“I can’t leave you alone for a second, can I?” he asked.
“Tybalt?” I took a step closer. “Are you . . . how is this . . . ?”
“I’m not real, no,” he said. “Would that I were. This might all end so much more easily if I were. October, do you understand what you’ve done?”
“I unbound Simon.”
“Yes. You did.” Tybalt took a step back. “He told you it would cost. Didn’t you listen?”
“What?”
“I love you. Take comfort in that. Even in your dreams, you are no longer capable of imagining a world in which I do not love you. Hold fast to that ideal.”
“Tybalt, don’t go.” I reached for him.
He took another step back, and he was gone, melting into the shadows that had replaced the wall. I ran after him, charging through the shadows into the seemingly infinite basement beyond. I stumbled. I put my hands out to catch myself as I fell. I hit the floor—
—and gasped, opening my eyes. I was staring at the ceiling of the real basement. The beams were newer, less caked with layers of time and neglect. More importantly, there were naked lightbulbs hanging there, grimed with layers of dust that filtered and softened the light.
A blurry figure at the edge of my vision resolved itself into Simon, looking at me with wide, anxious eyes. “October, can you hear me?” he asked.
“Mghle,” I said. My lips were gummy with dried blood, and the inside of my mouth tasted like something had died.
Another blur turned into Madden as he stepped nervously forward. He was actually wringing his hands in front of himself, like he had no idea what else to do. “Is she . . . is she okay?” he asked.
“Yes, and no,” said Simon. He returned his attention to me. “October, I’m going to help you sit up now. All right? Please blink if it’s not all right.”
I wasn’t sure I could blink if I wanted to. My body felt heavy and disconnected, like it belonged to someone else entirely. But I felt Simon slide his arm around my shoulders and ease me into a sitting position.
He looked to Madden. “She needs fluids. You serve beverages here, do you not? Get her something. Lots of sugar, lots of milk or cream or whatever other fatty liquid you have on hand. Go.” He paused before adding, “Please.”
“Sure,” said Madden, looking almost relieved before he turned and fled.
Simon returned his attention to me. “Do you know who I am?”
There was a thread of anxiety in his question, like he was afraid I’d hit my head when I fell, and forgotten which Torquill brother I was dealing with. Maybe I had hit my head. That would explain why everything kept spinning. I licked my lips again, and managed to croak, “Simon.”
“Oh, thank Maeve,” he breathed. “October, you undid the geas my brother put on me. It was blood magic, and you unraveled it. Do you understand?”
Speaking still seemed like too much trouble. I nodded, head wobbling like my neck was not long enough to support its weight.
Simon looked . . . Simon looked wrecked, abjectly miserable in a way that was so unlike Sylvester’s quiet, profound sorrow that I wondered how I could ever have confused them for one another. I wanted to tell him that, that I could finally look at him without seeing the slightest trace of his brother, but I couldn’t seem to make my mouth work properly.
This was bad. Part of me realized that this was bad. I’ve been injured before. I’ve been killed in the course of duty, and I’ve always bounced back. Only now, after nothing more serious than a papercut, I was so weak I could barely move, and the room wouldn’t stop spinning. Whatever I’d done to myself, it was bad, and Simon knew what it was, and for some reason, he wasn’t telling me, which just made me sure that it was worse.
I made a small, pained sound. Simon sighed.
“October, when August assaulted you, she did so using techniques she had learned from her mother—your mother. Amandine trained our daughter in the use of her natural talents, because she did not want a child of hers to go into the world unprepared. She left you weakened. I would have told you not to do what you did, if you had been able to ask me.”
But I couldn’t, I thought fiercely. I had done what I had to do.
Simon seemed to understand that. He bowed his head a little, and said, “Under normal circumstances, snapping a geas would have been painful. It would have come with a price, because undoing a spell rooted in the blood itself was never meant to be easy. Under these circumstances . . .” He tapered off, and just like that, I knew what I had done.
