was nothing but the single greatest piece of blood magic I had ever performed.
If only my mother could see me now, I thought, and there was an edge of hysteria to the idea, a fraying. I pushed harder. The spell gathered, crested—
—and shattered around us, raining down on the beach full of laughing, weeping, rejoicing, grieving Roane. I opened my eyes. Gillian ripped her hands out of mine, raising them to the level of her face and staring at the delicate changes in the webbing between her fingers as the dried-out husk of her sealskin slipped from her shoulders and fell to the sand, unheeded. Her eyes were so green. No one in our family had ever had that much color to them.
I staggered, a wave of dizziness sweeping over me, and there was Tybalt, catching me and pulling me into the safe harbor of his embrace. I mustered a wan smile. My head was pounding.
“Ow,” I announced.
“Ow, indeed, you infuriating woman,” he said, and propped me against him so I could watch the waves of joy and grief and confused, giddy relief passing through the figures on the beach. The doors of the little Cape Cod houses were opening, the Selkies who’d been chosen to spend another seven years dancing between land and sea pouring out to exclaim over their changed kin.
The world was different now. We had done this. There was no taking it back.
I let myself relax against Tybalt, closing my eyes again, and wondered how much more the world would change before it was finished. Would I even recognize it when all was said and done? Would I even want to?
The waves were high and the wind was good, and there were still Selkies in the world, for at least a little longer, and there were Roane in the waves again. The Luidaeg was laughing, and finally, the thin, jagged edge of sorrow that had always lingered beneath the sound was gone.
Let that be enough. For here, for now, until tomorrow, let that be enough.
Read on for a brand-new novella by Seanan McGuire:
HOPE IS SWIFT
True hope is swift, and flies with swallow’s wings:
Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings.
—William Shakespeare, Richard III
ONE
May 1, 2014
THE SHADOWS RIPPLED and separated as a skinny Cait Sidhe a few years younger than me stepped out of them. They were wearing human street clothes—blue jeans and a Pokémon T-shirt—and the glitter of a human disguise sparkled around them. The spell wasn’t very well-cast, and their hair was still gray streaked with white. Not a common color for a mortal teen.
This is why we have hair dye. Just saying.
“Well, Cal?” My tone was harsher than I meant it to be. I sounded pissed, which wasn’t great if I wanted them to tell me what I needed to know. I took a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down, and asked, “Are they gone?”
“They set sail for the Duchy of Ships an hour ago.” Cal let their human disguise wisp away, leaving the faint scent of pine hanging in the air.
October would have sniffed once before rattling off a list of scents, like some sort of magic sommelier. Honestly, she’d be super annoying if I didn’t like her so much. She’s pretty annoying anyway. “Pine” was as much as I could manage, and even that was halfway guessing.
Without their illusions, Cal’s hair was still gray streaked with white. Their skin was too pale, like they’d been dusted with chalk, except for the darker bands that slashed across in a pattern that seemed random on a human but would have made perfect sense on a cat. Their eyes were a bright yellow-green, and their ears and teeth were equally pointed. They grinned, clearly pleased and just as clearly waiting.
“You did well, Cal,” I said, trying to emulate Uncle Tybalt’s imperious tone.
They visibly preened. Cal has been trying to get close to me since we were kits. They decided a long time ago that we were going to be friends, and I was going to take them into my confidences. They’ve never quite understood that the reason we can’t be friends is because I’m going to be in charge.
Uncle Tybalt doesn’t have friends within the Court. He has subjects, some more useful than others, but not friends. Friends make things complicated. Friends put themselves in danger without considering the consequences. I can’t have friends any more than he can. Not within the Court. Outside the Court, I have Helen, and Quentin, and Chelsea, and