One Salt Sea: An October Daye Novel

Oberon preserve me from purebloods and their expectations. “Just follow my lead, and try not to touch anything.”


I led him down the alley to the Luidaeg’s door, a flat rectangle of rotting wood set in a crumbling frame. The door swung open before I could knock, revealing the Luidaeg herself. Connor froze. That’s a natural response when confronted by the sea witch.

Good thing all my natural responses were burned out years ago. “Hey,” I said.

“What in my mother’s name took you so long?” she snarled, stepping out of the way as she gestured me briskly inside. “I expected you twenty minutes ago.”

“Traffic,” I said. The shell stopped radiating cold as soon as I was over her threshold. I rubbed my thigh through the fabric of my dress, wincing a little. I’d be lucky if I didn’t have frostbite.

As if she could read my mind—there was a terrifying thought—the Luidaeg said, “Be grateful. It could have been a lot worse.”

“I am,” I said. I meant it, too. The Luidaeg could probably have blown my brains out with the thing, if she’d wanted to.

She swung her attention to Connor. “Selkie,” she half-said, half-spat.

He swallowed, hard. “Ma’am.”

“Oh, for Mom’s sake.” The Luidaeg rolled her eyes. “I don’t have time for this. Get in here.” He stepped inside, and she slammed the door behind him, casting the hall into darkness. “Now come on.” She turned and strode down the hall. Not being entirely stupid, I followed. Connor followed me.

The carpet crackled underfoot, bits of debris catching on my heels. I don’t know what color the carpet was when the Luidaeg moved in, and she keeps the lights low enough that even the improvements to my vision won’t let me see what color it is now. There are some small mercies in this world. The crackling was accompanied by the sound of insects scuttling for cover. The cockroaches clever and quick enough to survive in the Luidaeg’s presence breed prodigiously; she crushes or eats the dumb ones. If an insect uprising ever displaces the mammals as the titular head of the food chain, I expect it to start at her place.

The Luidaeg’s living room is usually slightly better than the hall, in that the layers of junk covering the floor are shallower, and there are windows, which keeps the mold from getting more than a light foothold on the walls and furniture. The Luidaeg was standing at the center of the room, arms crossed, waiting. “Well?” she demanded. “What happened?”

“How do you know something happened?”

“You’re here, which means the shell reacted. That means something happened. What was it?”

I took a breath. “Somebody decided to take a shot at Patrick Lorden.”

“Oh, rot and wreck.” The Luidaeg took a step back, sitting heavily on the couch. Her eyes were wide. That was the scariest thing I’d seen all evening. “Is he dead?”

“No—I managed to knock him out of the way before the shot was fired.” I held up the arrow. “I dug this out of the floor.”

“Give it to me.” It wasn’t a request. I stepped forward, dropping the arrow into her outstretched hand. She peeled away Patrick’s vest, first sniffing the wood, then licking the feathers fletching the end. Making a sour face, she offered it back. “It’s just elf-shot. It’s safe to touch, as long as you don’t do anything stupid, like cutting yourself.”

Assurances aside, I still used Patrick’s vest to keep myself from touching the wood as I took it from her hands. She snorted, looking almost amused.