Page 45 of A Killing Frost

Thoughts of terrible disasters past distracted me enough to make it onto campus without tripping over my own feet or allowing May to tumble from my increasingly numb arms, and once I was actually on campus, it was easier to tell myself I only had to take ten more steps and I’d be to the next landmark. Ten more steps and I’d be to the parking garage. Ten more steps and I’d beto the stairs that led to Walther’s building. Ten more steps and I’d be at the door. Come on, October. You’re not injured enough to be unable to take ten more steps.

Just ten more steps.

By the time I reached the door to the chemistry building, I couldn’t feel my arms, my hands were having trouble keeping a proper grip on May’s body, and my back was screaming so loudly that it was a miracle no one could hear it. The door suddenly seemed like an insurmountable obstacle. If I put May down, I was never going to be able to pick her up again.

No one else was in sight. Unless there’s a football game happening, or a concert at the Bear’s Lair, or one of those weird live-action games where people run around pretending to be vampires, the Berkeley campus tends to be fairly deserted at night. I took a deep breath before bending forward, ignoring the screaming in my back as much as I could, and putting May gently down. I propped her against the wall so that it would look like she was sleeping, possibly drunk, but not in any trouble at all, if anyone happened to see her.

Fortunately, the spell making us look human was anchored to us individually, not shared the way the hide-and-seek spell had been. I straightened, brushing my hair away from my apparently rounded ear, and waited for the pain in my back to subside enough that my hands would stop shaking. Muscle pain always takes longer to fade than stab wounds or broken bones, probably because whatever factors control my body’s healing don’t see it as life-threatening the way they do active bleeding or a snapped femur. If Tybalt and I ever have kids, I’m going to sit them down and teach them every single thing I’ve managed to piece together about my whacked-out magic. They won’t have to learn the way I have, through trial and error and agonies.

As the pain slipped away drop by terrible drop, I straightened further, wiping my hands on my jeans, and tested the door. Locked, of course. The campus was closed, and anyone with a legitimate reason to be in the building would have a key.

Or, in my case, a set of lockpicks. I produced them from the inside pocket of my jacket and got to work. If there were security cameras pointed at this door, we’d have a problem, but that was something for future-Toby to deal with. Present-Toby needed to get inside and see her alchemist, and she didn’t care if that createdissues for an hour from now. Worrying about the future has never been my strong suit.

The security at UC Berkeley has improved since I was a teenager running around campus and trying to avoid anyone who might ask what I was doing there, but it’s still pretty primitive, thanks to the budget allotted by the state for facilities upgrades, which hasn’t been increased since before I went into the pond. In less than three minutes, I heard the distinctive click of a lock yielding to the inevitable, and when I tried the door again, it swung open easily. One problem down.

I looked morosely at May as I tucked the lockpicks back into my pocket. So many problems yet to come. My back wasn’t howling anymore, but it still ached, telling me that my body wasn’t finished dealing with the soft tissue damage, no matter how much I needed it to be. Still, I couldn’t leave her out here; illusion making her seem human or not, someone would eventually notice the unconscious woman on the chemistry building steps, and then things would get a lot more complicated.

Moving slowly in anticipation of pain to come, I knelt and scooped her into my arms. Even with my body rebuilding itself as quickly as it knew how, this was getting harder every time. Soon enough, I wouldn’t be able to do it anymore without at least an hour to rest.

“Oof, May, we need to talk about how many layers you wear,” I said. She couldn’t hear me, but it helped me remind myself that she was still my Fetch, my sister, and an integral part of my life.

She dangled in my arms, limp and seemingly lifeless, only the shallow rise and fall of her chest confirming that she was still breathing. I sighed and gathered her closer to me, staggering through the open door and into the darkened hall.

Most campus buildings are either built to be as straightforward and linear as possible, or to challenge students with the Labyrinth of Crete before they can attend the office hours of their favorite professors. Fortunately, the buildings more likely to catch fire or be evacuated due to chemical spills tend to follow the first model. The hallway was long and straight, lined with closed doors leading to empty classrooms. My footsteps echoed dully as I plodded along, heading for the only door with a narrow band of light slipping out from the crack along the frame. Almost there. Ten more feet, and then another ten, and I’d be finished with this part of my problems.

