Once Broken Faith (October Daye #10)(118)

There are people in my Court who think he’s disrespectful, and maybe I’d agree with them if I’d grown up as the girl they want me to be. But I didn’t, and I find his willingness to be my friend before he’s my subject more refreshing than anything else in the world.

I pulled away from him, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. “I need to talk to the alchemist,” I said. “Where is he?”

“Uh.” Madden looked at his wrist. His watch—a cheerful, brightly-colored thing with Mickey Mouse printed on the strap—was charmed eight ways from Sunday to keep mortal time even when we were in the Summerlands. It’s a necessary affectation. He still works at the Borderlands Café, slinging mochas and looking sad when Jude asks whether he’s heard from me. He doesn’t like lying to her any more than I liked disappearing from the face of the world, but his position leaves him with time to interact with the human world, and mine doesn’t. Even when I’m not doing anything, I’m being a queen, and being a queen means staying where my people can find me.

“It’s almost midnight,” said Madden. “I’m pretty sure there aren’t any classes at midnight, but I don’t know. I did all my college stuff online.”

“He’s not in the knowe?”

“No.” Madden looked deeply regretful. “He went back to work this morning while you were asleep. You had the potion, you had your brother, and you’d said you didn’t want any of us there while you woke him up.”

“Do you know where his office is?”

“Yes, but—”

“Where is it?”

Madden frowned. “Ardy, I don’t think this is the best idea. You should send someone. Send me. Send Lowri. She has a car.”

“She has a rusty piece of junk that needs about twenty thousand dollars’ worth of work before it’ll be shitty enough to sell for scrap,” I said. “I’m going. Where’s his office?”

“He’s in the UC Berkeley Chemistry Building. I really don’t like this.”

“Something is wrong with my brother.” I grabbed a fistful of air. It writhed against my fingers, protesting my intentions. Tough. I twisted it into a human disguise, throwing the features of the woman I’d spent so many decades pretending to be over my own. The weight of her was comforting. I’d been Ardith Heydt for years; longer, really, than I’d been Arden Windermere. I was better at being a bookstore clerk than I was at being a queen.

The one thing we’d always had in common was our brother. Nolan, who’d been the focus of my life since his birth, regardless of which version of me—lost princess, retail worker, or newfound queen—I was allowing myself to be. I straightened, forcing myself to breathe.

“Madden, you have the knowe until I return. If anyone needs me, try to fix whatever their problem is, and if you can’t, tell them to come back tomorrow. I’m busy for tonight.”

He sighed. “All right. Just be careful, Ardy. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Too late for that,” I said. “Years and years too late for that.”

A sweep of my hand opened a window between the balcony and a copse of trees on the UC Berkeley campus. I touched the tip of my ear, verifying that my illusion was solid, and stepped through.





FOUR


The air in the mortal world was thicker, flavored with gas fumes and pesticides and pollution. I breathed in deeply, filling my lungs. This was what home was supposed to smell like. This was where I belonged.

Stupid duty. Stupid bloodline. Stupid inheritance.

It was late enough that the campus was virtually deserted. Somewhere in the trees an owl hooted, protesting my sudden appearance; something rustled in the bushes, too small and quick to be human. That was a relief. Somehow I didn’t think High King Aethlin would be too thrilled if his newest and least-prepared queen was the one who betrayed the existence of Faerie to the human world. We’d managed to stay under the radar for centuries. I wasn’t going to be the one who gave us away.

When nothing else moved, I started walking. My skirt wasn’t the smartest choice for the tree-peppered UC Berkeley grounds, but my illusion was cosmetic only; it hadn’t changed the structure or length of my clothes. Transforming them would have taken too much out of me, especially when I was transporting myself—and hopefully, soon, Master Davies—between Berkeley and Muir Woods. My range is average for one of the Tuatha de Dannan. I can manage a hundred miles on a good day, if I’m aiming for a target that isn’t super precise, like “somewhere in the trees on campus” or “in Muir Woods,” as opposed to “this exact square foot of clover.” I can do three or four jumps a night if they’re that distance, and a lot more if they’re not. But my power is as limited as anyone else’s, and there was no sense frittering it away on unnecessary tactile transformations.

The campus was like a midnight dream, quiet and verdant and intermittently lit by flickering energy-efficient streetlights. Pixies darted overhead, not many, but enough to make it clear that I wasn’t alone. As always, I wondered if they recognized me, or if they cared. Pixies aren’t smart enough to know who’s in charge—or maybe they’re smart enough to realize it doesn’t matter. As long as they have wings, they can get away, and they don’t have to get sucked into the bullshit we mire ourselves in. Maybe the pixies are secretly the smartest things in Faerie, and the rest of us will never know.