The Winter Long

NINE

IT WAS DIFFICULT TO focus on research with the ghost of Simon Torquill hanging over us, an unwanted presence we could neither dispel nor deny. Worrying about the Luidaeg made it even harder, until focus seemed like a beautiful dream. I sat on the Library’s antique couch with the bulky census open on my knees, running my finger down columns of names and trying to associate them with faces dredged from the dusty recesses of my mind. Quentin was settled next to me, going through a box of dusty sheets of loose-leaf paper that Mags had fetched from wherever it was that historical records went to die. He had refused to split the burden, insisting that his knowledge of the political divides within the Mists would be more useful than Tybalt’s actual observation of the Court. I had refused to get involved, and in the end, Tybalt had ceded the point.

I sort of wished he hadn’t, since in the absence of anything else that needed to be reviewed, Tybalt was pacing around the edges of the room-sized square where we were working. It was getting on my nerves, quite honestly, but my attempts to convince him he should maybe go elsewhere had met with disdain.

“Do you honestly believe that, after you have encountered Count Torquill not once but twice in a single day, I’ll allow you to ask me to leave your side?” he had asked, eyes blazing. “I’m not sure how relationships are commonly conducted in this modern age, but I am absolutely certain that a proper suitor does not leave his lady to be turned into a fish because she would feel more ‘comfortable’ were he elsewhere.”

That had settled the matter. Tybalt only got that formal with me when he was really unhappy. I was a little uncomfortable with his pacing, but as he would clearly have been extremely uncomfortable leaving me—even in the Library, where I was supposed to be safe—I didn’t press the issue.

Mags came and went, mostly to make sure we hadn’t started eating the books while she was taking care of her filing. I was still a little pissed about her not having warned us that Simon was there, so I didn’t have much to say to her. Maybe it was unfair of me, but hey. I’m part of Faerie, and Faerie isn’t fair.

“I’ve never heard of half these people,” said Quentin glumly, picking up another stack of loose pages. The motion dislodged a patch of pixie-sweat, and for a moment, we were both distracted by sneezing.

When the air finally cleared, I wiped my nose and said, “If your records are anything like mine, I’ve got a partial reason for that: like you said, the census doesn’t count changelings, and we’re not that transitory. Devin isn’t in here, and he was in the Kingdom before the 1906 earthquake. I’m not in here either, but Mom is, and she’s listed as ‘bride of Simon, mother of August.’” I shook my head, unable to keep the bitterness from my voice as I said, “All these thrice-cursed years of people withholding information from me, and all I had to do was drop by my local Library and ask for the phone book.”

“Ah, but first you had to find someone with a Library card and earn their trust enough that they would share its graces with you,” said Tybalt, as his pacing brought him close enough for conversation. “Sadly, ‘all those years’ were vital parts of your unintentional master plan. The Court of Cats will not be listed on those rolls either. We do not take part in the petty schemes of the Divided Courts.”

“Like the census?” I shot him a venomous look. “Did I tell you recently just how good you are at not being even remotely helpful?”

“Ah, but you see, I am exceedingly helpful.” He leaned in to kiss the top of my head. “As long as your aggravation has a safe target, you’ll keep focusing on your work, and not become too frustrated to continue. I am the most helpful thing in this room.”

“I resent that,” said Quentin.

“Many men have resented me in their days, young prince,” said Tybalt. “Be proud of the legacy you have joined.”

“Tybalt, don’t taunt my squire,” I said. “Quentin, don’t kill my boyfriend. Both of you, shut up and let me work.”

Tybalt laughed and resumed pacing. I shook my head, sinking deeper into the couch. At least one of us was happy.

I’d managed to make it through the census of Golden Gate and halfway through the census of Dreamer’s Glass before Quentin spoke again. “There are too many names,” he said. “We’re going to be here forever, and since we don’t know for sure who Simon and the Luidaeg both know, we can’t really eliminate anyone.”

“And since there are no changelings on the list, we’re missing a whole swath of potential candidates.” I leaned forward, pinching the bridge of my nose. “We don’t have time for this. We’re not going to be able to figure it out this way, but I don’t know what else to do.”

“Do you really think it could be a changeling?” asked Mags. I looked up to find her standing at the edge of the workspace, another pile of books in her arms. “I mean . . . I’m not trying to sound dismissive or anything, but most changelings couldn’t power a geas as strong as the one you described. It would burn their hearts to ashes in their chests.”

“Chelsea Ames,” I said. “She was a changeling strong enough to rip a door to Annwn in the walls of the world. You can’t write changelings off just because most of us aren’t that powerful. Some of us break all the rules, and that means there’s no universally right answer.”

“Maybe Mags is on to something, though,” said Quentin. “We’re looking at the census of the Kingdom’s fae, right? Minus the changelings and the Cait Sidhe and I guess anyone who didn’t feel like being counted.”

“Right,” I said.

“Yes,” Mags said.

“Blind Michael isn’t on here,” Quentin said.

It was enough of a curveball that I paused for a moment, trying to adjust to this new information. It wasn’t happening. Frowning, I said, “That doesn’t surprise me—he didn’t technically live in this Kingdom since he had his own skerry. What are you getting at?”

