The Winter Long

EIGHTEEN

THE MIXED SCENTS of burning wood, warm fur, and roasting chicken assaulted my nose, drawing me up out of a sound sleep. I struggled to keep my eyes closed, dimly aware that as soon as I fully woke, I was going to have to start dealing with the world again—and given how long it had been since I’d slept, that wasn’t something I was in a real hurry to do. My head was throbbing, but nothing else hurt. That was a nice change.

Even forming that thought was too strenuous to be safe. The shredded remains of sleep wisped away into a sigh as I pushed myself up onto my elbows and opened my eyes on the Court of Cats.

This was one of the smaller bedchambers, and it was different from most of the others I’d seen in that it only contained a single bed. It was a huge, four-posted thing, with a clean, if moth-eaten, canopy stretching across the top of it. I was in the bed, naturally, covered by a thick patchwork quilt. The center of the room was occupied by a small dining table. A fireplace took up most of the far wall. Tybalt was crouched in front of it, prodding at a chicken on a spit.

I took a breath and said the first thing that came to mind, which happened to be, “A chicken? A rotisserie chicken? Could you get any more Renfair cliché if you really, really tried, do you think?”

“I’ve never actually been to one of your Renaissance Fairs. I think it would be an amusing, if frustrating experience,” said Tybalt, a relieved note in his voice. He twisted to face me without coming out of his crouch. “Welcome back to the land of the living, Sleeping Beauty—and before you protest the label, consider that I pulled you from a glass coffin in the midst of a riot of flowers. I believe a fairy-tale allusion or two is only fitting.”

The last thing I remembered was holding Raysel’s hands and yanking the Blodynbryd out of her one drop at a time. I blanched. “Oh, Oberon’s balls, did I collapse on top of Rayseline?”

“Yes, and her howling like a Banshee the whole time,” he said, twisting back to face the fire. He gave the chicken another experimental nudge with the fork in his hand. “There were a few moments where I thought you might actually awaken her from her enchanted sleep, simply because she was screaming so much. Alas, you did no such thing. That might have distracted her mother from the fact that you were lying on top of her like a sack of abandoned potatoes.”

“That metaphor got a little mangled somewhere in the middle,” I said, closing my eyes. My stomach rumbled. I ignored it as I asked, “So what happened?”

“Rayseline screamed, you collapsed, Luna shouted that you’d killed her daughter, I interceded before anything overly compromising could happen. I then stood between mother and coffin with you in my arms until she answered your questions.” There was a scraping sound as he presumably took the chicken off the fire. “Once I had the information I needed, I carried you to Etienne’s quarters, retrieved our charges, and brought you back here to the Court of Cats, where you would be safe.”

Our charges . . . my eyes snapped open, staring up at the threadbare canopy. “Quentin and Raj. Where are they?”

“They needed rest as much as you did,” said Tybalt. “They are in the room next door, enjoying the chance to slumber without fear of discovery. I’ll wake them after you and I have finished our conversation.”

“Our—right.” I turned toward him. He was standing next to the table, holding the roast chicken on a platter. “What did Luna say?”

“It’s not what Luna said that should concern you at the moment: it’s what I’m saying, and what I’m saying is that I’ll tell you what Luna said as soon as you can get out of that bed, come to this table, and eat.” His smile couldn’t hide his concern. “You’ve run yourself to shreds today, and I simply cannot have that.”

“I’m not that tired,” I protested.

“Then push off the blanket, rise from the bed, and come to the table. I have seen how much you’ve bled today: you’ll forgive me if I choose not to believe you.” He took a seat, beginning to portion the chicken onto the plates he had already waiting—plates which appeared to contain potatoes and some sort of lightly dressed salad. He’d been preparing for me to wake up for a while.

Glaring, I attempted to rise to his challenge . . . and failed as my jellied limbs refused to obey even the simplest commands. I tried again, with the same result.

Tybalt observed all this before commenting mildly, “I have seen you accomplish more under worse circumstances, but only when there was an immediate threat to be dealt with, an ally to be rescued or a life to be saved. The situation in which we find ourselves is unpleasant to be sure, and doubtless dangerous, but it is not, at the moment, life-threatening. Your body knows its needs better than you do.”

