NINETEEN

THE PAIN WAS LESS extreme than I expected it to be. It washed over me like a wave breaking on the shore, disappearing as soon as it passed across my skin. There was still a knife sticking out of my chest. It just didn’t hurt.

The candle burned a clear and lambent blue, the shade of swampfire, the color of magic.

Simon stared at me, horror and confusion in his eyes. Then he blinked, and while the horror didn’t disappear, the confusion did, replaced by something far worse: comprehension. “October?” he said, in a puzzled voice devoid of either hostility or dislike. “What have you—what have you done?”

I could feel feathers in my throat, tickling and scratching me as something moved there. I coughed, trying to force them back down, and said, “I’ve paid for your freedom. Don’t worry, I have a plan. And Patrick is waiting for you.”

Now the confusion was back, leavened with a sliver of hope. “Patrick? My Patrick? I remember you saying—but that can’t be true, can it? He’s alive?”

“He’s alive, and the reason this is happening, so yeah, I’m telling the truth.” The feathers in my throat were getting harder to swallow. I bent forward, catching myself before I could fall, and vomited a live bird onto the floor next to the candle.

Unlike the bird I’d seen the Luidaeg extract from Simon, which had been lovely and swallow-tailed, designed to be admired as much as anything, my bird was a pigeon, wings of slate and breast gleaming with greens and purples. But it was beautiful all the same, even if it wasn’t a valued or refined beauty. It was beautiful. And it was mine.

The Luidaeg leaned forward and picked up my bird. I felt a pang of loss, like this was something that absolutely couldn’t be allowed to happen—something impossible and forbidden. I pulled the knife from my chest, intending to fight her for the bird, and she fixed me with a look that froze me where I knelt, making any further motion as good as impossible.

“You agreed to this,” she said. “You chose this. As much as if not more than anyone else who has ever made this particular bargain with me. I just hope, for all our sakes, that you’re right. We can’t afford to lose another hero right now.”

I might be frozen, but Simon wasn’t. He lunged to his feet, moving to put himself between me and the Luidaeg. “She may have agreed to this, but I didn’t! I don’t! Take it back, right now! Don’t do this to her! Please, Luidaeg, if there’s any good left in you, please, don’t do this to her. Don’t hurt her for my sake.”

The Luidaeg fixed him with a look like a spear, and asked, “Do you think I would if I had any choice in the matter? She’s worth a hundred of you, failure, and I didn’t want to do this. Thank your Firstborn, if you’re ever unlucky enough to see her again. She can finish devouring you and tell you that you’re welcome as she picks her teeth with your bones. I believe this is yours.” She reached into her overalls with her free hand, pulling out a bottle. A bird was trapped inside, wings beating weakly against the glass. She popped the cork with her thumb and the bird flew free, slamming into Simon’s chest and disappearing.

His gaze cleared further, and he dropped to his knees in front of me, nearly setting his trousers on fire as he gathered me clumsily into his arms. “October, October, I’m so sorry,” he moaned. “I never wanted to hurt you again, I never wanted to hurt anyone, but I got so lost, and it was like I was someone else, someone who didn’t care enough to stop himself from doing all those terrible things . . .”

“Apologize to Quentin, not me,” I said, and forced a smile. “I signed up for this. He didn’t. Patrick’s probably going to be a little pissed at you for turning his eldest son into a tree, though.”

Simon paled again. Apparently, the thought of Patrick being angry with him was even more distressing than I’d expected it to be. Interesting.

But not for long.

“Again, I’m sorry about this, and I hope you’re right,” said the Luidaeg, and shoved my pigeon into the bottle. It should have been too big to fit, but somehow it just got smaller and smaller until it was inside, and she pushed the stopper home. Something snapped under my breastbone, leaving me untethered. The world got fuzzy around the edges, and I couldn’t breathe.

