The Winter Long

“Of course it’s three days,” I said disgustedly. “It’s always three days. Were long weekends the norm in Faerie or something?” I stepped through the door into the first room I’d recognized since exiting the servants’ halls: a small kitchen with rows of pots dangling above the butcher block island that occupied the middle of the floor. I had taken refuge here once, when Connor and I had been forced to sneak into the knowe due to my having been branded a traitor.

Shadowed Hills had a tendency to rearrange itself to suit whatever it needed at the moment. Judging by the view from the low window above the sink, this kitchen was nowhere near the position it used to occupy in the knowe. Bridget was nowhere to be seen, presumably having exited through one of the other three doors branching off the kitchen. Chelsea was sitting at the island, a pair of outsized headphones on her ears and her attention fixed on a small laptop. Raj perked up and started toward her, craning his neck to see what was on the screen. Etienne cleared his throat.

I grabbed his arm before he could let Chelsea know she had company. “Let them sort it out,” I said quietly. “Raj is a cat, remember? He’ll want to know how she reacts.” And if Etienne didn’t let him get a reaction out of her, he was likely to start slinking around, trying to surprise her. My own relationship with Tybalt—back when it had been a simple game of cat-and-mouse, before it turned more serious—had given me plenty of proof of the indefatigability of Cait Sidhe.

Raj stopped directly behind Chelsea, almost resting his chin on her shoulder as he peered at the laptop. Chelsea leaned forward and tapped the space bar. That must have stopped the video, because she removed her headphones and said, without turning, “It’s called ReGenesis. It’s Canadian, you probably haven’t heard of it.”

“My best friend is Canadian, and Ellen Page is extremely attractive, for a human,” replied Raj primly. “I have heard of it.”

“Wow,” I said. “Fae hipsterism. Hi, Chelsea.”

Chelsea flashed me a shy smile. “Hi, Toby,” she said.

“Have you met Raj?” I asked.

“Not officially.” Chelsea turned on her stool, giving Raj a brightly appraising look before sticking out her hand and saying, “Hi. I’m Chelsea Ames. Nice to meet you.”

Raj looked nonplussed as he took her hand and gingerly shook. “My name is Raj. I am the Prince of Dreaming Cats, and an associate to October.”

“Are you related to Tybalt?”

“He is my uncle.”

“Cool.” Tybalt had been involved in the rescue party that had finally been able to bring Chelsea home. She twisted back around on her stool, saying, “Mom went to dig out some sweaters. She said something about you looking like a drowned rat? I don’t think you look like a drowned rat, but you can borrow my hairbrush if you want. Your hair is sort of a mess.”

“Brushing my hair has been low on my priority list so far today,” I said, amused. It was almost relaxing to deal with someone who had no idea what the fae community in the Mists had been like four years ago—and more, probably couldn’t care less. Chelsea was adjusting to enough without worrying about the centuries of history she’d managed to miss.

She seemed to be adjusting well, at least. She shared Etienne’s deep tan complexion, and her skin was glowing with health, which was a nice change from her exhausted pallor when we’d first met. She no longer wore unnecessary glasses to hide the copper-penny color of her eyes, and she was growing out her glossy black hair, which she had pinned back to either side of her sharply pointed ears. Her magic had been suppressed for a year in the process of saving her, and so she left no traces in the air; when the potion that bound her powers wore off, she would smell like smoke and calla lilies, and her training would begin in earnest. For now, she was getting a much-needed rest, and getting it in the company of both her parents.