Ashes of Honor: An October Daye Novel

by Seanan McGuire

  “I would love a sandwich,” said Tybalt, with enough gravity to make it sound like a formal proclamation. Resolved: that we will have ham and cheese sandwiches.

  “Just get the bread out of the cupboard, and I—”

  The doorbell rang before I could finish my sentence. I frowned, bumping the refrigerator door closed with my hip before dropping the ham, cheese, and condiments on the counter.

  “None of the people who want to kill us right now would use the doorbell,” I said. “It’s probably neighborhood kids selling something.”

  Tybalt snorted. “Your range of options is very specialized.”

  “Yeah, well. Welcome to my world.” I shook my head, grabbing a handful of air. The smell of cut grass and copper rose around me, mingling with the smell of the blood in my hair, as I wove a quick human disguise. “Wait here. I’m going to go get rid of whoever it is.”

  “Certainly,” said Tybalt. He was opening the cheese when I left the kitchen. I closed the door behind me—no point in explaining the pointy-eared man making sandwiches if I didn’t have to—and made my way to the front door.

  When I opened it, Officer Thornton of the San Francisco Police Department was standing on my porch. I blinked at him, briefly too surprised to speak. He blinked back, looking almost as surprised to see me as I was to see him. Then he cleared his throat.

  “Good evening, Ms. Daye,” he said. “Do you have a moment?”

  “I—” When dealing with the mortal authorities, there is no answer to that question that doesn’t begin with “yes.” When dealing with the mortal authorities who had followed me to Fremont, all the answers I wanted to give began with slamming the door in his face.

  If I did that, I might as well start packing my things, because I would be moving to the Summerlands full time shortly afterward. I swallowed my panic and stepped to the side, holding the door open wider. “Of course, Officer. Would you like to come in?”

  “Yes, thank you.” Officer Thornton looked around with unabashed curiosity as he stepped into the foyer. Fortunately, there was nothing really incriminating in view. We’re an inhuman household, but the detritus that builds up around the edges of our lives is reassuringly normal. It’s the lives themselves that tend to be a little weird.

  My stomach sank. Tybalt was in the kitchen without a human disguise on, and the living room was totally destroyed. Unless I could convince Officer Thornton that he wanted to go upstairs with me, I was screwed—and I didn’t even know how to open that conversation without sounding like I was coming on to him.

  “Um, Officer, what can I do for you? I thought that there were no charges against me?”

  “This is an unofficial visit, Ms. Daye. I’m still in uniform because my shift just ended.”

  “Oh.” And probably because he wanted me to remember that he was an officer of the law, but that was one of those things that did perfectly well when left unspoken. “So, unofficially, what can I do for you?”

  “Have you lived here long, Ms. Daye?”

  “Um, no. We just moved in a few months ago.”

  “‘We’ being?”

  “Me, my sister, May, and our nephew, Quentin.” Legally, May was my sister, and calling Quentin a nephew was easier than any of the other available explanations. I’m old enough to be his mother, but I’m never going to look it by mortal standards. “He’s from Canada,” I added, in case Officer Thornton decided to follow up with a question about where Quentin’s parents were. “I don’t know, I’ve never met them” was unlikely to score me any points.

  “It’s a lovely home,” he said instead, still looking around the hall.

  You won’t think that for long if you see the living room, I thought. He didn’t need to ask the next logical question: I’ve lived in San Francisco for most of my life, and I knew what it was going to be. “Yeah, we got really lucky,” I said. “Our Uncle Sylvester inherited this place from his parents, and it was just sitting empty until we needed somewhere to live. He lets us stay here for utilities and maintenance costs.” And would gladly sign the deed over to me if I asked. That was another thing I didn’t need to tell the nice officer.

  “You sound like you’re close to your family.” Officer Thornton turned to face me. There was something in his expression—a certain calculation—that I didn’t like. Then again, I didn’t like the fact that he’d been following me. “Family is important, don’t you agree?”

  “Yes, Officer, I do. If I can ask, what is this all about?”

