The Winter Long
Page 13
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In the end, I decided to go with aggressive honesty. My headache was enough to make anything else seem like too much work. “Guilty as charged. I didn’t wake you because I don’t want you anywhere near Simon Torquill, okay? This is the man who turned me into a fish for fourteen years. Now he’s trying to feed me some bullshit line about how he did it to ‘save me,’ which means he’s delusional on top of everything else. So, yeah, you’re staying home. I’m not going to be the girl who gets the Crown Prince killed.”
“I’m still your squire. That comes first until my training is finished,” Quentin shot back. “I’m not staying behind. You know I can follow you. Do you really want to make me do that?”
I glared at him. “I hate you.”
“I know.”
“You will do exactly what I say at all times. That includes backing off if I say something is too dangerous for you. Do you understand?”
“You’re my knight,” he said, almost cheerful now that he knew he was getting his way. “I do what you tell me to do.”
“That’ll be a cold day in Mag Mell,” I muttered, and stalked toward the stairs. “Come on. We need to ward this place to kingdom come before we get on the road.”
We walked down the stairs side by side, our shoulders brushing the walls. I managed to swallow most of my relief—I wasn’t going out there alone—but I couldn’t swallow my dread. The only place I knew for sure that Simon wasn’t was the house. By leaving it, I exposed myself to him, wherever he might be lurking. I took some small comfort in knowing that the spell he’d thrown at me had hit him. Hopefully, the bastard was a pigeon or something by now.
May and Jazz were no longer in the kitchen. My former Fetch had dragged or carried her unconscious girlfriend into the living room, and was busy warding the windows while Jasmine slept on the couch. May looked around when Quentin and I appeared in the doorway.
“I didn’t wake him up on purpose,” she said. “He must have heard the noise from the kitchen, same as I did.”
“I’m a little insulted that you all thought you could have a major fight in the house and not wake me up,” said Quentin.
“You’re a teenage boy. You could sleep through a nuclear bomb. Now go ward the front door and the mail slot against intrusions.”
“Don’t try to leave without me,” he said, and ran off to do as he’d been told.
I watched him go, managing to keep my expression mostly composed until he was out of sight. Then I turned back to May, allowing my fear to show. “He’s not going to let me leave him behind.”
“No, he’s not.” She muttered a line from what sounded like a They Might Be Giants song, waggling her fingers at the window as she spoke. The smell of cotton candy and ashes filled the room, layering on top of the traces of her magic that had already been present. She turned back to me. “That’s good. You’d worry about him just as much if you let him out of your sight, and you’re not exactly rational where Simon is concerned.”
“He tried to turn your girlfriend into a fish!”
“I’m not exactly rational where Simon is concerned, either,” she said wearily. She walked back across the living room and perched on the arm of the couch, reaching down to stroke Jazz’s hair. “I’d be the worst kind of backup possible right now—the kind who just wants to go home and take care of someone she loves. But that doesn’t mean I want you going out alone.”
“I told the cats to find Tybalt,” I said, feeling somehow ashamed of myself for wanting to run before any of my allies could put themselves in the line of fire for me. I couldn’t handle it if they got hurt. Not by this. Not by him.
“That’s a start.” May looked up, meeting my eyes. There was nothing soft in her face, not now; in that moment, she looked like an avenging angel. “Find him. Hurt him. Please.”
“I’ll do my best.” Footsteps in the hall behind me signaled Quentin’s return. I turned as he skidded into view. “Ready?”
Relief suffused his features. “I thought you’d try to sneak out while I was distracted.”
“Nah. What kind of knight would I be if I didn’t endanger your life for no good reason?”
He smiled—a brief, forced expression that died as soon as he looked past me to Jazz’s sleeping form. “A bad one,” he said.
“I guess that’s true. May? Call if there’s any change.”
“I will,” she said. “Open roads. Kick his ass.”
“You got it,” I said, and went.
Quentin and I paused by the back door long enough to spin human disguises and drape them over ourselves like shrouds. Fear and anger made the casting faster than usual, even though the spell itself made my head throb. Strong emotions have always fueled my illusions that way, even back when I believed I was Daoine Sidhe, when illusions were supposed to be part of my birthright.
“How many traffic laws are you planning to break?” Quentin asked, as we walked out to the car, checked the backseat for unwanted passengers, and got inside.
I fastened my belt, stuck the key in the ignition, and bared my teeth in the semblance of a smile. “All of them,” I said, and hit the gas.
Quentin seemed to have been expecting that answer. He grabbed a handful of air, singing a verse from a song about boats—the kid had an endless supply of songs about boats—as his magic rose and burst, filling the car with the smell of steel and heather. I felt the weight of his don’t-look-here spell settle over us as we reached the end of the driveway. It was a more sophisticated illusion than the one that made us seem human. It would keep us from being pulled over or ticketed during the drive, and all I had to do was remember that most of the other drivers couldn’t see me, which could make avoiding a collision a little more exciting than usual. It was a worthy tradeoff, especially considering the land-speed records that I was about to break.
