One Salt Sea

Tybalt stopped, and shook himself, looking for all the world like he was trying to dry himself off after an unexpected dunking. “Nothing. Open roads, October; I’ll see you shortly.” He handed me the drawer before he stepped backward, drawing the shadows around his body like a veil, and was gone.

Well, that was one problem dealt with, at least for now. Cats get just about everywhere, and even the ones that aren’t Cait Sidhe are usually willing to cooperate with their King. If anybody would be able to find out more about what was going on, it would be the cats, and through them, Tybalt.

I put the drawer in the backseat before getting in the front and taking the keys from Quentin. “And we’re off.”

“Where did Tybalt go?” asked Quentin. “Did you guys have another fight? Because I don’t know anybody who fights as much as you two.”

“Your insight is appreciated, squire,” I said dryly, and started the car. “Aren’t you supposed to be respectful now, or something?”

He snorted.

“About what I thought,” I said, and pulled out of the parking lot.

Quentin spent most of the drive back to San Francisco changing the radio station and telling me about the war preparations at Shadowed Hills. They were worrisome, to say the least. Sylvester might believe this war could be avoided, but the Queen was going full speed ahead getting the Kingdom ready. I suppose it made sense—better to be prepared and not need it than unprepared and in serious trouble—but it felt almost like she wanted this war. And that scared me.

Having Quentin along was useful for at least one thing: I made him carry the drawer of rocks down the path to my apartment, while I took the substantially lighter collection of papers. The living room lights were on when we arrived, and the wards were open. I opened the door and stepped inside, calling, “Hey. I’m back.”

“Hey,” May replied. She was on the couch with Jazz’s head in her lap; the Raven-maid was sound asleep, black hair fanned out like glossy feathers on her girlfriend’s leg. She probably needed the rest. Keeping up with us nocturnal folk can be exhausting. A masked psychopath was on the TV, vivisecting a teenage girl in a way that was probably supposed to be new and inventive, but was nothing compared to watching a Kelpie shred a surfer.

“Sorry.” I closed the door, motioning for Quentin to put the drawer of rocks on the floor next to the umbrella stand. He did so, with obvious relief.

“Don’t worry about the noise—I don’t think a nuclear explosion could wake her right now.” May clicked off the TV. “You brought Quentin. That’s new.”

“Hi, May,” he said.

“Hi.” She twisted around to focus on me. “So what’s going on?”

“What do you mean?” I leaned over the back of the couch, putting the box of papers down before scooping Spike off the cushion where it was curled. It chirped before ramming its head, catlike, against my upper arm. I winced. “Ouch. Yes, I missed you, too.” Spike chirped again, sounding pleased. The sound caused the lump of fur on the beanbag chair to raise all three of its heads. Two were brown and cream, belonging to my half-Siamese cats. The third was russet-red, and belonged to Raj, currently lounging in the form of an Abyssinian cat.

“You left with Tybalt and came back with Quentin.” May said. “I’m a little worried. I’d appreciate it if you’d throw me a bone before I gnaw my fingernails to the quick.”

“Ah.” I sighed. “Well, we’re going to war.”

“I knew that.”

Raj yawned, blinking glass-green eyes first at me, then at Quentin. “Hi, Raj,” said Quentin. Raj mewled in answer.

I stayed focused on May. “I mean we’re really going to war. Sylvester’s pages are emptying the armory, and the Queen’s men are looking for Amandine so they can ask her to contribute.”

“Contribute what?” asked May, with horrified fascination.

“I don’t know. A headache?” I put Spike down. It shook itself, rattling like a maraca, and wandered over to sniff at Quentin.

“So where’s Tybalt?” asked May, causing Raj to turn and watch me intently.

“I asked him if he’d talk to the cats for me. People aren’t always careful to check the corners for strays before they open their mouths, and I need information.” I pointed to the drawer of rocks. “We need to get these to Walther.”

“These being . . . ?”

“Rayseline’s rock collection. I want him to see if there’s anything special about them.”

“No.”

I blinked. “No?”

“No, we’re not getting them to Walther.”

“Then who—?”

“Oh, I don’t know. How about that big Bridge Troll guy that’s always hanging around? You know, the one who talks to rocks for fun? I’m just putting that out there.”

“You mean Danny?”

“Yes, Danny. Who has, by the way, called twice to say that he hasn’t found anything, but he wants to help. Poor guy’s going to show up and start offering to get things down from high shelves if we don’t give him something to do soon.” May shrugged. “Interrogating a box of rocks is probably about right.”

“Okay. Good. That’s a good idea.” I leaned over again, gingerly removing the needles and vial from the box of papers. “I need you to start sorting through these scraps. Try to put them in order by the writing on the backs, not whatever happens to be on the front.”

She gave the box an uneasy glance. “Do I want to know?”

“It’s Raysel’s diary. Sort of.”

“Of course it is.” May shuddered, jostling Jazz. Jazz made a sleepy sound of protest and snuggled closer, eyes still shut. “What’s that you’re holding?”

“I don’t know yet, but these are going to Walther.” I ducked into the kitchen, returning with Raysel’s potential poisoning gear in a sealed Ziploc baggie. “I found them in Raysel’s bathroom.”

“Charming.” May wrinkled her nose. “How did things go with the Luidaeg?”

“She’s contacting the Lordens to arrange a meeting, and she made this for me.” Opening my jacket, I displayed the pin shoved through the lining. “This will let me visit the Undersea, somehow. I’m a little fuzzy on the details. That’s probably intentional. The Luidaeg likes to keep me guessing.”

“That’s because she knows you well enough to know that you wouldn’t go through with things if you knew what you were getting into,” said May, in an irritatingly logical tone. “I mean, really, if I wanted you to go underwater for an extended period of time, I’d want you to do as little thinking as possible before you went under. You’d be less likely to freak out that way.”

“Oh, that’s real nice,” I said, wrinkling my nose at her. “Aren’t you supposed to be on my side here? A little support would be—”

The sound of the doorbell cut me off mid-sentence. Jazz sat up with a squeak, while Raj arched his back and hissed. Even Quentin jumped, hand going to his belt where—through the glitter of his human disguise—I could just see the outline of a scabbard.

I stalked to the door, wrenching it open. “What?!”

Connor didn’t flinch. Putting his hands against the sides of my face, he stepped close and kissed me deeply. I grabbed his wrists, using the added leverage to pull myself closer to him. For a moment—a brief, sweet moment—I forgot we were on the verge of war. His skin was damp, and his lips tasted even more like salt than they usually did. He’d been in the water recently. Connor was the only one who could make that thought appealing to me.

He broke the kiss but didn’t let go. Pressing his forehead to mine, he asked, “Are you all right?”

“Yes. No. Maybe. I don’t know.” I laughed unsteadily. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see you.” He kissed me again. This one didn’t last as long, but what it lacked in length, it made up for in sheer knee-weakening need. Finally, he pulled away, and said, “I’m also here on business. The Duchess wants you. Can you come?”

It took me a moment to realize he meant Duchess Lorden, not Luna. I stared at him before looking back to the others. Quentin was looking at the wall, cheeks and ears burning red.