The Winter Long

EIGHT

FOLLOWING THE DIRECTIONS on Quentin’s phone brought us to the Library of Stars in less than twenty minutes, mostly via side streets and alleys where there was no traffic, but where a single trash bin could make the road too narrow for us to continue until somebody got out and moved it. We probably traveled about three miles all told, moving deeper into the heart of the city with every turn we took.

Fae Libraries—capital letter intentional—are strange things, both like and unlike their mortal equivalents. You can’t just walk in and request a Library card; unless you’ve been invited by the current Librarian, you can’t walk in at all. All Libraries are constructed in shallowings, space scooped out in the thin membrane between the Summerlands and the mortal world. The doors are hard to find and constantly moving, thanks to the enchantments built into the walls. The only way to get inside is to have a Library card, or to get one of the Librarians to give you permission. Prior to meeting Li Qin and being introduced to Mags, I had never seen a Library. Now, it seemed we couldn’t go six months without my paying a visit.

Last time we’d dropped by, the Library had been concealed behind a secondhand bookstore that had looked like it was on the verge of crumbling into utter disrepair. Despite the fact that the new set of directions had taken us into a completely different neighborhood, we found ourselves in front of that same filthy, rundown bookstore when we pulled up at the address that Mags had provided. Even the doorway had moved, bringing with it a wealth of splinters and ancient spiderwebs.

“Huh,” I said, getting out of the car. Tybalt and Quentin followed. “Anybody want to bet that none of the neighbors have noticed this place?”

“I do not take what you call ‘sucker bets,’” said Tybalt, wrinkling his nose at the condition of the store window. “I do, however, feel the distinct need to put on gloves before I touch anything.”

I paused with my hand on the doorknob, looking back at him. “I don’t remember you being this concerned with the condition of the place the last time we were here.”

“You had just been exiled the last time we came to the Library,” he said, in a reasonable tone. “I am taking this situation very seriously, and yet for once, we are not in such a state of immediate crisis that I am unable to appreciate the little things.”

“We’re in enough crisis for me,” I muttered, and opened the door.

The inside of the bookstore was no better than the outside. A thick layer of dust mixed with glittering pixie-sweat covered every surface, rendering the spines of the books that were stacked in haphazard piles virtually unreadable. Not that I could imagine anyone wanting to read most of them; they were all in that awkward window between “new” and “vintage” where they didn’t really hold any appeal for anyone. A mortal bibliophile might have squawked at the condition they were in, but since no human was ever likely to set foot in this store, that didn’t really matter.

We picked our way between the stacks, all of us going quiet as we concentrated on not knocking anything over. Fae can see in low light, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy, and a little care was required to reach the faintly shimmering doorway on the far wall. It would have been entirely invisible to mortal eyes. I knew that for a fact; I’d been virtually human the last time I’d been here, thanks to a bad combination of goblin fruit and my own powers. I’d only been able to use the door because Tybalt had picked me up and carried me through.

Well, I was standing on my own two feet now. I took a deep breath and stepped through, crossing from the mortal world into the Library of Stars. There was a brief, dizzying dip, and then I was standing on the clean hardwood floor of the Library, surrounded by tall shelves on all sides. I stepped out of the way, letting Tybalt and Quentin follow me through.

We were still in a confined space surrounded by books, and the faint haze of pixie-sweat still hung suspended in the air, adding a golden sheen to everything it touched, but that was where the similarities between the bookstore and the Library ended. The bookstore smelled like mold and dust and decaying paper, just one step short of despair—and not a long step, either. The Library smelled like knowledge, that strange alchemical mix that only came from combining old books, leather bindings, and care. Lots and lots of care.

The source of that care was hurrying toward us, if the sound of footsteps was any indication. I turned to see Magdaleana Brooke—Mags to her friends, and to anyone who had trouble pronouncing that many vowels—come trotting around the end of a nearby shelf. Her wings were half-spread, leaving yet another overlay of pixie-sweat on the air behind her. “You’re here!” she said, sounding almost surprised. Her archaic British accent made her sound like Wendy by way of Tinker Bell, which went well with the rest of her: short, blue-eyed, and red-haired, with a fondness for the long skirts and sensible shoes that suited her chosen profession.

