The Unkindest Tide (October Daye #13) - Seanan McGuire Page 0,8

the smell of wind blowing across the open ocean. “Some people will tell you Halloween is every day if you have the right attitude,” she said, flicking her fingers. The door slammed shut. Smirking, she ran her eyes first over me and then over Tybalt, taking in all the little signs of dishevelment that our hurried illusions hadn’t been able to conceal. “Am I interrupting something?”

“If I say ‘yes,’ will you leave?” I asked, folding my arms. Tybalt made a small sound, although whether of amusement or dismay, I couldn’t quite tell.

To be fair, most people don’t talk back to the Luidaeg. She’s the eldest of Maeve’s remaining children, with so many centuries behind her that I’m not sure even she remembers—or cares—how old she actually is. Like most of her siblings, her power outstrips that of her descendants like a hurricane outstrips a zephyr, in both strength and flexibility. She can do things the rest of Faerie can only dream of.

Or have nightmares about. I’ve had more than a few nightmares about the things the Luidaeg thinks are good ideas.

“No,” said the Luidaeg. She took another look around the hall. “Who else is here? I know it’s not just you.”

I wanted to ask her how she knew. I knew, of course, but that’s thanks to a kind of tracking that seems to be unique to the Dóchas Sidhe. I can follow the scent of someone’s magic almost to the ends of the Earth. If I breathed in deeply enough, I could identify every person in my house, from May’s cotton candy and ashes to Dean’s less familiar but increasingly well-loved eucalyptus and wet rock. No two people have precisely the same magical signature. Even if they possess some common element, such as roses or heather, there’s always something about it that’s unique.

“Tybalt, obviously,” I said. “May and Jazz are in their room. Quentin’s in his room, with Raj and Dean.”

The Luidaeg nodded. “Good. Good. You can let your lady Fetch enjoy her evening; I doubt her Raven-maid particularly wants to see me.”

“No,” I admitted. “Jazz isn’t a big fan of the Firstborn right now.”

“That’s going to make your wedding fun.” The Luidaeg cast a measuring, narrow-eyed look at Tybalt. “I assume I am invited.”

“We would no more dream of refusing you an invitation than we would of dancing naked through a storm of glass,” said Tybalt smoothly.

“Unless that was your way of asking whether the wedding’s still on,” I said. “It is. Cake and everything. We just need to figure out when the Mists can spare us both.”

“So next century; got it,” said the Luidaeg. Her expression sobered. “Fetch your boys.”

“Which ones?” I asked.

“All of them. This is relevant to all of them.”

Tybalt and I exchanged a glance before he stepped around me and offered the Luidaeg a shallow bow. “Shall I show you to the dining room? We have a few burritos and some salsa left from our dinner, and I would be delighted to fetch them for your consideration.”

“Sounds good,” said the Luidaeg. She swung her attention back to me. “Be quick. I have things to do tonight.”

“That’s ominous,” I said, and started for the stairs. When the Luidaeg says it’s time to hurry, I hurry. Anything else could be taken as an insult, and while I don’t actually think she’d hurt me on a whim, it’s better to be safe than sorry.

I met the Luidaeg when I was investigating the supposed murder of Evening Winterrose, her half-sister and—as it turns out—her direst enemy. It would have been nice to know that at the time. It would have been even nicer to know that Evening wasn’t dead but in hiding, healing and planning to come back and ruin absolutely everyone’s night. Too bad Evening has never been particularly interested in being nice.

That’s when I met the Luidaeg, but I’ve known about her since I was a child. She’s the bogeyman fae parents use to threaten their children, the terrifying sea witch who will spirit them away to where the bad kids go if they don’t eat their vegetables or practice their illusions or make their beds. Out of all Faerie’s monsters, she’s painted as the one with the sharpest teeth, the cruelest claws. I suspect that’s more of Evening’s work, because while the Luidaeg can be harsh, she’s rarely cruel. Her gifts come with a cost. That doesn’t make them evil. It just makes them expensive.

The upstairs hall was even quieter than the living room. I sniffed,