“I guess just that there are people who have contact with this Kingdom all the time, but manage to stay outside of it. What if Dianda cast the geas? Patrick is listed, but she’s not. It could be almost anyone from the Undersea.”

“No, kidnapping isn’t their style.” I didn’t have to think about the words before I said them. The denizens of the Undersea might slit your throat or invade your lands, but they wouldn’t kidnap your children. That simply wasn’t how business was done down there. “Also, if Simon’s employer had been someone from the Undersea, turning me into a fish wouldn’t have saved me. It would have put me on the menu.”

“It can’t have been Blind Michael,” said Quentin. “He doesn’t fit the ‘living’ part of the description.”

“Well, I don’t think Acacia would have arranged to have her own daughter and grandchild kidnapped and imprisoned,” I said. “She was too happy to see Luna again when we broke Michael’s Ride.”

Mags was staring at us, open-mouthed. I shot her a curious look. She recovered her composure enough to say, “I just—you people talk of the First as if they were commonplace, as if we should all be seeing them on a regular basis and having them over for tea. It’s so strange. Even in my youth, the First were rare creatures, better left to someone else’s story than drawn into your own.”

“Mom’s Firstborn,” I said, with a shrug. “It makes me harder to impress.” Now that Mags had pointed it out, the strangeness of the situation was visible to me, too. There was a time when meeting any of the Firstborn would have been a terrifying notion. Now it was basically Tuesday.

“Your mother,” said Tybalt thoughtfully.

“Yeah?” I frowned at him. “What about her?”

“She knows the Luidaeg, obviously, in the same way Acacia does; they are all of them sisters. She knows Simon. She must have, to have married him.”

My eyes narrowed. “I don’t like where this is going.”

“I did not expect you to. That doesn’t mean you can refuse to come along for the journey.” Tybalt shook his head, expression turning grim. “She knows everyone we know to have been bound, and she has never kept any counsel save her own.”

“I’ll be the first to admit that I have issues with my mother, but she’s still my mother, and you may want to back off on the whole ‘your mother may have ruined your life’ song that you’re starting to sing,” I said, a dangerous note in my tone. “I don’t like it, it doesn’t suit you, and you’re beginning to piss me off.”

“That doesn’t mean you don’t need to hear it,” said Tybalt flatly. “Amandine is as strong a candidate to have spun this geas as any other. We cannot rule her out just because you do not want her to have done it, my little fish. If the world were that kind a place, it would be so different as to have never made us.”

“Fine. Fine. I can deal with this in one phone call.” I’d been looking for an excuse to pick up the phone anyway, although I couldn’t bring myself to say that part out loud. I dug my phone out of my pocket and began pressing the keys in a spiral, moving outward from the center. When I reached the end, I spiraled back in, and chanted, “One’s for sorrow, two’s for joy, three’s a girl, four’s a boy.” The smell of copper and freshly cut grass rose in the air around me.

“What’s she doing?” asked Mags, sounding concerned.

“Calling the Luidaeg,” said Quentin. I saw him shrug out of the corner of my eye. “Toby usually does that when she wants to ask questions that could get her dismembered. You get used to it. I’m surprised she hasn’t done it already, since worrying about the Luidaeg is part of why we’re here.”

“I’m not sure I’d want to get used to it,” said Mags.

I rolled my eyes as I raised the phone to my ear. There was no ringing: instead, there was the distant sound of waves, beating themselves endlessly against some unseen rocky shore. That was normal. The Luidaeg’s phone isn’t connected to any official “service,” either mundane or fae, and it reacts differently every time I call it. I think the creepiest thing it could do at this point is actually behave like a normal phone.

There was a click. The sound of waves stopped, replaced by empty air. That, at least, was unusual. I frowned. Normally the Luidaeg answered her phone by yelling at me. “Luidaeg?” I said.

There was no response. I thought I heard someone breathing, but it was a thin, distant sound, and it could have just been air running over the receiver.

I tried again: “Luidaeg? Are you there? Is something wrong with the connection?” I could always hang up and recast the spell, if that was the case. The fragments of my magic were still hanging in the air around me, ready to be grabbed.

Still the silence, and the faint, distant sound of what could be breathing.

“Okay. I’m going to try again.” I hung up, raising my head to look at the others. “Something was wrong with the connection. I didn’t get her.”

“That’s weird,” said Quentin. “That’s never happened before, has it?”

“No,” I said, barely keeping myself from snapping. Fear was beginning to rise in my throat, thick and cloying. I dialed again, this time in an X-shape. “Five’s for silver, six for gold, seven for a little girl who dreams of getting old,” I chanted. The magic rose, burst, and fell into the air around me as I raised the phone back to my ear.

Again, there was the sound of waves, followed by a click and silence. This time, I held the phone out to Tybalt, motioning for him to come closer and listen. Cait Sidhe have exceptionally good hearing. It’s a part of their feline nature.

