The sky was turning rose and gold around the edges by the time I parked in the shadow of one of the old oak groves. Quentin and I didn’t discuss what we were going to do next; we just got out of the car, both of us heading as fast as we could for the shelter of the trees. If any early morning joggers wanted to park in this lot, they’d see the car, but they wouldn’t see us. Hopefully, that would give us time to put on human disguises, hide, or both before we got caught. The car was just out of sight when the sun came up, and the world came down.
“Not as bad as it used to be” doesn’t mean “pleasant.” The light knocked the air out of my lungs. I grabbed the nearest tree, clinging for dear life as I tried to avoid crumpling to the muddy path. Dimly, through my tears, I could see Quentin doing the same thing a few trees away. The ashy smell of broken illusions rose around us.
Dawn is difficult to describe. When I was little, I honestly thought I was dying every time the sun rose. I couldn’t imagine what it must have been like for Chelsea, whose mother couldn’t truly understand what she was going through or why she stopped breathing, like clockwork, every morning at sunrise. It’s the death of magic, the end of faerie time, and it hits us like a hammer.
Dawn passed quickly—dawn always passes—and we were fortunate: no joggers or pre-work dog walkers came down the path before we were able to straighten up, put our human faces back on, and make ourselves look halfway presentable.
“Well,” I said, with forced jocularity. “Ready to go and sit in rush hour traffic for the foreseeable future?”
Quentin looked at me mournfully. “Can we stop for food first? I’m starving.”
“You’re a teenage boy. You’re always starving.”
“That’s a good reason to feed me.”
I had to smile at that. “Drive-through okay?”
“After as much time as I’ve spent with you? Please. I didn’t expect anything better.”
We were still laughing as we walked out of the trees—as much a stress reaction as anything else. In addition to knocking down any small spells, the pressure of dawn tends to cause a massive fight-or-flight response, which is just cruel, since the pain of dawn makes both options impossible. The end result is a lot of extra adrenaline in the bloodstream, frequently followed by a massive collapse. There’s a reason most fae go to bed shortly after sunrise.
Our laughter died when the parking lot came into view. Quentin stopped dead. I took one more step forward, reaching back to press my palm against his chest. It was the clearest way I could tell him to stay where he was without actually speaking.
Then again, the creature stretched out on top of the car might have been enough to keep him from moving.
“Toby…”
“I see it.”
Whatever it was, it was the size of a cow, and looked like what you’d get if you somehow managed to cross a beaver and a crocodile, looked at the results, and decided what your new monster really needed was a bunch of extra teeth. Its eyes were closed, and its head was resting on its webbed forepaws. That was probably the only reason it hadn’t spotted us yet.
Keeping my hand against Quentin’s chest, I started backing him up. He went willingly. Once we were hidden by the trees, I stopped, dropping my hand. “That’s…new,” I said, slowly.
“What is it?”
“Big. Carnivorous, if the teeth are anything to go by. Big. On top of the car. Big. Possibly dangerous. Oh, and did I mention big?”
“I was starting to get the idea that it might be big, yeah,” said Quentin, peering around me. Fear made what might have been a sarcastic comment sound sincere. “What now?”
“I don’t know. Even if we wanted to ditch the car, we can’t get out of here without going past the thing.”
Quentin sounded suddenly hopeful as he asked, “Do you have your sword?”
“Yes.” He brightened. “It’s in the car.” He dimmed again. I continued, “Besides, even if I had my sword with me, I’m not going to attack something I’ve never seen before. What if it spits acid? Or grows new heads when you cut off the old one? Attacking mystery monsters is never a good idea.”
“Well, we can’t stay in the woods forever. We have things to do.”
“I’m aware.” I peeked around the trees, checking to be sure the monster was still on the car. It was. At least that meant we knew where it was. I retreated back to my position next to Quentin. “Keep an eye on the thing. Let me know if it moves.”
“What should I do if it tries to eat me?”
“Scream.” I pulled my cell phone from my jacket pocket, taking a few more steps into the cover of the trees before dialing the most useful number I could think of: Shadowed Hills. When it comes to getting rid of monsters, there’s no one better than my liege lord, Duke Sylvester Torquill.