“You’re a jerk sometimes.”

“I’m a cat, always,” he said, and smiled. “At least you sound on the road to recovery. Stop thinking of rising as a way to gain access to information that will cause you to put even more strain on your body’s ability to sustain itself, and think of it as a quick route to the sustenance I know you need.” He picked up his plate and waved his hand over it, wafting the smell of the chicken toward me.

I was on my feet before consciously deciding to move, and my butt was hitting the polished bench across from where Tybalt sat before I had time to process what I was wearing. The growling of my stomach had become a roar. I shut it out for a moment as I looked down at my attire: black leggings, a white linen chemise that would need to be belted if I was going to wear it out of this room, and no shoes. No socks either. At least my bare feet were finally warm, courtesy of the bed and the fire.

“Your previous clothing still exists,” said Tybalt. “It simply needed a good drying, and sleeping in it seemed mildly unsanitary.”

“You know, there was a time when waking up to find that someone had changed my clothes would have been a surprise. When did I get used to this, exactly?” I finally reached for the plate that had been set in front of me, and asked a more important question: “Did you get my jacket from Bridget?”

“Yes, and it should be ready for you by now. Were you aware that the mortal world contained establishments called ‘dry cleaners,’ which are capable of working feats that previously only Bannicks had been able to accomplish?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Yes, I knew about dry cleaners. I’m a little surprised that you do.”

“In this case, the credit for wisdom should go to your squire. Your precious leathers are pristine.” Tybalt gave my food a meaningful look. “Now please. Eat, so that we may wake the boys and be on our way. I’m sure you’ll want that, once you’ve recovered sufficiently.”

The roaring in my stomach was almost impossible for me to ignore at this point. I still forced myself to hold it off for a few seconds more. “Tell me what Luna said.”

He sighed. “Do you swear to eat your supper even once you have what you desire?”

“Yes. I promise that no matter what you say, unless it spells immediate disaster for someone I care about, I’ll sit here and eat before I go haring off, okay? Besides. You took my shoes.” And my knife, I realized: I was unarmed.

Maybe that was intentional. Tybalt took a breath, looked at me solemnly, and said, “Your suspicions are confirmed. The woman we know as Evening Winterrose was born Eira Rosynhwyr, called the Rose of Winter, first daughter of Oberon, King of Faerie, and Titania, the Summer’s Queen. She did not return from the dead, because she never died. Of all the Firstborn, the Rose of Winter has been called the most difficult to kill.”

“Ah.” It wasn’t as much of a shock as I’d expected it to be: I’d already been almost certain. This just confirmed it. “And Luna was able to resist her as much as she did because . . . ?”

“Because she was not there when Evening first arrived. She remained surrounded by her roses, as she said, which allowed her to resist any call that Evening might send. Further, she had already been exposed at such great length to her own parents, whose Firstborn nature would normally have overwhelmed her—but most of all, because Evening was not Luna’s original. Any of the Daoine Sidhe would have trouble denying Evening if given a direct command.” A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I suspect that this was meant to make the Firstborn better able to control their descendants. I shall have to ask fair Amandine how well that has worked for her when I see her next.”

“If my mother turns you into a lemon tree, I’m not going to yell at her,” I said, somewhat numbly. My mind was far away, and my body took advantage of that brief absence to shovel several bites of chicken and potatoes into my mouth. I barely tasted any of it. Swallowing, I asked, “So why couldn’t Grianne resist her? The Candela aren’t descended from Titania.”

“No, but Grianne swears her allegiance to Sylvester, who is Evening’s to command.”

“Etienne resisted. He swears his allegiance to Sylvester.”

“I have no idea why he was able to achieve that state of grace. Wheels within wheels.” Tybalt sighed. “It’s all very troublesome.”

“And it’s just going to get worse,” I said grimly. “Can we leave the boys here?”