I blinked several times, trying to clear the dizzying specks from my eyes. Someone was touching me. No one was supposed to be touching me. I pushed them away, and managed not to shriek when I saw that it was Simon Torquill, my liege’s brother, a man who’d never been willing to give me anything more than a smirk or a sneer when he saw me in the halls of Shadowed Hills. Sweet Titania, was he one of those perverts who liked changelings more than he should, because we were usually younger than any pureblood girl it was acceptable to fuck?

I scrambled to my feet, spinning to see the rest of my surroundings. I was in someone’s living room, shabby and lived-in, with a large, comfortable couch up against one wall and a variety of other chairs and small tables scattered invitingly around the place. There was a candle burning by my feet, and no television. Whoever lived here must not have liked fun.

It was impossible to guess which of the people around me lived here. There was another Daoine Sidhe in addition to Simon, a boy barely out of his teens, with hair in an improbably deep shade of metallic bronze. He was staring at me like I’d just sprouted another head. He must have been one of those sheltered kids who’d never seen a real changeling before, the ones whose parents wanted to keep them “pure” and uncorrupted by the human world and its byproducts. There was a Tylwyth Teg man standing in front of what looked like a really sweet chemistry set, boiling a bunch of rose petals in a beaker. Great. I’d fallen into a pureblood drug den. It wasn’t the first one. But alchemists in living rooms didn’t usually intend anything good for the local changelings.

A Bridge Troll stood near one wall, looking at me miserably. Maybe he knew what that alchemist intended, and why I’d been brought here. Bridge Trolls don’t tend to have changeling kids of their own, on account of them being too big; they’d break any human they tried to get intimate with. Maybe that’s why they’re generally pretty mellow about us.

The other three people in the room didn’t make things any easier to understand. There was a woman with orange hair and stained glass wings, who didn’t look right to be an Ellyllon, but was too tall and not scrawny enough to be a Puca; a human teenager in overalls, who had probably been brought here for the same terrible purpose I had; and—

“You fucker!” I pointed at the Cait Sidhe man who was watching from the other side of the room, his face an impassive mask. Like the others, he wasn’t wearing any illusions to make himself look human; unlike the last time I’d seen him, he wasn’t manipulating his form to seem closer to Daoine Sidhe, either. His hair was striped like a tabby cat’s and looked halfway to becoming fur. His eyes widened when I spoke to him. Probably startled that I dared open my mouth in his presence, the jerk.

“O-October?” he said, voice wavering a little. “What’s wrong? What has she done?”

She? She who? There were two options, and while the human girl was closer to me than the woman with the orange wings, neither of them looked hostile. “Nothing’s wrong, except someone’s decided it would be a fun time to abduct me, and of the available options, you seem like the most likely.” I kept pointing at him. “The only other person here I know is Simon, and he wouldn’t snatch me off the street. Sylvester would never forgive him if he did.”

Once I knew where I was, I could run for Shadowed Hills. Sylvester would protect me. Or I could go Home. Between Sylvester and Devin, I’d be safe. There was no one in this room who’d dare to go up against both a Daoine Sidhe Duke and a changeling crime lord in his own den. I’m good at pissing people off, but none of my enemies are remotely that powerful. Sometimes I’m still stunned that my allies are.

Tybalt’s face fell, and for a confusing moment, he looked like he was going to cry. That didn’t make any sense, but then, nothing about this day made any sense. I took a step backward, trying to put the end of the couch between me and the rest of these people. Simon grabbed my arm before I could get past him, jerking me around so he could stare into my eyes. He really did look almost exactly like his brother. Twins are creepy. Faces should be like fingerprints: one copy ever, no imitations allowed.

“October, wait.” He held me tightly, not letting go. The smell of smoke and sweet cider began to rise in the air around him, surprisingly strong. He must have been preparing one damn doozy of a spell. “No one here is your enemy.”