It always comes back to blood in the end. No matter how much we wish it didn’t, it always comes back to blood. Closing my eyes, I breathed in as deeply as I could, straining until, at the absolute edge of my awareness, I caught the faintest flicker of cut-grass. It was weak, and the copper seemed to have vanished entirely, leaving what remained flat and simplistic, like it had been pressed between two sheets of glass. I could touch it. I could feel it. But when I tried to call it, it didn’t respond.
“Hair,” I croaked.
Simon frowned. “What?”
“Hair.”
He hesitated before reaching around and lifting a hank of my hair, tugging it into my field of vision.
It had never been such a dark brown before.
“Right,” I said, and closed my eyes, and went away.
TWENTY-ONE
“IS SHE DEAD?” The voice was Madden’s. He sounded worried and a little panicky, like he wasn’t sure how he was going to explain this to Arden. A valid concern: I was currently the only hero of the realm she had.
Some hero. I couldn’t call my own magic, much less see the hidden world around us. The last time I’d been remotely this human, I’d needed fairy ointment just to find the Library door, and this was worse. Now that I was looking for the markers, I could tell this was worse.
I had visualized dousing the geas with blood. I hadn’t expected the process to be quite so literal.
“No,” said Simon. “What did you bring?”
“Um, coffee. She used to really like coffee, and I put so much cream in it I think it’s technically a milkshake—do you want me to call Ardy? I can. She’ll come.”
“And won’t that be fun, given that I have yet to stand trial for my crimes against my brother.” Simon sounded utterly weary. I felt a hand touch my shoulder. “October. I know you’re awake. I can hear you breathing. Please sit up and let me feed you this horrifying concoction. There’s whipped cream on it. And chocolate shavings.”
“Chocolate makes people feel better,” said Madden defensively.
“I thought chocolate was poisonous to dogs.” Once I had spoken, opening my eyes no longer seemed like such a challenge, and so I did. The basement ceiling reappeared. I realized the light didn’t sting the way it usually would. Maybe having day-adapted eyes wasn’t such a bad thing.
And maybe I was fumbling for reasons that this wasn’t terrible. Honestly, if I was, who could blame me?
“It is,” said Madden, making no effort to conceal his relief. “I’m way allergic. But Ardy says when you’re not Cu Sidhe, chocolate is one of the best innovations of the modern world.”
“She’s not wrong.” I was stretched out on something hard. I moved my hand, feeling splintery wood beneath me. “The hell . . . ?”
“Alan does a lot of woodworking down here, when he has time, so really, Alan more talks about doing a lot of woodworking down here while the rest of us nod and pretend to believe him,” said Madden, as Simon moved to help me up. “That’s his workbench.”
“Oh,” I said. Simon’s hands were a solid weight against my back. I allowed myself to lean against them, not fighting against the drag from my own body, as I reached my hands toward the familiar shape of Madden—and more, the mug in his hands. “Gimme.”
“Manners, October,” chided Simon gently.
I began to
bristle. Then I recognized the note in his voice for what it was: relief. He was making a joke, such as it was, because I wasn’t dead, and I wasn’t broken, and sure, I was currently more mortal than I’d ever been in my life, but what’s a little humanity between friends?
“Mama never taught me any manners,” I said. Madden pressed the mug into my hands. True to his word, it was topped with a heaping mound of whipped cream and studded with chocolate shavings. I raised my eyebrows. “Glad I’m not lactose intolerant.”
The coffee was hot and sweet and washed the last of the gummy, bloody taste out of my mouth, replacing it with that old, familiar earthiness. I could practically feel the caffeine reaching my bloodstream. Maybe that was half wishful thinking, but under the circumstances, I’d take it. Whatever I needed to get through the rest of this—day? Night? I swallowed and frowned, twisting around to look at Simon.
He was wearing a human disguise. I realized with a pang that it was probably at least in part to keep me from falling down in awe at the sight of him.