“We are,” I said. I hesitated. “You did text Quentin the address, right . . . ?”

“Yes, of course, after Li Qin called, but I didn’t expect you to get here so fast.”

“We were virtually in the neighborhood,” I said. “I’m sorry we had her wake you up, but it’s an emergency, and we needed to get started researching as soon as possible.”

“You didn’t wake me, actually,” said Mags. Her wings gave a nervous twitch, spraying glitter over everything within three feet of her. “I was already up.”

I blinked. “Really? I thought Puca were nocturnal.” Mags’ type of fae, the Puca, are almost extinct in the modern world. It wasn’t difficult to believe that I might have missed a few things about them.

She shook her head. “We are, normally, but the Library is open whenever a patron requires the use of it, and as Librarian, I have to be on the premises to supervise. Li Qin isn’t the only person in this Kingdom with a Library card, you know.”

“She’s the only one I’ve ever met,” I said.

“That you know of,” Mags politely corrected. “You still owe me a history of your mother, you know. You agreed to that the last time you were here.”

“I know. I’ve been busy.” I hadn’t been, not really; I just hadn’t wanted to come back to the Library. Books have never been my thing, and Mags’ strange, bright eyes seemed a little too intense when she asked me about Amandine. I would pay my debt to her. Probably faster now that she’d reminded me of it. That didn’t mean that I was ever going to be comfortable among the high-stacked shelves of her domain.

“Luckily for you, I’m relatively patient.” She looked from me to Quentin, and finally to Tybalt. “I do have to remind you, however, that the rules of the Library apply to everyone who walks in here, regardless of their race or title. There is no fighting in the Library. Anyone who starts a fight or responds to a challenge will be thrown out. You may think you can take me. You’re probably right. But none of you can take the Library. Now come along, this way.” She turned and started off into the stacks.

I glanced at Quentin and Tybalt, who looked as confused as I felt. “Any idea what that was all about?” I asked.

“Maybe she thinks you and Tybalt are getting ready to break up?” said Quentin hesitantly.

Tybalt snorted rather than dignifying that with a verbal response. I grinned a little and followed the trail of pixie dust that Mags had left hanging behind herself in the air. It only remained distinct enough to track for a few minutes, but that was more than long enough to lead us through the stacks to the wide open space that served both as a sort of “living room” for Mags and as a central study area for the people who were using the Library. I could hear her voice as we drew closer, quietly scolding someone.

“I guess she told us about fighting because whoever got her out of bed is still here,” I said, and stepped around the edge of the last stack, moving out into the open.

Mags turned when she heard my sharply indrawn breath, which was followed by the sound of Tybalt’s low, almost subsonic growl. Of the three of us, only Quentin was completely silent. He had gone statuary still. I glanced at him, and saw that his hand was at his belt, resting on the pommel of his sword. His lips were thin and tight with rage.

Simon Torquill looked up from the book he’d been studying, but he didn’t otherwise move. That was probably the safest choice he could have made. As long as he was seated on the Library’s antique, overstuffed couch, he was about as far from looking like a threat as it was possible for him to be. If he so much as wiggled his fingers in a way I didn’t like, I was going to break all the rules against fighting in the Library.

“What is he doing here?” I intended my words to come out as a demand, angry and strident and powerful. Instead, they were a squeak, and I probably wouldn’t have been able to hear myself if I’d been standing where Mags was.

Either she could read lips or she knew what I was likely to be saying, because she sighed, starting across the floor to the three of us. As she drew closer, she said, “Remember, there is no fighting in the Library. Simon Torquill has a Library card. He hasn’t done anything that would cause me to rescind it.”

I stared at her. “He turned me into a fish.”

“Did he do it in the Library?” Mags shook her head, not waiting for me to reply. “I don’t make judgments about the character of the people who come here. This is a neutral place, and for it to remain so, the rules have to apply equally to everyone, with no consideration for what they may have done outside these walls. Consider your own history. You’ve killed a Firstborn and overthrown a Queen. Against your record, turning someone into a fish is positively friendly.”

