The Winter Long
Page 79

“He needed iron and silver,” I said, eliciting another nod. “But . . . how can you tell me this? I thought you said the geas still held.”
“Oh, it does, it does,” said the Luidaeg, with almost giddy gleefulness. “I can’t say her name. I can call her all sorts of unpleasant things, as long as they’ve never been her name. But I don’t need to. You figured her out.”
“I didn’t have much of a choice,” I said.
The Luidaeg sighed. “She’s always been a pushy one. Most of my half sisters are, or were, but she was the worst of a bad lot. It’s because her mother encouraged that sort of behavior. ‘Prove you’re worthy of my love’ and all that crap.” She walked over to the stove, where a large pot of something that smelled like rosemary and fish was simmering. “When’s the last time you ate?”
“Tybalt fed me before we came here,” I said.
She turned to give me an assessing look. “Uh-huh. And was that before or after you spent half a day bleeding on your living room floor? That shirt’s ruined, by the way.”
“You could have at least stuffed some tissues in my nose,” I snapped, and walked past her to run a hand along Tybalt’s side. He was breathing regularly, and stretched in response to the touch. “Hey. Wake up. I need to know that you’re okay, and you need to keep me from killing the Luidaeg. Again.”
She snorted in amusement. “I’d like to see you try. How did he get you to sit still and eat?”
“I fainted,” I admitted. “I sort of did too much blood magic on too little sleep and even less food.”
“I swear, October, my sister’s not going to need to have you killed. You’re going to kill yourself and save her the trouble.” She took two bowls from the cabinet, moving as easily as if this had been her kitchen for years. “Wake up your kitty. You’re going to eat while we talk.”
“Because food is more important than stopping Evening?” I snapped.
The Luidaeg glanced at me again, a wave of blackness moving across her driftglass eyes like a shadow crossing the moon. Then it passed, and they were just eyes again. “No. Because when you’re at war, you eat every time you get the chance. There’s no way of knowing when you’ll have another opportunity. Now sit, and I’ll tell you everything the geas allows.”
“We don’t have time for this,” I grumbled, and stroked Tybalt again. “Wake up.”
He lifted his shaggy tabby head, opening his eyes, and blinked at me blearily. Then he blinked again and flowed to his feet, jumping to the floor where he became a man. A naked man. I’d seen it all before, but the Luidaeg hadn’t, and she whistled appreciatively.
“Very nice.”
Tybalt whirled. “Luidaeg! You’re—”
“Go put on pants, please, for the love of Maeve, I cannot have this conversation if you are not wearing any pants,” I snapped, pushing him toward the door before he could get over the shock of the Luidaeg’s appearance and notice that I was once again covered in blood.
Tybalt glanced back, eyes narrowing. Oh, great. He’d noticed the blood. “I will return,” he said ominously, and stepped into the hall.
“I hate this, I hate this—why wasn’t he wearing pants?” I bolted for the sink and grabbed a handful of paper towels, attempting to scrub off the worst of the blood.
“Because for Cait Sidhe, transforming their clothes takes focus and will, and he didn’t change forms voluntarily,” said the Luidaeg, getting down another bowl. “I found him on the floor when I got here. I thought I would do well to keep an eye on him.”
“Good plan,” I agreed grudgingly, as I dropped my wad of bloody paper towels into the trash. My shirt was a lost cause. I slouched to the table and sat, too tired and dizzy to argue with her. “We need to be figuring out how to stop Evening, not sitting here and eating soup.”
“If we don’t sit here and eat soup, you’re going to collapse,” said the Luidaeg, setting a bowl of what smelled like fish chowder in front of me. “You lost more blood than you realize. You need to get your strength back up.”
“It’s been a bleeding sort of day,” I grumbled, and took the spoon she handed me.
The kitchen door swung open as Tybalt returned, now fully clothed. “You are covered in blood,” he accused, pointing at me.
“I noticed,” I said.
“She noticed,” the Luidaeg said. “Everyone noticed. Now sit down. You need to eat some soup.”
Tybalt blinked at her, nonplussed. “I beg your pardon?”
The Luidaeg groaned. “You know, sometimes I miss the days when all I had to do was tell people to do something and they did it, out of fear that if they didn’t, their skeletons would be outside of their bodies. The soup is going to help. Simon whammied you both, and his magic is all over you. This will purge it. It will also taste delicious, because I have been making medicinal chowder longer than either of your family lines has been alive. It’s my own recipe. Toby, I used all your potatoes.”
“Um, that’s okay,” I said, and took a bite of chowder. It was, as promised, delicious, sweet and savory at the same time, with chunks of potato swimming in the creamy broth. I thought I’d eaten too recently to be hungry, but my stomach roared at the taste, making it clear that my body had other ideas. Also, as promised, I started feeling better almost immediately.
“While you were asleep, I took the liberty of redoing the wards on your house,” said the Luidaeg. “My beloved sister won’t be able to tell that I’m here. And you shouldn’t need to recast them for a century or so.”
“So your magic has returned?” asked Tybalt.
“My magic never went anywhere,” said the Luidaeg. “I wasn’t dead long enough for the spells I’ve been maintaining for years to collapse, thank Dad. There are some lovely palaces at the bottom of the sea that would have dissolved into foam, and at least one Cetacea who’s currently enjoying life on two legs who would’ve stunned the crowds at Sea World. Until the night-haunts came for me, there was still a chance. My beloved sister did a great job of killing me. October did a better job of bringing me back.”
“It’s always nice to be good at something.” I took another bite of chowder, swallowing quickly. “Luidaeg—”