“What time is it?” I asked.
“It’s almost three,” he said. “I’m going to need to smuggle you out of here under an illusion. Otherwise, your friend,” he nodded toward Madden, “will be in signal danger of losing his job.”
“Oh, oak and ash,” I muttered, before taking another long drink of hot, sweet coffee. I wanted to inhale the entire mug and ask for more, maybe with a few rare roast beef sandwiches on the side. Without my preternaturally fast healing to keep me up and running, my body was starting to make complaints to the management.
My body was going to have to suck it up and deal. I finished my coffee, resisting the urge to run my finger around the inside of the mug and snag the last of the whipped cream. Then I stood. My legs wobbled but didn’t buckle. For all that I had done myself some serious damage, I hadn’t actually injured myself. I was splitting hairs. I knew it. That didn’t matter. Sometimes splitting hairs is what keeps the world from falling down.
Through it all, Simon kept his hand against my back, refusing to let me stand unassisted until he was sure that I could do it. I turned to offer him a nod and a wan smile.
“I’m okay,” I said. “Not sure how much use I’m going to be, but I’m okay.”
“I may have a solution for that.” He leaned over and picked up a to-go cup from the end of the workbench, solemnly offering it to me. “Here.”
“More coffee?” I took the cup. It was heavier than it should have been, and nothing sloshed. Cautiously, I removed the lid and peeked inside. It was full of a thick jellylike substance that glittered when the light hit it, like it was filled with the dust of a hundred stars. My eyes widened. “Fairy ointment! But how—?”
“Really, October, you underestimate me,” said Simon. “You seemed intent on napping for hours. I had to do something with my time, and brewing a batch of something that could keep you halfway useful seemed like the least annoying option.”
The words “thank you” rose to my lips. I swallowed them as hard as I could. I didn’t want to insult him when he was helping me—and this was a huge, huge help. With this, I would be able to see Faerie, even if there were great stretches of it that I could no longer touch. “This is amazing,” I said instead, and dug my fingers into the gel before wiping them across my eyes in a great, gooey streak.
The basement flickered. Suddenly, the shadows had more depth to them, and they sparkled faintly, like they were filled with pyrite. The air around Simon and Madden glittered, alive with the shadows of their human illusions.
And of course, there were the pixies.
They covered every surface above the floor, clustering on the beams and clinging to the walls, their wings moving in constant silent agitation. I couldn’t hear them chiming. My heart sank at the realization. The chiming of the pixies was one of those things I’d never considered I could miss, and now it was gone.
“The last time I needed fairy ointment, I could hear them,” I said.
“The last time you needed fairy ointment, you must not have been this mortal,” said Simon gently. “I am so sorry.”
“Don’t be.” I put the cap back on the to-go cup and shoved it into the pocket of my jacket. It didn’t quite fit, but it was secure enough that I wasn’t worried about losing it. If anything, I was worried about how much Simon had made. Just how long did he expect my newfound humanity to last?
Madden was still looking at me anxiously. I smiled at him, trying to look encouraging, or at least like I wasn’t on the cusp of dropping dead.
“It’ll be okay,” I said. “Call Arden when you think she’ll be up, let her know that I’m going to need to borrow the hope chest. I’ll explain everything when I get to Muir Woods.”
“When will that be?”
The Luidaeg’s deadline was almost upon us. I sighed. “Not too long now.” Turning to Simon, I asked, “Do you know where she’d have gone? It’s not like I can sniff her out when I can barely find my own magic.”
Simon shook his head. “Anyplace familiar enough that I could put a name to it is too likely to be considered ‘home’ by the damned curse the Luidaeg sold her. I’m useless.”
I hesitated. “Not entirely,” I said finally, and reached into my other pocket, producing the candle. It was still tall and red, and the wax was cool and clammy in my hand, like the skin of a corpse. I swallowed a shudder of revulsion. Faerie was trying to reject me, reminding me that no one as human as I was could possibly belong there.
