One Salt Sea

  “We’re on our way out.” I turned to go. Connor was right beside me, looking painfully relieved to be getting out of there.

  We were almost to the door when the Luidaeg called, “Oh, and Toby?”

  I looked back. “Yeah?”

  “You’re going to need to bring me a shapeshifter soon. Not him. Never bring a Selkie here again. They’re not welcome.” Something in her voice told me not to ask. If she said I was going to need a shapeshifter, she meant it . . . and if Selkies weren’t welcome, she wasn’t going to tell me why with Connor in the room.

  “All right,” I said, and grabbed Connor’s hand, yanking him out into the night.

  I didn’t have to drag him for long. He pulled his hand out of mine as soon as the door slammed behind us, starting to walk steadily faster. He was almost running by the time we reached the car. I grabbed his elbow. He whipped around to face me, eyes wide, breath coming short and panicky.

  “Whoa!” I let go and took a step back, raising my hands. That probably wasn’t as reassuring as it could have been, given the poisoned arrow I was holding. “What’s wrong? What was all that about?”

  “The sea witch doesn’t parley with Selkies,” he said. There was some ancient, wounded longing in his voice, like the sound of the tide rushing out. “Don’t ask me why. I can’t tell you.”

  “All right,” I said. “I just . . . all right. Are you coming back to the apartment?”

  “For a little while.” He sighed. “This doesn’t have anything to do with you. Okay?”

  “Okay,” I said. “Now get in the car.”

  It took almost half an hour to fight through the traffic and get back to my place. May and Jazz were snuggled together on the couch when we came in, watching a television show featuring a lot of twenty-something actors pretending to be teens. They looked up when the door opened, initial smiles dying as they saw the expression on Connor’s face and the arrow in my hand. Even for me, that sort of thing doesn’t normally spell “hot date.”

  “Bad night?” asked May.

  “About like I expected. We’re going to need to call Walther.” I closed the door and stuck the arrow in the umbrella stand, point down. Connor blinked at me. “You have a better idea?”

  “Not really,” he admitted.

  “Didn’t think so. Guys, the arrow in the umbrella stand is elf-shot. Don’t touch it.”

  “And that’s why we’re calling Walther?” asked May.

  “Exactly.”

  “Right.” Jazz got up. “I’m going to make some coffee.”

  “Good call.” One of the cats started twining around my ankles. I bent to scoop her up. “Hello, Cagney. You don’t care that we’re going to war, do you?” She purred. “Didn’t think so.”

  “Is it official?” asked May quietly.

  “Yeah,” I said. I stood there stroking Cagney as I started filling May in on the events of the night so far. I was about halfway through when Jazz emerged from the kitchen and offered me a mug of coffee, which I took gratefully. Connor interjected occasionally, but was mostly silent, standing close and offering what support he could just by being there. It was surprisingly comforting.

  A brief silence fell when I finished speaking. Finally, Jazz asked, “Do you really think Walther can figure out who made the elf-shot?”

  “It’s worth a try.” I glanced to Connor. “The Luidaeg’s sidelined for this fight, except for whatever she can accomplish through me. So we’re basically on our own.”

  “Super fun,” said May.

  “I can take the arrow to Walther,” volunteered Jazz. We all looked at her. She shrugged. “I don’t need a car, remember?”

  “Fair enough,” I allowed. “Just make sure you don’t scratch yourself. The best case scenario with elf-shot involves sleeping for a hundred years.”

  “I’ll be careful,” said Jazz. She kissed May on the cheek, grabbed the arrow from the umbrella stand—only touching the leather, I noted approvingly—opened the door, and was gone. Mortal ravens don’t like to fly after dark. Fae ravens are more adaptable. They’re also a hell of a lot more resilient. Jazz could probably fly a hundred miles in a night, if she had to.

  I took a breath. “Okay, that’s one problem down. Now for the big one: we have three days to find the Lorden boys before things get ugly.”

  “Is finding the Lorden boys going to stop things from getting any worse, or is it just going to make them a little less worse?” May paused. “I’m not sure that was a sentence. Anyway, what I’m saying is if they’re at the stage of, like, shooting at people, are they going to back down just because we find the kids?”

