Me a Cowboy by Lane, Katie