Tybalt blinked. “Quentin is a friend of this Court, and is well chaperoned by the presence of my nephew, but you’re generally loath to be parted from him. Why—”

“He’s Daoine Sidhe. I don’t want that bitch telling him what to do.” There was a chance his exposure to so many other Firstborn—from the Luidaeg to Blind Michael—would make him resistant. I didn’t want to risk it. I took a bite of salad before adding, “I’d hide all the Daoine Sidhe I know here, if that wouldn’t be abusing your hospitality.”

“I appreciate your concern for the limits of my charity,” said Tybalt dryly.

“I try to be considerate,” I said, before inhaling another few bites of chicken. My hunger wasn’t abating. The magic I’d been doing had taken more out of me than I thought. At least the food seemed to be taking the edge off of my headache. “But yeah. I don’t want Quentin near her. If he can be hidden here for a little while, that’s for the best.”

“He will object.”

“He’ll lose.”

Tybalt raised an eyebrow. “You sound remarkably sure of yourself. Raj—”

“Is Cait Sidhe. Quentin is a squire and a prince of the Divided Courts. His upbringing was a little more hardcore on ‘listen to your elders,’ and while I’m aware that I’ve done a lot to damage his early training, I think some of it is still in there.” I shrugged. “He’s not going to be happy. He’s going to give in.”

“You speak of ‘leaving the boys here’ and carrying on with your current quest, but I admit, October, I’m somewhat unclear as to what that quest is.” Tybalt leaned across the table to transfer half of his chicken onto my plate. I didn’t object. “Simon is in town, and this is troubling. Evening is returned from the dead, and was never dead to begin with. The Luidaeg is injured. We know these things are connected, and we know that they are terrible, but none of them provides a clear or immediate course of action. Running to the Queen in the Mists seems logical, except that it might draw our enemies to her, and while Evening is not her parent and original, she’s still no match for one of the Firstborn.”

“I know. We need to keep at least one place aside from the Court of Cats safe for our allies, and since we know Evening could eat Arden for breakfast, that means we need to keep Arden off of Evening’s radar for as long as possible.” I put a hand over my eyes, taking comfort in the temporary darkness. “I’m happier when I have a bad guy I can hit. Okay. Let’s look at this logically: both Simon and the Luidaeg were geased by Evening. We know that Evening was able to somehow know when the Luidaeg said something she wasn’t supposed to—she shouldn’t have been able to confirm that the geas had been cast by someone I knew. And when the Luidaeg broke the rules, Evening punished her for it.”

We both paused for a moment. I had no doubt that Tybalt’s thoughts were following the same dark path as mine, remembering the shattered condition of the Luidaeg’s apartment, and the condition she’d been in when we found her. The Luidaeg was one of the most powerful people we knew. The fact that Evening had been able to take her out was terrifying.

“Wait.” I dropped my hand, looking at him. “Evening is Titania’s daughter.”

Tybalt frowned. “Yes, and?”

“Raysel was able to make the Luidaeg stand down just by saying she was a descendant of Titania. The Luidaeg can’t raise her hand against Titania’s children. She’s said so before, and she can’t lie. That’s how Evening was able to beat the holy crap out of her without bleeding all over the place and leaving me a trail to follow. The Luidaeg didn’t fight back.”

Tybalt’s frown deepened. “If that’s true . . . someone must have bound her so. Someone who did not much care whether she lived or died, given what I’ve heard about the treatment of the children of Maeve by the children of Titania.”

“Yeah,” I said. My plate was somehow empty again, and my stomach was no longer screaming at me. I took that as a sign that I was ready to get up, and stood, grateful to find that I was right: my legs took my weight without protesting. My headache was barely a throb. “I’m thinking it was either Evening herself, or her mother. I can’t see Oberon doing that to one of his own kids. But it doesn’t really matter either way, I guess: the Luidaeg is bound, and she couldn’t fight back.”

“So our Evening is not only a liar, but a coward.” Tybalt shook his head as he stood. “Truly, it seems that I came into your life at precisely the correct moment.”

I blinked. “Okay, you’re going to have to take that one back a few steps for me.”

