Page 4 of A Killing Frost

My room is warm and dark and comfortable, with blackout curtains on the windows and clothing usually strewn across the floor. Neither Tybalt nor I are much on putting the laundry away, and with as often as I get bled on in the course of my duties, I throw out as many shirts as I wash and fold. We make an effort to keep sharp things off the floor, since neither of us cares for blood on the sheets, and that’s good enough. I flicked the light on and was greeted by a chirping grumble and the sound of rattling thorns as Spike, our resident rose goblin, rose from where he’d been sleeping curled in the center of the bed.

“Hey, buddy,” I said, pulling my shirt over my head and tossing it into the mess on the floor. “Karen says I’m going somewhere, and you can come with me. Does that sound good to you?”

Spike rattled again, sitting down and beginning to groom one paw.

The bra I was wearing was pretty all-purpose, and so I left it on as I made my way to the closet, where my meager store of dresses hung, waiting for another night of disuse. Well, the joke was on them for once. I started rifling through them, looking for something that fit Tybalt’s definition of “nice” while still leaving me free to run, fight, and draw my knives if necessary.

Leaving the house without making sure I’m equipped for a knife fight is a good way to guarantee I wind upina knife fight because the universe likes nothing more than making me regret my choices. Scowling at my closet, I pulled out a simple sleeveless dress in dark green, with a lace-covered bodice giving way to a knee-length velvet skirt. It pulled on easily over my head, with no zippers I’d need anyone else to help with, and that made it ideal despite its lack of pockets.

My knife belt and silver knife were on the nightstand next to my bed. I fastened the belt around my waist, where the illusion I’d inevitably need to cast to make myself seem human would hide it, then slid my knife into the sheath at my right hip. The left side remained empty. That’s where I used to carry an iron knife, back when I was more human and iron wasn’t quite so painful. Faerie comes with costs.

It only took a second to shimmy out of my jeans and step into a pair of black flats, and then I was heading for the bathroom—the nice thing about owning the house and having the master bedroom is the attached en suite, even if I mostly only use it to shower and pee without someone hammering on the door and telling me I’m taking too long. Tybalt said to put on something nice, not to make myself fancy, so I just ran a brush through my stick-straight brown-and-blonde hair before giving myself a critical look in the mirror.

There’s not much point to makeup when I’m going to be spinning a human disguise. Illusionary eyeliner is always perfect, and I’ve never jabbed an illusionary mascara wand into my eye. Considering that, I looked pretty put-together. My hair is easy to tame, thanks to its utter lack of curl or body, and the blonde streaks I’ve been developing ever since I started shifting my blood more toward fae look like intentional highlights. The pointed tips of my ears poked through, as usual; another thing for my illusions to hide.

Much as my hair has changed, my eyes are still the grayish, washed-out color of fog rolling across the bay in the small hours of the morning; they still look like mine, and I’m oddly grateful for that. I don’t want to look in my mirror and see someone else looking back at me. I took a deep breath, blew it out, and reached one hand toward the mirror in a beseeching gesture, snapping it closed as the smell of cut grass and copper rose in the air.

“’Twas many and many a year ago, in a kingdom by the sea,” I said, tone as light as I could make it. “Where there lived a maiden whom you may know, by the name of Annabel Lee. But she moved and she didn’t leave a forwarding address, and I have no idea what happened to her after that.”

My magic gathered around me, growing heavier and heavier until it finally popped like a soap bubble, leaving me draped in the almost invisible glitter of a human disguise. The woman looking out of my mirror wasn’t a stranger, although her eyes were darker than mine, gray blue instead of blank fog. Her hair was the same, but her ears were rounded, and the bones of her face were softer, making her cheekbones, chin, and eyebrows seem gentler, less likely to cut anyone who touched them. I’m not as angular as a pureblood, but I don’t pass for human the way I used to.

Also, she was wearing mascara. And her eyeliner was perfect, and she wasn’t carrying any weapons.

