The Winter Long

“I’ll call Danny.” May shook her head. “Take him. I get that you don’t want to leave us alone, and I get that you don’t want to put Quentin in danger, but you’re forgetting that I remember what Simon did to you. I remember it like he did it to me. I can’t let you go alone.”


I paused a second time. May and I mostly tried not to talk about our shared memories these days. It was too confusing, for both of us. But she knew better than anyone else in the world what Simon had done. She’d gone through it, too, in her way. “If he’s awake, I’ll consider it,” I said finally. “Now, I’m going to get some clothes, grab my weapons, and ward the crap out of this place. Stay inside. Don’t answer the door for anybody. Do you understand me?”

“I do,” she said. “Toby . . .”

“Don’t tell me to be careful. We both know that’s not going to happen.”

“I wasn’t going to tell you to be careful.” Her eyes narrowed, mouth twisting in a vengeful line. “I was going to tell you to get the bastard who hurt my girlfriend.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” I said. “I will.” Maybe it was foolish of me to make promises I couldn’t be sure of keeping, but Simon Torquill had done more than enough to earn whatever he had coming to him. He’d come into my home; he’d hurt my family. He’d gone too far, and this time, finally, he was going to pay for everything he’d done.





FOUR


CAGNEY AND LACEY were curved on my pillow like sleeping commas when I opened the bedroom door. Either the chaos in the kitchen hadn’t filtered up the stairs—unlikely, given Jazz—or the cats hadn’t cared. I leaned over and pulled the pillow out from under them, sending them sprawling. They opened their blue Siamese eyes and squalled, protesting this rough treatment.

“I needed you awake, and I don’t have time to be polite,” I snapped, throwing the pillow on the floor. I started yanking off my nightclothes, letting them fall where they landed. “Simon Torquill was just here. That name doesn’t mean anything to you, but it’ll mean something to Tybalt. I need you to tell him I’ve left for Shadowed Hills, and that he should find me as soon as he can.”

The cats stopped complaining and simply looked at me, assuming the classic sphinx poses practiced by felines around the world. I shook my head.

“He’s at Court. I’ve intruded enough there recently.” I knew he’d be angry at me for leaving before he could join me, but this was part of the balance we had to strike. Sometimes, I had to take care of myself, no matter how much it upset him, just like sometimes, he had to take care of me, no matter how much it upset me.

The cats kept staring at me. I shook my head again, digging through the mess on the floor until I found a pair of reasonably clean jeans. “I don’t care how mad he’s going to be. He can be mad at me. Just tell him, all right? Tell him Simon is back. Tell him Simon came to the house. Simon hurt Jazz. Tell him . . .” I hesitated. None of the things I wanted to say felt right, and so I shook my head and said, “Just tell him to hurry.”

Cagney meowed once, a sharp, almost disdainful sound. Then she jumped off the bed and ran out the bedroom door. Lacey followed her. I looked after them for a few precious seconds. They were both indoor cats; I’d never caught them outside the house. They still had a way of getting to Tybalt when they needed to. The Court of Cats is open to all felines, and they all know how to get there. He would hear. He would find me.

I got dressed as fast as I could, yanking on my shoes and belting my knife around my waist. After a moment’s hesitation I grabbed my sword from where it hung on the closet door. I still wasn’t good with it, despite Sylvester’s many patient hours of training, but it would keep the fight farther away from me, if it came down to that. The way I was feeling right now, anything that kept the fight at a distance was a good thing. The last thing I put on was my leather jacket, shrugging it over my shoulders and taking a small degree of reassurance from its familiar weight.