Chimes at Midnight: An October Daye Novel

by Seanan McGuire

  May pulled a face. “The Queen’s Court? Really? Tonight?”

  “I don’t see another way to take care of this, do you? I can’t just sit here and let more changelings die without telling her what’s going on.”

  “Okay.” May looked over her shoulder at Jazz, and then back to me. “We’ll be ready when you are.” She shut the door. I blinked, taking a step back.

  “I guess they’re coming with us,” I said, and turned toward my own room. Tybalt followed, pacing me down the rest of the hall. I flashed him a small smile and said, “You can come in, but you’ll need to sit on the bed while I get changed.”

  “I believe I can manage that,” he said gravely.

  “Cool.” I flicked on my bedroom light, handing Tybalt my half-empty coffee mug before starting for the closet, where I kept my relatively small assortment of Court-suitable formal wear. I shrugged out of my leather jacket, hanging it on the closet doorknob. “I’ve been assuming, but I didn’t ask. Are you coming to the Queen’s Court with me?”

  “I’d like to,” said Tybalt, following my instructions and sitting down on the bed. “I know your Queen thinks little of me, but as she thinks even less of you, my presence cannot help but improve the situation.”

  “If nothing else, it’ll give her something besides me to be pissed off about.” I crossed my arms, scowling at my clothes. Most of the time, when visiting a noble who demanded “proper respect,” I would just have created an illusory dress for myself, weaving it out of dead leaves and butterfly wings and whatever else I had to hand. The Queen of the Mists, unfortunately, didn’t approve of illusions. Whatever I wore was likely to get permanently transformed into something else. Unless I went in assuming she was going to do that. On those occasions, I usually wound up disrespectfully underdressed in front of her entire Court.

  “That is admittedly one of my goals,” said Tybalt.

  “You’re a smart guy—ha!” I pulled a low-cut silk gown the color of dried blood out of the back of my closet. It was surprisingly simple, given that it was one of the Queen’s designs. It had started out as one of my favorite pairs of jeans. I held it up against myself, checking the fit. “What do you think?”

  “I think that, given how often you accessorize yourself with bloodstains, it’s for the best that the color flatters you,” said Tybalt solemnly. He put my coffee down on the bedside table as he leaned back on his hands. “I also think you should wear dresses more often. They make me itch to peel you out of them.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Now isn’t the time, but that’s good to know.” I hung the dress on the back of the door before starting toward the master bathroom, trusting Tybalt to follow. I shed clothing as I went, letting the pieces lie where they fell. “I really don’t want to see the Queen.”

  “I know.”

  “But I can’t handle this on my own, and I can’t go to Sylvester when this isn’t his demesne. I have to find out whether she’s willing to put her dislike of me aside and deal with something that’s a real threat to this Kingdom.” I bent to turn on the shower.

  “I know that too, and I love you for it.” Tybalt’s hand landed on my shoulder. I straightened, turning to face him. It didn’t matter that I was naked and he wasn’t; he didn’t need to be naked to make my knees go weak, especially when he was smiling at me like I was all that mattered in the world. Still smiling, he leaned forward and kissed me.

  I’ll never get used to kissing Tybalt. More, I’ll never get used to being allowed to kiss Tybalt, to it being a normal part of my life that I’m not supposed to think twice about. I leaned into him, reveling in the heat of his skin and the sweetly musky pennyroyal taste of his lips. He put a hand on my upper arm, pulling me toward him, and I raised my own hand to touch his cheek, letting my eyes close. This was real; this was really happening.

  This was why I had to see the Queen. Because for my life to be a calm enough place to allow for moments like this one, I needed her to be doing her goddamn job. I couldn’t take care of the goblin fruit problem without her.

  “Love you, too,” I murmured, as he pulled away from me.

  I opened my eyes to the sight of Tybalt’s smile. “I’ll never tire of hearing you say that.” He let go of my arm. “Please allow me to help with the laces on your gown when you’re ready.”

  “Gladly.” The moment over, I stepped into the shower, pulling the curtain closed between us.