I stared at her. Tybalt’s hand on my shoulder saved me from doing anything I might have regretted later. As in “immediately,” since we still needed access to the books.

“Even so, given their history, it would have been considerate to warn us,” said Tybalt.

Mags frowned at him. “This is my Library,” she said, in a colder tone than I had ever heard her use before. “You are guests here, using someone else’s card as a pledge against your good behavior. Simon Torquill has his own Library card, and has been a patron for over a century. Exactly why should I be warning you? If anything, I should have refused you entry until he said he was done. Be glad that I’m more charitable than you appear to be.”

I took a deep breath, trying to force my nerves to stop sounding danger bells in my head. When I was sure that I could speak civilly, I said, “We really do appreciate you letting us come here. The rule about no fighting in the Library . . . does it apply to everyone? I mean, is he going to attack me if I get too close to him?”

“Not unless he wants to be reminded that the Libraries are more than capable of protecting themselves when they have to,” said Mags. She shook her head. “If you can’t be civil, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. I’m sorry. Rules are rules.”

“As long as he doesn’t start anything, I can behave myself,” I said, looking past her to Simon. He was still sitting on the couch; it didn’t look like he had moved an inch since we walked in. I couldn’t tell if that was arrogance—showing how little of a threat he considered us all to be—or if he was actually being considerate.

Fighting was forbidden inside the Library. For the first time, it occurred to me that this was something I could use to my advantage.

“Good,” said Mags, folding her wings again. “Now, what is it you needed to research? Hope chests again? Did you lose another princess?”

“Probably—they’re like loose change, we’re always finding them between the couch cushions. But today’s topic is ‘people who were in the Kingdom twenty years ago, who could be commonly found in either San Francisco, Pleasant Hill, or the corresponding parts of the Summerlands, who would have encountered me, the Luidaeg, and Simon Torquill.’ You got a book on that?”

Mags blinked at me, and for a split-second, I actually felt somewhat hopeful. This was a magical Library, after all, operated single-handedly by a woman with dragonfly wings who looked like a teenage girl, despite being a hell of a lot older than that. If miracles could happen anywhere, it was probably here.

“That’s a bit more specific than we tend to carry on the general shelves,” she said. “How about we start with the last Kingdom census, and see where we can go from there?” She turned and vanished back into the stacks before I could say anything.

“I think milady Librarian is anxious in our company tonight,” said Tybalt. His voice was mild, but there was a dangerous edge to it. I knew that if I looked over, he would be staring at Simon, as fixated on his prey as any cat has ever been.

“Yeah, well, I’m a little anxious, too,” I said. I bounced slightly on the balls of my feet, wishing Mags would hurry up. “I didn’t even know we had a Kingdom census.”

“They’re not very useful,” said Quentin. “They omit changelings as transitory, and it’s really easy to lose track of people.”

Given how easily we’d lost track of Arden and Nolan—the children of our rightful King—I could believe that without trouble. I shook my head, saying nothing as I started across the floor toward Simon.

To his credit, Simon didn’t move. He remained exactly where he was, hands visible, no weapons drawn, unless you counted the large, leather-bound book that he’d been reading from. I stopped in front of him, cocking my head to the side in order to read the title.

Geasa and Bindings, it read. I raised an eyebrow and looked at Simon, waiting.

There’s an art to staring someone down. It takes practice to find the right combination of bravado and unconcern, that line where “screw you” becomes “whatever.” Once you find it, though, you can stay there forever. I maintained eye contact with Simon until his cheeks flushed slightly and he looked away, eyes dipping to the book in his lap.

“I thought there might be a method for dispensing with the trouble I currently find myself grappling with,” he said. “As it turns out, bindings of this magnitude are surprisingly difficult to undo, unless you were the original caster.” He looked up again, his veneer of superior calm settling over him like a cloak as he turned his head to study Tybalt and Quentin. It was too late. I’d already seen the man beneath the charade, and as I watched him, I realized something that stunned me.

Simon Torquill was afraid.

“I know the King of Cats of old, although he was a Prince when last we had any discourse,” he said after a moment, inclining his head respectfully to Tybalt. I glanced to the side in time to see Tybalt bare his teeth in answer. “Your Majesty. I was unaware the Library of Stars had opened their doors to the Third Court. A pleasant surprise.”