Faerie could stuff it. Unlike August, I had made no deals that would sunder me from my home, and I knew where I belonged. After so many years of running, I finally, genuinely, knew where I belonged.
“Here.” I held the candle out to Simon. “Tell it to follow her.”
His eyes widened. “October,” he said, slowly and carefully, like he was speaking to a child. “Are you sure you want to do this? I’m not bound any longer. I could take the candle and run after my daughter, and leave you here to face the consequences of my actions.”
“I trust you,” I said, and I did; I was telling the whole and honest truth. I trusted him. I knew that he wouldn’t leave me. Because he hadn’t told Riordan the truth. Because his illusions had covered me.
Because sometimes the best intentions could lead to some very dark places, and once you were there, it could be almost impossible to find your way home again, unless there was someone willing to help you. Unless you could get there and back by the light of a candle.
Then, because those words didn’t feel like enough, I added, “I forgive you.”
Simon’s smile was slow and indescribably beautiful, in a way that had nothing to do with the mortal awe for the fae. He looked genuinely happy.
“Then we go,” he said, and took the candle from my hand. The wick burst into flame, burning a mellow pink, like rose petals, like dawn. He looked toward Madden. “Your hospitality has been much appreciated, and will be remembered. You are a credit to your name.”
“If you hurt her, I’ll rip your throat out with my teeth, and nobody will punish me, because the Queen in the Mists loves me more than she loves almost anyone else in the world,” said Madden pleasantly.
Simon nodded like this was exactly what he’d been hoping to hear. “Then we are in agreement,” he said. “October?”
He reached out his hand. I took it. There was a ghost of a scent in the air, the faintest overlay of smoke and mulled cider, mixed with rotting oranges. I inhaled it greedily, grateful for even that small reminder that there was still magic in the world, that I hadn’t cut myself off from it completely. Unlike August, I hadn’t traded my road home for anything. It was narrower than it had been, harder to see through the briars, but it was still there, and I was going to take it.
The weight of Simon’s don’t-look-here settled over us. Still hand in hand, we followed Madden up the stairs and into the body of Borderlands Books
. Jude, the general manager, was behind the counter, looking at something on the store computer. She looked up at the sound of the door closing, and frowned.
“Everything okay, Mads?” she asked.
“Oh, everything’s fine,” said Madden, stepping to the side and casually holding the door open so that Simon and I could make it past. The basement door opening when there wasn’t supposed to be anyone downstairs would definitely attract attention. “I just needed to call home. I guess I didn’t do the dishes this morning.”
Jude made a sympathetic face. “Your turn?”
“Yeah.” Madden shut the basement door. Simon and I walked on, two people following the flickering light of a candle. The screen door sometimes swung in the breeze. I took a chance and pushed it open with my free hand, allowing the two of us to step outside.
Through the store window I saw Jude glance in our direction, confused by the door opening on its own. Her eyes focused on me for just a second. Then, quickly, they unfocused again, and she no longer knew I was there. To the mortal world, I was a ghost.
Simon squeezed my hand. “Courage,” he whispered, and held the candle higher. The flame leaped, a burning rose clawing at the sky, and we started down the street, following the light, letting it guide us down August’s trail.
It was funny. It was the middle of the day: Simon had to be exhausted, but I felt almost invigorated, now that I’d adjusted to the oddly heavy feeling of my limbs. The caffeine coursing through my body was like live electricity. Kicking the habit had definitely resensitized me. That was nice. At least one thing was going right today.
I was virtually human, walking hand-in-hand with a man who I would have once called my greatest enemy, and while I couldn’t say I was happy—there was too much at stake—I was at least willing to pause, and breathe, and allow myself to hope that everything would eventually be okay.
Speaking of okay . . . I pulled my phone out of my pocket and winced as I saw that I had six missed calls. I dialed my voicemail and raised the phone to my ear.