The phone rang six times—enough that I was starting to worry that everyone had gone to bed—before someone picked up the other end. A bleary female voice said, “Hello?”
“Melly, hey.” Melly has been working at Shadowed Hills almost as long as the Duchy has existed. She’s also the mother of one of my childhood friends, a half-Hob changeling named Kerry. Nothing happens at Shadowed Hills without Melly knowing about it. “It’s Toby. Look, uh, sorry about calling this late. Is the Duke up?”
“Toby?” Melly’s tone sharpened, bleariness falling away. “Darlin’, what are you doing out of bed, with the sun full up? Are you feeling all right? Do I need to bring you some soup?”
“I’m fine, really, and so is Quentin. I just need to talk to Sylvester. Is he up?”
“For you, m’dear, he’s always up. Just you wait here, and I’ll fetch him for you.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” I said, glancing toward Quentin. He was staring at the monster, an expression of intent concentration on his face. “I’m not going anywhere.”
It took almost ten minutes for Melly to rouse Sylvester and drag him back to the phone—ten minutes Quentin and I spent waiting for the monster on my car to wake up and come looking for a snack. Finally, there was a scuffling sound as the receiver was picked up, and my liege said, “October? What’s wrong?”
Voice tight, I said, “I’m in Tilden Park with Quentin. We’re at the picnic area near the big lake. There’s something on my car, and I don’t know what it is.”
“What do you mean by ‘something’?” asked Sylvester. The cobwebs were clearing from his voice as he woke up, leaving him sharp and focused. That was good. I needed him focused.
“I mean it’s the size of a cow, it’s got fur and scales and a really disturbing number of teeth, and since I don’t know what it is, I don’t know if it’s going to try to eat me if I get near it.”
There was a long pause. Finally, Sylvester said, “That seems less than ideal.”
“Yeah, it is. Do you have any ideas?”
“Yes. You should stay where you are. Etienne and I will be right there.”
“Sylvester—” The line went dead. I clicked my phone shut, glaring at it for a moment before looking toward Quentin and saying, “He’s on his way.”
“Maybe he’ll bring a sword.”
“Maybe he’ll bring a tank.” I shook my head. “I hate being rescued.”
“So why aren’t we trying to get to the car?”
“Because I hate being eaten even more.”
We stayed in the shelter of the trees for another ten minutes, occasionally stealing glances at the monster on my car. Our luck was holding, thus far; no humans had shown up to discover our unwanted hitchhiker and freak out as a natural consequence. Most fae know when an illusion is being cast on them. I didn’t dare use a don’t-look-here on the monster; that might just wake it up, and I had serious doubts about whether it was going to wake up friendly.
The smell of limes and cedar smoke drifted from the clearing behind us a half-second before I heard footsteps crunching on the blanket of fallen leaves covering the dry ground. I turned, relieved, to see Sylvester and Etienne stepping out of a hole cut into the air.
/> “Your Grace,” I said, dipping a quick curtsy. Etienne’s eyes were fixed on my face as I straightened, clearly searching for the answer to a question he wasn’t willing to voice aloud. I gave a small shake of my head. He looked disappointed, but nodded.
Sylvester looked between us, one eyebrow raised. “Is there something I should know?”
“Not yet,” I said.
“There are times when I wish I didn’t trust you quite so thoroughly,” said Sylvester, looking faintly amused. “I am glad you called me.”
“Who else am I going to call when there’s a monster on my car?” Still, I let him pull me into a hug, taking a moment—just a moment, but a precious one—to relax into the dogwood and daffodil smell of his arms. Sylvester has meant safety my whole life, ever since the night he stepped out of the air and asked whether I wanted to be fae or human. It’s supposed to be your fae parent who offers you the Changeling’s Choice. Amandine wouldn’t, so he did. He’s been a sort of father to me ever since, even when I wasn’t willing to admit that to myself.
