“It probably remembers us from yesterday and doesn’t want to be enchanted again. The inanimate can have a surprisingly long memory.” It really was a beautiful day. I was almost humming as we pulled down the slope to the parking lot and into the first available space.
A little girl appeared on the sidewalk ahead of us. There was no transition or warning; one second the sidewalk was empty, and the next second she was there, hands shoved into the pockets of her jeans, watching us with the clinical interest of a cat watching a bird through a closed screen door.
“That’s . . . different.”
“Toby? Do you see that?”
“You mean the little blonde girl on the sidewalk?”
“Yeah.”
“Then, yes, I do.” I unfastened my seat belt, climbing out of the car. “Let’s go say hello.” Quentin followed close behind as I started across the lot.
The girl wasn’t as young as I’d assumed; she was probably closer to thirteen than ten, although Quentin still looked a few years older. There was a strange blankness to her features that created the illusion of her being a much younger child—a certain lack of information, of the experience you’d expect from a girl in her early teens. She was wearing jeans, sneakers, and a gray T-shirt, and her only visible adornments were the rabbit-shaped barrettes that kept her shoulder-length blonde hair from falling into her face.
Everything about her was yellow, from the faint golden tan of her skin to her wide yellow eyes, shadowed by the green frames of her glasses. Her irises matched her hair with eerie exactness. She had the Torquill bone structure; whatever she’d started out as, she was definitely her mother’s daughter now.
“Hi,” I said, stopping a few feet away. Quentin stopped beside me, but didn’t say a word.
“Hello,” she said. Her voice was neutral: it was like talking to a recording. She could have been Daoine Sidhe—her stance and the shape of her ears suggested it—but I didn’t think so. She didn’t feel like one of the Daoine Sidhe. She didn’t feel like anything.
“I’m—”
“You are October Daye, Knight of Shadowed Hills. And this is Quentin, currently fostered at Shadowed Hills from parts unidentified.” It wasn’t a question.
Great. All-knowing kids aren’t my idea of a good time. “Yes, I’m Toby, and this is my assistant, Quentin, and we’re from Shadowed Hills.”
“I’m April.”
“Pleased to meet you,” I said.
“Shouldn’t you be inside?”
“Why? Does your mother want to see me?”
A quizzical look crossed her face, marring her neutral expression. “My mother is occupied with greater concerns. I thought you had come to view the body.”
There are a lot of ways to get my attention. Saying the word “body” is near the top of the list. “The what?” Quentin gaped at her.
“The body. Colin has suffered a hardware failure and fallen out of synch with the server. Everyone is greatly upset; they’re running in circles, just like last time, and they’re not getting any work done. There is still testing to complete, you know.” She said the last almost peevishly, like the world was creating bodies just to spite her.
“No, I didn’t know,” I said slowly, thinking, Just like last time? “Where’s the body?”
“Inside, through the glass doors, at the center point of the cubicle maze. Everyone is there. You should go there as well. Then you can worry about it for them, and they will all go back to work.” There was a sharp snapping sound, like an electrical cable breaking, and April vanished. Ozone-scented air rushed into the space where she’d been standing.
That’s not something you see every day. I stared at the empty air.
“Toby . . .”
“I know,” I said, shaking myself out of it. “Come on.” Turning, I ran for the door.
This time, I was expecting the transition into the Summerlands, and I took note of the moment when it happened, already wondering how many other ways there were to move between the two sides of the building. Quentin pulled ahead and opened the door into the hall, pausing as he waited for me.
I could smell blood mixing with the processed air as soon as the door was open. Strange as April was, she’d been right about at least one thing: something was very wrong.
“Behind me, Quentin,” I said, stepping past him.
“But—”
“No buts. If things look dangerous, you run.”
Quentin hesitated before falling in close behind me. Being a page teaches you how to shadow people without being underfoot; that’s part of being a good servant. Now he was