The Unkindest Tide (October Daye #13) - Seanan McGuire Page 0,3
it a point to pick up a couple of extra burritos these days. My house contains between one and four teenagers at any given moment in time—more if Chelsea’s over and has decided she needs one or more of Mitch and Stacy’s daughters to save her from being outnumbered by the boys. If there’s one thing fae and mortal teens absolutely have in common, it’s the ability to eat more than should be physically possible. I once found Quentin absently gnawing on a stick of butter while he was doing his homework. It would be terrifying, if it wasn’t so impressive.
Jazz is a Raven-maid, one of the few types of diurnal fae. She and May make it work, mostly by spending their mornings and evenings together, then each doing other things while the other is asleep. For Jazz, “other things” usually means running her small secondhand store in Berkeley, on the other side of the Bay. Recently, though . . .
Recently, it’s mostly meant staying in the house with the doors and windows closed, steadfastly refusing to look outside and see the birds in flight. My mother broke something deep inside Jazz when she kidnapped her from what should have been the safety of her own home. It had been part of an effort to blackmail me into bringing back her eldest daughter, my missing sister, August. As usual, Amandine hadn’t cared who might get hurt, as long as she got her way.
She’d gotten her way. August had come home. And a lot of people had gotten hurt, including Jazz, who might never be okay again.
The smell of musk and pennyroyal tickled my nose a split second before arms slid around my waist from behind, pulling me against the solid form of a man only a few inches taller than I was. Tybalt buried his face in my hair, murmuring, “I was just thinking the house was surprisingly devoid of chaos, given its current occupants, and then you walked in the door.”
“Well, I do live here,” I said, continuing to lay food out on the table. “Plus I brought food, so this is about to be a battleground.”
Tybalt laughed, breath warm against my ear, and didn’t let me go.
Tybalt. My friend, who was never really my enemy, even when I’d believed him to be; my lover; my betrothed; and another victim of my mother’s petty determination to have her eldest daughter back, no matter how many people were collateral damage. Tybalt had been King of Dreaming Cats long before he’d been foolish enough to get involved with me. Now, thanks to my mother, he’d stepped away from his throne, allowing the daughter of an old friend to stand regent in his stead while he tried to put himself back together. Cait Sidhe choose their rulers based on raw strength and the ability to protect the Court. By admitting he was too damaged to rule, even for a short time, Tybalt might have lost his throne forever.
I’d never considered myself a person worth losing a throne for, but Tybalt thought I was, and I’ve learned not to argue with him about that sort of thing. Instead, I was doing my best to live up to what he saw when he looked at me. That seemed better for both of us. Healthier.
Footsteps thundered in the hall behind us. Tybalt laughed again, drawing me even closer.
“Prepare yourself,” he said, and the teenage wave descended.
Quentin Sollys, my sworn squire, who also happened to be the Crown Prince of the Westlands—meaning he’ll be High King of the fae kingdoms of North America one day—ducked past me to grab the burrito with the “Q” on the side, tossing me a jaunty wave before he snatched the entire bag of tortilla chips and took off running.
Raj was close behind him, taking one of the unmarked burritos and two containers of salsa before chasing after Quentin and the chips. At least he slowed down long enough to offer a quick, distracted wave, which was honestly more than I’d been expecting. I grinned, leaning against Tybalt.
“Try not to get salsa on the ceiling this time, okay?” I called after Raj. “My hearth magic isn’t good enough to deal with tomato juice on plaster.”
“No, but May’s is!” Raj shouted back, and was gone.
Dean was the last of our resident teenagers to reach the table. He hesitated, looking at the three remaining unmarked burritos.
Normally, we take a hands-off approach to feeding the teen swarm—leave the food unattended and they’ll take care