  “Probably not,” I admitted. “But at that point, at least we’d only be dealing with people who want to start a war, rather than dealing with them and an actual war. That has to be an improvement over what we have now, right?”

  “It’s worth a try,” said Connor. He turned his head slightly, meeting my eyes. I almost flinched away. Selkie eyes are always dark, but the darkness in Connor’s expression wasn’t just a matter of biology; not tonight. He was a man looking at a choice he didn’t know how to make, and this time, he was the one who looked like he was in danger of drowning. Me or the Undersea? If he had to choose, who was going to win?

  “Connor—” I began, and stopped as someone knocked on the front door. We all turned to cast wary looks in that direction. “May, did you order a pizza?”

  “Good idea, but no,” she said.

  “That’s what I was afraid you were going to say.” I put my coffee cup on the nearest bookshelf and walked to the door, calling, “Who is it?” I wasn’t going to waste the energy on a human disguise if I didn’t have to.

  “We wouldn’t have to go through this little charade if you’d simply acknowledge me as an honored guest and agree that I can enter any time I like,” Tybalt replied, managing to sound amused and tired at the same time.

  I opened the door.

  Tybalt was standing on my doorstep, only the barest veil of human illusion between him and the mortal night. Raj—his nephew and titular heir to the Court of Cats, assuming he can live that long—stood next to him, looking near-terminally embarrassed. I barely even noticed he was there. I was too busy blinking at his uncle.

  Tybalt blinked back.

  San Francisco’s King of Cats is difficult to describe. Too much of his appeal is in the way he moves, the way he smiles, the subtle tilt of his head when he gives someone his full attention. Not that he’s not good-looking—he is—but he’s more than that. He has fewer feline traits than some of the other Cait Sidhe; cat-slit pupils, black tabby stripes in his dark brown hair. The rest of him could pass for Daoine Sidhe in the right lighting. Appearances can be deceiving. Tybalt’s a cat, through and through, and it’s best to keep that in mind.

  I hadn’t seen him since I left the Court of Cats before my second “trial” in the Queen’s Court. He’s always been prone to disappearing, but he’d never been gone for so long before. The last thing he said to me before I left was: “Come back to me.” When I tried to do just that, I couldn’t find him. The Court of Cats is open only to those the King allows to enter, and he’d locked the doors without telling me why. Now here he was on my doorstep, staring at me with an expression that bordered on amazement.

  Connor stepped up behind me, bringing the sharp smell of the sea in his wake—and, more importantly, reminding me that he was there. I drew myself up, realizing as I did that I was still dressed for the Queen’s Court. Well, that explained the staring. Tybalt had never seen me voluntarily wearing a dress before, and all the involuntary dresses had been of the Disney princess variety.

  “Tybalt,” I said, as neutrally as I could. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

  “What, really?” May shoved her way past Connor to the door. “Whoa. Hey, Tybalt, long time no see. Come on in, Raj. They’re probably going to stare at each other for a while before they get anything done.” She offered her hand to the younger Cait Sidhe. He took it, letting himself be
tugged into the apartment.

  True to May’s prediction, Tybalt was still staring at me. Finally, awkwardly, he said, “Toby . . .”

  Was I happy to see Tybalt after a month of being avoided? Well, that depends. Could he possibly have picked a worse time than right after I’d failed to prevent a declaration of war? Knowing him, the answer was probably “yes.” He has an amazing talent for showing up when I don’t want him to.

  He also has an amazing talent for saving my ass. No matter what we thought about each other, the fact remained that he was a King of Cats, and if I was going to stop the war, I could do worse than having him on my side.

  “Forget it.” I stepped back, opening the door wide enough to let him pass. “Come in if you’re coming.”

  A look of momentary discomfiture flickered across his face, there and gone almost before I could blink. “As you like,” he said, inclining his head, and stepped inside.

  EIGHT

  TYBALT HAUGHTILY SURVEYED the living room, arms crossed in an attitude of nonchalant disregard. It was a bit too regal; Tybalt doesn’t normally feel the need to act like that. He allowed his attention to fall on Connor, who was standing beside me and glaring.

