One Salt Sea: An October Daye Novel (13 page)

“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.

“My people will stand with yours, if you’ll have us. One Cait Sidhe is worth ten of any other breed.”

I gaped for a stunned moment before stammering, “Oak and ash, Tybalt,
why
? I’m not turning you down. I just don’t understand why you’re offering.”

“We’ll have to fight, no matter what, if this war gets bad enough. We have too many friends among the Courts to simply close our doors until the chaos passes,” Tybalt said. “If we fight with you, at least we’re fighting for something.”

“And your people are okay with this?”

He blinked, looking bemused. “Why wouldn’t they be? I’m their King.”

“Right.” I rubbed my forehead. “The offer is very kind.”

“Will you accept?” he asked.

Tybalt wasn’t bothering to conceal his anxiety. I blinked, glancing at Raj. His expression matched his uncle’s line for line—and I suddenly understood why Tybalt was so concerned. They expected me to refuse. They thought I was going to try to hold Goldengreen alone, all because I was mad at Tybalt for ignoring me.

They were here because they didn’t want me to die.

I forced a smile and said, “Of course I will. Thank you.”

Tybalt’s offer was almost a binding contract in and of itself, but my “thank you” eliminated the “almost.” It wasn’t the first time I’d thanked him for something—that happened in a dark alleyway, years and miles from where we were standing now—but it was the first time I’d meant what I was saying.

He blinked once, clearly surprised. Then he smiled, all the awkwardness and hauteur vanishing, so that only Tybalt was left. “You’re welcome,” he replied.

The last time he looked at me like that, I’d just recovered from iron poisoning after being rescued from the Queen’s jail. Then he disappeared on me for a month. I took a breath, not sure what I was going to say, but certain that I needed to say something—
anything
—to keep him from vanishing again.

The phone rang.

I caught myself. I’d just come frighteningly close to reaching out to a man whose motives had never been clear to me, and still weren’t. With everything that was going on, that was the last thing I could afford to do. “Excuse me,” I said, stepping quickly away. “I need to get that.”

I turned my back on them as I grabbed the phone. Bucer’s voice was immediately in my ear, announcing, “I cost two hundred an hour, cash on the barrel, and I don’t do anything that might get violent.”

“Hello to you, too, Bucer,” I said. “How about I give you fifty dollars for answering some questions, and
I
don’t get violent?”

“Sounds fair,” he said, without hesitating. “How’s it been, Toby? Long time no hear. Word on the street says you’ve moved on to pissing off bigger and better folks.”

“If you mean the Queen of the Mists, yeah, I’ve managed to get on her bad side a time or two. What do you know about what’s going on with the Undersea?”

“I know I’m hopping on the next bus bound for Denver. I figure the fish ain’t likely to push it all the way up into the mountains.”

“The kidnappings, Bucer. Somebody’s kidnapped the sons of the Duke and Duchess of Saltmist, and that’s why we’re having all this trouble. Do you have any idea who that might have been?” It wasn’t a surprise that he was already planning to get out of Dodge. That sort of self-interest was exactly what Devin tried to instill in us when we worked for him. Obviously, it worked on some of us better than on others.

Bucer hesitated. “I don’t know if I should—”

“A hundred dollars, cash. Tonight.”

He sighed. “Word on the street is that it wasn’t any of the crew that’s been working this Kingdom in the last couple years.”

I turned to lean against the counter, bringing Tybalt and Raj back into view. They were watching me, not making any attempt to hide their eavesdropping. That was fine. It would save me time when it came to getting them up to speed. “So you’re saying it was someone from outside the Kingdom?”

“Not exactly.” He hesitated again, longer this time. “Look, Toby, I get that you have a thing for lost causes and shit, but maybe this is one you should leave alone. Dangerous people and dangerous places, y’know?”

“Two hundred dollars, cash.”

He took a deep breath. And then, reluctantly, he said the last thing I wanted to hear: “The folks that might know, the ones you’d think would get hired for something like this . . . they’re saying a little redhead girl did the deed. Came around the markets, dropped some cash in some pockets, and then poof. The kids were gone.”