  “Ms. Daye, what were you doing in Fremont earlier today?” The calculation in Officer Thornton’s face became suddenly coherent, resolving into suspicion. “I ask because an associate of mine from the Berkeley Police Department informed me that she had encountered you at the site of a recent disappearance, and as you had been brought into my station the night before…”

  I blinked. “I’m a private detective. I specialize in kidnappings and divorce cases. Bridget called me.”

  “But you didn’t tell the officers on the scene that. You allowed them to think you were a friend of the family. Was there any particular reason?”

  “The police have a lot on their plates. I didn’t want to risk deprioritizing Chelsea’s disappearance because Bridget was worried enough to bring in outside help.” I didn’t let myself glance away or break eye contact. “I understand how this works.”

  “Ms. Daye, you haven’t answered my question. What were you doing in Fremont?”

  “She was collecting me from the train station.” I turned to see Tybalt standing in the kitchen doorway, an amiable smile on his suddenly human face. “I don’t drive, and she wanted me home in time for dinner for a change.”

  “And you would be…?”

  “I’m the boyfriend. Rand Stratford.” Tybalt stepped forward, offering his hand to Officer Thornton, who took it, seemingly on autopilot. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. We didn’t have time for introductions when I was meeting October at the station last night.”

  “Ah.” Comprehension washed away Officer Thornton’s suspicion as he placed Tybalt into a context he could understand. “We appreciate your coming to escort her home. The streets are no place for a lady alone that late at night.”

  “I’m probably safer in her company than I am out of it,” said Tybalt as he reclaimed his hand. He pushed the kitchen door a bit farther open, in invitation. “Would you like a cup of coffee? I just started a fresh pot, and the living room is, well…” He wrinkled his nose before saying, conspiratorially, “It’s a bit of a mess. We weren’t expecting company.”

  The offer seemed to answer some question Officer Thornton hadn’t been voicing. His frown deepened for a moment before smoothing into neutrality. “Well, I won’t take up any more of your time. You two have a nice evening. And Ms. Daye, while I respect that your profession makes your involvement with Ms. Ames an understandable thing, I have to ask that you not interfere with the police. We’re going to bring this girl home.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of interfering,” I said, with as much sincerity as I could muster. “Thank you for dropping by, Officer.”

  “It’s my pleasure, Ms. Daye,” said Officer Thornton. Then he turned, letting himself out. The front door closed behind him with a click, and for a moment, everything was silence.

  That silence held for several seconds, until I heard the distant sound of a car door slamming shut. I opened my mouth, and Tybalt motioned for me to be quiet. I stopped, blinking at him. A few more seconds slipped by, and he dropped his hand.

  “I was waiting for the sound of his actually driving away,” he said, half-apologetically. “There was always the chance he would have slammed the car door before attempting to return to the porch and listen to our conversation.”

  “I get that,” I said wearily. “I have two questions before I decide what happens next.”

  “Ask away.” Tybalt tilted his head to the side, regarding me calmly with his bizarrely human eyes. The Tybalt I know has eyes the color of malachite, w
ith all the deep, banded shades of green the comparison implies. This Tybalt’s eyes were simply green. I would have found them attractive on a human man. On him, they were just wrong.

  “Is there really coffee?”

  “I assure you, October, while I might tease about many things, I value my life too much to hang my jests on coffee when you are involved.”

  “You know, a simple ‘yes’ would have sufficed.”

  Even the human disguise couldn’t dull his feline grin. “Yes. There’s coffee.”

  “Okay. And the second question…Rand?”

  Tybalt’s grin dulled, but didn’t die. “It was my name, once. It seemed less likely to inspire human curiosity than ‘Tybalt.’”

  “This is San Francisco. I wouldn’t be so sure.” I stepped past him, through the open kitchen door. The kitchen itself smelled like fresh coffee and, more faintly, the mingled scents of pennyroyal and musk. The remains of the spell Tybalt had used to cloak himself. “I didn’t expect the save. You have good timing.”