  I showered quickly—something that wouldn’t have been possible if Tybalt hadn’t gone back into the bedroom; I was angry and worried, not dead—and dried my hair with a towel as I walked back to meet him. He had the dress unlaced and ready to lower over my head.

  It fit like it had been made for me, which technically, it had been. Tybalt laced me into it, pulling the bodice so tight that I couldn’t have concealed anything in my cleavage if I’d wanted to. I squeaked in protest, and he kissed the side of my neck before giving the laces one last tug and saying, “If you appear to have suffered in the name of fashion, she will respect you all the more for your efforts. You are stunning. Now you only need to do something with your hair, and you’ll be the prettiest potential accuser at the ball.”

  “I feel like a giant Barbie.”

  “I do not become romantically involved with plastic people,” said Tybalt dryly.

  “That makes me feel much better.” I turned to kiss him, planting both hands flat on his chest to keep the gesture from turning into anything more involved. “Can you get my ankle sheath? It’s on the dresser.”

  “Certainly.” As he turned to find it, he asked, “Have you considered how to make your entrance without soaking your skirts?”

  The entrance to the Queen’s knowe required us to pass through a frequently semi-flooded cave. My gown was floor-length. “Maeve’s tits,” I swore. “I’m going to get drenched. Again.”

  “Not necessarily.” He smiled as he turned to offer my sheath. “The Queen of the Mists is required by treaty to allow the Court of Cats entry through the Shadow Roads. I believe it would cement me as the target of her frustrations if I were kind enough to allow you to shortcut her watery pranks for the evening.”

  I blinked, and then grinned. “You’re brilliant. Can Quentin pass through the shadows too, or does he have to wade?”

  “I believe I can transport you both a short distance.” He sighed as he watched me strap on the sheath. “You’re intending to drive to the beach, aren’t you?”

  “I’m not comfortable when I haven’t got my car. Besides, you said yourself that you could transport us both a short distance. We’re close to the Queen’s knowe, but we’re not that close.” I grabbed a hairbrush off the dresser, beginning to brush the snarls out of my wet hair. It was slow going. As I worked, I offered, “You could meet us there, if you’d rather?”

  Tybalt paused before sighing again. “I think that might be best, since I’m sure whatever misadventure we’re about to embark on will require me to spend more time in that damnable contraption. I should save my tolerance for a time when there won’t be a better choice.”

  “That seems wise.” I pulled my hair into a ponytail.

  He winced. “Please tell me you’re going to let May do something else with your hair. Something that is not that.”

  “What?” I lowered my hands, blinking at him. “You said I should put my hair up.”

  “October, in formal settings, there is a world of difference between putting one’s hair up and preparing to go for a run. You have accomplished the latter. You need to accomplish the former if you’re trying not to insult the Queen.”

  “I usually just leave my hair down,” I grumbled.

  “And you usually manage to insult the Queen in short order. Let’s try this without stacking the deck against you, shall we?” He folded his arms. “Please? For me?”

  “You know, everyone warned me that getting into a serious relationship would change me, but I thought they meant my habits, not my hair.” I turned toward the door, stopping when I realized tha
t Tybalt was openly staring at me. “What? What did I say?”

  “You think this is a serious relationship?” he asked.

  Sudden panic flooded over me. I forced it down, trying to focus on his tone of voice. He’d sounded surprised, not upset. “Yes?” I ventured.

  To my immense relief, Tybalt smiled. “Good. So do I.”

  “Okay, well, that’s one heart attack out of the way for tonight.” I grabbed my leather jacket from the closet door. “I’ll let May do my hair, since you insist. I’m keeping my sneakers. The gown will hide them until we get there, and I always feel better knowing I can run if I have to.” They’d be high heels as soon as the Queen worked her magic, but that was a problem for later.

  Tybalt chuckled. “If things go so badly at Court that you have to run, little fish, then I assure you, footwear will be the least of your concerns.”

  I shook my head at him and led the way out of the room, clutching my jacket against my chest. Maybe this was it; maybe she would listen, and stop the goblin fruit from spreading any further. Maybe it’d all be all right after we visited the Queen.

