Rosemary and Rue

I sighed inwardly. I hadn’t been underestimating her; she was as young as she looked, and she had no idea what she was messing with. I narrowed my eyes, glaring, and she licked her lips, fixing me with what was probably meant to be a languid sneer. I managed not to laugh. Instead, I shook my head, and repeated, “I need to see Devin. Now, please.”


“So why do you need to see the boss-man?” she drawled. Her accent was starting to get on my nerves. “I don’t think he’s expecting you. I think you’re trying to sneak in while he’s not looking.”

Well, she was smart enough to guess my motives. Not that it was going to do her much good, since I wasn’t planning to let her stop me. “Does it matter?” I replied. “I need one of you—I don’t care which—to tell Devin that Toby’s here, and she needs to talk to him right away.”

The girl smirked, obviously thinking I would back down. “I think you should go sit down for a while.”

Was I ever that young or that stupid? That young. Maybe. “I think you should go tell Devin that I’m here.”

“Really? Because I’m thinking . . . no. I think you’re gonna sit, and he’ll see you in an hour. Two, maybe. It’s really no difference to him, lady.” She started to turn away. I grabbed her arm, twisting it up behind her back. She yelped, trying to wrench herself free. “Hey! Crazy bitch!”

Her brother tensed, but didn’t move to help her. Clever boy. “That’s right, I am a crazy bitch,” I said, tightening my grip. “Maybe we should start over. My name’s October Daye. Does that ring any bells?”

Her eyes widened. “Uh . . .” she said, in a voice that was suddenly much softer, and almost devoid of an accent. “Daye? Like the fish lady?”

“Yes, very much like the ‘fish lady.’ Exactly like the ‘fish lady,’ actually. Do you know what happens when you mess with someone who’s known your boss as long as I have? I worked for him before you were born. Do you think he’ll like hearing how much trouble I had getting in?” She paled, trying to yank away. I almost felt sorry for her—almost—but when you’ve just been dragged back into fae politics against your will, been cursed, and lost a friend all in one night, “sorry” isn’t high on your list of priorities. “I don’t think you’d enjoy his reaction. What’s your name?”

“Dare, ma’am, my name’s Dare,” she said, stumbling over her own words. She looked like she’d just stepped outside to find Godzilla on the lawn. I wasn’t sure which worried me more—that I’d made her look that way, or that I was enjoying it.

“Well, Dare, I have an idea,” I said, and released her arm. She backed out of reach. “You go tell Devin that I’m here, and I’ll forget about this little chat. Do you like that idea?” She nodded rapidly. I smiled. “Good. Run along, then. Shoo.”

She turned and ran for the back of the room, leaving a trail of glitter in the air behind her. It dissolved as it drifted toward the ground. I raised my eyebrows. Pixie-sweat. Some of Devin’s new flunkies had one of the pixie breeds in the woodpile; that was interesting. The Small Folk don’t interbreed much with humans, and their blood tends to run thin when they do. When you combined that with the Tylwyth Teg blood indicated by their hair and eyes, well, somebody in the family tree sure got around.

I breathed in quickly, “tasting” the wake of her departure against the innate knowledge of the fae races that I inherited from my mother. She tasted of Piskie. That made more sense; they were size-changers, after all, as well as being natural thieves, which would naturally have drawn their descendants to a place like Devin’s.

The brother was watching me, expression caught somewhere between awe and terror. I quirked a brow. “Yes?”

He flinched. I found that strangely satisfying. I guess having people die doesn’t bring out the best in me. “You’re October Daye,” he said. His voice was more lightly accented than his sister’s, reinforcing the idea that she was exaggerating for effect.