“It’s simple.” He didn’t walk around the table—he prowled, his feline nature surging to the forefront as he moved to slide his arms around my waist and pull me close to him. I wanted to object, to say that we were on a timetable. The trouble was, we didn’t know what that timetable was counting down to. We still didn’t know what Evening wanted, and so I couldn’t think of a single objection to taking a moment and letting him hold me.

I might regret that later, but later would happen in its own time. At the moment, I was busy looking into Tybalt’s eyes. He pulled one hand free, reaching up to tuck my hair back the way I so often did. His fingers lingered against the point of my ear, tracing the edges that had grown so much sharper in the past few years.

“You were clearly keeping company with the wrong sort of people before I decided to take an interest in your keeping,” he said, as if it were the most reasonable thing in the world. “Anyone who would betray her own sister in such a manner is no fit friend for you.”

“I have better friends now,” I said, and leaned up to kiss him, letting him pull me closer. If someone had told me this would happen in the days that followed Evening’s murder—excuse me, Evening’s disappearance—I would have thought they were pulling my leg. Now, I stood in the embrace of a man I had once sworn was nothing but an irritation, and I didn’t want to be anywhere else, ever again.

The bed I had so recently left beckoned, a silent reminder that he had been intending to let me sleep until I awoke, and that no one knew I was up—no one but him. We could spend a little time before things began to happen again. Like my unplanned nap, this was part of recuperation, and it mattered. It—

My phone started ringing. I pushed away from Tybalt, realizing how close I had just come to committing myself to a lengthy—if pleasurable—interlude, and began looking around for the source of the sound. There was a large oak wardrobe against the wall across from the fireplace that looked like a good bet. I strode across the room and hauled on the wardrobe doors, which opened to reveal my shoes and leather jacket, both clean and waiting for me. My underwear, jeans, and newly bloodstained shirt were in the bottom of the wardrobe, discarded like the trash they had become.

My jacket pocket was ringing. Stridently. I dipped my hand inside and pulled out my vibrating, ringing phone, bringing it to my ear.

“Hello?”

“Are you dead? I ask because I really want to know, and am interested in your response, and not because I’m planning to murder you myself for not answering the last three times I’ve called.” May was using her murderously perky voice again, which meant that she was pissed.

“I was asleep when you called before,” I said, directing a glare at Tybalt. He gave me his best innocent look, even going so far as to shrug, like failing to tell me that my phone had been ringing was no big deal.

On the other hand, if I’d been asleep enough not to notice the phone going off repeatedly, he might not have been able to wake me. “Uh, whatever, that’s no excuse, even if you don’t sleep enough,” said May. “Where are you? Where have you been? Are you at Shadowed Hills?”

“No, I’m not at Shadowed Hills, I’m in the Court of Cats,” I said. “I’ve been here for a while—not sure how long. I sort of ran myself ragged, and collapsed from overuse of blood magic, and then Tybalt put me to bed without asking me first.” The fact that I’d stayed there, and hadn’t even noticed being put there, spoke volumes. I paused, finally parsing her last question. “Why did you ask if I was at Shadowed Hills?”

“Because they closed their wards like ten hours ago, and they’re not letting anybody inside, not even when they come from the Queen,” said May, sounding more bemused than frustrated. “I sort of assumed you were locked in a life-or-death struggle with Simon Torquill, and would eventually emerge bloody but intact. It’s like eight in the morning.”

“Okay, we are canceling the cable,” I said. “If you think I’m behind a sealed ward fighting for my life, try calling someone other than me, okay? Like I don’t know, Danny.” He could ram the wards with his car.

“I guess,” she said reluctantly. “It’s still weird that the wards are closed.”

“Not that weird,” I said. “Evening’s there.”

“Winterrose?”

May didn’t sound surprised. Of course she didn’t sound surprised. She’d been among the night-haunts when Evening had “died.” She’d probably known all along that Evening wasn’t dead, but she hadn’t realized it was important, and I’d never had any reason to ask her about it.

