Ashes of Honor: An October Daye Novel

I frowned. “I’m guessing that would be bad?”


She gave me an indulgent look, the kind adults give to children who think they’re smarter than they are. “Purebloods make knowes, Firstborn make worlds…what did you think my parents made?”

“They made Faerie,” I said.

“They did. And Faerie misses us.” She shook her head. “If Chelsea’s powers get all the way out of her control, she’ll punch a hole straight through to where Faerie was born, and then Dad help us all. You have to stop her.”

“And if I can’t?”

“Only blood will close a hole that deep—more blood than a body has to spare. Even yours, October. Someone will have to die. Stop her before things go that far.”

“I’ll do my best.” This wasn’t my first kidnapping case, not by a long shot. It was the first one where I’d been told that I would have to kill the kid if I couldn’t retrieve her safely.

“Good.” The Luidaeg straightened a little, smiling toward the kitchen door. “That’s the box I meant! Bring it over here, kiddo, and we’ll see about getting you two back on the road.”

Quentin looked quizzically at us as he walked over to put the velvet box down on the counter next to the bowl of gunk. “What were you two talking about?”

“How we were going to get back on the road,” I said quickly. The Luidaeg can’t lie. Thankfully, I don’t share her limits. “The car’s been crushed, and Etienne’s with Sylvester.”

“We can call Danny,” Quentin suggested.

“We may have to.”

The Luidaeg opened the box, pulling out two small glass spheres. They looked solid until she tapped them with the tip of her index finger. Then they opened like four-petaled flowers, becoming unusually shaped bowls. The Luidaeg spoke as she worked, saying, “I know stupidity comes naturally to you, but this isn’t the time for it. You can take my car.”

I blinked. “You have a car?”

“Yes, I have a car. I don’t drive much, but how did you think I got out to Half Moon Bay before I met you? I sure as shit didn’t fly. I don’t have the figure for it.” She scooped about a half-teaspoon of gunk into each of the glass bowls, checking to be sure the amounts matched. Then she tapped the “petals” again, and they closed seamlessly. “The car’s parked at the back of the alley, under a don’t-look-here. Keys are next to the front door. Don’t scratch the paint.”

Considering what the Luidaeg did when she liked us, I didn’t want to think about what she’d do if we managed to damage her property. “If you’re sure…” I said.

“I don’t make offers when I’m not sure.” She lifted the glass spheres to eye level and blew on each one, just once, gently. The gunk inside dissolved, replaced by tiny piles of gleaming red sand, flecked with flakes of gold and black. “Here.”

She held the spheres out toward us. I let go of my wrist to reach for mine. My skin was still bloody—no surprise there—but the wound made by the Luidaeg’s teeth was gone. That was never going to stop being creepy.

Quentin squinted at his sphere and asked, “What does it do?”

“It finds Chelsea. You need to take it somewhere she’s been. That will let it attune to the scent of her magic—just don’t get it near any other recent Tuatha portals. After that, it will start pulling you in the direction of her most recent door. If you’re lucky, she’ll still be there when you arrive.”

“So it’s like the candle?” The Luidaeg made me a magic candle when I went into Blind Michael’s lands for the first time. It helped me find the children he’d stolen. It also got wax everywhere, but that was a necessary evil.

“Same principle, different execution,” said the Luidaeg. “If you find Chelsea—when you find Chelsea—hand her the spheres. That’ll break the connection and keep you from getting hit with any backlash. If she dies before you can get her to take them…”