I turned away from the mirror and left the bathroom, the faint smell of my magic clinging to my skin. Spike was in the middle of my pillow, stretched out with its thorny belly showing. I smiled at it and stepped into the hall, heading for the stairs.

May and Danny—now back in his human disguise—were still in the kitchen, the latter holding a napkin full of fresh chocolate chip cookies. He beamed when he saw me.

“You always clean up good,” he said. “New dress?”

“Not really,” I said. “Jazz brought it home from her shop. I think it’s as old as I am, and I was born in 1952.”

“Baby,” scoffed Danny. “Come on. Your chariot awaits. Good cookies, May.”

“Have a nice time wherever it is you’re going,” said May, beaming at me. “Here’s a tip: if someone tries to stab you, duck.”

“Oh, ha ha, I never thought of that before,” I said, and grabbed a cookie off the rack cooling on the counter before I followed Danny into the hall, to the front door, and outside.

His cab was parked in the driveway. One more luxury of the house we live in: we have a driveway. I could rent it to desperate tech workers for fifteen hundred dollars a month if I wanted to, and there have been times in my life when the temptation would have been almost irresistible. From the outside, Danny’s car was a standard yellow cab, the sort that crops up in most major American cities. I was relieved to see that there were no Barghests in the backseat.

“I ran the vacuum yesterday, so you don’t need to worry about your dress,” he said, gesturing for me to take the front passenger seat. “An’ the kitty said not to stress about getting home, he’ll take care of it. So it’s cool that you’re leaving your car.”

“Not sure how I’d bring it along, since I don’t know where we’re going.” I climbed in and fastened my seatbelt, first checking to make sure there was no one lurking in the back. It’s happened before, and a one-person car chase isn’t as much fun as it sounds.

Several strange charms and bundles of herbs dangled from the rearview mirror. One of them appeared to be an elaborate knot made from bright green hair. I squinted at it, inhaling gingerly as I tried to feel out the magic behind it. All the charms had been enchanted by the same person; they smelled, distantly, of engine grease and coal dust. I leaned back in my seat, rubbing my nose in an effort not to sneeze.

Smelling magic, even when it’s old, faint, or distant, is another Dóchas Sidhe party trick, although it’s part of what makes me terrible at parties. I’m constantly getting distracted by things no one else can smell, although almost all fae can pick up on the broad strokes. When I was younger, I thought everyone got as much detail as I did, and I was always very confused when people didn’t know what I was talking about. Just one more thing to add to the list of ways my mother made my childhood miserable.

If I ever find a therapist who works with changelings, I’m going to send Mom the bill.

The car dipped as Danny climbed behind the wheel, sliding into a space too big to fit into the apparent size of the frame. Magic again, making his life a little easier. And why shouldn’t it? We live in a world that was never designed for us, where iron lurks around every corner and where hiding from the humans is both increasingly difficult and of paramount importance.

There used to be places we could run to when the mortal world got to be too much to take. Worlds other than the Summerlands, places like Annwn and Emain Ablach, whole realities tailored to the needs and natures of the fae who occupied them. But the deeper lands of Faerie were sealed when Oberon disappeared, leaving us stranded in only two worlds, one of which is actively hostile to us, the other of which is too small to contain all of Faerie comfortably. The Summerlands are the only other realm we can get to now, and while they welcome us, they’re nothometo anyone but the pixies.

Sometimes I wonder whether Amandine would have followed in the footsteps of her older siblings if Oberon hadn’t vanished right after she was born, spinning a world of shimmering spires and endless brambles, perfectly suited to the magic and desires of the Dóchas Sidhe. But then I remember that it would be a world that owed its existence to my mother and decided I wouldn’t want to go there if it existed.

Danny pulled out of the driveway, driving with the speed and safety of a man who not only got paid to do it, but had excellent reason not to want to be pulled over by the human police. He could always cast a don’t-look-here if he had to, to keep them from seeing how unreasonably large he was, but that wouldn’t necessarily fool a dashboard camera, and those are becoming more and more common.

“When are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

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