  “Ah,” said Tybalt. “I see that you have company.”

  He managed to infuse the statement with an almost believable note of surprise. Only almost; the timing of his visit was too convenient to be coincidental, and if he didn’t have spies at the Queen’s Court, I’m a Leprechaun. “You know Connor and May,” I said. “I believe you worked together on a prison break not long ago.”

  “Oh, Tybs knows Connor,” May said. “They totally hung out while you were sick. They’re like, best buds.” Tybalt and Connor shot her matching glares. I had to stifle a smile.

  “We’re acquainted,” said Tybalt. “I suppose there’s no accounting for the company you choose to keep.”

  I stiffened.

  “Is there a problem?” asked Connor coldly. Being needled by Tybalt isn’t fun, unless you have a serious urge to know what it’s like to be a mouse.

  “I’m simply wondering why you’re still on dry land, O’Dell,” Tybalt replied. “Shouldn’t you be putting on your water wings and preparing to slaughter us all? I believe that’s your predetermined role in this conflict.”

  “All right, that’s enough.” I scowled, taking a step forward and putting myself between them. “We don’t have time for this. Now both of you are going to behave and play nicely, or I will put you out on the sidewalk.” Raj shot me a grateful look. Dominance fights are serious business among the Cait Sidhe, and if I let Tybalt start something in my apartment, I was going to be responsible for stopping it. Raj and I both knew that wouldn’t end well.

  Connor hesitated before saying, “Actually, Toby, he’s right.”

  “What?” May and I said in unison, turning to stare at him.

  “That’s still creepy,” muttered Raj.

  “I need to go to Saltmist and check in, or the Duchess may decide that I’m siding with the land and banish me from the Undersea. I don’t think we want that. I know I don’t want that.” Connor chuckled mirthlessly. “It would make family reunions awkward.”

  I’d been expecting this. I’d been waiting for this. It still stung. I bit my lip before saying, “If you’re sure—”

  “He’s sure,” said Tybalt. I shot a glare his way. He shrugged.

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” said Connor, and kissed me.

  There was a desperation in his embrace that was almost chilling. Whatever else was going on, Connor was a lot more scared than he was letting on.

  I touched his cheek when he pulled away. “Be safe.”

  “You, too,” he said. He glanced around the room. “It was good to see you, May. Tybalt, Raj . . . good night.”

  “Bye,” mumbled Raj, looking mortified.

  “Open roads, Connor,” said May.

  I walked him the two steps to the door, opening it again. “Open roads, Connor. Try not to get yourself killed out there. If you do, I’ll kick your ass.”

  “I’ll hold you to that.” He kissed my nose and was gone, pulling the door shut with a final-sounding click.

  I locked the deadbolt and turned to look at Tybalt, raising an eyebrow. And I waited. His satisfied expression faded by inches, replaced by apparently genuine awkwardness.

  “I didn’t say he had to go,” he said.

  “But you jumped on the idea with both feet. What are you doing here, Tybalt? Is this your way of returning all those messages I left you? Because, seriously, I would have been happy with a phone call.”

  “I was busy.”

  The last time I’d seen him, his Court was in chaos following the deaths of several of his subjects, including Raj’s mother. I softened slightly, but kept frowning as I said, “Your timing sucks, Tybalt. Just so you know.”

  Tybalt narrowed his eyes, expression going from awkward to challenging. I met his gaze and held it. He looked away first. “A messenger came to my Court with news of the war. He said you seemed determined to involve yourself. It . . . concerned me.”

  “Well, at least now I know what it takes to get your attention.”

  Tybalt’s head snapped around. “Thorn and tree, October, that isn’t fair.”

  “But you ignoring me is? You’ve got a weird definition of ‘fair.’ All I wanted was to know that you were okay.”

  May coughed. “Okay, I’ll be in my room if you need me. Please don’t need me. Also, Toby, remember that the curtains aren’t stain-proof, and Raj, if you need to hide, feel free to join me.” She vanished down the hall. Her door slammed a moment later.

  “I . . .” Tybalt sighed. “You’re right. I apologize.”

