Seanan McGuire - A Local Habitation

The spell shattered in a mist that sent me staggering. My feet slipped on the bloody floor and I nearly fell before Tybalt caught me, holding me upright.

And Alex opened his eyes.

That was the final piece to end the feeling of absolute serenity that had come when the spell caught hold; suddenly, I realized that I was bleeding, dizzy, and my head was pounding. What’s more, the taste of blood was coating my throat, making me want to gag. “Damn,” I muttered, stepping away from Tybalt to grab the sheet off Yui’s cot and start wrapping it around my arm. I’d just raised the dead—technically—and I didn’t need to bleed to death as a consequence. I’m not that fond of irony.

“Oberon’s balls . . .” whispered Tybalt, in a small, awed voice. I glanced toward him, and he looked away, not meeting my eyes. That hurt.

There would be time to worry about Tybalt later. I wrenched my attention back to Alex, who was sitting up now, eyes unfocused. He didn’t look like he was quite all there, and I couldn’t blame him. Being dead couldn’t have been easy.

“Welcome back, Sleeping Beauty.” All that blood was a little distracting. I didn’t know whether I wanted to throw up or faint.

“I . . .” Alex raised his hands, staring at the bloody fingerprints running down his arms. “I’m alive?”

“Good guess.”

“How . . .”

“You weren’t really dead. You just thought you were.”

“What?” He looked at me blankly. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Tybalt doing the same.

I sighed. “You weren’t dead.” I felt surprisingly lucid, despite the pain and blood loss. I should really learn to recognize when I’m in shock. I can spot it in everyone else, but it somehow always takes me by surprise. “Whatever attacked you tried to drain the memories from your blood. I think that’s what actually kills people. They lose themselves.” I paused, wobbling. “It got Terrie, but it couldn’t get to you. Not at night. So here you are.”

Alex’s eyes went wide. “Terrie’s dead,” he whispered.

“I’m sorry.” And then everything hit me at once.

Dying probably takes a lot out of you. I wouldn’t know—I’ve never died—but I know how hard blood magic can be on the body. I managed to take a shaky step toward the cot before I fell. Tybalt didn’t catch me this time. Alex was shouting, far away, and I angrily thought that I’d told them not to go anywhere alone. What was he doing all the way over there? I tried to tell him to go find the others, but there were no words, just the taste of blood and ashes . . .

And there was darkness.

IWOKE SLOWLY, fighting every inch of the way. The more awake I was, the more I hurt . . . but I was alive. That would have to do. I’ve always run myself hard—it’s one of my worst flaws—but I’d never tried two major acts of blood magic that close together before, and I was starting to think I’d blown some sort of internal fuse. My headache was worse than ever. I groaned, raising my right hand to my temple, and the last of the comfortable darkness dissolved, leaving me inarguably awake.

Damn.

“Toby? Are you all right?” I didn’t recognize the voice. That wasn’t surprising. I barely recognized my name.

“Is she awake?” This voice was higher, although not high enough to be April. I sorted through the possible speakers, settling on Gordan. That wasn’t good, given my suspicions.

“Her pulse is steady,” said a third voice. This one I recognized: Tybalt. Once I allowed that moment of recognition, I realized I was on my back with my head on someone’s leg, and that something cool and damp was pressed against my forehead. Probably a washcloth. “I think we just need to wait.”

“I’ll wake up fast if someone gets me some coffee,” I said, not opening my eyes.

“Toby!” That was Alex. Oh, good. He’d stayed not-dead. “You’re okay!”

“No, I’m annoyed. There’s a big difference.” The inside of my mouth tasted like dried blood. Yuck. “Can I get that coffee?”

Shuffling footsteps on what sounded like tile. “Toby, this is Elliot. Can you hear me?”

“I’m answering you, aren’t I?” All this talking was making my headache worse. I was starting to seriously question the wisdom of not being dead.

“She’ll be fine if she doesn’t do anything else stupid,” said Gordan, tone making it quite clear that she wasn’t harboring delusions about my intelligence.

I considered my options. Movement was out—my head wasn’t allowing any argument—but I could open my eyes if I was willing to deal with the pain. I’d have to do it eventually.

When I worked at Home, I woke up with hangovers on a regular basis. Most of them made me feel like my skull had liquefied. This was worse. The light was too strong, and the colors were too bright. I winced, forcing my eyes to stay open as I looked around. My head was in Tybalt’s lap. Elliot and Alex were standing nearby, and Gordan was off to one side, packing things back into her first aid kit.

“How do you feel?” asked Alex.

“Like I’ve been through a meat grinder. Am I getting that coffee?”

“You lost a lot of blood,” said Gordan. “That’s twice I’ve had to tape you back together. Don’t make me do it again.”

“I’m not planning to.” Especially since I was pretty sure she wanted to take me apart herself.

“Good.” She picked up her kit and turned, starting for the stairs.

“No going off alone,” said Elliot.

She stopped, scowling. “I need to get back to work.”

“Take Alex.”

“No,” I said quickly. “I need to talk to him.”

“Well, I have work to do.” Gordan glared at us all.

“So go do it,” I said, hoping I sounded tired enough that she’d believe I was slipping—and that she really was our killer. I wanted to be sure before I confronted her. I also wanted to be able to stand under my own power. “Call April if anything happens.”

“Your concern is touching,” she said, and flounced up the stairs.

Elliot turned to me once she was gone, frowning. “You let her go off alone.”

“Yeah, I know.” I tilted my head back, looking up at Tybalt. “Help me sit up?”

Without a word, he slid his hands under my back and scooped me into a sitting position. I pulled away, managing to support myself for almost a second before my arm buckled and I fell back against his chest. He put an arm across my shoulders, holding me there.

“Stay,” he said, firmly.

“You got it,” I said, looking around the room. We were still in the basement. A thick bandage had been wrapped around my left wrist, streaks of red staining the white. Tybalt and I were sitting on the cot where we’d placed Terrie’s body. That made sense. It was available real estate now.

“You were bleeding so much we didn’t dare move you,” said Elliot. “If Tybalt hadn’t told us you did it to yourself, we’d have thought you were attacked. I’ve never met anyone who cuts themselves open as often as you do.”

“It’s a talent of hers,” said Tybalt.

“Not a good one,” said Elliot, picking up a mug and offering it to me. “Drink this.”

“Coffee?” I took the mug, peering into it. It wasn’t coffee. Not unless the description had been rewritten to include “green and sticky.”

“No,” said Elliot. It was good to know that I didn’t need to add hallucinations to my list of symptoms. “Just drink it.”

“I don’t drink green things.”

“I made it. Drink it.”

That didn’t strike me as being an incentive. “What is it?”

“One of Yui’s recipes,” he said. It was the first time he didn’t flinch when he said her name. “It’s good for headaches. She used to give it to Colin when he stayed human too long.”