That earned him a smile. “Same here,” I said, and knocked.
The sound of my knuckles meeting the wood was sharp and slightly hollow, indicating that the room on the other side probably wasn’t actually connected to the doorframe. Physical reference points don’t matter as much in Faerie; Jan’s office could have been almost anywhere in the knowe and still have been connected to the same door.
A voice called, “Come in!” Shaking my head, I turned the knob and did as I was told. There’s a first time for everything.
SIX
THE OFFICE WAS THE SIZE of my living room, but was packed with enough stuff to fill my apartment. Shelves and filing cabinets rose out of a sea of papers, providing landmarks in the universally messy landscape. Computers lined the walls, linked together by a feverish tangle of wiring, and the glow from their screens added a green undertone to the light, making the room seem slightly unreal. A coffeemaker surrounded by an invasion force of green plastic army men rested on a shelf by the door; the toaster oven next to it had its own problems, since it looked like it was about to be gutted by a herd of brightly-colored plastic dinosaurs.
“It’s the place where paper goes to die,” I muttered.
A narrow path through the mess led to a desk in front of the room’s single green-curtained window. The brunette from downstairs was perched cross- legged on the desk’s edge, surrounded by towers of paper, attention focused on the portable computer balanced on her knees. Her glasses were sliding down her nose; they’d already made it more than halfway.
She raised her head and smiled, almost sincerely enough to hide the flash of wariness in her eyes. “Yes, it is. Can I help you with something?” Her tone was pure Valley Girl, implying a level of intelligence closely akin to that of granite.
I wasn’t buying it. “I’m looking for Countess January Torquill. Is this her office?”
“Sorry, no. It’s mine.” The smile didn’t waver.
“Well, I need to find her. I’m here at the request of her uncle.”
The wariness returned, barely kept in check by her frozen-glass smile. “Really? That’s fascinating. Because, see, normally people call before they send guests.”
“He sent me because his niece hasn’t called in a few weeks.” There was something about her smile that bothered me. Not the obvious falseness—she was clearly on edge—but the way it was shaped. “I don’t suppose you know anything about that?”
Her eyes widened, and she shoved her glasses back up her nose, smile abandoned. “What? Hasn’t called? What’s that supposed to mean? He’s the one who stopped calling!”
Moving her glasses made them frame her eyes rather than blocking them and brought the goldenrod yellow of her irises into sharp relief. I only know one family line with eyes that color. Ignore the hair, take away the glasses, and she looked more like Sylvester than Rayseline did.
“That’s not what he thinks,” I said. “January Torquill, I presume?”
Her eyes narrowed, and for a brief moment, I thought she was going to argue. Then she deflated, shoulders slumping, and said, “Not really. I mean, I’m January. I’m just not January Torquill. I never have been.” She shrugged, a flicker of humor creeping into her voice. “As far as I know, no one’s January Torquill. Which is probably a good thing—that’d be a terrible name to stick on a child. It sounds like something out of a bad romance novel.”
“So if you’re not January Torquill, that makes you . . . ?”
“January O’Leary. I’m not full Daoine Sidhe—my father was half-Tylwyth Teg, and his last name was ‘ap Learianth.’ That doesn’t exactly work on a business card. We settled on ‘O’Leary’ as the abbreviation when we incorporated.” She smiled again. This time, the expression had an edge I recognized all too well. Sylvester smiled that way when he was trying to figure out whether something was a threat. “It’s interesting that Uncle Sylvester didn’t tell you that. Considering the part where he sent you here, and everything.”
“You have a phone,” I said. “You could call him.”
“I already tried that while Elliot was stowing you and the kid in the cafeteria.”
“And?”
“No one answered.”
“I have directions in your uncle’s handwriting.” I held up the folder.
“Handwriting can be faked.”
I bit back an expletive. Half the Kingdom knew me on sight and expected me to start breaking things the second I walked