“Oak and ash, it’s the phone book all over again,” I muttered, before saying more loudly, “Yes, Evening Winterrose. She’s not dead—which you apparently knew, and we need to have a long talk soon about what I’m assuming is true and you know is false—and she’s got pretty much the entire knowe in her thrall.”

“But how can she . . . ?”

“She’s the Daoine Sidhe Firstborn, that’s how.” I paused to give May time to react. Silence answered me. I sighed, reading her lack of comment for what it was. “I’m sure, okay? Luna verified it. You need to tell Arden to keep her people in the knowe and close the doors. Evening can influence her descendants to do whatever she wants, and it doesn’t just work on them. There’s a good chance that anyone who gets too close to her is going to want to do what she tells them.”

Except something about my words seemed wrong. Dean and his people certainly hadn’t seemed inclined to do what Evening said, and Dean was half Daoine Sidhe. I was going to need to figure out what differed between Goldengreen and Shadowed Hills. Maybe it was something we could use.

Reluctantly, May said, “I’ll tell her, but Toby, this sounds . . .”

“I know how it sounds, okay? Unfortunately, I don’t have the luxury of only experiencing things that sound reasonable when you try to explain them to other people. Quentin is staying here in the Court of Cats. You and Jazz stay with Arden, where you’ll be at least a little bit safer.”

“Where are you going to go?”

I smiled thinly. “I’m going to go be a hero. Open roads, May.”

“Kind fires,” she answered.

I hung up, looking at the phone in my hand for a moment before I dropped it back into my jacket pocket and eyed my clothes with distaste. The dry cleaner had been able to work wonders on my leather jacket. Nothing was going to save my shirt and jeans, both of which were blotched with dried blood. Behind me, Tybalt cleared his throat. I turned.

“Was I really asleep for ten hours?” I asked. I ran a hand back through my hair, noting that it was soft and clean. Tybalt might not have been able to get the blood out of my jeans, but he’d been able to get it out of my hair. There was a time when I would have found that intrusive. Now it was just sort of sweet.

“I believe it was closer to nine,” he said, looking obscurely relieved by the question. “I would have awakened you, but when your portable telephone rang without causing you to so much as stir, I realized how much you needed the rest. I am a selfish man. I will not have you kill yourself with exhaustion.”

“There are much more entertaining ways for me to die; don’t worry,” I said. “Is the Luidaeg—”

“My people are watching her. She has not stirred since she was brought here, although she has continued breathing, which I assume would have been your second question,” he said. “Gabriel has the current shift. He will alert me if anything changes.”

“We need to keep a very close eye on her,” I said. Things were beginning to fall together in my head, things that had previously been kept apart only by my exhaustion and general feeling of being overwhelmed by everything around me.

Tybalt raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“There were wards on the Luidaeg’s apartment—we’re talking big time mega-wards. We could get in because she allowed us to get in, you couldn’t access the Shadow Roads if you got too close, all that fun stuff. Evening tore through them like they were nothing.” I picked up my jeans, giving them a disgusted look, and pulled them on over the leggings. The denim, bloody as it was, would add a little extra insulation when we inevitably left through the Shadow Roads. Tucking the chemise into my waistband did away with the need for a belt, even if it was all a bit pirate-esque for my taste.

“All this is true, but I’m afraid I still don’t follow, and I certainly don’t understand why you’re putting your trousers on,” Tybalt said.

“We can’t stay here forever, and I don’t want to be caught with no pants on when the alarm rings,” I said. “We brought the Luidaeg here on the assumption that Evening wouldn’t be able to follow, since Oberon gifted this place to the Cait Sidhe. We know that Evening has a measure of control over anyone that’s descended from her. But what if it’s not just them?”

“Meaning what, exactly?” asked Tybalt. A crease was beginning to form between his eyebrows, signaling his dawning concern.

“Not everyone in that hall would have been Daoine Sidhe,” I continued. “There aren’t that many Daoine Sidhe in the world. What if she gets absolute control over her descendants, but a measure of control over her relatives? There are Cait Sidhe who are descended from Titania.” I took my scabbard down from its hook and strapped it around my waist before shrugging on my leather jacket. “We have to assume the Court could be compromised.”

