One Salt Sea: An October Daye Novel

Having Quentin along was useful for at least one thing: I made him carry the drawer of rocks down the path to my apartment, while I took the substantially lighter collection of papers. The living room lights were on when we arrived, and the wards were open. I opened the door and stepped inside, calling, “Hey. I’m back.”


“Hey,” May replied. She was on the couch with Jazz’s head in her lap; the Raven-maid was sound asleep, black hair fanned out like glossy feathers on her girlfriend’s leg. She probably needed the rest. Keeping up with us nocturnal folk can be exhausting. A masked psychopath was on the TV, vivisecting a teenage girl in a way that was probably supposed to be new and inventive, but was nothing compared to watching a Kelpie shred a surfer.

“Sorry.” I closed the door, motioning for Quentin to put the drawer of rocks on the floor next to the umbrella stand. He did so, with obvious relief.

“Don’t worry about the noise—I don’t think a nuclear explosion could wake her right now.” May clicked off the TV. “You brought Quentin. That’s new.”

“Hi, May,” he said.

“Hi.” She twisted around to focus on me. “So what’s going on?”

“What do you mean?” I leaned over the back of the couch, putting the box of papers down before scooping Spike off the cushion where it was curled. It chirped before ramming its head, catlike, against my upper arm. I winced. “Ouch. Yes, I missed you, too.” Spike chirped again, sounding pleased. The sound caused the lump of fur on the beanbag chair to raise all three of its heads. Two were brown and cream, belonging to my half-Siamese cats. The third was russet-red, and belonged to Raj, currently lounging in the form of an Abyssinian cat.

“You left with Tybalt and came back with Quentin.” May said. “I’m a little worried. I’d appreciate it if you’d throw me a bone before I gnaw my fingernails to the quick.”

“Ah.” I sighed. “Well, we’re going to war.”

“I knew that.”

Raj yawned, blinking glass-green eyes first at me, then at Quentin. “Hi, Raj,” said Quentin. Raj mewled in answer.

I stayed focused on May. “I mean we’re really going to war. Sylvester’s pages are emptying the armory, and the Queen’s men are looking for Amandine so they can ask her to contribute.”

“Contribute what?” asked May, with horrified fascination.

“I don’t know. A headache?” I put Spike down. It shook itself, rattling like a maraca, and wandered over to sniff at Quentin.

“So where’s Tybalt?” asked May, causing Raj to turn and watch me intently.

“I asked him if he’d talk to the cats for me. People aren’t always careful to check the corners for strays before they open their mouths, and I need information.” I pointed to the drawer of rocks. “We need to get these to Walther.”

“These being . . . ?”

“Rayseline’s rock collection. I want him to see if there’s anything special about them.”

“No.”

I blinked. “No?”

“No, we’re not getting them to Walther.”

“Then who—?”

“Oh, I don’t know. How about that big Bridge Troll guy that’s always hanging around? You know, the one who talks to rocks for fun? I’m just putting that out there.”

“You mean Danny?”

“Yes, Danny. Who has, by the way, called twice to say that he hasn’t found anything, but he wants to help. Poor guy’s going to show up and start offering to get things down from high shelves if we don’t give him something to do soon.” May shrugged. “Interrogating a box of rocks is probably about right.”

“Okay. Good. That’s a good idea.” I leaned over again, gingerly removing the needles and vial from the box of papers. “I need you to start sorting through these scraps. Try to put them in order by the writing on the backs, not whatever happens to be on the front.”

She gave the box an uneasy glance. “Do I want to know?”

“It’s Raysel’s diary. Sort of.”

“Of course it is.” May shuddered, jostling Jazz. Jazz made a sleepy sound of protest and snuggled closer, eyes still shut. “What’s that you’re holding?”