One Salt Sea: An October Daye Novel

I stared at him. “Are you serious?”


“We’re meeting Duchess Lorden at a secure location just down the street,” he said, and started the engine.

San Francisco is a city full of people who like it when our desserts come with a floorshow, and that makes Ghirardelli Square a San Francisco institution. Where else can you get expensive chocolate and the amusement of watching tourists try to eat sundaes bigger than their heads? Unfortunately, that means the Square gets filled to capacity with people who think it’s “quaint.” Driving in that area is a nightmare. It wasn’t likely to be as bad at four in the morning, but after living in the city as long as I have, I’ve developed a natural aversion.

I got increasingly tense as we drove toward the wharf area where Ghirardelli Square is located. Connor’s driving wasn’t helping. I closed my eyes after the third time he turned the wrong way on a one-way street. That was when Quentin started popping his knuckles, producing a nerve-grinding sound that made my teeth itch. Every time I thought he was finished, he started over again, as Connor drove us jerkily toward our destination.

I was starting to think there’d be a homicide before we got there, and I wasn’t sure which one of us was going to be the killer.

The car pulled to a halt, and Connor said, “We’re here.”

I opened my eyes.

We were parked on the street outside the Square, where the slope of the hill was shallow enough to make parallel parking only somewhat dangerous, rather than actively suicidal. The lights in the surrounding shops were off, and the running lights of distant ships reflected off the smooth obsidian surface of the San Francisco Bay.

“Come on,” said Connor.

We went.

He led us down the empty, fog-shrouded street, heading for the patch of captive ocean on the other side. Instead of continuing down to the beach, he stopped at the bus shelter. Quentin and I stopped behind him, waiting for him to wave his hands and open some hidden entrance to an Undersea knowe. He did nothing of the sort. He just leaned up against the pole that marked the stop, waiting.

“What are we doing?” I asked.

Connor smiled. “Waiting for the bus.”

“Why did we leave behind your perfectly good car if it means we have to take the bus? If you say it was for the fresh air, I hit you.”

“You can’t find the place we’re going in a car. The bus stop, on the other hand, will work. I didn’t design the spell, but I’ve given up trying to work around it.” Connor shrugged as a bus pulled up. Grinning at my expression, he stepped backward, toward the opening doors. “My lady’s chariot awaits.”

“Whee,” I deadpanned, and followed him.

Connor boarded first, paying all three of our fares with a handful of quarters that would probably turn into sand dollars at sunrise. The driver grunted acknowledgment and waved us toward the back, not waiting for us to sit before he pulled away from the curb. I caught myself on one of the metal posts, swinging my ass into a seat. Quentin and Connor sat to either side of me.

There are always a few people on the all-night buses. They viewed our arrival with everything from exhaustion to mild suspicion, but didn’t say anything. Connor leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and started talking, voice pitched low and urgent.

“You have to play nice. The rules she follows aren’t the ones you know, and the penalties for screwing with her are big. They don’t play games where she comes from.”