Ashes of Honor: An October Daye Novel

Goody.

I keep my knife sharp for situations just like this one. I ran the blade across the knuckles of my left hand, cutting barely deep enough to draw blood. The wounds were already starting to scab over as I brought my fingers up to my mouth. I didn’t open my eyes.

The taste of blood chased everything else away—the smoke, the scent of Chelsea’s magic, everything. Then every other trace of blood in the room rose, threatening to knock me on my ass. I forced myself to keep breathing. My magic rose around me, cut grass and copper barely sharp enough to distinguish itself from blood. The taste of blood receded, seeming to know what it needed to do, and a dozen more magical signatures announced themselves, ghostly memories of spells long since cast and illusions long since dispelled.

“Chelsea used her magic there and there.” I pointed blindly, eyes staying closed as I fought to focus through the overlapping traces left by the Cait Sidhe. Tybalt would see what I was pointing at. “She didn’t use it here. She didn’t come anywhere near here.”

“What are you saying?” Tybalt’s voice drew closer. His footsteps weren’t even whispers in my self-imposed darkness. If he hadn’t been speaking, I would never have heard him coming.

“Chelsea didn’t open this door.” I ducked my head, breathing in deep. There was the faintest distant trace of apples and snowdrops—but then it was gone again. “I…she didn’t. I’m sure she didn’t. There’s a ghost of her magic here, but it’s too thin. She didn’t do this.”

“Then who did?” The question was softly asked, and all the more dangerous for its seeming gentleness. Tybalt was merciless in the defense of his people. If Chelsea hadn’t opened the door that burned his Court…

“I don’t know.” I opened my eyes, meeting his frown without shying away. “Believe me, if I knew, I would tell you. Nobody gets to kill you but me.”

“I should not find that so comforting. Tell me, if you can’t tell who did, how do you know it wasn’t the girl?”

“Because I can follow her magic across the room, and she never came near this wall.” I swallowed, clearing the taste of blood from my mouth. The spell burst, and the scent of old magic faded, mercifully taking the memory of all the blood that had been spilled here along for the ride. For just a moment, it was as if my senses had been set back to where they used to be, when blood magic was the tool of last resort and not the one thing I had to truly depend on. “Whoever opened the door onto the fire used a blood charm, which is how I know anyone opened a door here at all—but Chelsea didn’t do this.”

Blood charms are almost exclusively the domain of the Daoine Sidhe, which didn’t explain how someone had been able to replicate the Tuatha door-opening power with one—unless they’d used Chelsea’s blood in the mix, which would also explain why her magic seemed to be spread unevenly around the room. Whoever had her wasn’t above bleeding her.

Tybalt breathed out slowly. Then he nodded. “For her sake, I am glad. Cait Sidhe justice can be cruel,” he said. “For mine…I am troubled.”

“Yeah,” I said quietly. “If it wasn’t her, who was it?”

We stood in that flame-blackened room, looking at each other. Someone had snatched Chelsea. Someone was pursuing her, for reasons we still didn’t know. And whoever it was, they were able to follow her into the Court of Cats, and they didn’t care who got hurt.





ELEVEN


WE STEPPED FROM THE SHADOWS onto the hard-packed earth edging the creek that runs through the heart of the UC Berkeley campus. The creek’s small footbridge shielded us from mortal eyes; between that and the hanging ivy threatening to block the sun, we could practically have pitched a tent and had a cookout down there.