One Salt Sea
Page 71
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“Wait—what? You have a daughter?”
“Yeah. Gillian. She lives with her human father. Rayseline took her, and I need to find her, fast, before there’s time for her to suffer any permanent damage.”
Marcia took a short, sharp breath, like she was biting off an exclamation. Then she went quiet, walking with me across the courtyard and down the hall to the kitchen without saying a word.
It wasn’t until I was reaching for the pot of coffee that simmered gently on the stove that she said, very softly, “What makes you think she hasn’t already?”
I paused for a moment, my hand just shy of the handle. Then I finished the motion, trying to let the familiarity of it soothe me. It wasn’t working. Sometimes, even ritual has no comfort left to give. “What do you mean?” I asked.
“I mean . . . Toby, if she lives with her human father, that means she’s a quarter-blood.”
“If that,” I muttered darkly. “What’s your point?”
“Does she even know Faerie exists? How do you know she hasn’t already been hurt, just by finding out how much she doesn’t know?” Marcia shook her head. “I’ve known a lot of changelings who couldn’t cope with learning that their parents—” She stopped mid-sentence, looking stricken.
I sighed, and finished, “With learning that their parents lied to them. Because that’s what we do when we play faerie bride. We lie. We lie to our lovers, and we lie to ourselves, and if we’re really lucky, when our children find out that we’re liars, they forgive us, and grow up to become liars in their own right.”
“Yeah.” Marcia bit her lip, looking at me. “You lied to her, Toby. For her whole life. And now she’s in a situation she never had a reason to prepare for, and she’s probably scared to death, and I mean, you’re right, we need to get her back, but I don’t think we can say she hasn’t already been hurt.”
Her words hurt more than I could have imagined. I closed my eyes for a moment, counting slowly to ten before I opened them again, and said, “That doesn’t matter. All that matters now is that I’m going to get her back. I’m going to find a way to save her.”
“And you’re going to stop the war at the same time, right?”
“I . . .” I paused. I was starting to feel overwhelmed. Too much was happening. I just wanted to crawl into a cup of coffee and wait until it all went away. “I’m going to do the best I can.”
Marcia nodded. “I guess that’s all I can ask for. What are you going to do now?”
Every inch of me ached to be moving, to be making some progress toward finding my daughter. At the same time, I knew that I needed to stop and breathe before I did that, or I was just going to get myself killed.
I realized, without much surprise, that I wished Connor were there. Maybe we were about to be on different sides of a war and maybe we weren’t, and either way, I didn’t care. Everything I loved was in danger. I wanted him to put his arms around me and tell me it was going to be okay.
I sighed, and asked, “Could you make me a sandwich?”
Marcia smiled, motioning for me to sit down before she moved toward the icebox. “How do you feel about strawberry-and-chicken sandwiches?”
“I think I speak with complete honesty when I say that I have no opinion on strawberry-and-chicken sandwiches,” I said, abandoning my reach for the coffee and settling on the bench. “Just make it something I can take in the car with me. As soon as May gets here, I’m gone.”
“You’ve got it,” said Marcia, and got to work.
I propped my elbow on the table and cradled my chin in my hand, watching her. It was weirdly soothing. Making a sandwich was a simple domestic activity, and the fact that we were on the verge of war did nothing to change that. If Marcia were asked to make sandwiches in the middle of a battlefield, she’d probably do it the exact same way.
Doing things the exact same way wasn’t an option for me—not now. I’d dealt with big issues in the past, but this one was more personal than anything had ever been before. Gillian. Oak and ash, Gillian. She was the one thing that was never supposed to be touched by Faerie and its troubles; after she shut me out of her life, she should have been home free. Instead, she was lost, and completely unprepared for what was happening to her. And it was all my fault. If I’d been there for her, if I’d forced her to let me come back, this might not have happened. As it was . . .
I needed to focus. I pinched the skin between my left thumb and forefinger until it turned white and I had to bite my lip to keep from exclaiming at the pain. It was enough to snap me out of my growing despondence. According to the night-haunts, the children were probably being held in an underground room with stone walls, one where the air smelled like redwoods, old earth, and spices. None of those things were as much of a lead as I wanted them to be. Redwoods aren’t as common in the Bay Area as they used to be—the humans cut down most of the old forests when they moved in—but there are still enough of them around that I couldn’t go: “A-ha, they must be in this one specific place.” If they were in a shallowing, they wouldn’t need to worry about earthquakes, which meant the room could have been dug almost anywhere, even right above an earthquake fault. As for the spices . . .
I sat upright, eyes widening. I was still sitting that way, frozen, when Marcia walked over and set a mug in front of me. “Here,” she said. “Coffee, two sugars, no cream. I’ll have your sandwich in a few minutes.”
I reached for the cup without thinking about it, raised it to my lips, and took a large gulp. The near-boiling coffee hit the back of my throat. I immediately started coughing.
Marcia looked alarmed. “Toby? Are you okay?”
No. “Yeah, I’m fine. The coffee’s just a little hot.” I put the cup down gingerly. “I’ll let that sit for a minute. Marcia, have you ever met a man named Dugan Harrow? He serves in the Queen’s Court.”
“Um . . . he’s Daoine Sidhe, right? Blue hair, sort of snooty?”
“That’s the one.”
“I’ve met him a few times.” She didn’t try to hide her disdain. “He came around the Tea Gardens once.”
That was news to me. “Really? What for?”
“He was trying to convince Lily to swear to the Queen of the Mists. He promised her anything she wanted, if she would just be the one to crack open the door keeping the Queen out of Golden Gate Park.”