  I stopped. Of all the things he could have said, I don’t think anything could have surprised me more than a simple—and apparently sincere—apology. “Accepted,” I said. Glancing toward the hall, I added, “I think she’s battening down the hatches back there, in case we’re about to start throwing things.”

  “Really?” Tybalt’s eyebrows rose. “Should we smash a few plates and scream before we have an actual conversation?”

  “I don’t think we need to go that far, but I want to get some real clothes on before we continue. Can I trust you two not to break anything?”

  “Yes,” said Raj, immediately.

  “You might have an easier time trusting us if we continued while you changed,” said Tybalt, allowing his eyes to travel the length of my body.

  I snorted, spreading my arms to give him the best possible view. “Go ahead and laugh, because this is your only shot. You’re staying out here while I get some pants on.”

  “I had no intention of mocking you. I think you look lovely.” He hesitated a moment before adding, in a softer tone, “Whether you believe me or not, your mother was never as fair a child of Faerie as you are right now.”

  “I . . .” The blush raced up my cheeks and the edges of my ears, leaving them burning. I let my arms drop to my sides, barely keeping myself from folding them over my chest. “I have to go change,” I managed, and turned to scurry down the hall.

  My cheeks stayed hot even after I was in my bedroom with the door closed. I stripped off the spider silk dress, letting it puddle on the floor while I fumbled with the thigh sheath. Once that came loose, I pulled my jeans on and fastened my usual knife belt around my waist, sliding my knife back into its customary home before putting the Luidaeg’s shell in my pocket.

  Sneakers and a long-sleeved red cotton shirt finished the change. I snagged a hair tie from the dresser on my way out of the room, snapping it around my wrist before beginning to pull pins out of my hair. Stacy’s handiwork was good—too good. I was still trying to restore my hair to its normal disarray as I emerged from the bedroom, swearing under my breath all the while.

  Quiet voices were coming from the kitchen as I walked down the hall. I had to smother a smile as I realized that Raj was tutoring Tybalt on the way I like my coffee. That would have been
funny no matter what. It was made funnier by the fact that I wasn’t sure Tybalt knew how much time Raj has spent at my place since I saved him from Blind Michael. He wasn’t around as much as, say, Quentin, but he still spent enough time sitting on my couch and hogging the TV remote that I’ve occasionally threatened to charge him rent.

  I stopped in the kitchen doorway, watching Tybalt pour way too much sugar into a mug of coffee. “That’s good,” I said, before he could experiment with adding anything else. “You can stop there. Unless you’re making coffee for a hummingbird.”

  Tybalt whipped around like he’d done something wrong, mild disappointment crossing his face when he saw my clothes. He picked up the mug and held it out in offering, saying awkwardly, “I made you coffee.”

  “I see that.” I stopped fussing with my hair long enough to take the mug. Tybalt still looked uncomfortable. I took a sip of coffee to reassure him, and managed not to choke as the hot sugar sweetness of it hit the back of my throat. “It’s very good,” I said, coughing into my hand.

  Tybalt looked relieved. “The principle was simple.”

  “Ye-ah.” I put the mug on the counter in what I hoped was a nonchalant manner. For a moment, the three of us just stood there, looking at each other. I blinked, finally registering how underdressed Tybalt was, even by his own eclectic standards. His jeans were tattered, and there were stains on his white silk shirt that could have been pasta sauce but were more likely to be . . . for my own peace of mind, I decided to view them as pasta sauce.

  “So why are you really here?” I asked. “I understand worrying about the war, but shouldn’t you be consulting with someone who has, I don’t know, an army?”

  “That is why I’m here,” said Tybalt. “Goldengreen is on the coast. How were you planning to defend your people?”

  My stomach flipped over. “. . . Oh.”

  Mortal geography and Summerlands geography aren’t always a perfect match, but the major things, like coastlines, usually translate. The mortal doors to Goldengreen are anchored on the edge of the cliff behind the Palace of the Legion of Honor, and the actual buildings that make up the estate are right on the water. The knowe has no natural defenses, and the inhabitants aren’t exactly warriors.