Chimes at Midnight

“There was no way we could have known.” The words sounded sincere. It took me a moment to realize they’d come out of my mouth. “The night-haunts were doing their job, and that meant we never had a chance of finding out about those other kids. Not unless someone told us, and nobody knew for sure.” Their names. Sweet Titania, I hadn’t even learned all their names. How was I going to tell their parents if I didn’t know their names?

Thinking like that was just going to drag me down into a never-ending spiral of blame and self-loathing. I couldn’t afford that. Not right now.

May must have known what I was thinking, because she said softly, “I can try to talk to the flock. Maybe I can get their names.”

“That would be good.” I glanced at Tybalt as I turned onto Market Street. “Were any of them yours?”

“Thankfully, no,” he said. “The goblin fruit has not reached my Court as yet. Given time, it will. My control over my subjects is strong, but it is not absolute.”

“Right.” Three months ago, right before we started officially dating, one of Tybalt’s subjects introduced me to my own intestines. That probably wouldn’t have happened if Tybalt had been in control of Samson’s actions at the time. “Okay.”

“They weren’t from the flock, either,” said Jazz. “We’re not missing anyone.”

“Okay,” I repeated. I was learning more and more about whose they weren’t—and it wasn’t helping. The Cait Sidhe and the Raven-maids and Raven-men kept a close eye on their changelings, protecting them the way the larger fae community didn’t. But selling goblin fruit to changelings wasn’t a crime. The Queen of the Mists had to know that it was happening, and she’d never done a thing to stop it.

Everyone quieted after that. None of us really had anything to say. I pulled into the covered two-car parking area next to the large Victorian house that we had on long-term loan from my liege, Duke Sylvester Torquill. May and Jazz got out as soon as the engine stopped, leaving me alone with Tybalt. He waited until their doors were closed before putting his hand on my shoulder and saying, softly, “He was wrong. This is not your fault.”

I kept my hands on the wheel, staring straight ahead through the windshield. “Are you sure about that? Because it feels like my fault.”

“October.”

I didn’t turn.

Tybalt sighed before saying, more firmly, “October.” Reluctantly, I turned to face him. He reached out and touched my cheek. “This is not your fault. That does not mean it is not your responsibility. I know that. So my question now becomes . . . what are we going to do about it?”

“We’re going to stop it.” Once again, the words were out almost before I realized they were coming, and once again, they helped. I nodded, slowly at first, then with growing conviction. “People are dying. The Queen of the Mists will have to do something now.”

“I do not share your conviction on that matter, but I am willing to follow your lead.” He leaned in, fingers still pressed to my cheek, and kissed me.

There was a time when I would have pulled away, feigning displeasure I didn’t really feel. That time ended after I nearly lost him in Annwn, and after he nearly lost me at the hands of Raj’s father, Samson. The phrase “tumultuous courtship” was practically invented for us.

But that’s over now. He kissed me with calm assurance and I responded in kind, taking a brief, sweet comfort in the hint of pennyroyal on his lips. Finally, I pulled away. “Let’s go inside,” I said. “We need to decide what happens next.”

“As milady wishes,” he said, smiling faintly, and opened the car door.

A narrow brick path led from the parking area—it’s not really a garage, since it doesn’t have walls, but it’s private parking in the city of San Francisco, which makes it worth its weight in gold—to the back door of the house, which opened on the kitchen. May and Jazz had left it unlocked when they went inside. I pushed it open, calling, “It’s just us, don’t shoot.”