Like Quentin, Sylvester is Daoine Sidhe. Also like Quentin, Sylvester is upsettingly attractive, with hair the color of fox fur and eyes like summer honey. Every Torquill I’ve ever met has had those eyes. He used to be a hero, before he retired to Shadowed Hills and took up full-time regency. He’s also the man who taught me how to hold a sword, although he’s a hell of a lot better than I’m ever likely to be. I attribute it to a combination of natural talent and centuries of practice.
Sylvester let me go, stepping back. “Now,” he said. “About this monster.”
I appreciated that he wasn’t going to take this as an opportunity to remind me that I was welcome at Shadowed Hills whenever I wanted to come, or to tell me I didn’t visit enough. Shadowed Hills had meant Connor for too long, during the years when he was married to Sylvester’s daughter, Rayseline. I was already haunted by my own memory. I didn’t need to be haunted by the halls where my lover had lived.
Motioning for everyone to be quiet, I waved Sylvester and Etienne to the edge of the trees and pointed to the brown hulk atop my car. Sylvester gasped. And then he did the last thing I expected: he left the cover of the trees and ran, empty-handed, toward the monster.
“Sylvester!” I hissed. I whipped around to stare at Etienne. “Stop him! He’s going to get hurt!”
Etienne had an odd look on his face, like he was unsure whether or not he was dreaming. “No,” he said, slowly. “I don’t believe he is.”
“Whoa,” said Quentin.
I turned back to the parking lot. Sylvester had reached the creature and was scratching it behind one of its small round ears. The creature was awake, and seemed to be enjoying the attention; it was wagging its spadelike tail, slamming it against my car’s rear windshield.
“What the…?”
“It is an Afanc,” said Etienne, sounding stunned. “There is an Afanc atop your car.”
My own eyes widened. “What? No. That’s not possible. Afanc don’t exist anymore.”
“The evidence would seem to suggest otherwise.”
I just stared. Afanc are fae monsters, like Barghests or bogeys. They live in lakes and marshes and are reasonably harmless, as long as you don’t startle them and get yourself drowned. At least, that’s what the old stories said. No one had seen one in centuries. They weren’t indigenous to the Summerlands, and so far as I knew, they’d never managed to establish a population outside of Faerie. Even if they weren’t extinct, there was no way an Afanc should have been in the mortal world, crushing the roof of my car.
“This is wonderful!” Sylvester twisted around to beam at us, still scratching the Afanc. “I thought they had all been sealed in Tirn Aill!”
A sudden chill washed over me, bringing with it a host of realizations I really didn’t want to have. “Oh, Maeve’s tits,” I whispered.
“What is it?” asked Quentin.
I looked toward him and shook my head before saying—softly enough that Sylvester hopefully wouldn’t hear—“Chelsea.”
It’s easy to forget, living the way we do, that once, every race of fae had a homeland—a place that they came from. Modern fae make knowes and shallowings, carving their homes out of the membrane between the Summerlands and the human world. Firstborn made worlds. Blind Michael’s land, an islet anchored between the Summerlands and one of the lost realms, was the closest I had ever been to those Firstborn-made worlds, and it had been huge and terrible and incredible, all at the same time. Modern fae make homes. Firstborn made homelands.
They didn’t do it alone; maybe that’s why all Blind Michael had was an islet, and all my mother had was a tower. Tirn Aill was the ancestral homeland of a dozen races, including the Tylwyth Teg, Ellyllon, and Coblynau. Their Firstborn had worked together to open and shape it, making it a perfect place for their descendants to live. None of the deep realms were paradise—paradise gets boring—but they were perfect. And they had been lost for over five hundred years, the doors sealed by Oberon himself before he disappeared.
Once, the Tuatha de Dannan were responsible for guarding the doors between worlds. It was their duty and their joy, at least to hear them talk about it. They kept each world’s monsters safely contained and prevented wars from spilling from one world into the next. When Oberon sealed the doors, the Tuatha were left with no purpose. But a Tuatha changeling with more power than she knew what to do with, who didn’t know yet what was impossible…
Chelsea was in real trouble. So were the rest of us.