  “I was listening from the moment you left.” He stepped through the door behind me, releasing his human disguise at the same time. The smell of pennyroyal and musk intensified, and my shoulders unknotted a little. Seeing Tybalt as a human was just bizarre. “Had things gone badly…”

  “Then they would have gotten really bad, because you can’t knock over a police officer and snatch me away to the Court of Cats. Not with Bridget involved.” I walked over to the coffee maker, grabbing a Thermos from the counter on the way. I was going to need more coffee than I could reasonably stand here and drink. “One way or another, the mortal authorities are going to stay on this one.”

  Tybalt sighed. “You say the most charming things.”

  “I’m a realist.”

  “Of all the labels I would think to hang on you, that has never come anywhere near the top of my list.” Tybalt picked up a plastic bag from the kitchen table, holding it up for me to see. Ham sandwiches. “I have food.”

  My stomach rumbled, reminding me of the calories I hadn’t consumed before the police showed up. “Gimme,” I said. Tybalt raised an eyebrow. “Please,” I amended.

  He handed me the bag.

  I was midway through the first sandwich, barely tasting the ham, cheese, and odd mixture of condiments—who uses steak sauce and strawberry jam on a sandwich?—in my haste to get something into my stomach before Tybalt spoke again.

  “If you can focus, would you release your illusions?” he asked. “I’d rather avoid the masks when possible.”

  I swallowed the bite I’d been chewing and waved my hand through the air, snapping the thin web of magic that held my human disguise in place. It wisped away into the smell of cut grass and copper, leaving us both exposed as we really were, bloodstains and all. I kept eating, too anxious for food to stop and ask him why he’d wanted me to do that.

  Besides, if he felt anything like I’d felt when I saw him in a human mask, I already knew why he’d wanted me to do that. I still wasn’t sure what I thought about this new development—half of me wanted to jump up and down and punch the air, while the other half counseled caution, reminding me of dead loves and the dangers of the world I lived in. There would be time to think about that later. I hoped.

  The second sandwich was gone before my stomach stopped growling. I straightened, and realized that the spinning had finally stopped: my body was done ordering me to keep still. “Are you ready to move?” I asked.

  “I am.” Tybalt looked at me gravely. “October, before…”

  “I kissed you,” I said, cutting him off. “I figured it was my turn, you know? And I know there’s a conversation that we need to have, but we need to have it at a time that isn’t now. After Chelsea’s back. After Samson isn’t trying to kill you—and me—anymore. Okay?”

  Tybalt stepped toward me and planted a kiss on my forehead. “I’ve waited long enough to have you realize I was waiting. I can wait a short time more.”

  “Good.” I stepped back, filling my Thermos with coffee before capping it firmly and offering him my hand. “Can we get back to Tamed Lightning?”

  “You only ever needed to ask,” he said, and he took my hand in his and pulled me into the shadows. There was time for me to take a deep breath before the darkness closed around us, but barely; he’d had time to recover, too, and the Shadow Roads were responding quickly to his call.

  Tybalt swung me up into his arms as soon as we were in the shadows. I didn’t resist. There are times to insist on carrying your own weight and times to let yourself be carried. Running the Shadow Roads from San Francisco to Fremont was definitely the latter. I closed my eyes, letting my lashes ice together rather than trying to fight it, and relaxed into his embrace.

  Tybalt ran like he’d never been injured, never been tired, never been anything but what he was: a King of Cats at the height of his powers, running down the length of his domain.

  We emerged into the brightly lit cafeteria at ALH Computing, where Raj, Quentin, Li Qin, and Elliot were seated around one of the white plastic tables. All four of them looked up at the sound of Tybalt’s footsteps and watched as he put me down carefully.

  It was Elliot who spoke first: “Why is it that every time you come to visit, I come to work and find the cafeteria positively swimming with blood?”

  “I just want to help. I mean, I figure they’re not working you hard enough.” I paused to wipe the ice from my eyelashes and eyebrows before asking, as innocently as I could manage, “Don’t you appreciate the challenge?”

