Ashes of Honor: An October Daye Novel

“Those jeans are trashed,” said May. “There isn’t enough hydrogen peroxide in the world to deal with that much blood.”


“I know,” I said dolefully. “I’d just managed to get them broken in, too.”

“The true tragedy of the day is at last revealed,” said Tybalt from the doorway. “Not the assassination attempts, the injuries, or the betrayals. The loss of a pair of denim trousers.”

“Hey, man, I worked hard to make these jeans fit exactly how I liked them,” I said, turning. Tybalt was holding the kitchen door open. Jazz was standing behind him, still clutching her injured arm. “What’s going on?”

“We grew concerned when your disappearance was not followed by the sound of screaming, and I wanted to be sure our Lady Fetch had not elected to bury one of the kitchen knives in your eye.” Tybalt offered a bow toward May. “I appreciate your failure to stab her. I doubt she has any blood left to lose.”

“I took some of that Canadian Tylenol Quentin keeps in the medicine cabinet,” said Jazz. “It’s helping a little, but I’d still really like to get to Goldengreen.”

That was a hint if I’d ever heard one. May and I exchanged a look before I nodded and started toward the kitchen phone. “I’m on it.”

I dialed and handed the phone to May, not waiting for Danny to pick up. She was the one who needed the ride, and if I tried to explain what was going on, he’d want the whole story. We didn’t have time for that. Technically, I’d been wasting time by stopping to talk to May in the first place, but that part hadn’t been optional. It was my fault she got hurt. It was my fault Jazz got hurt. If she wanted me to explain myself, I owed her that.

May was still talking when I grabbed a pack of Pop-Tarts from the box and left the kitchen, heading for the stairs.

Tybalt followed me out of the kitchen. “Where are you going?”

“To my room,” I said. “I need to change my clothes. I would wash the blood out of my hair, but then it would freeze solid when we went back to Tamed Lightning. I’ll have to be a redhead for a little longer.”

“Charming.”

“Hey. I work with what I’ve got.” My stomach rumbled. I opened the Pop-Tarts, looking back at him as I climbed. “You probably need fresh clothes, too.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Are you about to tell me you have a pair of sweatpants in just my size sitting in a drawer somewhere? Because I think I would prefer to be naked.”

We still had all of Connor’s things in a box in the attic, but he and Tybalt weren’t the same height; Connor had actually been a few inches taller than Tybalt, probably because he was born more recently, and people are taller now than they were three or four centuries ago. I’m not sure why the human-form purebloods have continued getting taller along with the human population of the world; maybe it’s an automatic thing, one more form of subtle camouflage. Regardless, Tybalt would have looked like an idiot in Connor’s pants.

Even as I had the thought, I realized that it didn’t hurt. I was thinking about Connor, and it didn’t hurt. Maybe I was getting better after all.

“No, but if you want to run back to the Court of Cats, I can wait for you here.”

A shadow flickered across his face, there and gone in an instant. “Would that I could, October, but that door is not open to me at the present.”

I stopped as I reached the landing. “What do you mean? You’re the King.”

“Yes, I am. And if I return to the Court, I will need to begin the process of resolving the dissent Samson has so industriously sown.” Tybalt paused, rubbing his hand across his face before he added, “I don’t know when I’d be able to come back, Toby. I’d be leaving you when you need me the most—and while I wouldn’t normally put your welfare above that of my Court without true agony, this time, the two are the same. Whatever Samson has against me, he has against you as well. I will not leave you vulnerable to him.”