One Salt Sea: An October Daye Novel (41 page)

“There’s more than one way to get almost anywhere,” said the Luidaeg. Her tone was dismissive, like casting spells on half the city was no big deal. “People are just choosing those alternate routes tonight. That’s all.”

“What . . . what about the ones who were going places that
didn’t
have an alternate route?” asked Connor uneasily. He sounded like he didn’t really want to know the answer to his own question. That made one of us.

“They decided to do something else with their time,” said the Luidaeg. “The movie theaters are doing excellent business. Now
drive
, October.”

Her command was sharp enough that I sped up another ten miles per hour. The buildings outside the car windows were starting to blur and blend together, flickering past too quickly for me to make out individual details. “How do you know you’re going to be needed tonight?” I asked, raising my voice to be heard above the engine.

“Hold a moment.” The Luidaeg rolled down her window. Then she raised her left hand, tracing an elaborate pattern through the space between the seats. The air got suddenly colder, and I tasted saltwater on my tongue. Then the cold and the salt were both gone, taking the sound from outside the car with them. Her window was still halfway down, but there was no rush of air. We might as well have been driving in a hermetically sealed bubble—and for all that I knew, we were.

The Luidaeg met my eyes in the rearview mirror again before she shook her head, saying, “There’s no way of knowing who might be listening in. It’s better to be safe than to be sorry, especially right now.”

“
You’re
afraid of being spied on?” asked Connor. “That seems a little far-fetched.” He stopped, reddening as if he was just now realizing he’d spoken aloud.

The Luidaeg’s attention swung to him. When she spoke again, her voice was cold, almost without inflection. “I don’t believe I requested your opinion,
Selkie
,” she said, spitting out the word like it tasted bad. “As for things being ‘far-fetched,’ a year ago, you were a married man, and October here was a half-blood Knight living alone and half in love with the idea of her own death. Now your former wife is wanted for treason, October’s a Countess, her own personal death omen is paying half the rent, and the balance of her blood is a lot harder to read. No one who travels regularly in her company gets to use the term ‘far-fetched’ around me.”

“She’s got a point,” said Quentin, sounding almost cheerful. Having the Luidaeg in the car seemed to have made him feel much better about the whole excursion. That made one of us.

“Still,” I said, feeling like I should contribute, “for someone to be listening in, they’d have to be—”

“I’m not the only Firstborn left in the world. You should know that better than anyone, daughter of Amandine.” She somehow managed to turn the reminder of my mother into an endearment, like being Amandine’s child was a special, magical thing, rather than the source of half the complications in my life. “I don’t believe any of the other First are involved in this—but I can’t be certain. I can never be certain. And unless I absolutely know that none of my siblings are assisting our kidnappers, I can’t assume they’re not.”

“Oh, there’s a cheerful thought,” I said dourly. “How much do you know? Did you start listening as soon as the night-haunts left Goldengreen?”

“No. Not immediately. I knew you were going to call them, and it didn’t seem necessary.” There was quiet sorrow in her voice as she continued, “After you met with Duke Lorden, Mary . . . decided the circumstances were dire enough that she needed to call me with what she’d seen. She was worried that something terrible would happen if I didn’t go with you to Muir Woods.”

“Something terrible?” I asked, hands clenching on the steering wheel. “Something terrible like what, exactly?”

“She didn’t say. I don’t think she knew.” The Luidaeg’s reflection closed her eyes, letting her head rest against the back of her seat. “Mary, Mary, quite contrary. She doesn’t always understand
what
she sees, only that she sees it, and that what she’s seen can’t be unseen. She used to be more in control of her prophecy. But that was before.”

“Before what?” asked Quentin.

“Before the betrayal of the Roane,” said Connor. His voice was barely more than a whisper. If not for the Luidaeg’s spell shutting out all sound outside the car, I wouldn’t have heard him at all.

I frowned, slanting a glance in his direction. “What are you—”

“That’s a history lesson for another day, October,” said the Luidaeg, her tone leaving no room for debate. She didn’t lift her head or open her eyes as she gestured toward the road in front of us. “Drive. There isn’t time left for anything else.”