There would be new problems ready and eager to show their faces in no time, and this wasn’t the only problem darkening my door, but taking care of it would be a start. It would be a start, and all I had to do was travel ten more feet.

Walther’s door was closed when I reached it, and I couldn’t bear the thought of putting May down and trying to pick her up one more time. I heal like it’s a competition, but all the healing in the world can’t keep me from getting tired. I leaned forward until my forehead touched the wood, then used my head to knock three times, not terribly hard. Cracking my skull on top of everything else didn’t seem like the smartest idea I’d ever had.

Someone inside the office startled, knocking something over. It smashed when it hit the ground, and a squawk of distinctly feminine dismay followed, along with Walther’s voice shouting, “Just a moment!” I straightened, swallowing the powerful urge to smirk. Yes, everything was awful, and I needed to get my squire back, but the rest of the world was as confusing and complicated as it had ever been. Something about remembering that my problems don’t actually stop the world can be remarkably comforting.

Seconds ticked by, and the door was wrenched open, revealing Walther Davies, hair mussed, glasses askew, and human disguise firmly in place, making him look like an average, if attractive, college professor in his mid-thirties. It wasn’t enough to dull the unnaturally piercing blue of his eyes, which shone through any illusion not designed to render him actually invisible, thanks to his Tylwyth Teg heritage, but it was enough to let him pass for mortal.

He blinked those too-blue eyes in surprise, looking first at me and then at May, before he mustered up the presence of mind to ask, in a querulous tone, “T-Toby? Is that you?”

“It is,” I replied, and he relaxed slightly. I guess he’d been asking which of the two people was me and was relieved to know I was the conscious one. That made a certain amount of sense. Unconsciousness is so frequently my fault. “Can we come in?”

“Um...” He hesitated long enough to confirm my conviction that he wasn’t alone in his office. Finally, he said, “Sure. Cass and I weren’t doing anything important.”

There was a sound of protest from behind him, but his body blocked the source from view. He managed a strained smile, still hanging off the door with one hand. “So what’s going on?”

“Long story,” I said, and pushed past him into the office, where my niece was sitting in his desk chair, a sullen expression on her face as she finished doing up the buttons on her shirt. “Hi, Cassie.”

“Hey, Aunt Birdie,” she said, and squinted at the body in my arms before she asked, “Who hurt Aunt May?”

Cassandra is the eldest daughter of my oldest friend, Stacy Brown, and her husband Mitch. Like many changelings, the pair of them have proven to be substantially more fertile than your average pureblood: they have five children, an unthinkable number when compared to a couple like Sylvester and Luna, who tried to have a child for literal centuries before Raysel came along. Like all her siblings, Cassie’s hair started blonde at the crown of her head and darkened along its length, finally turning black for the last few inches. Coupled with the lynx-like tufts at the tips of her ears, it gave her a vaguely feline air that I found ironically amusing, given how much time I spent with Cait Sidhe.

Like Walther, her eyes were blue. Unlike Walther, they were an ordinary, middle-of-the-road shade that wouldn’t have seemed out of place in a human face. They were also fixed on May, studying her with a surprising degree of intensity. I blinked, carrying May to the desk and using my elbows to nudge aside a half-empty pizza box before laying her down among the papers and office supplies.

“How did you know it was May?” I asked.

Behind me, Walther closed the office door and walked over to join us.

“The air around her, it’s all,” Cassie made a frantic gesture with one hand, like she was trying to mime a hailstorm. She stopped after a few seconds, a frustrated expression on her face. “It’s agitated.”

“Can you see the illusion I cast on her?” Mitch and Stacy have never shown much in the way of magical talents, but it’s not that unusual for mixed-blood changelings to display strengths their parents never did, and thanks to Mitch’s contribution, Cassie was more fae than her mother. Like Karen, Cassandra could see the future, although she did it by reading the movement of air, not through dreams.

“No.” Cassie shook her head. “She looks human. I just know it’s May because of the way the air is moving.”

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