A little redhead girl. . . “Did they have anything else to say about her?” I asked, through lips that felt suddenly numb.

“You don’t want to know this.”

“Answer the question.”

“Just that she had them yellow eyes,” said Bucer. “You know the ones.”

Yes. I did. Every Torquill I’ve ever met has the same eyes, the color of honey wine. That includes Rayseline, Sylvester’s red-haired daughter, who disappeared after she tried—and failed—to kill her mother. “Are you sure?”

“It’s not like I exactly went digging for this shit, seeing as how I’m not in the mood for a shallow grave in the Marin headlands, but I got it from multiple sources. Red hair. Gold eyes. Giggle like she’s already seeing you with your throat cut.”

That was Rayseline all right. “Give me your address. I’ll send your money.”

“This better not be a trick.”

“Honestly, Bucer, I don’t have the time to fuck with you. It’s not a trick; you’ll get your fee. And if you learn
anything
else before you head for the hills, call this number and pass it on. As long as you keep talking, I’ll keep paying.”

“Shit,” he said, suddenly hushed. “You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“Cash?”

“Cash.”

He gave me the address. I hung up, after repeating my offer to pay him for any additional information he could dig up. Then I turned to Raj, and asked, “Can you do me a favor?”

“What?” he asked warily. Smart kid.

“I need somebody to run payment to Bucer. I figure if you go as a cat, you can dart in, drop the cash, and dart out without him getting the drop on you. I’d do it myself, but it would take too long. Right now, I have more pressing commitments.”

“Sure,” said Raj, looking relieved to have something to do. I understood the feeling.

Tybalt didn’t share his nephew’s relief. Folding his arms, he asked, “Setting aside the question of what gives you the authority to give orders to a member of my Court, what could possibly press upon you more than visiting such a treasured contact?”

“I’m not giving orders. I’m asking for a favor. As for why, I’ve got to start looking for these kids, and if I go to Bucer, Titania only knows how long he’ll keep me there.” I resisted the urge to grab the over-sugared coffee. Rubbing my forehead instead, I said, “I can’t afford the delay.”

Tybalt’s expression turned suspicious, pupils narrowing. “What did he tell you?”

“Hang on.” I grabbed an envelope from the counter, scrawling Bucer’s address on the back. “Raj, get two hundred dollars from the jar on my desk and take it to this address. Don’t let anybody see you.”

“Sure.” Raj took the envelope, glancing at Tybalt one last time before practically running out of the kitchen. Tybalt watched without comment. His pupils were thin black slits against the green of his eyes when he turned back to me; if he’d possessed a tail in his human form, it would have been lashing.

“October . . .” he said, a warning growl underscoring the word.

“Bucer’s contacts have reason to suspect that Rayseline Torquill is involved with the kidnapping of the Lorden children.”

My voice was as neutral as I could make it. Tybalt’s response was anything but. His lips drew back from his teeth in an agitated snarl as he asked, “To what ends?”

“Who the hell knows with her? Maybe she was bored. Maybe she’s trying to kill us all. The possibilities are endless.” This time, I didn’t fight the impulse to pick up my too-sweet coffee. I’ve always had an easier time dealing with the world when over-caffeinated. “I need to go to Shadowed Hills. I have to talk to her parents.” I also needed to search the rooms she used to share with Connor, to see whether there was anything there that could tell me where to start hunting for the boys.

“I’m coming with you.”

“What?” I blinked. “Why?”

“Her intentions toward you have been well-established by this point, unless you can somehow interpret her attempts to have you executed for murder as a gesture of friendship. What sort of ally would I be if I allowed you to chase after her alone?”

The less confusing kind of ally, for a start. “Tybalt . . .”

“If you’re under the assumption that this is negotiable, I suggest you reconsider. I’m coming with you. The only question is whether we travel together or apart.” There was cold amusement in his smile. “I bet I can even beat you there.”