“I’m tired as hell of people being oblique and prophetic at me, you know,” I complained, pressing my foot down harder on the gas. “Do you people take some sort of correspondence course on making no damn sense at all?”

“It’s more of a graduate degree, actually,” the Luidaeg replied. I glanced again at her reflection. She was smiling. Only a little bit, but it was there. “I got the best grades in my class.”

“Figures,” I said, and focused on the road.

We were making the trip out of San Francisco at record speed, even for me, and whatever she’d used on the car was much better than an invisibility charm or a don’t-look-here. I didn’t even have to avoid the few other drivers who had somehow managed to avoid the Luidaeg’s misdirection charms and stay on the main roads. They just never happened to be where we needed to be next.

The Luidaeg’s presence was definitely making Connor uncomfortable. He sat, straight-backed, and watched the road ahead of us like he was counting down the miles to his own execution. An air of palpable tension was settling over the car, getting stronger with every minute that passed. We were moving toward a conclusion.

I saw a few cars after we crossed the Golden Gate Bridge into Marin, but the road ahead of us remained as open as ever. I was doing seventy when the phone rang. “Oh,
thorns
,” I swore, fumbling it out of my pocket and flipping it open with one hand. “Hello?”

“Tobes, hey. I tried what you said. This a bad time?”

“You shouldn’t be on the phone while you’re driving,” said Connor. “It’s against the law.” He sounded faintly alarmed—less, I think, because I was breaking the law, and more because I wasn’t slowing down to compensate for splitting my attention.

I would have needed a third hand to flip him off. I settled for hitting the gas a little harder, and watching him go pale.

“No, Danny, this is a great time,” I said. “We’re on the way to Muir Woods now. Did you get anything out of the rocks?”

“You’re already on the way to Muir Woods? What are you, psychic?”

“No, impatient.” I shook my head, trying to clear away the image of Bucer’s wide, frightened eyes. “What did they tell you?”

“Three of the rocks recognized the smell of redwood—said they missed the big trees. One of ’em also said it missed the water, so I put it in the sink.” He sounded exceedingly pleased with himself as he continued, “They like the environmental cues.”

“Good. Did they give you any other details? Anything we can use?”

“The smallest one remembered redwoods an’ cars. Used to be at the edge of a parking lot. Apparently, it got picked up and put down again by a whole lotta kids, so it remembered Raysel real clear. She was the first one that didn’t put it back.” Danny hesitated. “I, uh, promised I’d put it back when we were done. Is that okay?”

“I’m not going to make you break your word to a rock, Danny.”

“Oh, good,” he said, relieved. “I didn’t think you would. Anyway, second one remembered water, third one remembered bein’ pulled out of the ground.”

“Great,” I said, heart sinking. The first two rocks were useful. The third . . . how many rocks came out of the ground? All of them, that’s how many. “This is very helpful, Danny.”

“No, no, you don’t get it! It remembers bein’ pulled out of the ground, but it wasn’t bottom-down, like in a trail or something!” Danny raised his voice in his excitement, words booming into the cabin. I winced, holding the phone away from my ear. “She pried it out of a wall, a mud wall. Like you get where a trail’s been cut, you know?”

“So she picked up one rock at the entrance, one rock from a stream, and one rock from the side of a trail?” I brought the phone back to my ear. “Did you get anything else?”

“Not really,” said Danny. “Rocks aren’t so good with time, and everything else they had to say was about how much they don’t like the shape stuff’s been in since the big shake.”

“The big shake?” I asked blankly. “What the hell are they talking about?”

“The earthquake in nineteen-oh-six,” said the Luidaeg. She leaned forward, close enough to the phone for Danny to hear her when she asked, “Did the rocks say they cried when the towers fell?”

“What—” I began.

Danny’s answer cut me off: “Yeah, they did. You know what that means? Who is this, anyway?”

“It’s a pleasure to finally get the chance to speak with you, Mr. McReady. You can call me the Luidaeg.”

Silence fell on Danny’s end of the line. Looking amused, the Luidaeg sank back into her seat. Finally, Danny asked, “Toby? Was that really the sea witch just there? On the phone? Talking to me?”