“Yeah. Gillian. She lives with her human father. Rayseline took her, and I need to find her, fast, before there’s time for her to suffer any permanent damage.”
Marcia took a short, sharp breath, like she was biting off an exclamation. Then she went quiet, walking with me across the courtyard and down the hall to the kitchen without saying a word.
It wasn’t until I was reaching for the pot of coffee that simmered gently on the stove that she said, very softly, “What makes you think she hasn’t already?”
I paused for a moment, my hand just shy of the handle. Then I finished the motion, trying to let the familiarity of it soothe me. It wasn’t working. Sometimes, even ritual has no comfort left to give. “What do you mean?” I asked.
“I mean . . . Toby, if she lives with her human father, that means she’s a quarter-blood.”
“If that,” I muttered darkly. “What’s your point?”
“Does she even know Faerie exists? How do you know she hasn’t already been hurt, just by finding out how much she doesn’t know?” Marcia shook her head. “I’ve known a lot of changelings who couldn’t cope with learning that their parents—” She stopped mid-sentence, looking stricken.
I sighed, and finished, “With learning that their parents lied to them. Because that’s what we do when we play faerie bride. We lie. We lie to our lovers, and we lie to ourselves, and if we’re really lucky, when our children find out that we’re liars, they forgive us, and grow up to become liars in their own right.”
“Yeah.” Marcia bit her lip, looking at me. “You lied to her, Toby. For her whole life. And now she’s in a situation she never had a reason to prepare for, and she’s probably scared to death, and I mean, you’re right, we need to get her back, but I don’t think we can say she hasn’t already been hurt.”
Her words hurt more than I could have imagined. I closed my eyes for a moment, counting slowly to ten before I opened them again, and said, “That doesn’t matter. All that matters now is that I’m going to get her back. I’m going to find a way to save her.”
“And you’re going to stop the war at the same time, right?”
“I . . .” I paused. I was starting to feel overwhelmed. Too much was happening. I just wanted to crawl into a cup of coffee and wait until it all went away. “I’m going to do the best I can.”
Marcia nodded. “I guess that’s all I can ask for. What are you going to do now?”
Every inch of me ached to be moving, to be making some progress toward finding my daughter. At the same time, I knew that I needed to stop and breathe before I did that, or I was just going to get myself killed.
I realized, without much surprise, that I wished Connor were there. Maybe we were about to be on different sides of a war and maybe we weren’t, and either way, I didn’t care. Everything I loved was in danger. I wanted him to put his arms around me and tell me it was going to be okay.
I sighed, and asked, “Could you make me a sandwich?”
Marcia smiled, motioning for me to sit down before she moved toward the icebox. “How do you feel about strawberry-and-chicken sandwiches?”
“I think I speak with complete honesty when I say that I have no opinion on strawberry-and-chicken sandwiches,” I said, abandoning my reach for the coffee and settling on the bench. “Just make it something I can take in the car with me. As soon as May gets here, I’m gone.”
“You’ve got it,” said Marcia, and got to work.
I propped my elbow on the table and cradled my chin in my hand, watching her. It was weirdly soothing. Making a sandwich was a simple domestic activity, and the fact that we were on the verge of war did nothing to change that. If Marcia were asked to make sandwiches in the middle of a battlefield, she’d probably do it the exact same way.
Doing things the exact same way wasn’t an option for me—not now. I’d dealt with big issues in the past, but this one was more personal than anything had ever been before. Gillian. Oak and ash, Gillian. She was the one thing that was never supposed to be touched by Faerie and its troubles; after she shut me out of her life, she should have been home free. Instead, she was lost, and completely unprepared for what was happening to her. And it was all my fault. If I’d been there for her, if I’d forced her to let me come back, this might not have happened. As it was . . .
I needed to focus. I pinched the skin between my left thumb and forefinger until it turned white and I had to bite my lip to keep from exclaiming at the pain. It was enough to snap me out of my growing despondence. According to the night-haunts, the children were probably being held in an underground room with stone walls, one where the air smelled like redwoods, old earth, and spices. None of those things were as much of a lead as I wanted them to be. Redwoods aren’t as common in the Bay Area as they used to be—the humans cut down most of the old forests when they moved in—but there are still enough of them around that I couldn’t go: “A-ha, they must be in this one specific place.” If they were in a shallowing, they wouldn’t need to worry about earthquakes, which meant the room could have been dug almost anywhere, even right above an earthquake fault. As for the spices . . .
I sat upright, eyes widening. I was still sitting that way, frozen, when Marcia walked over and set a mug in front of me. “Here,” she said. “Coffee, two sugars, no cream. I’ll have your sandwich in a few minutes.”
I reached for the cup without thinking about it, raised it to my lips, and took a large gulp. The near-boiling coffee hit the back of my throat. I immediately started coughing.
Marcia looked alarmed. “Toby? Are you okay?”
No. “Yeah, I’m fine. The coffee’s just a little hot.” I put the cup down gingerly. “I’ll let that sit for a minute. Marcia, have you ever met a man named Dugan Harrow? He serves in the Queen’s Court.”
“Um . . . he’s Daoine Sidhe, right? Blue hair, sort of snooty?”
“That’s the one.”
“I’ve met him a few times.” She didn’t try to hide her disdain. “He came around the Tea Gardens once.”
That was news to me. “Really? What for?”
“He was trying to convince Lily to swear to the Queen of the Mists. He promised her anything she wanted, if she would just be the one to crack open the door keeping the Queen out of Golden Gate Park.”