  Maybe, but probably not. Unable to shake the feeling that I was somehow heading for my own execution, I walked down the stairs, and into the inevitable.

  THREE

  TYBALT TAKING THE SHADOW ROADS to the Queen’s Court turned out to be a good thing. He was uncomfortable in the car under the best of circumstances. He would probably have exploded if he’d tried to ride with three people behind him in the backseat, all of them crammed together and complaining. As it was, May and Jazz were able to sit together in comfort, while Quentin rode up front with me, by right of “I’m the squire and besides, you want to ride with your girlfriend.”

  “You don’t have to come, you know.” I turned into the parking lot nearest the Queen’s knowe. “You can still back out. Go and see a movie or something, and I’ll fill you in when we’re done.”

  “What, and miss all the fun?” May shook her head. “No way. I love bothering the Queen almost as much as I love Saturday morning cartoons.”

  “If you say so.” I eyed them in the rearview mirror. “She’ll definitely be bothered.”

  Jazz was wearing a purple sari with a feather pattern around the edges that matched the feathered band in her hair. As a skinshifter, her fae nature was bound into that knotted band. May, on the other hand, was wearing a bright pink dress, accessorized with bright green heels and jelly bracelets. It was like playing chauffeur for Jem and the Holograms, only without the convenient excuse of it being the 1980s.

  “Why did you get dressed up?” Quentin asked. “Won’t the Queen transform your clothes as soon as you get inside?” He was wearing jeans and a nice button-down shirt, since he wasn’t the one the Queen actively disliked. He was also maintaining a don’t-look-here over the entire car, sparing us from needing individual human disguises. Sometimes I wonder how I ever got along without a squire.

  “Ah, but we’re entering separately,” said May. “We may be spared her merciless fashion sense, in which case, I get to horrify courtiers with my taste in prom gowns.”

  “Jazz’s dress is actually nice,” I protested.

  Jazz smiled. “I’m good either way.”

  “Too late for me to argue now. We’re here.” I pulled into an open space between an old VW van and a shiny new Prius too nice for the neighborhood and thus almost certainly protected by a stack of anti-theft charms. If the owner was smart, mortals couldn’t even see the car. Anti-theft charms don’t do anything to stop people from throwing a brick through your rear window when they get frustrated by their inability to touch the car.

  My own VW bug was protected by anti-theft, anti-detection, and anti-bird-crap charms. You’d never have known to look at it, but my car had been basically totaled three months ago when an Afanc—a big beaver-looking monster from the deeper realms of Faerie—decided to take a nap on the roof. Thankfully, my friend Danny has a really good Gremlin mechanic, and my liege was footing the bill. After the repairs were finished, I was pretty sure my car was functionally indestructible. That would be a nice change, considering the fates my vehicles normally suffered.

  “It’ll be fine,” said May.

  “Tell me that in an hour,” I countered. I left my jacket on the front seat as I got out of the car. There was no point in tempting the Queen to turn it into a bolero or something.

  We walked across the pavement to the sand and started down the beach in a ragged line. I didn’t realize Tybalt was beside me until he took my arm. I jumped, turning to face him. He smiled.

  “Good evening, little fish.”

  “You know, if you were anyone else, you’d have gotten decked just now,” I said. But I didn’t jerk my arm away.

  “That is one of the many reasons I am thankful, each and every day, not to be anyone but myself.” Tybalt considered my ballet-style bun for a moment before he nodded. “It’s simple, but should avoid the Queen’s ire.”

  “So glad you approve,” I said dryly.

  “I just don’t want this to be harder than it has to be,” he said, sounding briefly quieter, more like the Tybalt I saw when I was alone than the hard, brilliant King of Cats. He turned to May and Jazz while I was mulling over the difference, and said, “You both look lovely tonight, but I believe this is where we part company. May I assume I’ll be seeing you inside?”

  “Unless there’s a velvet rope now,” said May. “You crazy kids stay out of trouble, or at least wait until we get there to start it!”

