One Salt Sea: An October Daye Novel

“Not in those words, exactly, but that was the sentiment.” Marcia walked back to the counter, picking up my sandwich. “I don’t think he even realized I was there. He never looked at me.”


“That doesn’t surprise me.” As a quarter-blood, Marcia was too close to human to really be protected by the rules of fae etiquette. If Dugan wanted to ignore her, no one was going to get angry at him for it. No one but Marcia, anyway, and maybe Lily, when she was alive. “Did he use any magic in your presence?”

“Yeah.” Marcia walked back over, handing me the plate with my sandwich. The strawberry juice leaking around the edges looked uncomfortably like blood. “He removed his human illusion as a courtesy when he came into the knowe. He had to put it back on before he could leave.”

“Do you remember what his magic smelled like?”

Her cheeks reddened. “You know I’m not very sensitive to that sort of thing.”

“I know. I just want to know what his magic smelled like to you.” I’m good with magical signatures, but I’d only been around once or twice when Dugan was actually casting spells. I wanted outside confirmation.

“It was . . . I don’t know. Spicy, I guess. Like cinnamon.”

“Cinnamon and cardamom?” I asked.

Marcia blinked, once, before she smiled brightly. “That’s exactly it! Cinnamon and cardamom. He smelled like Finnish sweet bread.”

“Uh, I guess so. I’ve never smelled Finnish bread. What he does smell like, definitely, is spices.” I took a bite of strawberry-and-chicken sandwich—a surprisingly tasty combination, despite the fact that the bread still looked like it was bleeding—and swallowed before glancing to the door. “Where are they?”

“Knowing May? Possibly at the bottom of the Pacific by now. You have to give them time to get here.”

“Time is something we don’t have enough of at this point.” Rayseline wasn’t working alone. Rayseline couldn’t be working alone, because she didn’t have the skill for it—and someone hit Margie from behind. I put my sandwich down, pulling out the phone.

“Who are you calling?”

“Walther.” I raised the phone to my ear, and waited.

I didn’t have to wait for long. “Professor Davies speaking. How can I help you?”

“Hey, Walther. You alone?”

“Toby? What’s going on?” He sounded surprised and tired. I felt a small pang of guilt. I wasn’t just running myself ragged—I was doing the same thing to my allies.

I’d apologize later. When we weren’t dead. “Have you had a chance to look at that needle I gave you yet?”

“Not in any detail. I’ve been trying to figure out the base for that sleeping potion you found. I think I’m almost—”

“Was it brewed by a Daoine Sidhe?”

He paused. Then, slowly, he said, “It could be. What makes you ask?”

“I don’t want to say until I’m sure. Can you check?”

“Normally, I’d say no—if it were one of the standard apprentice recipes, it could have been anyone with a little skill for alchemy. But it’s unusual enough that I may be able to deduce the nature of the brewer from the compounds that were used. How soon do you need to know?”

“As soon as possible. It’s important.”

“ ‘Life and death’ important, or ‘it would be nice’ important?”

Dugan had access to all the Queen’s resources. To her dungeons, her guardsmen, anything he could take control of while her back was turned. “Life and death,” I said, without hesitation. “I think I know who Rayseline is working with. But I have to be sure.”

“I’ll get right on it,” Walther said. “Call if you need me.”

“Don’t worry. I will.” I closed the phone, sliding it back into my pocket before meeting Marcia’s wide-eyed stare. “What?”

“You think Dugan is working with Rayseline?” she asked.

“I didn’t say that.”