happy to take me. I stayed with them for ten days, while the kids exploited me for every bit of spoiling they could get, and Mitch made regular runs to my place to pacify the landlord. He made sure my carpet got replaced. I almost thanked him for that.
Sylvester took charge of Manuel and of organizing a wake for Dare. She had no family but Manuel; no one in the mortal world would mourn for her. We buried the body the night-haunts left in the Summerlands, in the forest outside the walls of the ducal knowe, and Sylvester stood beside me, and held me when I cried. I was her hero, and I failed her. In the end, I was just like everyone else.
I visit her grave as often as I can. I leave bouquets of rosemary and rue, and I tell her that I’m sorry, and I promise her that next time, I’ll do better. Next time someone makes me a hero, I’ll save them.
It took three weeks to clear Devin’s things out of Home. All the records he’d kept, all the things he’d stolen. Half his kids were never found; their things are in a storeroom at Shadowed Hills, waiting until their owners come to claim them. Somehow, I doubt that’s ever going to happen. I wish things had been different. I’d give almost anything to have Evening insult me one more time, or to see Dare looking at me with hero worship in her eyes. But sometimes the pieces fall together the way they want to, and you can’t change the story; all you can do is try to ride it out.
The last time we went Home, after everything worth saving had been removed, we went with torches, and with three fat salamanders in crystal jars. Sylvester put his hand on my shoulder, asking, “Are you sure you want to do this? I can, if you’d prefer.”
“It’s all right.” I took the lid off the first of the jars, shaking the salamander out onto the sidewalk. It sat there, blinking opalescent eyes in dull reptilian confusion, until Sylvester tossed a lit torch through the open door of Home. It turned, suddenly interested, and raced swiftly forward to pursue the flame. Its siblings followed close behind it.
We managed to catch the salamanders before the fire trucks arrived, luring them back out of the flames with sticks of cinnamon wood and myrrh. The source of the fire was never determined.
Manuel has a place at Shadowed Hills for as long as he wants it. He’s recovering from the loss of his sister, and he seems happy enough, most of the time. He doesn’t have the fire in him that Dare had. Maybe that’s for the best. He avoids me when I come to Shadowed Hills, and I let him. Someday he’ll be able to look at me again. I can wait.
I’ve been at Shadowed Hills a lot more since Devin died. Luna’s helping me get my P.I. license reinstated; walking away didn’t work, so I may as well try going back willingly. Maybe if I’d done that in the first place, none of this would have happened. Connor and I pass each other in the halls; he tries to get me alone, and I try to avoid him. I’m just starting to get my life back. I won’t trade it away that cheaply.
The hope chest was in my possession for two days after Tybalt returned it to me, and I never opened it. I never even touched it after the night I found it. That doesn’t mean it didn’t have the chance to change me. My headaches aren’t as bad as they used to be. My night vision is sharper—still within the range of changeling-normal, but enough of a change that I can tell. If I’d touched the chest again . . .
The balance of my blood can hurt, but it’s mine. I’d like to keep it that way. I gave the hope chest to the Queen. I still don’t know why she wouldn’t help me; I’m still afraid she’s losing her mind, even though I don’t know what I can do about it. There’s not much that one changeling can do to challenge the highest-ranked noble in the Kingdom. For now, I’ll watch and wait to see what happens.
I owe Tybalt for helping me, and the Queen owes me for returning the hope chest to the purebloods. She hates that debt more than I hate mine. She’ll have to pay me someday—love makes the world go round, but favors keep Faerie standing. Sometimes I wonder how much of an enemy I made in the Queen by being involved in all this. I didn’t have a choice, but I don’t think that matters to her. There’s something very wrong there. Meanwhile, the Luidaeg owes me, and that may be the most dangerous debt of them all. The day she pays it off, well, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.
We never found the rest of Devin’s assassins, but that doesn’t matter; it’s been long enough now that I need to stop jumping at shadows. I can’t spend the rest of my life waiting for some underpaid goon to step out of the bushes and take me down: living that way isn’t living at all. The mastermind died. The curse was fulfilled. At this point . . . everything else is just a matter of details.
I’m picking up the pieces of my old life, a few at a time; I’m catching up. It’ll be a long process, and I’ll never get back everything I’ve lost, but at least I’ve started trying. Someday, I’ll find Simon and Oleander, and I’ll make them pay for what they did. Someday, my daughter will let me be a part of her life again. There’s plenty of time. Devin lost sight of that. I won’t. As long as you’re alive, there’s time.
My name is October Christine Daye; I live in a city by the sea where the fog paints the early morning, parking is more precious than gold, and Kelpies wait for the unwary on street corners. Neither of the worlds I live in is quite mine, but no one can take them away from me. I did what had to be done, and I think I may finally be starting to understand what’s important. It’s all about finding the way home, wherever that is. I plan on finding out.
I have time.
