EVERYTHING WAS FILMED in red, like I was looking at the world through a pair of literally rose-tinted glasses. That was how I knew this was a blood memory, and not reality. Well, that, and the fact that I was standing, I wasn’t bleeding, and my body felt like my own again.
It’s almost funny. There was a time when I would have given anything to be a real human girl. And then that time passed, and I accepted myself for who I was always meant to be, and I learned how to be happy among the fae. Which was, naturally, when people started trying to give me back my humanity. A pity they never asked first.
“October.”
I turned.
Simon was behind me, a worried expression on his familiar, unfamiliar face. He still had the same bone structure as his brother, could still pass for Sylvester when calm or serious, but the more time I spent with him, the more I was coming to see him for who he really was. He was quicker than his brother, more mercurial, and oddly, more relaxed, at least when he wasn’t being villainous or dour.
I frowned. “Is this a memory?”
“No. You foolish, foolish girl.” He smiled wryly, shaking his head. “You understand the principles of what you do, but not the possible consequences.”
“I’ve heard that one before.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Simon stopped smiling and simply looked at me. “What are you trying to do?”
“Remove the geas that Sylvester put on you.” The basement seemed to be getting bigger around us, the walls stretching off into some dark, sanguine distance. Everything was still overlain with red, but it was taking on more shade and nuance, the longer we stood here. “I figured if his blood was enough to do it, maybe my blood would be enough to undo it.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea? I’ve hurt you before.”
He wasn’t wrong. But neither was I. I could feel it in my bones. I shrugged. “I won’t pretend that I’ve forgiven you for what you did to me. I sort of want to. It would be easier. I know that you didn’t mean to do as much damage as you did. That doesn’t make the damage go away. It doesn’t give my daughter back to me.”
It was funny, in a terrible way. Simon had been so focused on doing whatever he could to bring his daughter home that he’d caused me to lose my own child forever. I didn’t need to say that aloud; he knew what I was thinking. I could see it in the shamed, downcast tilt of his eyes.
“You didn’t tell Riordan she could have me.”
Simon frowned. “What?”
“You’re a pureblood. You dance with words when you can’t find someone better to dance with. There’s a reason I triple check everything I say to the Luidaeg, and she’s my ally. I know she wouldn’t screw me over just to show me that she could. Sylvester made it so you couldn’t speak out against me. Okay, fine. All you had to do was stay silent when Riordan asked if I was with you. There were a hundred things you could have said to her that would have turned a quick pit stop into a disaster. You didn’t say any of them. You helped more than you had to. But that’s not why I want to save you.”
He frowned. “Then why . . . ?”
“Three reasons. I lost my father when I was really young. He was human. As soon as Sylvester offered me the Choice, as soon as I said I wanted to be fae like Mom, I lost my dad. He died thinking I had burned to death in our home. August deserves to have her father. I’m not her biggest fan right now,” the memory of pain arced through me, like even hinting at what she’d done was enough to activate the echoes of it that still lingered in my blood, “but that doesn’t mean I want her to lose you.”
Simon nodded slowly.
“Second, I need you to help me figure out how to get her way home back, so she can recognize you, and we can return her to Amandine, and I can save my friends.” That, too, was a factor in me starting to forgive Simon, whether I wanted to or not. I would mourn for my lost relationship with Gillian for the rest of my life, which had the potential to be very, very long. He hadn’t known what he was doing when he took me away from her, or maybe he just hadn’t cared.
But I’d built a life since then. A better life. And my little girl was happy without me, human and thriving and living without worrying about all the things that I was heir to crashing down on her head. Gillian had moved on. I had to do the same, if only for the sake of the people who loved me, and Simon was a part of that transition.
“Most of all, though, you didn’t have to include me in that illusion. And don’t try to tell me you didn’t think before you acted, because if there’s one thing I know about you, it’s that you think before you act. You knew hiding me would activate Sylvester’s punishment. You did it anyway.”
“August needs a hero if she’s going to find her way,” said Simon. “I’m not that. I never have been.”
“Sometimes I think Faerie gets a little too hung up on defining heroism, and loses track of all the good things we can do that aren’t swinging a sword or slaying a dragon,” I said. “You saved me. You didn’t have to. You could have freed yourself from the obligation to help me by doing exactly what Sylvester bound you to do and no more, and you didn’t. So, yeah, I’m going to help you.”
“I see.” Simon looked away. “I used to watch you, when you were younger. When Amy brought you to court functions, and after, when you’d run away. I saw you living in those hovels, working with those changeling ruffians, standing up to the purebloods, and I was . . . I was proud of you. I thought you were your mother’s daughter, finding a way to survive no matter what the world threw at you. I was wrong.”
“Wrong how? Wrong to be a creepy person and spy on me?”
“No.” He looked back at me and smiled sadly. “You are so much kinder than Amy ever was. I love your mother. I love my wife. But no one would ever mistake her for kind. She never had to be. I don’t know where your kindness came from. I don’t care. Hold close to it, and never, never let the world take it away.”
I felt my ears redden, embarrassed by his praise. “I’ll do my best. I . . . how are we talking? Are you a blood memory, or . . . ?”
“I’m a blood-worker, October, and so are you. We’ve shared blood, magic, and intent. When you touch someone’s blood, does it create a space? A . . . silence, carved out of the world?”
“Yes.”
“This is like that. Time is passing. We can’t stay here forever, or even terribly long, not without substantially more blood. But this used to be how the Daoine Sidhe would communicate, when we were separated by oceans, or by worlds. Two vials of blood, held in trust until an agreed-upon time.”
“Why did you stop?”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “There’s this mortal invention. Perhaps you’ve heard of it—the telephone? Much easier to use than a blood charm requiring perfect synchronization between people who might not have spoken in years. Once communication became easier, such archaic methods became impractical, even among traditionalists. Congratulations. You’ve stumbled upon something much older than yourself.”
“I do that a lot,” I said. I took a deep breath. “Tell me how to unbind you.”
The flicker of levity in Simon’s eyes died. “It will hurt.”