Chimes at Midnight

“Good.” I turned back to the door, knocking as I called, “Is everybody decent? I need to talk to you.”


“We’re clothed,” said May, opening the door. I could see Jazz behind her on the bed, pulling her blouse down in a way that implied “clothed” might have been an exaggeration. I didn’t say anything about it. Their sex life is none of my business. “What’s up?”

“I’m about to do something I really, really don’t want to,” I said. “You want to come?”

May pulled a face. “The Queen’s Court? Really? Tonight?”

“I don’t see another way to take care of this, do you? I can’t just sit here and let more changelings die without telling her what’s going on.”

“Okay.” May looked over her shoulder at Jazz, and then back to me. “We’ll be ready when you are.” She shut the door. I blinked, taking a step back.

“I guess they’re coming with us,” I said, and turned toward my own room. Tybalt followed, pacing me down the rest of the hall. I flashed him a small smile and said, “You can come in, but you’ll need to sit on the bed while I get changed.”

“I believe I can manage that,” he said gravely.

“Cool.” I flicked on my bedroom light, handing Tybalt my half-empty coffee mug before starting for the closet, where I kept my relatively small assortment of Court-suitable formal wear. I shrugged out of my leather jacket, hanging it on the closet doorknob. “I’ve been assuming, but I didn’t ask. Are you coming to the Queen’s Court with me?”

“I’d like to,” said Tybalt, following my instructions and sitting down on the bed. “I know your Queen thinks little of me, but as she thinks even less of you, my presence cannot help but improve the situation.”

“If nothing else, it’ll give her something besides me to be pissed off about.” I crossed my arms, scowling at my clothes. Most of the time, when visiting a noble who demanded “proper respect,” I would just have created an illusory dress for myself, weaving it out of dead leaves and butterfly wings and whatever else I had to hand. The Queen of the Mists, unfortunately, didn’t approve of illusions. Whatever I wore was likely to get permanently transformed into something else. Unless I went in assuming she was going to do that. On those occasions, I usually wound up disrespectfully underdressed in front of her entire Court.

“That is admittedly one of my goals,” said Tybalt.

“You’re a smart guy—ha!” I pulled a low-cut silk gown the color of dried blood out of the back of my closet. It was surprisingly simple, given that it was one of the Queen’s designs. It had started out as one of my favorite pairs of jeans. I held it up against myself, checking the fit. “What do you think?”

“I think that, given how often you accessorize yourself with bloodstains, it’s for the best that the color flatters you,” said Tybalt solemnly. He put my coffee down on the bedside table as he leaned back on his hands. “I also think you should wear dresses more often. They make me itch to peel you out of them.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Now isn’t the time, but that’s good to know.” I hung the dress on the back of the door before starting toward the master bathroom, trusting Tybalt to follow. I shed clothing as I went, letting the pieces lie where they fell. “I really don’t want to see the Queen.”

“I know.”

“But I can’t handle this on my own, and I can’t go to Sylvester when this isn’t his demesne. I have to find out whether she’s willing to put her dislike of me aside and deal with something that’s a real threat to this Kingdom.” I bent to turn on the shower.