Tybalt blinked, looking startled. “I’m not hurt. You, on the other hand—”

“I’ve already got iron poisoning. With this much Undine water in me, this isn’t going to make it any worse.”

“Still . . .”

“I can stand,” I said, and pushed myself away. After a moment’s hesitation, he let go. Never taking his eyes off me, he lowered his hand to the wound at my thigh, pressed two fingers against it, and raised them to his mouth, tongue flicking out to taste the blood. I suppressed a shudder.

“This isn’t dying blood,” he said finally. “You’ll live.”

“Great, that’s great reassurance. It makes me feel all better.”

“It should. Having you die tonight would be inconvenient.”

I pressed my hands tight around my leg, biting back several sharp retorts. The blood was slowing down—Tybalt was right. It wouldn’t kill me. “Because you’d be stuck with the damn box?”

“Of course,” he said.

Silly me. Why would he rescue me if it wasn’t for his debts? Under normal circumstances, he’d probably have brought popcorn. “You fought well. I’ve never seen you fight before.”

He allowed himself a thin smile. “You kept him distracted long enough for me to get up into the trees.”

That was as close as Faerie’s complex laws of etiquette would let us get to thanking each other. I nodded instead, asking, “What were you doing here?”

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

I blinked. That wasn’t what I’d been expecting to hear. “What?”

“You were . . . injured when you entered the Tea Gardens,” he said, glancing briefly away. “I thought you might have trouble getting out again, and I was right. I’m usually right when it comes to you and trouble.”

“You . . . why?” I asked, dumbfounded.

He shrugged. “The terms of my promise.” I gave him a blank look, and he continued, “I said I’d give . . . it . . . back to you. I can’t do that if you die.”

“I realize that. I just . . .” I paused. “I guess I didn’t think you’d take it quite that seriously.”

“I take my promises very seriously—all my promises. Now if you don’t mind, this wasn’t exactly subtle, and the gunshots alone would attract the police. I need to dispose of the evidence.”

Evidence? The Redcap’s body would need to be moved until the night-haunts came; the same went for Ross. I didn’t know if his body was different enough from the human norm to need replacing, or whether he was close enough to immortal for the night-haunts to want him, but it didn’t matter. Whatever happened to him now, he’d still be just as dead.

He’d be dead. His blood wouldn’t. If there was one thing I’d learned from Evening’s death, it was that the dead still had a lot of things to tell me. A hired Redcap wasn’t likely to have any nasty blood curses lurking to surprise unwary changelings, either. “Tybalt, the body. I need to—”

“You need to get out of here.”

Julie was still wailing, rocking Ross’ body back and forth. I started to step toward her, but the pain in my leg stopped me even before I felt Tybalt’s restraining hand.

“Go home, October,” he said, voice pitched low. “I’ll take care of this.”

I turned back to glare at him. “Don’t you care?” I demanded, gesturing toward them.

“I care more than you’ll give me credit for. But dead is dead, and I’m going to keep my word. Go get your leg taken care of, and make sure you’re not going to make me a liar by dying. Go home.”

I shook his hand away from my shoulder, glaring at him, but turned to limp the rest of the way down the hill. If he wanted to pick up the pieces, I’d have to let him, and he was right; there wasn’t time to fiddle with the body before the mortal police showed up. I had enough to worry about without getting arrested for hanging around in a public place drinking the blood of a corpse.

The taxi Lily promised was waiting on the street, radio turned up so loudly that the driver probably hadn’t even heard the gunshots. I slid into the backseat, snapping out my address. No one would follow me; Tybalt would make sure of that. I had to trust him, because I’d already committed myself to trusting him, and it was do or die.

The driver grunted assent and pulled out, guiding us into the late December fog. Despite the blare of the radio, I thought I could still hear Julie crying. Whoever killed Evening now had more to answer for than the taste of phantom roses; they had a man who loved a Cait Sidhe girl, and who died in the company of friends that couldn’t save him. And they were going to pay.

SEVENTEEN

THE DRIVER KEPT HIS EYES on the road, grunting, “You’re gonna have to pay for that.” “What?” I looked up from my hasty attempt at turning my previously discarded bra into a tourniquet for my injured leg. It worked pretty well, once I remembered to remove the underwire.

“The seat. I don’t care what happened, and if you don’t wanna go to the hospital, that’s your deal, but you’re gonna have to pay for the upholstery.”

Oh. Right. “I thought Lily already paid you,” I said, lamely.

“For the ride, she paid me. For the cleaning I’m gonna have to do after I drop you off, she didn’t pay me.” He glanced at me through the rearview mirror. “You don’t mind my saying, you should really rethink that hospital idea.”

“I’ll take it under advisement,” I said, sagging back against the seat and closing my eyes. “I don’t have my purse with me.” I didn’t have my purse anywhere, since I’d left it in the car when I turned and ran. “If you’ll walk me to my door, I can pay you for the cleaning.” If he walked me to my door, I was guaranteed to get there.

“Deal,” he said.

We made the rest of the drive in silence.

At my apartment complex, he pulled into one of the visitor’s spaces in front of the manager’s office and stopped the cab, moving to open my door before I could convince my stiffening leg to move. “Come on,” he said gruffly, offering his arm. “You ain’t gonna make it up there on your own.”

I gave him a startled glance, finally noticing the shimmer of the human disguise wrapped around him. He smiled, amused.