One Salt Sea: An October Daye Novel

“I am?”


“Unless you wished to let my people invade your knowe without warning those already there? A second war could be amusing, but probably unproductive.”

Images of Marcia trying to shoo the entire Court of Cats out with her broom filled my head. I sighed. “Right. Adding a stop at Goldengreen to the agenda.”

“Well, then.” Tybalt straightened. “With so much to do before tomorrow night, we should be underway.”

“True enough.” I poured the contents of the coffee pot into the thermos. They fit nicely on top of my original mug of coffee. “If you’re planning to be underfoot all night, you can get me the milk.”

“As you like.” Tybalt opened the fridge and pulled out the milk. Our fingers grazed when I reached for the carton. I felt my ears go red, and Tybalt smiled, a slow, cat-with-a-canary expression that did its best to chase all thoughts of war—and Connor—from my mind.

Connor. Oh, oak and ash, what was going to happen if we wound up on opposite sides of a war? Would the Undersea blame him if his ex-wife turned out to be the cause of their current situation? Maeve forbid, would the Queen?

I snatched the carton from Tybalt’s hand with a quick, almost jerky motion, topping off the thermos before thrusting the milk back at him. “Put this away.”

“Certainly,” said Tybalt, taking the milk.

“Be right back.” I trotted down the hall to bang on May’s door. “Hey!”

She didn’t open it. “Hey, what?”

“I’m going out. Call Danny if I’m not back by sunrise. Got it?”

“Got it!” She didn’t ask any questions. May knows me well enough to know better. Any answers I gave would just make it harder for her to stay calm.

There wasn’t anything else I could do in the apartment. I walked back to Tybalt, sure I was making a mistake, and utterly unable to guess what that mistake might be. “All right, come on. If you want a ride, now’s the time.”

“After you,” he said, and followed me to the front door.

I grabbed my leather jacket from the rack as we passed. Even in June, the nights can be chilly in San Francisco. The fact that my jacket originally belonged to Tybalt didn’t make any difference at all. Honestly, it didn’t . . . and maybe if I kept telling myself that, it would start being true.

With Tybalt behind me and the thermos in my hand, I stepped out into the night.





NINE


TYBALT DIDN’T SAY ANYTHING as we drove; he just stared fixedly out the window. I spent a few minutes trying to figure out what I’d done wrong this time before I realized that it wasn’t about me at all. Tybalt’s older than I am. I’ve never asked how much older, but some of the things he’s said make me guess that he’s at least three hundred. I grew up with cars, and he didn’t.

That’s the thing about living forever. You eventually stop getting used to the way the world changes. “We’re almost there,” I said, as reassuringly as I could.

He shot me a grateful look before catching himself and sitting up in his seat. “Are we? I was enjoying the scenery.”

“Well, we could go around the block a few times if you want—”

“No,” he said hurriedly. Then he sighed, rubbing his face with one hand. “No, please. I’m quite prepared to be out of this infernal construction. We could have walked the Shadow Roads, you know. We would have been there long since.”

“What, and miss the fun of driving?” I offered a sympathetic smile. “It’s okay. Have you been to the Luidaeg’s before?”

“I have never had the privilege—or the need.” It was his turn to smile, putting a trace of wryness under the expression. “It seems you spend more time than most in a state of sheer emergency.”

“It’s a gift.”

“Yes.” He chuckled. “I suppose it is.”