mean I haven’t noticed them—the man is basically walking sex appeal—but I’m not dumb enough to do anything more than look. Even when I was interacting with Faerie of my own free will, I only looked when I was sure he couldn’t see me. Some games are too dangerous to play.
“But you’re so
“Right,” I said, dryly.
Tybalt has never made a secret of his contempt for changelings in general and me in particular. Not even the fourteen years I spent missing and presumed dead could change that. If anything, it made things worse, because when I came back, I promptly removed myself from all the places he was accustomed to finding me. Hating me suddenly took effort—an effort he’s proved annoyingly glad to make. On the other hand, it’s actually been something of a relief, because it’s something I can count on. Dawn comes, the moon wanes, and Tybalt hates me.
His smile broadened, displaying the tips of oversized canines. “Maybe I should make it a hobby. That might give you something to look forward to.”
“You could get yourself hurt that way.”
If the threat bothered him, he didn’t show it. He just smirked. “Is that so?”
His words were mild, but there was a warning underneath them, telling me that if I pressed things further, it was at my own peril. It’s moments like these when I think he’s not the King of Cats just because he’s so tied to his subjects, but also because of the way he plays with people. And I, of course, had put myself into the perfect position to be a plaything, since I couldn’t exactly claim the protection of my liege lord while I was denying all of Faerie.
“Probably not,” I admitted, as calmly as I could. I didn’t need to get myself hurt just because I was being jumpy. “I just don’t like it when people sneak up on me.” Past experience told me he could smell my fear; it also told me that the anger accompanying it would pretty much cover the scent. It’s good to know how to compensate for your own weaknesses.
“I do adore the costume. What are you these days, a maidservant? A charwoman in one of these glass towers?” Tybalt tilted his head to the side, studying me. “The trousers fail to flatter, but the blouse is sufficiently gauzy.”
“Ha, ha,” I said, pulling my coat closed and folding my arms over my chest. I was blushing, much as I didn’t want to be. Bastard.
“Really, if you’d just do something with your hair, perhaps you could take a few steps up the social ladder. I understand that there are things called ‘scissors’ these days, very advanced, they allow you to—please don’t be alarmed, I promise it’s painless—
I reddened further. “Did I miss the announcement that today was ‘mock Toby’ day?”
“Don’t be silly. That’s every day. But if you’d like a new topic, we can talk about something else. For example, what brings you out at such an unpleasant hour? Did you feel the need for a little company and come to watch the sunrise from the privacy of my alley, hoping I’d show up?” He put a subtle stress on the possessive, watching me with a territorial air that was more intimate than I liked. He didn’t like me, and he never had, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t take a certain perverse glee in watching me squirm.
“I got caught out, Tybalt. I’m only here until I can hide myself and go home.” I had every right to be where I was, and he knew it. Rules are rules, and this one came straight from Oberon: it doesn’t matter whose territory you’re in, you can hide from the dawn. “And this isn’t your alley any more than it’s mine. You should be in the park.” The Court of Cats is hard to find or pin down, so officially it’s part of the myriad fiefdoms of Golden Gate Park. That was probably part of why he was taunting me—I’d caught him out just as much as he’d caught me.
Tybalt’s answering smile was thin. He wasn’t happy that I’d called him on that one. I spared a moment to consider the wisdom of pissing him off while we were stuck together in an alley and shrugged. It was too late to take it back. “I go where the urge takes me, October; you should know that by now. All places are alike to me, and today I wanted to check on my little fish. To see where she was . . .
The last word was almost a whisper, all smooth edges and insinuation. I stiffened, hands clenching as fury cut through my fear like turpentine through oil paint. “That was uncalled for.”
“If you can’t take the heat, maybe you should go back to the pond.” His tone was triumphant. He knew he’d managed to get to me, and at that point, I didn’t really care. All I cared about was shutting him up and forcing the memories back into the hole where they belonged.
“Tybalt,” I said, and paused to choose my words with care. The sunrise lull was ending: I could feel the potential for magic creeping back into my blood, almost unwillingly. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that, and I’m going to leave now. You’re not going to follow me. Understand?”
“Running away already?”
“I’m walking away before I do something we’d both regret.” Reaching out, I grabbed a handful of shadows from the alley wall, molding them between my hands as I ordered them to hide me. Illusions have always come easier when I’m angry—I don’t know why, because nothing else works that way. Still, sometimes it seems like I can only craft a really good disguise when I’m so mad I can’t see straight.
Tybalt didn’t bother to look away as I blunted the tips of my ears and glossed over my eyes with a veneer of human blue. My hair and skin could be left alone, which was a good thing; there are too many steps involved in a stable disguise, and none of them are simple ones. Thanks to my father’s blood, I look almost entirely human. Someone seeing me with my masks off might think I had an unusually fine bone structure, or that there was something wrong with my eyes, but they’d be unlikely to think “fairy-tale creature walking the streets of San Francisco.” Thanks to my mother’s conditioning, I’m basically incapable of taking the risk.
It was a good five minutes before I shook the clinging shadows from my hands and let them drop, resisting the near uncontrollable urge to pant. The smell of copper hung heavy in the air.
“Good job!” said Tybalt, applauding. I glared. He grinned, displaying his fangs. “I could almost believe that you were really a trained monkey and not just the worse half of one.”
“Stick a cork in it, Tybalt. I’m out of here.” The traffic outside was getting more urgent as the city woke. “You should do the same.”
“Should I? Good-bye, then; open roads, kind fires, and all winds to guide you.” He laughed, seeming to fold inward. There was a popping noise as a rush of warm air that smelled of musk and fresh pennyroyal blew over me, leaving a brown tabby-patterned tomcat where Tybalt had been. If I hadn’t known better, I’d have said he was smiling.
All Cait Sidhe are drama queens and jerks as far as I’m concerned. Tybalt’s never seemed interested in proving me wrong.
“Good idea,” I said. “You go your way, and I’ll go mine.”
The cat winked and stood, slinking over to rub up against my ankles. I lashed out with one foot, aiming a kick at his middle, but he dodged effortlessly and bounded away, tail held high. Shaking my head, I watched him blend into the shadows at the rear of the alley. “Damn cat,” I muttered, and left the alleyway for the street and the rest of my long walk home.
TWO
THE FOG HAD BURNED away with the dawn, and I walked the rest of the way through a city with no illusions at all. There weren’t any fairy tales in the streets around me. If there was ever a Cinderella, her glass slippers shattered under her weight and she limped home bleeding from the ball.
My apartment isn’t in the best neighborhood, but it suits my needs. The roof doesn’t leak, the managers aren’t nosy, and my rent includes a spot in the attached parking garage, where my car languishes day in and day out, thanks to the lack of employee parking at the Safeway. I punched in my code at the side gate, unlocking it, before following the narrow outdoor path to my building. I’m in one of the ground-floor units that actually has an outside door. There are neighbors above and to my left, but there’s nothing to my right but walkway and grass. I like having at least the illusion of privacy.
That illusion didn’t last either. There was a teenage boy slouching in my doorframe, hands jammed into his