“I have always been an exception,” said Tybalt tersely.

“Indeed, you have proven yourself an exemplary breaker of rules time and time again.” Simon turned a smirk in my direction and said, “He may be too shy to tell you this himself, but there was a time when my parents were quite concerned about my sister’s honor, all on account of this lovesick tomcat. Dear Rand and I were acquainted in Londinium, long before any of us dreamt we’d meet again in the Americas.”

This time, Tybalt’s snarl was audible. “Do not speak of your sister in my presence,” he said.

I raised an eyebrow. “Interesting as it is to watch you try to needle my boyfriend, you sort of sound like a soap opera villain right now. ‘Gosh and golly, October, why don’t you stand there while I reveal a bunch of dirty secrets that stopped mattering centuries ago.’ His name is Tybalt now, as I’m sure you’re aware, and whatever may have happened with him and your sister happened in another time.”

Tybalt shot me a grateful look. Oh, he knew I’d ask him about it later—I didn’t go into detective work because I was content to let questions go unasked, or unanswered—but this was neither the time nor the place.

Simon contrived to look offended. “I merely thought—”

“Either you’re here to hurt me or you’re here to help me,” I said. Something about my tone seemed to get through; he fell silent and sank back a bit on the couch, watching me warily. “I have plenty of evidence that you’re here to hurt me. You put me in a stasis spell and you tried to transform one of my housemates into a fish, which, I don’t know if that’s your go-to spell or what, but you should know that that one really bothers me, so I’d avoid it if I were you. Just to be sure that I don’t accidentally hit you over the head with a lead pipe and bury you in a shallow grave in Muir Woods.”

“Queen Windermere probably wouldn’t mind too much,” said Quentin.

“I assure you, I am not here to hurt you,” said Simon gravely. “I acted in haste before. I did not expect . . . any of what happened in that kitchen, I swear. It was as much a surprise to me as it was to you.”

“Kinda doubt that, since you came to me, and that was the first surprise of the day,” I said, unable to keep a note of sour impatience from my tone. “It’s been a day just full of surprises.”

“I would agree,” said Simon. “You are much more your mother’s daughter than I had been led to believe.”

“No thanks to her,” I said.

Simon didn’t comment on that. I guess having his stepdaughter insult his wife wasn’t something he felt he needed to get involved in. Instead, he looked past me to Quentin, and said, “Since you are only known to keep company with two teenage boys, and this one lacks fangs, he must be your squire. Hello.” He shifted his position slightly, making it somehow clear that I was no longer the focus of his attention. “I understand you were originally fostered in Shadowed Hills, in the care of my brother. That must have been a great change for you.”

“Didn’t you used to date Oleander de Merelands?” asked Quentin. He sounded every inch the sullen teenage delinquent, his usual courtly—and yes, princely—graces abandoned. I could have hugged him in that moment. If Simon didn’t already know who he was, there was no need to give him reason to suspect.

As for Simon, he hesitated, stiffening, before finally nodding and saying, “I kept company with the lady you have named many times over the centuries. It was generally at the behest of our mutual . . . employer.” He choked on the final word, as if even saying that much was difficult for him. After a pause that lasted only a few seconds, he managed to continue, “Our relationship was perhaps more intimate than my lady wife would have preferred, but as Amandine and I were unavoidably separated at the time, she and I have never been forced to discuss the matter. I was very sorry to hear of Oleander’s death.”

“Oh?” asked Quentin. “Why, because she didn’t manage to take any of us with her?”

“No,” said Simon. “Because I wanted to kill her myself, and hadn’t had the opportunity to do so yet. You want me to be a villain: things are always easier when there’s a clear villain, and I can fill the role admirably. I have before, and I probably will again. Please don’t mistake villainy for evil. The two can exist side by side while remaining quite distinct. And Oleander, for all her good points—and she did have some, although they were regrettably few and far between—was evil.”

For a moment, we all just stared at him. Finally, I blurted, “Why didn’t Mom ever tell me about you?”