  “We’ll try, but I can’t promise anything.” I took Quentin’s hand in my free one. Tybalt led us forward, into the deepest shadows on the beach. Then we stepped through the wall of the world into darkness, and everything was cold, cold, and there was no air, but Quentin’s hand was warm in mine, and Tybalt’s body was warm beside me, and we were moving forward . . .

  . . . into the sound and light of the Queen’s ballroom, where more than a few courtiers turned to look at us, some in surprise, some in more assessing disdain. I pulled my arm away from Tybalt, dropped Quentin’s hand, and looked down at myself. Then I sighed.

  “You know, since the dress I was wearing was her work, I thought she might leave it alone. Silly, optimistic me.” My red silk gown was gone, replaced by an equally simple, equally floor-length gown. This one was gray silk, so pale it looked almost white when it wasn’t right against my skin. A complicated braid of red ribbons circled my waist. Even my hair had been restyled, my simple bun replaced by a waterfall of layers held separate by a thin net of ribbons. That was going to be hell to take out.

  I pulled up the skirt to check my shoes, and blinked as I realized that they were still sneakers: all she’d changed were the laces, which were now red ribbons that matched my semi-belt. My ankle sheath was still in place, undisturbed by the Queen’s annoying obsession with changing my clothes. I let go of my skirt. “She left my shoes alone,” I said. “That’s weird.”

  “At least she got us all?” offered Quentin, who looked annoyingly comfortable in his tunic and trousers.

  I glanced toward Tybalt, and whatever I’d been about to say fled my mind, leaving me feeling more oxygen-deprived than our brief passage through the shadows justified. “Uh . . .”

  He was wearing brown leather trousers, a darker brown leather vest, and a silk shirt that matched my dress. The sleeves were almost piratical in style, and the collar was unlaced. His boots were the same shade as his vest, a few shades lighter than his hair.

  “Uh,” I said again, before managing, “Weren’t you wearing that the last time you came to Court?”

  “She always dresses me in some variation of this attire,” said Tybalt. “I can’t tell whether she likes the look of it, or whether she’s trying to make a point. This would have been a stagehand’s garb, once upon a time, and nothing suited for a King.”

  “Uh,” I said, for a third time.

  Seeing my distress, Tybalt smirked, leaned in, and murmured in my ear, “I have a disturbing as
sortment of leather trousers, thanks to her. I’d be happy to show you, if you like.”

  I could feel my ears turning red. But with embarrassment came annoyance, and annoyance and I are very old friends. I shook my head as I straightened and stepped away. “Let’s go see about talking to the Queen.”

  It felt like every eye was on me as I led Tybalt and Quentin into the crowd. My sneakers made soft squeaking noises on the marble. A commotion near the main doors told me that Jazz and May had made it inside, but I couldn’t see them through the crowd. No matter; they’d find us soon enough. They always did, when it was important.

  The ballroom was a study in white that seemed carved from a single piece of ivory. The only difference between the floor and ceiling was where you were standing. Both were polished until they verged on becoming mirrors. Cobweb ribbons of white spider-silk were wrapped around the filigreed pillars, eddying and dancing at the slightest breeze. It was like walking through a forest of ghostly tentacles, and it felt like it could turn hostile at any moment—if it wasn’t hostile already.

  We walked until we reached a dais, as white as the rest of the room, but set in the center of a wide clear space. No one kept it clear; people avoided it of their own accord, unless they’d come to speak with the Queen. I looked around at the crowd, and realized how few people I’d ever seen come to seek her counsel. They’d come to her Court. They’d do the political dance. But they never talked to her, or encouraged her to talk to them. I knew I wasn’t the only one who had problems with the Queen. I was starting to wonder how many people didn’t.

  The thought had barely crossed my mind when the air grew cold with the scent of rowan, and mist clouded the air above the throne. People stopped talking, turning toward the dais like flowers turning toward the sun. I stayed where I was, keeping my chin high, and waited.

  I didn’t have to wait long. The smell of rowan intensified, then shattered, and the mist parted to show the Queen seated on her throne, as comfortable as if she’d been there for hours.