Rosemary and Rue by Seanan McGuire Read Free Book Online Page B

that could be.
    Officer Underwood fed me coffee and stale donuts until I started making sense, and then he gave me papers to fill out—name, social security number, residence, place of employment—all the standard questions. He took them away when I was finished, presumably to be filed. Still standard procedure . . . at least until he came back ten minutes later with murder in his eyes.
    “Just what are you trying to pull, lady?”
    It was my name that did it. He knew it because he’d been assigned to the case when I disappeared; he spent a year turning over rocks, questioning witnesses, even dredging the big lake in Golden Gate Park looking for my body and finding nothing, and he didn’t think it was very clever, or very funny, for me to be posing as a dead woman. He handed me a clean set of papers, ordering me to fill them out correctly, without any stupid jokes. I think that’s when I started understanding just how much trouble I was in. Numbly, I turned the papers over, starting to fill them out, and the first correction came before I even got to my name.
    “You’ve got the date wrong. It’s June eleventh, two thousand and nine, not nineteen ninety-five. Christ, lady, pay attention.”
    My fingers tightened, snapping the pencil in half as I stared at the attending officer, eyes wide and uncomprehending. “How long?” I whispered.
    “What?”
    “How long did he leave me . . . oh, no. Oh, oak and ash, no .” I closed my eyes, letting myself go limp as the enormity of it all struggled to sink in. Fourteen years. I’d been afraid the spell might have lasted weeks, maybe even months, but fourteen years? It was too much to wrap my mind around. But I didn’t have a choice, and it just got worse from there.
    Everything was gone. Every single thing I’d built or worked for in the mortal world . . . all gone. Cliff sold my business to cover my debts after my investigator’s license expired; after I expired, since seven years on the missing list is the limit of a human existence. I’ve always found that slightly ironic—after all, seven years is also the traditional period of confinement for those humans who manage to find their way into the hollow hills. October Daye, rest in peace.
    Thank Oberon for Evening Winterrose, known as Evelyn Winters in the mortal world. She was the only person I knew whose telephone number wouldn’t have changed in the intervening years. I used my one phone call to beg her to come and get me. I expected her to yell, but she didn’t. She just came to the station, confirmed that I was who I was claiming to be, and somehow convinced them to release me into her custody. Then she took me to a motel where I could get my head on straight. We both knew that taking me to her place wouldn’t have helped, and so neither of us suggested it; I wasn’t up for entering someone else’s domain.
    She stayed with me all day. She ordered pizza for dinner and scolded me into eating it; she hid the telephone book so I couldn’t try to find Cliff; she summoned pages and sent them to notify the other local nobles of my return. And when the sun went down and I finally started crying, she took me in her arms, and she held me. I’ll always remember that. Evening was never a nice person, but she held me as long as I needed her to, and she never said a word about my tears staining her silk blouse, or about the way I’d thrown her world into disarray. When push came to shove, she did what needed to be done, and she didn’t refuse her own.
    Things got a little better after that. The purebloods of the city were willing to help as much as they could, and the changelings were willing to help even more. My refusal to have much to do with them tied their hands a bit, but they did their best before they left me to my own devices. Evening offered to have my P.I. license reinstated. I refused. I’ve been down that road before, and it didn’t do me a damn bit of good.
    I think they told Mother I was back, but