He leaned in, bringing his ear to the phone. Then he frowned, and plucked the phone from my hand without saying a word as he straightened up. Seconds ticked by. He raised a hand, motioning for the rest of us to remain silent. Finally, he said, “If this is some form of punishment for October having asked you things she should not have asked, say so now. Failure to speak shall be taken as consent for what you know will follow.”

More seconds ticked by. He hung up the phone, tossing it back into my hands.

“Your squire has learned the necessary skills to drive in this mortal world, has he not?” he asked. There was a tight edge to his voice, like he was just this side of losing his composure. That was bad. When Tybalt loses his composure, things are always bad.

“I don’t have my license, but I can drive,” said Quentin.

I set the census aside as I stood, shoving the phone back into my pocket. “Why are we making Quentin drive? How freaked out am I supposed to be right now?”

“Someone was there, but it was not the Luidaeg,” said Tybalt, stepping in close to me. I recognized this as preparation for towing me into the Shadow Roads, and zipped my jacket as he continued: “The tempo of the breaths was wrong. Someone else is answering her phone.”

There was no way in this or any other world that that could be a good thing. “We need to go back to her apartment.” I pulled the car keys out of my coat pocket and lobbed them underhand at Quentin, who plucked them from the air. “Get there as fast as you can. Call when you’re at the alley.” Don’t be dumb; don’t walk into a potential ambush. In short, don’t be like your mentor, since I was about to run headlong into yet another life-or-death situation.

What can I say? I know my strengths, and I like playing to them. “Leaping before looking” is absolutely in my top ten Greatest Hits.

“I’ll see you there,” said Quentin.

I glanced to Mags. “Sorry. Not paying my debt about Mom today.”

“I’m sure I’ll be seeing you soon,” she said, ingrained politeness overwhelming the dismay that I saw written clearly on her face.

Then Tybalt’s arms closed around me and we fell backward into the shadows, descending into the darkness that never broke. He let go of my waist as soon as we were through, his fingers locking around my right wrist, and together we ran down the Shadow Roads. I quashed my rising panic; it’s hard to panic and hold your breath at the same time, and I wouldn’t do the Luidaeg any good if I gave myself hypothermia by trying to breathe in a place where there was no good air, only the endless cold. Instead, I focused on trying to match my stride to Tybalt’s, counting his steps instead of counting the breaths that I wasn’t taking. It helped a little, and anything that helped me to survive the shadows was a good thing.

Tybalt and I emerged from the Shadow Roads and into the more mundane shadows of an alley near the Luidaeg’s apartment. Her wards prevented him from getting us any closer. I hit the ground running—or tried to, anyway. I made it four steps before the lack of air and the glimmers of frostbite at my extremities brought me to a screeching halt. I caught myself against the alley wall, coughing the ice from my lips and out of my throat. Tybalt stood nearby, wary and watching. The Shadow Roads were hard on the Cait Sidhe, but it was a difficulty that they dealt with for their entire lives. Those same Roads were still new and cruel to me, and I was reminded of that fact every time we had to use them.

“If you can run . . .” he began.

“I can run,” I said, and pushed myself away from the wall as I did just that. Tybalt paced me, close enough to leap to my defense if I triggered a booby trap, far enough away that we weren’t going to trip over each other. Running that way was almost second nature for us these days. Anything that thought we were easy pickings would find itself in an awkward situation. With enough warning, we could even—

The thought died half-formed as we came around the corner and entered the Luidaeg’s alleyway. Her door was right in front of us . . . or it should have been, anyway. I stumbled to a stop, eyes wide, and stared in disbelief.

The apartment door had been kicked in, knocking the rotten wood right off of its rusted hinges. Chunks of broken doorframe littered the front stoop. The Luidaeg had never seemed to be that worried about personal security—she maintained her wards, because that’s just what you do, but she’d never given any indication that she expected to have them challenged. I guess being an immortal water demon from the dawn of Faerie makes you a little bit careless. The life that was likely to be endangered by anyone foolish enough to break into her home wasn’t going to be hers.

“Blood,” I whispered. “I smell blood.”

“October . . .” Tybalt’s hand caught my wrist. I froze. I hadn’t even realized I’d started moving again. I couldn’t take my eyes off that gaping hole where a door should have been. “This isn’t right.”

“Oh, you think?” I tried to pull my wrist away. He didn’t let go. I turned to level a glare at him. “You need to let me go now, Tybalt. I smell blood. The Luidaeg could be hurt in there. She could need me.”

“Or she could be dead, and you could be walking headlong into the grasp of whatever killed her.” He frowned. “This is too strange and too easy and I do not like it.”

“Neither do I.” This time when I pulled away, he let go of my wrist. “We ran here because she might need us. I’m not going to run away again just because we were right.”

“I know.” His frown faded, replaced by a coldly predatory expression. I’d seen it on his face before, usually right before something got seriously hurt. “We will go slowly. We will stay together. And if I have to, I will drag you with me onto the Shadow Roads.”

“Agreed,” I said, and turned back to the hole that had once been the Luidaeg’s front door. Everything about this situation felt wrong; everything I’d ever learned about self-preservation screamed for me to turn around and run. I drew my knife.

With Tybalt to guard my back, I walked forward, into the apartment.