Tybalt stared at me for a moment, stunned into silence. Finally, he said, “I knew loving you would be dangerous. I had no idea how dangerous.”

“Sorry.” I grabbed my shoes and sat down heavily on the edge of the bed. I didn’t have socks. That was really the least of my current concerns.

“Yes, well. I suppose this is my own fault.” He laughed, a sharp, dry sound. “I will go and advise my guards that they should watch for any signs of odd behavior in their fellows. After Samson, they have started watching each other much more closely than they ever did before. If someone is compromised, they will know.”

“Sounds good,” I said. “When you get back, we’ll figure out what happens next.” I bent to start lacing up my shoes.

Behind me, the door opened and closed again, marking Tybalt’s exit. I tried to focus, keeping my fingers as steady as I could. Tripping over my own shoelace and breaking my neck while I was trying to figure out how to stop a rampaging Firstborn would just be silly.

Evening was Firstborn, and more, Evening was angry. If she realized the Luidaeg wasn’t dead—and I couldn’t discount that possibility—she had to at least suspect that I was the one hiding her sister from her. That meant Tybalt’s sense of duty would keep him in the Court of Cats until the Luidaeg was well enough to be moved; he wouldn’t risk his people needlessly by leaving them there with her and not staying to come to their defense if Evening somehow got in. He also wasn’t going to let me walk away and deal with things on my own, no matter how much I wanted to.

We were going to have to work this out, somehow. Evening had to be stopped, even if I still had no idea how to go about accomplishing that.

My phone rang again. I stood, moving to retrieve it once again from my jacket pocket, and blinked. The display listed the caller as “East of the Sun, West of the Moon,” which was definitely not within the local service area. Sure that this was some sort of a trick—and not at all sure what I was supposed to do about it—I raised the phone to my ear.

“Hello?” I said.

“Please, I implore you, don’t hang up.”

Only two people had that voice, and there was no reason for Sylvester to be calling me from an unfamiliar number. “Hello, Simon,” I said wearily. “How did you get this number?”

“Is that really what you want to know right now?”

“Given that you tried to turn me into a tree, and all the other antisocial crap you’ve pulled, yeah, it is. Did you hurt someone to get my number?” The door opened and Tybalt stepped back into the room just in time to hear my last comment. His eyes widened. I held up my hand, signaling for him to stay quiet. Just for the moment; just for now. “Answer me, Simon.”

Simon sighed. “The Hobs at Shadowed Hills have your number written on a piece of paper posted next to the telephone. I copied it down. It’s all very primitive there. I thought my brother would have made more strides toward modernity. He always thought of himself as a progressive, when we were younger.”

“You didn’t hurt anyone.”

“No, I did not,” said Simon. “Pray greet your feline swain for me, as he has clearly entered the room. You may stop ostentatiously using my given name and repeating everything I say. I promise, I am not calling to distress you.”

“And yet you’re managing it,” I said. “What do you want, Simon?”

“I want to see you.”

I laughed before I realized I was going to. “Oh, not just no, but hell no. That’s not going to happen.”

“But it must. Please. There are things we must discuss. I have . . . a small time, when I am not being watched. I don’t know when this time will come again.” Simon paused before saying, “I would have come to you, but I couldn’t find you. I don’t know where you have hidden yourself, and I don’t want to. There’s too much chance I could be compelled to tell.”

He sounded sincere. I blinked. Simon really didn’t want to know where I was, because he might have to tell Evening. He hadn’t given me away when I’d called Shadowed Hills. He’d brought us the winter roses.

Maybe he was really trying to be on my side.

“Where are you?” I asked.

“Your home. I can linger for an hour. Please, come.” The line went dead.

I lowered the phone and looked at Tybalt. “Simon Torquill is at my house. He wants to talk to me.”

“And you have agreed to let him.” Tybalt shook his head. “I suppose I should be upset, but we both knew it was only a matter of time before you resumed pursuing impossible quests and slaying dragons. Shall I wake your squire?”

