Page 30 of Night and Silence

“Only Gillian, and you, and Jocelyn,” he said. “Nothing but those.”

Gillian’s blood was soaked all through the fabric; I had been holding it; Jocelyn was her roommate. That made—

Wait. Her roommate who handled her laundry for some reason, when she’d already admitted they weren’t really friends? I frowned.

“How strongly does it smell of Jocelyn?”

“Pretty strongly.” His frown mirrored mine. “That’s a little weird, isn’t it?”

“It’s a lot weird.” I gave the courtyard one more look, focusing on the decrepit old house at the very back. The smaller house had climbed up onto the porch and perched there, legs folded under its foundation. “I’m going to look around inside. Quentin, here.” I tossed him my phone. “When Raj calls, go out and get him.”

“What if the wall is solid again?”

“Come in and get me, and we’ll both go out and get him. Madden, I know you need to call your liege, but please make sure she’s aware that the Court of Cats has already got their own Queen en route, and she’ll need to share.”

“Fine,” he grumbled.

“I’ll be right back,” I said, and started forward.

There were still no pixies. There were rose bushes but no rose goblins. If not for the fact that we were surrounded by fae plants on all sides, some rare enough to be worth several fortunes, I would have thought this place was just a remarkably well-concealed human garden. It was wrong. Everything about it was wrong. Even the faint scent of cinnamon hanging in the air was wrong.

Cinnamon. Who did I know whose magic smelled like cinnamon? Or was I being paranoid, and the scent was a consequence of being so close to the organic bakery? Under the circumstances, I thought I’d earned a little paranoia.

The porch steps creaked when I stepped onto them, and for a moment I thought my feet were going to punch right through the rotten wood. But the planks held, and I kept going, climbing all three of the steps between me and the front door. The chicken-legged house made a soft sighing sound, like hinges creaking in the wind, and turned slightly to watch me as I tested the front door.

Locked, of course. Good thing I habitually carry lock picks these days, having encountered one door too many that seemed to think I could be kept out. I crouched, pulled the picks out of my pocket, and got to work.

There were no wards or countercharms on the door, only a lock so old that half its tumblers no longer latched the way they should. Getting it open was almost insultingly easy. If the day hadn’t already been so long, I would probably have taken the time to gloat. As it was, I simply straightened, shoved the door open, and stepped inside, stopping to stare for what felt like the hundredth time since I’d been dragged out of bed by the sound of Cliff hammering on my front door.

The front room was small, quaint, and spotless, the sort of rose-damasked parlor that felt like it belonged in a period drama full of British accents and quaint murders. Everything showed signs of having been dusted recently. The couch was overstuffed, inviting, and at least seventy years old, if the polished woodwork was anything to go by. I breathed in deeply, looking for any hint or sign of magic. I found nothing, only more cinnamon and the bizarrely modern scent of Lemon Pledge.

“What the hell,” I muttered, and pushed deeper in.

For all that the house looked like it was going to collapse at any moment from the outside, the floors inside were smooth and stable, and the walls were straight with no hint of lean or sag. I paused to touch one of them, feeling the shape of the wood. It was all hand-planed, and there didn’t seem to be any nails, just the wood itself, slotted together with an artisan’s hand. How much of the outside was a lie, intended to keep people like me, who had somehow discovered a secret garden, from bothering to open the door?

A short stairway led to the second floor. I took it two steps at a time, no longer really believing Gillian was anywhere for me to find, but still hoping there’d be something that could tell me who owned this courtyard, this garden, this impossible detour on the all-important road to finding my daughter. Whoever it was, they were important enough to frame for stealing my child, and powerful enough to have woven an enchantment into the very foundations of the block. This wasn’t a shallowing or a twist in the local geography: this place existed. I could feel it all the way down to my still-mortal bones.

The second floor was even smaller than the first, with only three rooms. An old-fashioned bathroom that looked like it dated from the dawn of indoor plumbing; a walk-in linen closet, the shelves almost bare, save for a few neatly folded towels and a spare set of sheets; and a bedroom with a single window looking out over a patch of garden I hadn’t seen before, one that appeared to be almost entirely roses. There was a narrow bed, a dressing table, and a wardrobe. There was a spinning wheel. There was nothing to tell me who slept here, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t catch any traces of magic in the air.

It was like this entire place had somehow been made without any magic apart from the standing effects which kept it concealed from the mortal world. There are people powerful enough to set up those kinds of illusion and permanent barrier spells. I know some of them. I just couldn’t for the life of me imagine why.

Someone shouted outside. I whipped around, forgetting the bedroom as I ran for the stairs and down them to the front door. The little house was standing on the porch, chicken-claws digging into the rotted wood as it looked attentively toward the growing crowd at the center of the courtyard. Arden had appeared next to Madden, probably after he somehow talked her through the process of opening a portal to a place she’d never been before. Nolan was with her, both of them gaping in open-mouthed amazement.

It was sort of nice to see the confirmation that Arden was still new enough to this “queen” thing that she could be impressed like this. I hopped down the porch steps and hurried toward her.

“Did Madden tell you the local Queen of Cats is on her way?”

“He did. I wish you’d talked to me before you called her.”

“Why?”

“Because she’s going to tell you the same thing I am: we’re not supposed to be here.” Arden took another look around, and for the first time, I saw the unease under the amazement. “My father knew about this place. I have his papers, remember? I’ve been trying to learn the secrets of my kingdom before they can be sprung on me.”

“You never said,” said Madden, sounding hurt.

“Because it was never your business.” Arden gentled her voice as much as she could, trying to take the sting from her words. From the look on Madden’s face, she didn’t entirely succeed. “There are secrets queens keep, Madden. It’s not personal. It’s not meant to be cruel. It’s how kingdoms work.”

“How is it that we’re not supposed to be here?” I asked. “This is your kingdom.”