“Yeah, Danny, it was. She’s not wearing a seat belt, either.” I shot a sharp look at her reflection in the rearview mirror. She looked quietly amused. “Call if you get anything else out of those rocks, okay? We’re almost to Muir Woods. I’m going to need both hands if we don’t want to drive off the edge of a cliff.”

“Open roads, and I’ll call.”

“Good. Hug the Barghests for me.” I couldn’t thank him, and so I just hung up, handing the phone to Connor as I turned my focus back to the road. The closer we got to Muir Woods, the less developed the land around us became. Housing developments and strip malls had already given way to half-hidden private driveways and tiny general stores with rickety wooden porches. The smell of the redwoods was seeping in through the vents, filling the entire car with the living green memory of something older and cleaner than the modern human world.

The lack of human development also meant a lack of concern among the local wildlife. Wild turkeys casually strutted along beside the road, their scrawny brown chests fluffed out like little avian gangsters. We startled a pair of deer as we came around a blind curve in the road, and I hit the brakes just in time to keep from getting Bambi pâté all over the windshield.

“Whoa,” said Quentin.

“My thoughts exactly.” I glanced over my shoulder. “Everyone all right back there?”

The Luidaeg, who was still not wearing a seat belt, didn’t look like our sudden stop had perturbed her in the least. “Fine,” she said. “Keep driving.”

I kept driving, more slowly now that we were on the treacherous roads marking the final approach to Muir Woods.

The Muir Woods National Monument was established to protect one of the last old-growth redwood forests in the state of California. It’s kept open to the public, as much to remind them why the forest is important as for any other reason. “These used to be everywhere in California,” said Connor suddenly. “Just about this whole part of the state was redwoods.”

“So why’d they cut them down?” asked Quentin.

“I don’t know.”

“Because they could,” said the Luidaeg. “Parking lot’s just ahead, Toby.”

“Good.”

I pulled around the last corner between us and the designated parking area and hit the brakes, swearing as I saw the gate blocking the entrance. Heavy chains held it shut. According to the posted sign, the park closed at sunset.

“Wait here,” said the Luidaeg, and climbed out of the car.

“What’s she doing?” asked Quentin.

“At this point? I have no idea.”

The Luidaeg walked to the locked gate and lifted the padlock that held the chains in place. She tapped it twice with her index finger, and it popped open, letting the chains fall loose. The Luidaeg unhooked them and swung the gate open.

She smiled into my window as I drove slowly past her, commenting, “Once you’ve pried open the gates of Tirn Aill with nothing but a headache and a stick, padlocks are surprisingly uncomplicated.”

“Uh, sure,” I said. She waved me to the nearest parking space, following the car as I pulled in and killed the engine.

I stretched as I got out of the car, taking a deep breath of the clean, redwood-scented air. I still wasn’t wearing a human disguise. In a place like this, where humans have done their best to step lightly and leave few traces behind, that felt appropriate. Connor and Quentin did much the same, even as they started scanning the woods around us.

Too bad we weren’t there to sightsee. “Quentin, I have a baseball bat you can use,” I said, brushing past the Luidaeg as I moved to open the trunk. “Connor, I don’t actually have any weapons for you—”

“That’s quite all right,” said Tybalt, from a point immediately behind my right shoulder. “I assumed that would be the case, and brought extra.”

I jumped, but managed not to embarrass myself by shrieking like a girl. Instead, I turned, finding myself eye-to-eye with Tybalt. He smiled with his usual easy arrogance, but I could see the concern in his eyes.

“Raj found you,” I said. My voice was lower than it had been when I was shouting to be heard by the people still getting out of the car. It felt like louder words had never escaped my lips.

“He did,” Tybalt agreed. “I was with my subjects, searching for our missing mice, and the rats that stole them.”

“Did you find anything?” I asked.

His expression darkened. “More, and less, than I wanted to,” he said. He dipped a hand into his pocket and produced what looked at first like a children’s toy—a bunch of dried sticks tied together with ribbon and string. I frowned at it, not sure what I was seeing.