“I’m sure she had her reasons,” said Simon, looking away. “Your mother and I . . . we didn’t part cleanly. We both had our ideas of what needed to be done in order to resolve things we had left unresolved. Mine involved some choices she was not comfortable making. Hers involved, for me, too much safety and reliance on other people. She thought that just because she was Firstborn, the world would eventually realize she should get her way.”

“Sort of hard for the world to realize that when she didn’t tell anybody.”

Simon smiled slightly, the expression tinged with clear regret. “Amy has always been fond of secrets,” he admitted.

“Yeah, well, I’m pretty much done with secrets, so let me make myself perfectly clear,” I said. “Tybalt and Quentin are mine. So is your brother. So is my Fetch and her girlfriend, and anyone else you look at and think ‘gosh, Toby would be upset if I hurt this person.’ You follow? Because I won’t just be upset. I’ll be angry. And you’ll be sorry.”

“Is everything all right over here?” Mags’ voice broke in, and I turned almost guiltily to find her emerging from the stacks with the thickest book I’d ever seen clasped in her arms. Her wings were vibrating rapidly, sending sprays of pixie-sweat in all directions as she eyed the four of us. “Remember what I said about fighting in the Library.”

“No one’s fighting,” I said. “Some threatening, yes, and maybe a little glaring, but there’s been no fighting, I swear.”

“Count Torquill?” said Mags.

Simon rose. He moved stiffly, like his left leg didn’t bend right. “It’s quite all right, Miss Brooke. My stepdaughter and her friends were simply reminding me that I am not one of their favorite people, but as they did so in a calm and nonviolent manner, I can’t really take offense. I think I’m done with my research for today, however, so if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be going.”

“Wait!” The word escaped before I could prevent myself from speaking. Simon stopped in his tracks, turning to stare at me. Everyone else did something similar. Cheeks burning, I swallowed, and said, “Wait, please. I have to ask you something.”

“Am I the villain, or am I the person you ask when you need information?” Simon asked. He didn’t sound annoyed, quite, but he sounded like he very easily could be. “What do you want to know, October?”

“You came to my house.”

“Yes.”

“You said . . . you said you were there to help me.”

“Yes, I did,” said Simon, looking briefly frustrated. “But there are so many barriers on what I can say that I don’t see how I can do that, unless you’re willing to let me turn you into a tree and plant you someplace where you won’t be found for a hundred years.”

I stared at him. “The spell I threw back at you this morning. Is that what it was supposed to do?”

“I said I was going to help you, October,” he said. “I didn’t say you were going to appreciate it.”

Tybalt started to growl again, low and deep in his chest. I glanced toward Quentin. If he’d been Cait Sidhe, he would have been making the same sound. As it was, he was glaring at Simon with such intensity that I was half afraid the other man was going to spontaneously combust. I put my arms out slightly, just enough that I’d be able to grab them if they tried to lunge. The last thing we needed was to get kicked out of the Library before we’d learned anything useful.

“The Luidaeg is under a geas, too,” I said. “Did you know that?”

“I am aware,” said Simon. “It is a surprise to hear you went to her. I expected you to be rather more timid, or at least smarter.”

“She’s my aunt,” I said, like that explained everything. “She was able to get around the binding enough to tell me that the person who bound her was someone I know. Do you know who bound the Luidaeg?”

“I do,” he said.

“Did the same person bind you?”

Simon looked at me for a moment, mouth moving as he tried to force words out past a tongue that no longer seemed to want to cooperate with him. Finally, he made a choking sound, and said, “I have to leave.” Then he turned, still stiff, left leg barely bending, and made his way quickly into the stacks.

I stayed where I was, looking after him.

“Was there a point to that?” asked Mags. She sounded annoyed.

“We pretty much knew from the Luidaeg that they were bound by the same person, but I wanted it confirmed. And I wanted to see whether Simon would tell me the truth.”

“But he didn’t tell you anything,” Mags protested.

“Sure he did,” I said. “If he’d been lying to me, a ‘no’ would have cost him nothing.” I turned back to Tybalt and Quentin. “Put on your studying shoes, boys. We’ve got work to do.”