The Winter Long

“Winterrose?”


May didn’t sound surprised. Of course she didn’t sound surprised. She’d been among the night-haunts when Evening had “died.” She’d probably known all along that Evening wasn’t dead, but she hadn’t realized it was important, and I’d never had any reason to ask her about it.

“Oak and ash, it’s the phone book all over again,” I muttered, before saying more loudly, “Yes, Evening Winterrose. She’s not dead—which you apparently knew, and we need to have a long talk soon about what I’m assuming is true and you know is false—and she’s got pretty much the entire knowe in her thrall.”

“But how can she . . . ?”

“She’s the Daoine Sidhe Firstborn, that’s how.” I paused to give May time to react. Silence answered me. I sighed, reading her lack of comment for what it was. “I’m sure, okay? Luna verified it. You need to tell Arden to keep her people in the knowe and close the doors. Evening can influence her descendants to do whatever she wants, and it doesn’t just work on them. There’s a good chance that anyone who gets too close to her is going to want to do what she tells them.”

Except something about my words seemed wrong. Dean and his people certainly hadn’t seemed inclined to do what Evening said, and Dean was half Daoine Sidhe. I was going to need to figure out what differed between Goldengreen and Shadowed Hills. Maybe it was something we could use.

Reluctantly, May said, “I’ll tell her, but Toby, this sounds . . .”

“I know how it sounds, okay? Unfortunately, I don’t have the luxury of only experiencing things that sound reasonable when you try to explain them to other people. Quentin is staying here in the Court of Cats. You and Jazz stay with Arden, where you’ll be at least a little bit safer.”

“Where are you going to go?”

I smiled thinly. “I’m going to go be a hero. Open roads, May.”

“Kind fires,” she answered.

I hung up, looking at the phone in my hand for a moment before I dropped it back into my jacket pocket and eyed my clothes with distaste. The dry cleaner had been able to work wonders on my leather jacket. Nothing was going to save my shirt and jeans, both of which were blotched with dried blood. Behind me, Tybalt cleared his throat. I turned.

“Was I really asleep for ten hours?” I asked. I ran a hand back through my hair, noting that it was soft and clean. Tybalt might not have been able to get the blood out of my jeans, but he’d been able to get it out of my hair. There was a time when I would have found that intrusive. Now it was just sort of sweet.

“I believe it was closer to nine,” he said, looking obscurely relieved by the question. “I would have awakened you, but when your portable telephone rang without causing you to so much as stir, I realized how much you needed the rest. I am a selfish man. I will not have you kill yourself with exhaustion.”

“There are much more entertaining ways for me to die; don’t worry,” I said. “Is the Luidaeg—”

“My people are watching her. She has not stirred since she was brought here, although she has continued breathing, which I assume would have been your second question,” he said. “Gabriel has the current shift. He will alert me if anything changes.”

“We need to keep a very close eye on her,” I said. Things were beginning to fall together in my head, things that had previously been kept apart only by my exhaustion and general feeling of being overwhelmed by everything around me.