“No,” I said, walking over to offer him my hand. “Simon also said he couldn’t find us here. If leaving Quentin behind keeps him safe, I can deal with him being pissed at me.” I felt a small pang of guilt at the idea of leaving without saying good-bye to Quentin, but it was just that: small. Waking Quentin up would be selfish, and it would slow us down. We needed to get to Simon as quickly as possible. Part of me wanted to tell Tybalt that I didn’t want to go; that if Simon couldn’t find us in the Court of Cats, neither could Evening, and we would be safe here. The rest of me knew that was a lie.

“Take a deep breath,” said Tybalt, and took my hands, and pulled me with him into the shadows.

Wherever we’d been in the Court of Cats, it must have been near the house, because we had only been running for a few minutes when we stepped back into the warmth of my kitchen. The lights were out, and the sky outside the windows was the clear, brittle blue of the early morning. I pulled away from Tybalt, reaching up to wipe the ice away from my face. The faint smell of oranges and smoke drifted in from the hall.

“October?”

I held up a hand, signaling for Tybalt to stay quiet as I sniffed the air. Simon’s magic was the only thing I could detect. It had been long enough since dawn that even the ashy smell of my wards burning away had had plenty of time to clear.

“He’s here,” I said, lowering my hand and starting for the kitchen door. “I guess we’re really doing this.”

“I suppose we are,” said Tybalt. He looked unhappy as he paced along beside me. I couldn’t really blame him.

“If it looks like he’s going to turn me into a fish again, you can gut him, okay?” I flashed a humorless smile. “As long as no one ever finds the body, there’s no reason for anybody to know that we broke Oberon’s Law.”

“I am not sure whether I find this new viciousness enticing or terrifying,” muttered Tybalt.

“Oh, trust me, sweetie: where Simon is concerned, this is nothing new.” I pushed open the door, sniffing again as I stepped into the hall. The smell of Simon’s magic was coming from the living room. I walked to the doorway and stopped, blinking at the sight of Simon Torquill sitting on my couch with Spike curled in his lap. He was running his hand down my rose goblin’s thorny back, stroking with the grain rather than against it, and looked as if he’d been there for quite some time.

I must have made some small noise when I arrived in the doorway, because Simon looked up, eyes tired, and said, “I fed your feline companions, as well as this thorny fellow here. They were most insistent, and I thought you might appreciate it.”

“I appreciate your concern,” I said. I couldn’t quite keep the bitterness out of my voice. “Why didn’t you tell me Evening was alive?”

“I couldn’t, could I? The geas under which I operate left me very little leeway for the telling of wild tales—and why should you have believed me? I, who should have been your father, and was your enemy instead.” Simon chuckled. For some reason, it didn’t sound mocking: it was more self-loathing, the laughter of a man who had looked upon his life and found very little to be proud of. “I did my best. I told you what I could, and prayed you would be smart enough to know what I’d been forbidden to say. It worked, to a point. You went to Goldengreen.”

I blinked. “You knew that?”

“I saw you fall.” There was no laughter this time. Just deep, crystalline sorrow. “You appeared in midair and dropped like stones, like you’d been slapped aside by the hand of Oberon himself. There was nothing I could have done.”

“That explains your regret, coward,” snapped Tybalt. “How could you have gone to your lady wife and reported that you’d watched another daughter die?”

“August isn’t dead,” snapped Simon. Tybalt and I both went still, watching him like we might watch a venomous snake. Simon blinked at us, looking surprised by his own outburst. Then he looked away. “My . . . my apologies. It’s a sensitive subject.”

“So sensitive you never mentioned it, even as you were turning your stepchild into a fish,” said Tybalt.

“Much as I’m sure we all need the group therapy session, this isn’t the time,” I said. “Simon, what are you doing here? You’re not my friend. You’re not even my ally. Why are you in my house?”

