The Winter Long

“Because food is more important than stopping Evening?” I snapped.

The Luidaeg glanced at me again, a wave of blackness moving across her driftglass eyes like a shadow crossing the moon. Then it passed, and they were just eyes again. “No. Because when you’re at war, you eat every time you get the chance. There’s no way of knowing when you’ll have another opportunity. Now sit, and I’ll tell you everything the geas allows.”

“We don’t have time for this,” I grumbled, and stroked Tybalt again. “Wake up.”

He lifted his shaggy tabby head, opening his eyes, and blinked at me blearily. Then he blinked again and flowed to his feet, jumping to the floor where he became a man. A naked man. I’d seen it all before, but the Luidaeg hadn’t, and she whistled appreciatively.

“Very nice.”

Tybalt whirled. “Luidaeg! You’re—”

“Go put on pants, please, for the love of Maeve, I cannot have this conversation if you are not wearing any pants,” I snapped, pushing him toward the door before he could get over the shock of the Luidaeg’s appearance and notice that I was once again covered in blood.

Tybalt glanced back, eyes narrowing. Oh, great. He’d noticed the blood. “I will return,” he said ominously, and stepped into the hall.

“I hate this, I hate this—why wasn’t he wearing pants?” I bolted for the sink and grabbed a handful of paper towels, attempting to scrub off the worst of the blood.

“Because for Cait Sidhe, transforming their clothes takes focus and will, and he didn’t change forms voluntarily,” said the Luidaeg, getting down another bowl. “I found him on the floor when I got here. I thought I would do well to keep an eye on him.”

“Good plan,” I agreed grudgingly, as I dropped my wad of bloody paper towels into the trash. My shirt was a lost cause. I slouched to the table and sat, too tired and dizzy to argue with her. “We need to be figuring out how to stop Evening, not sitting here and eating soup.”

“If we don’t sit here and eat soup, you’re going to collapse,” said the Luidaeg, setting a bowl of what smelled like fish chowder in front of me. “You lost more blood than you realize. You need to get your strength back up.”

“It’s been a bleeding sort of day,” I grumbled, and took the spoon she handed me.

The kitchen door swung open as Tybalt returned, now fully clothed. “You are covered in blood,” he accused, pointing at me.

“I noticed,” I said.

“She noticed,” the Luidaeg said. “Everyone noticed. Now sit down. You need to eat some soup.”

Tybalt blinked at her, nonplussed. “I beg your pardon?”

The Luidaeg groaned. “You know, sometimes I miss the days when all I had to do was tell people to do something and they did it, out of fear that if they didn’t, their skeletons would be outside of their bodies. The soup is going to help. Simon whammied you both, and his magic is all over you. This will purge it. It will also taste delicious, because I have been making medicinal chowder longer than either of your family lines has been alive. It’s my own recipe. Toby, I used all your potatoes.”

“Um, that’s okay,” I said, and took a bite of chowder. It was, as promised, delicious, sweet and savory at the same time, with chunks of potato swimming in the creamy broth. I thought I’d eaten too recently to be hungry, but my stomach roared at the taste, making it clear that my body had other ideas. Also, as promised, I started feeling better almost immediately.

“While you were asleep, I took the liberty of redoing the wards on your house,” said the Luidaeg. “My beloved sister won’t be able to tell that I’m here. And you shouldn’t need to recast them for a century or so.”