Sylvester had managed to coax the Afanc off the car, although it had shattered the rear windshield in the process of getting down. It was flopped on its back in the gravel, letting him scratch its belly. One of its hind legs was waving lazily, like there was also a bit of dog worked into the beaver and crocodile soup of its heritage. “Come meet him!” he called. “He won’t bite.”
“Says you,” I said, stealing a glance at Etienne. He looked stricken. I suppose hearing me imply that his daughter might have started importing monsters from the deeper realms of Faerie was a bit of a shock. I started forward, gesturing for Quentin to follow. “How’s my car?”
Sylvester stopped scratching the Afanc as he looked up and grimaced. “I can pay for the repairs.”
I winced. “That’s not what I wanted to hear.” The Afanc was a lot less scary-looking stretched out on the ground with its tongue lolling. I gave it a thoughtful look, putting off checking my car as long as I possibly could. “Why does it have all those teeth if it’s friendly?”
“The Afanc is a fish eater, and some of the fish in Tirn Aill are well-equipped to defend themselves,” said Sylvester. “October, what are you doing out here?”
So Etienne hadn’t told him. Swell. “I’m on a case. We needed a place to park while the sun came up, and when we tried to get back on the road, your beastie was crashed out on the roof of my car.” That was it; I couldn’t put it off any longer. Lifting my head, I looked at the car and cringed.
I could probably have handled the cracks in the front windshield, and the sudden absence of the rear windshield. I’ve driven worse. But the weight of the Afanc had collapsed the roof of my poor VW bug, pressing it down until the metal actually grazed the tops of the seats. There was no way I could drive the car like that. I’ve lost cars in the line of duty before. Usually, I’m at least driving them at the time. I raked my hair back with both hands, staring at the damage.
“I’m sorry, October. The Afanc didn’t know.” Sylvester sounded genuinely apologetic. That wasn’t going to fix my car. “I will pay for your repairs.”
“That’s nice,” I said faintly. “What are you going to do with the Afanc?”
“Take him back to Shadowed Hills. There’s a lake near the rear wall of the ballroom. We can let him stay there until we find out where he came from.” I turned to blink at Sylvester. He shrugged. “Whoever has lost him must miss him. To keep a creature this magnificent in such good health for so long…it’s a labor of love. I woul
dn’t want his owner to worry.”
Understanding dawned: Sylvester thought the Afanc had escaped from some sort of menagerie. It wasn’t that far outside the realm of possibility. Fae nobles keep all sorts of strange things in their knowes, and exotic pets are popular, even in Faerie. The Afanc would have been the jewel of someone’s collection. It would have been nice to think that he was right. But when I breathed in deeply I could smell the faintest trace of sycamore smoke and lilies, along with a sweet, clean scent, like air that had never known human pollution. The Afanc didn’t come from a menagerie. It came from Tirn Aill.
I continued turning until I was facing Etienne. When he met my eyes, I raised an eyebrow and waited. He gave a small shake of his head, expression pleading.
Sometimes I hate being a soft touch. “Can I borrow Etienne before you take the Afanc home? I need to get to the Luidaeg’s. Quentin and I have business with her, and I’d really like to catch her before she goes to bed for the day.” I wasn’t lying, not really. I was just leaving certain things out, like where the Afanc had probably come from.
“Certainly. If you leave me the number for your mechanic, I can call and arrange both the collection of your car and payment for service.”
I hesitated. Sylvester has more money than he could spend in a dozen lifetimes, but I sometimes still feel bad about letting him spend it on me. A glance at my wounded car killed the hesitation. If he could afford the repairs, let him. “I don’t have a mechanic, but Danny does.”
“Then we’ll call Danny and have him call his mechanic.”
“I appreciate it.” I read off Danny’s number from my cell phone.
Sylvester didn’t write it down. He just nodded, continuing to rub the Afanc’s belly. I blinked. He smiled. “Come from an era where courtship depends on how much poetry you can memorize, my dear, and you, too, will develop an excellent memory.”
Thinking about Sylvester courting Luna was like thinking about my parents having sex. I wrinkled my nose. “I’m going to skip dwelling on that one. We’ll have Etienne back to you as soon as we can.”
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