“Like hell, Uncle Creepy.” I jerked my arm out of his grasp. He let go, realizing I was going to hurt myself if he didn’t. I glared at him. “You’re like the evil grand vizier from a Disney movie. You only show up when you want something, and then Sylvester has to chase you away again before you get your slimy hands all over Shadowed Hills. He,” I hooked a finger toward Tybalt, who hadn’t moved, “hates me. He always has. Any room containing the two of you isn’t a room that means me well. Devin didn’t train no fools. I don’t give one sweet fuck about how much you want me to stay here. I’m not hanging around so you can hurt me.”

“October—”

The human teenager, who must not have been all that human, to be surrounded by this many fae—fuck, was I even wearing an illusion?—and not be freaking out, held her hands out toward me in a calming gesture. I reached up to feel the point of my ear and confirm that I could currently pass for human, and nearly screamed when my fingers found something much more pointed than it should have been. The entire shape of my ear had changed. What’s more, it didn’t itch; I wasn’t disguised. I backed deeper into the corner, trying not to hyperventilate.

“What the fuck did you people do to me?” I demanded.

“We loved you,” said the teenager. “That’s all. The rest, you did to yourself. I know better than anyone what you’re fighting against right now, but if you can focus, even a little, I think that will make things easier on everyone.”

There was something happening to her eyes. They were changing, going from green as a broken glass bottle to solid black from side to side, like the eyes of a shark. I raised one shaking hand and pointed at her, whispering, “Eyes like pitch and a friendly face. I know you. I know you. You’re the sea witch, aren’t you?” Greatest of Faerie’s demons. Worse even than Blind Michael, who Rode the hills and stole children away in the middle of the night. She couldn’t be here. I couldn’t be here with her. This wasn’t possible.

This wasn’t happening. The thought was strangely appealing. Simon had a flair for illusions. I let my hand drop to my side and turned on him, spitting, “Stop this.”

He looked at me like he was innocent, hurt and confused and a little perplexed. I leaned over and planted my hands at the center of his chest, shoving him. There was blood under my fingernails. Why was there blood under my nails? I always tried to have as little contact with blood as I could manage. The stuff was disgusting, and the fact that Mom used it in her magic didn’t help.

“I said stop!” I yelled, as he fell backward into the couch.

“Wow, this spell really tailors itself to the target,” said the teenager who might be the sea witch, blinking her black eyes but looking otherwise unconcerned. “August ran into the woods like nothing had changed. You went full evil mastermind and started trying to kill us all . . .”

“I would already have apologized for that if October had been in her right mind and willing to listen,” said Simon abashedly.

“Always an excuse with you,” said the teenager. She snapped her fingers, and I couldn’t move, not to shove Simon again, not even to back deeper into the corner. “I know you can’t believe me right now, but this was your idea,” she said, eyes on me. “You thought you had the answer to breaking this curse so your fucked-up branch of the family can stop passing it around like some sort of unwanted vase. Now stay here. I have to keep a promise.” She turned, heading for the door.

“What promise?” demanded Tybalt. There was an inexplicable note of panic in his voice.

“I told your lady fair that I’d unlock a door,” she said, and stepped into the hall, leaving me immobile and surrounded by people I either didn’t know or didn’t like.

“I hate it when she slings magic around like it’s nothing,” grumbled the younger Daoine Sidhe. He walked toward me, pausing to bend and gingerly retrieve a silver knife from the floor. It looked sharp. It also looked well-used; there were flecks of blood dried on the hilt, and streaks of something much fresher on the blade. “I’ll just, um, hold this for you, for now,” he said. “I promise I’ll give it back when you’re ready.”

“You can’t give it back when it’s not mine,” I snarled. At least I could talk. I tried to move my little finger, but even that was apparently forbidden. “I don’t know who you are or what you want, but the sea witch isn’t anyone to mess around with, kid. She’s not your friend, and she’s not going to grant your heart’s desire just because you helped her hurt me.”

“Ignore her,” said the alchemist. “I know it’s hard when someone you love starts saying things like that, but she’s not herself right now. Literally.” He looked over his shoulder at me. “Lily would never have spoken so highly of you if you had been like this.”

