Borderline (The Arcadia Project, #1)(61)

“Martin was a wizard, not a warlock, and he found most of my powers disturbing. But he understood what it was to be a changeling and helped me come to terms with that. He also admired my intelligence, which I come by honestly. I understand my sister and brother are clever as well.”

“You don’t know your siblings?”

She shook her head. “We aren’t family; even our blood is not the same. If I consider anyone family, I suppose it’s Teo. He came to the Project a few months before I did, under similar circumstances.”

I wondered all the more, now, what she’d thought of The Stone Guest, of the young heroin addict trying desperately to connect with her estranged mother after her father’s death. I reached out to pat the air where Elliott appeared to be, absorbing all this before speaking again. “So what was it that you wanted to talk about?”

Caryl rose from the floor and moved to the window, looking out into the night. “Gate LA4 is right above you,” she said. “The stairs leading to the tower are right outside your room.”

“What the hell?” I looked up at the ceiling like an idiot.

“Do you want to see it?”

“Is it like the other one?”

“Almost exactly.”

“Then no.”

Caryl turned to look at me, leaning back against the window. “There is a ward on the door to the tower stairs, hiding it from sight.”

“Can it hurt me, being so close to a Gate while I sleep?”

“Not in the way you mean. Its power is contained entirely within the archway. That is why the Gates are precisely semicircular. Magical energy cannot escape a circle.”

“Even half of one?”

“If it were a full circle, magic could travel perpendicular to the plane of the circle, within its boundaries, like a tunnel. An incomplete circle disrupts the tunnel effect, but if the missing portion is not bound to earth, magic can escape from the incomplete side as well.”

I pointed above my head. “That’s not earth.”

“It is a solid surface perpendicular to the force of gravity, moving with the earth’s rotation. For the purposes of magic, any floor is earth.”

“So basically what you’re saying is, don’t punch a hole in the ceiling.”

“The Gate is not dangerous in and of itself,” Caryl said. “If you damage it in any way, it simply stops working, unless the one on the Arcadian side happens to be damaged in exactly the same way. Gate LA3 had to be dismantled in 1938, because -damage was done to it so small it could not be located for repair.”

“And you didn’t build a new one? Like LA1?”

“We lost our only builders in 1913. So when we lost our lease on the LA2 property in the twenties we couldn’t replace that one either. By the time everyday overseas travel made it practical to import builders from elsewhere, we’d become accustomed to operating with only three gates.”

“If the Gate isn’t dangerous, why even tell me about it?”

“You need to know,” said Caryl, “because there is a possibility that Arcadia will declare war. And if they do, you are sleeping directly under a possible invasion point.”

I sat up straighter, skin prickling. “Can’t we close the Gate? I could go touch it with my Hands of Metal Death.”

“Your touch would not disable it,” Caryl said, “as it is not strictly speaking a magical object.”

“Okay, but if you break it, that closes it, right?”

“To what end? There are others, and it would take only one to admit an Unseelie horde that could end human civilization in a fortnight. Furthermore, the closure of a Gate would provoke immediate inquiry and rob us of the time advantage we currently have.”

“Probably not a fair trade for a good night’s sleep. All right, so if the Unseelie horde does come through Gate LA4, what exactly am I supposed to do?”

“Die horribly. But swiftly, I’d think. They’ll be eager to get on with their world conquest.”

“Okeydokey then. Thanks for the heads-up.”

“If you want to go back to the hospital, I understand. The safest place would be a church or temple, though; Unseelie fey can’t enter sacred ground.”

“Why not?”

“Fey’s perception of reality is based on consensus rather than fact. A symbol imbued with power by the sincere belief of millions can manifest that power in a very real sense to a fey.”

“But I couldn’t stay in a church forever. So I’d still die hor-ribly, right? Just later.”

“Almost certainly.”

“Then there’s no way I’m not staying and at least trying to stop things from coming to that.”

Caryl moved back toward me, reaching a gloved hand into the inside pocket of her jacket for a business card. It had only a number, no name. “Call me if you need to,” she said. I felt a whisper of silk and card stock against my palm, and she left.

? ? ?

I showered, removed my prosthetics, and lay in bed with a -racing heart, leaving the door open to ease my trapped feeling. I understood the magnitude of Caryl’s gesture of trust in giving me her number, but I didn’t call her. Nor did I take the Project-forbidden Vicodin that was so temptingly concealed in my suitcase, even though it would have helped.