On a good day, with no traffic, it takes about an hour to get from my house in San Francisco to my liege’s knowe in Pleasant Hill, the mortal suburb that conceals the fae Duchy of Shadowed Hills. There was traffic. Not as bad as it would have been during rush hour, but enough that despite breaking every posted speed limit and a few rules of common sense, it was still almost ninety minutes later when we reached the parking lot at Paso Nogal Park. I pulled into the first available parking space, nerves rattled from the drive, and unfastened my seat belt.
“I’m still your squire. That comes first until my training is finished,” Quentin shot back. “I’m not staying behind. You know I can follow you. Do you really want to make me do that?”
I glared at him. “I hate you.”
“I know.”
“You will do exactly what I say at all times. That includes backing off if I say something is too dangerous for you. Do you understand?”
“You’re my knight,” he said, almost cheerful now that he knew he was getting his way. “I do what you tell me to do.”
“That’ll be a cold day in Mag Mell,” I muttered, and stalked toward the stairs. “Come on. We need to ward this place to kingdom come before we get on the road.”
We walked down the stairs side by side, our shoulders brushing the walls. I managed to swallow most of my relief—I wasn’t going out there alone—but I couldn’t swallow my dread. The only place I knew for sure that Simon wasn’t was the house. By leaving it, I exposed myself to him, wherever he might be lurking. I took some small comfort in knowing that the spell he’d thrown at me had hit him. Hopefully, the bastard was a pigeon or something by now.
May and Jazz were no longer in the kitchen. My former Fetch had dragged or carried her unconscious girlfriend into the living room, and was busy warding the windows while Jasmine slept on the couch. May looked around when Quentin and I appeared in the doorway.
“I didn’t wake him up on purpose,” she said. “He must have heard the noise from the kitchen, same as I did.”
“I’m a little insulted that you all thought you could have a major fight in the house and not wake me up,” said Quentin.
“You’re a teenage boy. You could sleep through a nuclear bomb. Now go ward the front door and the mail slot against intrusions.”
“Don’t try to leave without me,” he said, and ran off to do as he’d been told.
I watched him go, managing to keep my expression mostly composed until he was out of sight. Then I turned back to May, allowing my fear to show. “He’s not going to let me leave him behind.”
“No, he’s not.” She muttered a line from what sounded like a They Might Be Giants song, waggling her fingers at the window as she spoke. The smell of cotton candy and ashes filled the room, layering on top of the traces of her magic that had already been present. She turned back to me. “That’s good. You’d worry about him just as much if you let him out of your sight, and you’re not exactly rational where Simon is concerned.”
“He tried to turn your girlfriend into a fish!”
“I’m not exactly rational where Simon is concerned, either,” she said wearily. She walked back across the living room and perched on the arm of the couch, reaching down to stroke Jazz’s hair. “I’d be the worst kind of backup possible right now—the kind who just wants to go home and take care of someone she loves. But that doesn’t mean I want you going out alone.”
“I told the cats to find Tybalt,” I said, feeling somehow ashamed of myself for wanting to run before any of my allies could put themselves in the line of fire for me. I couldn’t handle it if they got hurt. Not by this. Not by him.
“That’s a start.” May looked up, meeting my eyes. There was nothing soft in her face, not now; in that moment, she looked like an avenging angel. “Find him. Hurt him. Please.”
“I’ll do my best.” Footsteps in the hall behind me signaled Quentin’s return. I turned as he skidded into view. “Ready?”
Relief suffused his features. “I thought you’d try to sneak out while I was distracted.”
“Nah. What kind of knight would I be if I didn’t endanger your life for no good reason?”
He smiled—a brief, forced expression that died as soon as he looked past me to Jazz’s sleeping form. “A bad one,” he said.
“I guess that’s true. May? Call if there’s any change.”
“I will,” she said. “Open roads. Kick his ass.”
“You got it,” I said, and went.
Quentin and I paused by the back door long enough to spin human disguises and drape them over ourselves like shrouds. Fear and anger made the casting faster than usual, even though the spell itself made my head throb. Strong emotions have always fueled my illusions that way, even back when I believed I was Daoine Sidhe, when illusions were supposed to be part of my birthright.
“How many traffic laws are you planning to break?” Quentin asked, as we walked out to the car, checked the backseat for unwanted passengers, and got inside.
I fastened my belt, stuck the key in the ignition, and bared my teeth in the semblance of a smile. “All of them,” I said, and hit the gas.
Quentin seemed to have been expecting that answer. He grabbed a handful of air, singing a verse from a song about boats—the kid had an endless supply of songs about boats—as his magic rose and burst, filling the car with the smell of steel and heather. I felt the weight of his don’t-look-here spell settle over us as we reached the end of the driveway. It was a more sophisticated illusion than the one that made us seem human. It would keep us from being pulled over or ticketed during the drive, and all I had to do was remember that most of the other drivers couldn’t see me, which could make avoiding a collision a little more exciting than usual. It was a worthy tradeoff, especially considering the land-speed records that I was about to break.
On a good day, with no traffic, it takes about an hour to get from my house in San Francisco to my liege’s knowe in Pleasant Hill, the mortal suburb that conceals the fae Duchy of Shadowed Hills. There was traffic. Not as bad as it would have been during rush hour, but enough that despite breaking every posted speed limit and a few rules of common sense, it was still almost ninety minutes later when we reached the parking lot at Paso Nogal Park. I pulled into the first available parking space, nerves rattled from the drive, and unfastened my seat belt.
