The Winter Long

“For more reasons than I can list in a day,” said Tybalt.

“—and so is my mother’s tower. Whoever attacked the Luidaeg has Simon under a geas, and the tower recognizes him as family. He could just walk right in and take her.”

“Maybe Patrick and Dianda could let her stay with them?” asked Quentin. “She’s the sea witch. Unless her attacker was from the Undersea, she might be safe there.”

“I think there’s a better option,” I said, looking at Tybalt.

His eyes widened minutely and then narrowed again, turning considering. Finally, slowly, he said, “You do not understand the scope of what you are asking me.”

“Actually, I do,” I said. “That’s why I’m asking. A place where no one can go without permission, not even the Firstborn, because Oberon told them they weren’t allowed. A place we can reach and our enemies can’t. A safe place.”

“A place for things that have been lost,” said Tybalt slowly.

“Wait,” said Quentin, as the penny finally dropped. “Are you talking about taking her to the Court of Cats? She can’t hold her breath on the Shadow Roads if she’s unconscious!”

“So we move her to a place where the Court is closer to the surface.” I looked to Tybalt. “Will you do this?”

Silence. Then, finally: “Yes. But we must hurry.”

I smiled. I couldn’t help myself. “Okay, you two. Help me get her to the car.” Thankfully, when I stood, my legs agreed to support my weight, and my headache was a dull enough roar that I could walk without crying. I was messed up, but I would heal. Hopefully.

Tybalt seemed to know that something was wrong, but since he didn’t ask me directly, I didn’t have to answer him. It was relatively easy for the three of us working together to carry her down the junk-choked hallway to the gaping wound of the door, and out into the cool afternoon air. I carried her feet this time, while Tybalt held her head and arms and Quentin walked near her hip, helping to keep her body from knocking against anything. Once again, Tybalt walked backward, leading the way.

My car was parked to fill the mouth of the alley. I don’t think I’d ever been happier to see it, especially not after Quentin ran ahead, peered into the backseat, and called, “It’s clear.”

“Thank Maeve,” I said, and started toward the car.

As soon as my foot left the Luidaeg’s front step, there was a grinding, shifting sound from behind me, like rocks sliding into position. Tybalt stopped where he was, a nonplussed expression on his face.

“Well,” he said. “That’s one means of guaranteeing the security of your belongings.”

I glanced over my shoulder. The Luidaeg’s door was gone, replaced by an unbroken expanse of plain red brick. “I hope she can reopen that when it’s time to come home,” I said. “Now let’s move.”

Buckling a limp, unresponsive body into the backseat of my car was not something I’d rank among my favorite experiences, although it didn’t make the list of the worst things I’d ever done, either. With a lot of shoving, swearing, and prayer, we managed to fold her into the vehicle and secure her with a seat belt, thus hopefully guaranteeing that she wouldn’t fly out of a window in the event of an accident. I straightened up, swiping my sweat-dampened hair out of my eyes with one hand, and turned to Quentin.

“Keys, please,” I said.

“You’re going to make me ride in the backseat with the unconscious woman, aren’t you?” he grumbled, digging the keys out of his pocket and dropping them into my waiting palm.

“Got it in one,” I said. “We need to get the Lu—get her to our destination, and I need you free to focus on casting the best don’t-look-here spell you’ve ever put together in your life.”

“Promise you’ll at least turn the radio to something decent?”