Seanan McGuire - A Local Habitation

“It’s stealing their souls ?” Elliot asked, sharply.

I shook my head, wincing as it throbbed. “It’s not stealing their souls; it’s stealing their memories. Your life is stored in your blood, but the blood here is empty. Their memories are gone, and the memories are what the night-haunts need.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” I told the lie without flinching. I’d promised the night-haunts I’d keep their secrets, and I meant it.

“It’s stealing their memory ?” Jan said, putting an odd stress on the last word. Something flitted across her face, there and gone so fast I wasn’t sure I’d seen it at all.

“Yes.”

“So the night-haunts are leaving the bodies here . . .”

“Because they just don’t care,” said Gordan, and grabbed my fingers, yanking them down. The pain was incredible. I screamed.

What happened next was a little blurred. Jan shouted. I tried to jerk to my feet, and Connor pushed me back down, keeping me where I was. Quentin started to move. Suddenly, my hand was free and Gordan was on the floor with her hand pressed against her cheek. Quentin was standing between us, fists raised.

“Don’t touch her!”

Gordan pushed herself up, glaring. Quentin towered over her; she didn’t seem to notice as she spat, “I ought to kick your overprivileged ass!”

“You want to try?” Quentin asked.

“Stop it!” Jan said. They ignored her. Whatever internal rivalry they’d created, they seemed intent on finishing it.

“I think maybe I will,” Gordan said, stepping forward.

I took a deep breath, steadying myself, and stood. This time, Connor let me. The wet floor didn’t make it easy, but I managed to keep my balance. “Are you two going to cut this out, or do I need to go somewhere else?” I asked.

Quentin turned, looking mortified. “Toby, sit down, you shouldn’t be . . .”

“Gordan, back off,” Elliot snapped.

She glared. “He hit me.”

“You deserved it,” Jan replied. “Now, if we’re done being jerks? Toby, sit. Quentin, cool it. And, Gordan—was there a reason you just tried to take Toby’s hand apart?”

“Yes,” she said sullenly, rubbing her cheek. “I needed to see if she had feeling in her fingers.”

“Well, now you know. So don’t do it again.” Gordan started to speak, and Jan raised her hand. “Please, I don’t want to hear it. Yes, he hit you, and yes, you earned it. I’d like to get the rest of this story today .”

“Right.” I sighed, and sat again, leaning back into Connor. He returned his hands to my shoulders, lending silent support.

Grumbling, Gordan knelt in front of me. Quentin backed off, not taking his eyes off her. If she made one wrong move, she was going to regret it. Jan folded her arms, watching; Elliot was standing just behind her. I squinted at them, realizing how bad this looked. I was dizzy and sick from a combination of exhaustion and magic-burn, and now I couldn’t even control my assistant. How was I supposed to help these people when I was barely standing up?

“Try not to squirm,” said Gordan, slathering antibacterial sludge onto my palm.

I gave Quentin a sharp look, hoping he’d get the point and stay where he was. “The night- haunts aren’t avoiding this place. There just isn’t any reason for them to take the bodies.”

“But what are we supposed to do with them?” Jan asked.

“We’ll have to burn them; that’s what we did before the night-haunts came.” I shrugged.

Jan paled. “Oh.”

“That can wait—right now, we need to figure out what’s going o—ow! Gordan!” She’d tightened a loop of gauze around my hand, mashing the edges of the wound together. Quentin started to step forward. I held up my unwounded hand, motioning for him to stop. “That hurt!”

“So sorry,” she drawled, and kept wrapping. My fingers were going numb; I couldn’t see how that was a good thing. “I don’t have the facilities to give you stitches without them turning septic, and I’ve got to stop the bleeding before you need a transfusion. Unless you want to try telling some human doctors what you’ve done to yourself?”

“Right,” I muttered, and huddled against Connor, trying to distract myself from the pain. It wasn’t working. My headache was making it hard to think straight.

Elliot looked at me, saying, “Jan, she met with Alex just before she did . . . whatever it is she did. I think she might need to lie down for a bit.”

There was that expression again, flickering over her face and vanishing. “Are you sure?”

“I asked Terrie.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked. Neither would meet my eyes. I looked down at Gordan, and saw that even she was focusing on my hand, not looking at me. “What am I missing? What does Alex have to do with anything?”

“It’s nothing you need to worry about now,” Jan said. I eyed her. She sighed. “I promise. You just need to rest for a while.”

“And you’ll tell me what’s going on when I wake up?”

“I will. You have my word.”

I looked at her. She looked back. Finally, I shook my head. “Quentin? Connor?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m going to take a nap. I want you two to stay together. Wake me if there’s any sign of trouble. Understand?” Reluctantly, they nodded. “Good. And, Quentin, I don’t want to hear about your fighting with Gordan while I was asleep.” Even if she deserves it, I added silently.

“But, Toby—”

“No buts. I don’t care if she’s the one starting everything. I’m too tired to deal with this on top of everything else.”

He sighed. “All right.”

Jan fixed a stern eye on Gordan. “The same thing goes for you. Both of you behave.”

“Whatever,” Gordan said, taping the gauze on my hand before starting to repack her first aid kit.

I eyed this and asked, “Can I have some painkillers first?”

Jan smiled, almost sadly. “Gordan?”

“Yeah, she can have some Tylenol.” She pulled a bottle from the kit, tossing it to Jan, who removed the cap with a flick of her thumb. I held out my unwounded hand, and she placed three small white pills on my palm as solemnly as if she were handing me the crown jewels of India. I popped them into my mouth, dry-swallowing them in a single convulsive gulp. I don’t know how we dealt with magic-burn before we had over-the-counter painkillers, but I think there’s a reason the faeries in the old stories are so incredibly cranky.

Gordan snatched the bottle out of Jan’s hand, scowling. “Be careful,” she said. “Your hand will be weak for a while, and you should really have stitches. Don’t strain yourself if you don’t want to lose a finger.”

“Got it,” I said, nodding.

“Don’t mention it.” She raked a hand through her spiky hair, shooting a glare toward Quentin. He glared right back. “I sure won’t.”

“Gordan . . .” Jan began.

“Whatever,” Gordan said. She turned, shaking her head, and walked out of the room.

Quentin scowled as he watched her go. “What a—”

“Stop right there,” I said, levering myself to my feet. Connor moved to support me. “I know she is, okay? You don’t need to stress. Just don’t hit her again.”

“Fine,” he said. The tips of his ears were red, although I couldn’t tell whether it was from anger or embarrassment.

Elliot sighed. “That went well.”

“It could’ve been worse,” I said, as diplomatically as I could.

“I’m sorry, both of you,” Jan said.

“It’s all right. We’re all stressed.” I forced a smile, leaning on Connor. “If you don’t mind, I need to fall down until my head stops hurting.”

“Of course.” Jan looked away, but not before that strange, half-aware expression had crossed her face a third time. What the hell was going on? “Elliot, are you coming?”