One Salt Sea: An October Daye Novel

“Mr. and Mrs. Marks?” called a voice from inside. “Is everything all right?”


Cliff’s look didn’t waver. I sighed. “We’ll be going now,” I said.

“Good,” he said, and closed the door. He didn’t say good-bye.

I stared at the doorframe, trying to calm the frantic hammering of my heart. Gilly was missing. Gilly was gone. She hadn’t been part of my life for a long time, but when she was in danger I reacted like any other mother—with fury and with fear. I looked up at Tybalt once I was finally calm enough to speak, asking, “What did you find?”

He shook his head, pulling his hand away as he stepped off the porch. I followed. Once we were on the sidewalk, too far away for the inhabitants of the house to hear us, he said, “I walked the bounds and spoke to my subjects. They say the girl was in her room when the window exploded. They led me there. There was blood on the carpet.” He paused, looking away. “It was hers.”

“How can you tell?”

“I know your scent, and her father’s. That’s enough to tell me whose she is.”

“Is she alive?” He didn’t answer. I grabbed his shoulder, nails digging into his skin. “Tybalt, is my daughter alive?”

“Yes,” he said reluctantly, looking back to me. “That may not be for the best.”

I stared at him. “What in Oberon’s name do you mean by that?”

“I smelled more than blood in her room. The air smelled of mustard flowers, and of wax.”

“Rayseline,” I said numbly.

He nodded.

“Can you follow the trail?” Normally, I would have demanded to see the room myself, so Gilly’s blood could tell me her story itself, but there wasn’t time. Cliff would never let us in, and Tybalt knew the scent of Rayseline’s magic. His cats had been there; if there were any other clues, they would have given them to their King. All I could do by trying to get inside was waste time that we didn’t have.

Tybalt looked mildly surprised by the question. “I can.”

“Do it. Please.”

He nodded again and closed his eyes, nostrils flaring. The Cait Sidhe are some of the best trackers in Faerie, no matter what shape they’re in. The cat never entirely leaves them. A moment later, he opened his eyes, and pointed west. “There,” he said, and started trotting toward the corner. I followed, pacing half a step behind and scanning the street for signs that Rayseline had been here.

It was late enough in the morning that the residential streets around Cliff and Gilly’s house were practically deserted. A man with a pit bull jogged past us, and a few cars drove by, but that was it, at least for the first two blocks. In the middle of the third, Tybalt stopped, his face knotting in concentration as he tilted his head and sniffed the air.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, stopping beside him.

“The trail is . . . fuzzy,” he said, picking his words with obvious care. He probably didn’t want to upset me. I appreciated the effort, even as I wanted to shake him until he told me what the hell he was talking about. “I haven’t lost it, but something is obscuring it from me.”

My heart dropped. “What are you talking about?”

“Just give me a moment. I can find my bearings.” There was a note of uncertainty in his voice that made me want to tear my hair out and scream. Instead, I paced around him in a circle, head down, trying not to think about Gillian and what Rayseline might be doing to her. My poor little girl . . .

The sound of a knife being drawn brought my head up in a second. I turned toward it, seeing Tybalt out of the corner of my eye as he did the same. All I saw in that direction was an empty lot, all dried brown weeds and broken bottles. I frowned, starting to unlock my shoulders, and stopped, a sudden, horrible thought occurring to me.

“Tybalt?” I asked. “Why would there be a vacant lot in the middle of all these houses?”