Ashes of Honor: An October Daye Novel

The Luidaeg didn’t answer. She just looked at me and waited.

Right. “So how are we supposed to find Chelsea?” I asked, dropping the subject. “She can teleport, and we don’t even have a car anymore, thanks to the Afanc.”

“What did you say her magic smelled like?”

“Sycamore smoke and calla lilies.”

“And she’s Etienne’s kid. What does his magic smell like?”

“Um…it smells like cedar smoke and limes.”

“Okay. Okay. Her line…she must be descended through Amorica.” Catching our blank expressions, the Luidaeg sighed. “You know, there was a time when everyone in Faerie knew the descendant lines of the Firstborn. It helped people not get turned inside out when they pissed us off. Amorica and Elton are the Tuatha de Dannan Firstborn. Twins. Amorica’s magic smelled like burning heather—like all the fields in the world were on fire at once. Elton smelled like that same field at dawn, when the dew was heavy and fire seemed impossible. If your missing kid were from Elton’s line, she’d smell like, I don’t know, wet concrete and whatever.”

Quentin and I kept looking at her blankly. The Luidaeg scowled before picking up the kettle and pouring a stream of dark liquid into her mug.

“Did you never consider that maybe—just maybe—your magic said things about you?”

“I knew it usually reflected one or both of your parents somehow and that it could change as you got older, but I didn’t realize it identified your Firstborn,” I said. “Or that the Tuatha had two Firstborn.”

“Yeah, well, ‘had’ is the right word there. Amorica died the first time we went to war against each other—and don’t,” she held up a hand, “ask me why we went to war, or who was on which side. It doesn’t matter now, and it’s one of the questions I’m not allowed to answer.”

“Okay,” I said slowly. “So she’s one of Amorica’s descendants. What does that mean from a practical standpoint?”

“It means I can mix you a tracking potion.” The Luidaeg sipped her tea, grimaced, and set the cup aside before opening her refrigerator and starting to rummage around inside. “You won’t be able to follow her if she gates out of the Summerlands, but at least you’ll be able to tell where she enters and exits.”

“What’s the catch?” asked Quentin.

The Luidaeg’s magic always comes with a price. Both Quentin and I have learned that lesson firsthand. There are people who would say we got off easy—we’re both still breathing, after all—and maybe they’re right. That doesn’t make the Luidaeg’s bills easy ones to pay.

“Well, for one thing, you won’t be able to stop looking until you find her.” The Luidaeg straightened, a jar of unidentified green sludge in each hand. She closed the refrigerator door with a bump of her hip before moving to the counter. “For another thing, if she dies before you manage to catch up to her, you’re going to get it dropped on your head.”

“Like riding the blood all the way to a death?” I asked.

The Luidaeg looked up, meeting my eyes, and nodded. “It would be a lot like that. The nature of the connection is similar. Quentin would probably bounce back. You, on the other hand…there are downsides to being what you are.”

I shuddered. I couldn’t help it. Blood magic is always dangerous; maybe that’s why there are so few races in Faerie that specialize in it. Water magic, sure. Flower magic, why not? But blood magic? That’s the sort of thing that can get you killed. I should know. It’s come close to killing me, more than once.

“I’m not going to get her memories, am I? Because that would be a little bit distracting. Puberty was annoying enough the first time.”