The Winter Long

“No,” said Simon. “Because I wanted to kill her myself, and hadn’t had the opportunity to do so yet. You want me to be a villain: things are always easier when there’s a clear villain, and I can fill the role admirably. I have before, and I probably will again. Please don’t mistake villainy for evil. The two can exist side by side while remaining quite distinct. And Oleander, for all her good points—and she did have some, although they were regrettably few and far between—was evil.”


For a moment, we all just stared at him. Finally, I blurted, “Why didn’t Mom ever tell me about you?”

“I’m sure she had her reasons,” said Simon, looking away. “Your mother and I . . . we didn’t part cleanly. We both had our ideas of what needed to be done in order to resolve things we had left unresolved. Mine involved some choices she was not comfortable making. Hers involved, for me, too much safety and reliance on other people. She thought that just because she was Firstborn, the world would eventually realize she should get her way.”

“Sort of hard for the world to realize that when she didn’t tell anybody.”

Simon smiled slightly, the expression tinged with clear regret. “Amy has always been fond of secrets,” he admitted.

“Yeah, well, I’m pretty much done with secrets, so let me make myself perfectly clear,” I said. “Tybalt and Quentin are mine. So is your brother. So is my Fetch and her girlfriend, and anyone else you look at and think ‘gosh, Toby would be upset if I hurt this person.’ You follow? Because I won’t just be upset. I’ll be angry. And you’ll be sorry.”

“Is everything all right over here?” Mags’ voice broke in, and I turned almost guiltily to find her emerging from the stacks with the thickest book I’d ever seen clasped in her arms. Her wings were vibrating rapidly, sending sprays of pixie-sweat in all directions as she eyed the four of us. “Remember what I said about fighting in the Library.”

“No one’s fighting,” I said. “Some threatening, yes, and maybe a little glaring, but there’s been no fighting, I swear.”

“Count Torquill?” said Mags.

Simon rose. He moved stiffly, like his left leg didn’t bend right. “It’s quite all right, Miss Brooke. My stepdaughter and her friends were simply reminding me that I am not one of their favorite people, but as they did so in a calm and nonviolent manner, I can’t really take offense. I think I’m done with my research for today, however, so if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be going.”

“Wait!” The word escaped before I could prevent myself from speaking. Simon stopped in his tracks, turning to stare at me. Everyone else did something similar. Cheeks burning, I swallowed, and said, “Wait, please. I have to ask you something.”

“Am I the villain, or am I the person you ask when you need information?” Simon asked. He didn’t sound annoyed, quite, but he sounded like he very easily could be. “What do you want to know, October?”

“You came to my house.”

“Yes.”

“You said . . . you said you were there to help me.”

“Yes, I did,” said Simon, looking briefly frustrated. “But there are so many barriers on what I can say that I don’t see how I can do that, unless you’re willing to let me turn you into a tree and plant you someplace where you won’t be found for a hundred years.”

I stared at him. “The spell I threw back at you this morning. Is that what it was supposed to do?”

“I said I was going to help you, October,” he said. “I didn’t say you were going to appreciate it.”

Tybalt started to growl again, low and deep in his chest. I glanced toward Quentin. If he’d been Cait Sidhe, he would have been making the same sound. As it was, he was glaring at Simon with such intensity that I was half afraid the other man was going to spontaneously combust. I put my arms out slightly, just enough that I’d be able to grab them if they tried to lunge. The last thing we needed was to get kicked out of the Library before we’d learned anything useful.

“The Luidaeg is under a geas, too,” I said. “Did you know that?”

“I am aware,” said Simon. “It is a surprise to hear you went to her. I expected you to be rather more timid, or at least smarter.”

“She’s my aunt,” I said, like that explained everything. “She was able to get around the binding enough to tell me that the person who bound her was someone I know. Do you know who bound the Luidaeg?”