“I knew the fall wouldn’t kill you. I once saw your mother’s throat cut so deeply that you could look at the bones of her spine. They were delicate, like coral, and washed with red.” Simon kept stroking Spike. “An hour later she was laughing and asking when I would buy her a new gown to replace the one she’d ruined. You’re not her equal—none of us are the equal to our First—but I thought you might have enough of her in you to let you make a miraculous return. I was right. As for your cat . . .” He shrugged. “I suppose some old wives’ tales must be true, or else the old wives would stop telling them.”

“I’m touched to hear that you had that much faith in me. Of course, a call to the Coast Guard would have been a little more useful. You called me, remember? Why did you call me now?” I crossed my arms. “What do you want, Simon?”

“You received my warning: you went to Goldengreen, even if you didn’t fully understand the reason I was telling you to look there for your answers. You know now that Ev—” He choked on the first syllable of Evening’s name, coughing for a moment before he spat, “You know she is still alive. That’s more than you had before. You have seen her effect on my brother. I can help you.”

“You can’t even say her name. How are you supposed to help me?” I dropped my hands back to my sides. “You know what? Forget it. I came when you called, but I’m not ready to have this conversation. I’m going upstairs to change my clothes. Tybalt is going to watch you, and you’re going to figure out how to make me believe a damn thing you say. Then you’re going to leave. And we will be resetting the wards after this, so don’t even ask whether I have a guest room.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” said Simon. He remained where he was on the couch, continuing to stroke Spike with one hand. He flashed Tybalt a cool smile. “Will you be my keeper?”

“If you move, I’ll gut you,” said Tybalt.

“Whee,” I muttered. “Play nice and don’t kill each other. I’ll be back.” I turned and left the room before I could think better of leaving them alone, practically running up the stairs to my bedroom. Cagney and Lacey were curled up on the bed. They ignored my entrance, and continued to ignore me as I stripped out of my bloody and borrowed things, only to replace them with near-duplicates from my dresser. Only near: these were clean, save for a small bloodstain on the left cup of my replacement bra. Blood and cotton were best friends when they actually got the opportunity to meet, and getting the one out of the other was virtually impossible.

“These are not good saving-the-world clothes,” I told the cats, as I retied my shoes—now worn over a thick pair of hiking socks. “These are cleaning-the-garage clothes. Maybe flea-market-in-Marin clothes. That’s because I’m not a saving-the-world girl. They got the wrong person for the job.”

The cats didn’t reply. It didn’t matter that I was dating their King: they were still cats, and they had better things to do with their time than engage in a conversation with their pet changeling.

I made sure to clomp as I descended the stairs, trying to give Tybalt enough time to let go of Simon’s throat. When I stepped back into the living room, however, there was no violence happening. Tybalt was leaning against the wall, looking at Simon with a combination of confusion and mistrust, while Simon remained seated on the couch, Spike in his lap and a resigned expression on his face.

“You don’t trust me,” he said.

I blinked. “Okay, that’s getting straight to the heart of the matter. You’re right, Simon: I don’t trust you. You turned me into a fish. You broke Rayseline. You’ve done nothing to make me trust you, and a hell of a lot to make me hate you. Your point?”

“I did not . . .” He faltered before trying again: “It was not my intention to alienate you. I would have had nothing to do with you until I was free of my . . . commitments . . . so that I might become a part of your life that was welcomed. Wanted, even.”

“But Evening had other ideas,” I said slowly. “She told you to get involved with me, didn’t she?”

He tried to speak, only to pause as no sound passed his lips. Looking frustrated, he took a deep breath and tried again: “I have chosen very few of my actions since I was foolish enough to give myself to . . . to the one who holds me. It’s harder than I can express. I have struggled so long with the need to keep you safe and the need to obey my orders.”

“And now here we are,” I said. “What can you do for me, Simon? You’re still bound, you’re still hers, for all I know, you’re leading her here—so what can you do for me?”

He stopped stroking Spike, but left his hand where it was, resting on the rose goblin’s thorny back. “I can bleed,” he said quietly. “I can let you see.”

“Oh,” I said, feeling my eyes go wide and round with surprise. “Yeah. I guess that is something you can do.”

And here I’d been so pleased to be wearing something that wasn’t covered in blood.