did I mention big?”
“I was starting to get the idea that it might be big, yeah,” said Quentin, peering around me. Fear made what might have been a sarcastic comment sound sincere. “What now?”
“I don’t know. Even if we wanted to ditch the car, we can’t get out of here without going past the thing.”
Quentin sounded suddenly hopeful as he asked, “Do you have your sword?”
“Yes.” He brightened. “It’s in the car.” He dimmed again. I continued, “Besides, even if I had my sword with me, I’m not going to attack something I’ve never seen before. What if it spits acid? Or grows new heads when you cut off the old one? Attacking mystery monsters is never a good idea.”
“Well, we can’t stay in the woods forever. We have things to do.”
“I’m aware.” I peeked around the trees, checking to be sure the monster was still on the car. It was. At least that meant we knew where it was. I retreated back to my position next to Quentin. “Keep an eye on the thing. Let me know if it moves.”
“What should I do if it tries to eat me?”
“Scream.” I pulled my cell phone from my jacket pocket, taking a few more steps into the cover of the trees before dialing the most useful number I could think of: Shadowed Hills. When it comes to getting rid of monsters, there’s no one better than my liege lord, Duke Sylvester Torquill.
The phone rang six times—enough that I was starting to worry that everyone had gone to bed—before someone picked up the other end. A bleary female voice said, “Hello?”
“Melly, hey.” Melly has been working at Shadowed Hills almost as long as the Duchy has existed. She’s also the mother of one of my childhood friends, a half-Hob changeling named Kerry. Nothing happens at Shadowed Hills without Melly knowing about it. “It’s Toby. Look, uh, sorry about calling this late. Is the Duke up?”
“Toby?” Melly’s tone sharpened, bleariness falling away. “Darlin’, what are you doing out of bed, with the sun full up? Are you feeling all right? Do I need to bring you some soup?”
“I’m fine, really, and so is Quentin. I just need to talk to Sylvester. Is he up?”
“For you, m’dear, he’s always up. Just you wait here, and I’ll fetch him for you.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” I said, glancing toward Quentin. He was staring at the monster, an expression of intent concentration on his face. “I’m not going anywhere.”
It took almost ten minutes for Melly to rouse Sylvester and drag him back to the phone—ten minutes Quentin and I spent waiting for the monster on my car to wake up and come looking for a snack. Finally, there was a scuffling sound as the receiver was picked up, and my liege said, “October? What’s wrong?”
Voice tight, I said, “I’m in Tilden Park with Quentin. We’re at the picnic area near the big lake. There’s something on my car, and I don’t know what it is.”
“What do you mean by ‘something’?” asked Sylvester. The cobwebs were clearing from his voice as he woke up, leaving him sharp and focused. That was good. I needed him focused.
“I mean it’s the size of a cow, it’s got fur and scales and a really disturbing number of teeth, and since I don’t know what it
There was a long pause. Finally, Sylvester said, “That seems less than ideal.”
“Yeah, it is. Do you have any ideas?”
“Yes. You should stay where you are. Etienne and I will be right there.”
“Sylvester—” The line went dead. I clicked my phone shut, glaring at it for a moment before looking toward Quentin and saying, “He’s on his way.”
“Maybe he’ll bring a sword.”
“Maybe he’ll bring a
“So why aren’t we trying to get to the car?”
“Because I hate being eaten even more.”
We stayed in the shelter of the trees for another ten minutes, occasionally stealing glances at the monster on my car. Our luck was holding, thus far; no humans had shown up to discover our unwanted hitchhiker and freak out as a natural consequence. Most fae know when an illusion is being cast on them. I didn’t dare use a don’t-look-here on the monster; that might just wake it up, and I had serious doubts about whether it was going to wake up friendly.
The smell of limes and cedar smoke drifted from the clearing behind us a half-second before I heard footsteps crunching on the blanket of fallen leaves covering the dry ground. I turned, relieved, to see Sylvester and Etienne stepping out of a hole cut into the air.
“Your Grace,” I said, dipping a quick curtsy. Etienne’s eyes were fixed on my face as I straightened, clearly searching for the answer to a question he wasn’t willing to voice aloud. I gave a small shake of my head. He looked disappointed, but nodded.
Sylvester looked between us, one eyebrow raised. “Is there something I should know?”
“Not yet,” I said.
“There are times when I wish I didn’t trust you quite so thoroughly,” said Sylvester, looking faintly amused. “I am glad you called me.”
“Who else am I going to call when there’s a monster on my car?” Still, I let him pull me into a hug, taking a moment—just a moment, but a precious one—to relax into the dogwood and daffodil smell of his arms. Sylvester has meant safety my whole life, ever since the night he stepped out of the air and asked whether I wanted to be fae or human. It’s supposed to be your fae parent who offers you the Changeling’s Choice. Amandine wouldn’t, so he did. He’s been a sort of father to me ever since, even when I wasn’t willing to admit that to myself.
Like Quentin, Sylvester is Daoine Sidhe. Also like Quentin, Sylvester is upsettingly attractive, with hair the color of fox fur and eyes like summer honey. Every Torquill I’ve ever met has had those eyes. He used to be a hero, before he retired to Shadowed Hills and took up full-time regency. He’s also the man who taught me how to hold a sword, although he’s a hell of a lot better than I’m ever likely to be. I attribute it to a combination of natural talent and centuries of practice.
Sylvester let me go, stepping back. “Now,” he said. “About this monster.”
I appreciated that he wasn’t going to take this as an opportunity to remind me that I was welcome at Shadowed Hills whenever I wanted to come, or to tell me I didn’t visit enough. Shadowed Hills had meant Connor for too long, during the years when he was married to Sylvester’s daughter, Rayseline. I was already haunted by my own memory. I didn’t need to be haunted by the halls where my lover had lived.
Motioning for everyone to be quiet, I waved Sylvester and Etienne to the edge of the trees and pointed to the brown hulk atop my car. Sylvester gasped. And then he did the last thing I expected: he left the cover of the trees and ran, empty-handed, toward the monster.
“Sylvester!” I hissed. I whipped around to stare at Etienne. “Stop him! He’s going to get hurt!”
Etienne had an odd look on his face, like he was unsure whether or not he was dreaming. “No,” he said, slowly. “I don’t believe he is.”
“Whoa,” said Quentin.
I turned back to the parking lot. Sylvester had reached the creature and was scratching it behind one of its small round ears. The creature was awake, and seemed to be enjoying the attention; it was wagging its spadelike tail, slamming it against my car’s rear windshield.
“What the…?”
“It is an Afanc,” said Etienne, sounding stunned. “There is an Afanc atop your car.”
My own eyes widened. “What? No. That’s not possible. Afanc don’t exist anymore.”
“The evidence would seem to suggest otherwise.”
I just stared. Afanc are fae monsters, like Barghests or bogeys. They live in lakes and marshes and are reasonably harmless, as long as you don’t startle them and get yourself drowned. At least, that’s what the old stories said. No one had seen one in centuries. They weren’t indigenous to the Summerlands, and so far as I knew, they’d never managed to establish a population outside of Faerie. Even if they weren’t extinct, there was no way an Afanc should have been in the mortal world, crushing the roof of my car.
“This is wonderful!” Sylvester twisted around to beam at us, still scratching the Afanc. “I thought they had all been sealed in Tirn Aill!”
A sudden chill washed over me, bringing with it a host of realizations I really didn’t want to have. “Oh,