“You know Lily?” I calmed a little. Lily has always had excellent taste in people. If this man was someone she knew, then he probably wasn’t working with Simon, the sea witch, or King Asshole over there, who was looking at me like I’d just killed his puppy. Assuming he’d have a puppy, or that he wouldn’t kill it himself.

“I knew Lily,” he said, and turned back to his chemistry set. “She took me in when I came to the Mists. I didn’t have a place, and she was willing to give me one, even though I offered her nothing but another alchemist with an irregular education. All the noble households—even your beloved Shadowed Hills—needed to know I’d be useful before they’d offer me more than the barest requirements of hospitality. But Lily loved you. Lily said you were worth more than the nobles around you. Please don’t prove her wrong.”

I blinked at him. He was talking about Lily in the past tense. But that didn’t make any sense. Lily was in the Tea Gardens. Lily would always be in the Tea Gardens. There’s virtually nothing in Faerie that can kill an Undine.

No one said anything. Silence fell, broken only by the pounding of my heart and the sound of Tybalt’s inexplicably labored breathing. He was still looking at me like I represented some great, heartbreaking betrayal, and I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why.

The teenager stepped back into the room. She nodded when she saw I was still in the corner where she’d left me. “Good,” she said. “I was half afraid you’d remember enough to break free, and not enough to know that you didn’t want to.” She stepped to the side, looking expectantly back the way she’d come. “Not long now.”

I had no idea what she was talking about, unless they’d brought me here to be fed to some great and terrible beast. I tensed as much as I could through the spell binding me, prepared to scream my head off if that was the only option I had.

Something moved in the hall. It seemed too small to be anything really dangerous, which was ridiculous. Pixies can be dangerous when there are enough of them, and they’re basically the size of Barbie dolls. The orange woman clapped a hand over her mouth. “Awake, then?” she asked, in an accent I couldn’t place.

The teenager nodded. “Awake, and already out of bed when I came to unlock the door. Something has him all stirred up.” She glanced at me, black eyes unknowable.

I still couldn’t move. A man—a human man, by all appearances, with brown hair, tawny brown skin, and brown eyes—appeared in the doorway, looking wildly around the room. He was wearing sweatpants and a white tank top, and he looked like he hadn’t shaved in weeks. Not quite long enough to grow a full beard, long enough to look incredibly scruffy. His feet were bare, and they sank into the carpet as he stumbled toward me, not quite walking steadily.

The teenager snapped her fingers, and the spell holding me in place collapsed. All the tension I’d been gathering was released at once, and I fell forward, landing on my knees in the carpet. I barely missed knocking over the candle. The man kept staggering toward me. I scrambled to get back to my feet before he reached me.

I didn’t quite make it. He stopped in front of me, chest heaving, and reached down with one hand to gently cup my chin, tugging as he guided me the rest of the way upright. “Jenny?” he asked, in a voice filled with wondering awe. “My Jenny? You came for me? You found me, who should have been unfindable?” His eyes flicked to my ears, and he paused.

When he spoke again, he sounded older, and sadder. “No. Not my girl. The child, perhaps. She was so sure it would be a boy, but you look just like your mother. Almandine, that was the name we settled upon. Are you my Almandine?”

The teenager laughed, a little wildly, and when she spoke, she sounded dazed, like she was watching something impossible. “I knew it. I always knew my father wouldn’t have approved of naming his newest daughter after a trout dish.”

“My name is October,” I said, staring at the man. “How do you know my mother? But her name isn’t ‘Almandine,’ it’s ‘Amandine.’”

“Oh, Jenny, you always were fond of shortcuts,” said the man. “Forbidden places, forbidden flowers—forbidden hearts. My girl never saw a rose she didn’t think was ripe for plucking.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t know you.”

“How do you not know me?” asked the man. “You were the one who brought me home.”

The world shattered then, and fell down around me in prismatic, candy-colored shards, and everything was different, and everything was exactly the same.