  “Not really,” said Elliot…but he was grinning, displaying a white crescent of sharply pointed teeth.

  The mess in the cafeteria was gone as though it had never existed. That wasn’t surprising. In addition to being April’s Seneschal, Elliot was a Bannick, a type of Russian fae, and couldn’t abide messes. He’d probably cleaned the whole place within five minutes of coming in. “Well, if you’re that opposed to challenges, I guess I won’t ask you about these bullet holes…”

  Elliot laughed. “Take a deep breath and close your eyes.”

  “Yes, sir.” I did as I was told, almost laughing when I heard Tybalt step away. Then a hot wave of lye-scented water seemed to burst around me: Elliot’s hearth craft at work. When it receded, my hair was clean and dry, and a quick feel of my jacket confirmed that the bullet holes were gone. I opened my eyes and smiled. “You’re awesome.”

  “I try.”

  I looked around. “Where’s Etienne? And where’s Jin?”

  “Jin has gone for a nap in one of the break rooms, since healing is tiring, and Etienne is with April,” said Li Qin. “They’re going over her list of security incursions over the last twenty-four hours. I think the idea is that if Chelsea has been crossing our lands, April might not have known what was causing the blips, but Etienne would be able to identify them as traces of Tuatha magic.”

  “It’s worth a try,” I said, and turned back to Elliot. “Did they bring you up to speed?”

  “Missing half-Tuatha changeling with the potential to destroy Faerie by mistake, possible involvement on the part of Duchess Riordan—because her becoming involved with things is excellent for my blood pressure—and an angry mortal folklore professor who wants her daughter back,” said Elliot. “Oh, and you went to Annwn and nearly died.”

  “In that order, even,” I said, with a nod. Raj was watching me with anxious eyes, like he knew that whatever I said next, it wasn’t going to make him happy. I took a breath. “We need to get moving. Chelsea’s just going to keep doing more damage the longer we let her run around loose. But there are a few more things you need to know…”

  Tybalt didn’t say anything as I filled the room in on what had happened since we left, but he did move to stand behind Raj, putting his hand on the younger Cait Sidhe’s shoulder in a silent show of solidarity that said more than any words. Samson’s crimes were not the crimes of his son. Raj would not be punished for what his father did. That, more than anything else, told m
e that I was right to be harboring the thoughts about Tybalt that were starting to gather more and more heavily at the back of my mind.

  The room was silent when I finished, except for the low buzz of the fluorescent lights and the thrumming of the motors in the vending machines. Then came the question from behind me, asked in an innocently quizzical tone: “Why do we not remove the mortals from the equation? If they were pulled into the Summerlands, they would no longer present any difficulties.”

  “Because, April, people tend to ask questions when policemen disappear, and even if I’m not all that thrilled about having Officer Thornton tailing me, I’m not going to banish him to another world for doing his job.” I paused, reaching for a word that she would understand, before turning to her and adding, “It would be rude.”

  “Ah.” April nodded, accepting this as a valid reason not to kidnap a police officer. Sometimes I think it must be refreshing to be quite that removed from the rest of the world. “Etienne and I have finished reviewing my security reports. It was an enlightening process. We found seven distinct traces that may indicate Chelsea’s passage through my lands. I have adjusted my security systems accordingly, and will know immediately if she returns.”

  “Good.” I paused, frowning. “April…where’s Etienne?”

  She blinked at me. “He has departed for Dreamer’s Glass. All seven traces indicate a trajectory that would terminate with Chelsea inside the demesne of Duchess Treasa Riordan.”

  “Oberon preserve us from fools and heroes,” I muttered. Louder, I asked, “Did he stop to think that maybe he should take some backup with him?”

  “He said that he was sure you would be amenable to this course of action.” April paused, eyes widening, before she said indignantly, “I believe he may have lied to me!”

  “It happens to the best of us.” I turned to the others. They were watching me like spectators at a tennis match. “We need to get to Dreamer’s Glass.”