Page 79 of A Killing Frost

“Thank Oberon for that,” said Tybalt, and kissed me.

It was a good kiss, not glancing, deep enough to distract me from the scene around us, as he gathered me into his arms and pulled me against his chest. The scent of musk and pennyroyal, once so unfamiliar, now so comforting, surrounded us, and I wonderedbriefly if he’d learned to love the scent of copper and grass as much. It would make sense if he had.

In far too short a time, he let me go again. I understood why—neither of us was overly fond of making a spectacle of ourselves—even as I slightly resented it. I looked back to the others and smiled.

Simon was kissing Patrick.

They were still holding hands, but they were closer together now, their bodies pressed tight, like they were trying to make up for lost time. Dianda was beside them, one hand resting on either man’s shoulder, keeping their circle complete. Dean and Quentin had moved a little way down the beach, heads together, talking quietly. Dean still looked uncomfortable, but I suppose “hey, kiddo we want to open our marriage and include the man who just turned you into a tree” was a little awkward for everyone.

“This is better,” I said, and it was. It really was.

TWENTY-TWO

SOMETIMES THE WORST PARTof a life-changing adventure is the aftermath. I scowled at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, trying to figure out why my hairclips refused to stay level with each other. I’d done everything short of breaking out a ruler, but somehow they always wound up at least an inch out of true.

“Toby? Are you readyyet?” May’s call was accompanied by a knock on the bathroom door. I transferred my glare to her direction. Maybe she couldn’t see it, but it was nice to have something else to glower at for a few seconds.

“My hair is fighting me,” I said flatly.

“I told you to call Stacy. Can I come in?”

“I didn’t want to call Stacy just to make her come to my mother’s divorce proceedings, and you know Cassandra doesn’t want her there. Walther’s supposed to be showing up to speak on Simon’s behalf, and she’s still trying to keep him and her mother apart.” I opened the bathroom door, gesturing to my hair with my free hand. “Fix it.”

“Oh, Toby, how are you so bad at this?” She shook her head and gestured to the toilet. “Sit. I fix.”

“How are you so good at this? You have my memories.” I closed the lid on the toilet and sat down, tilting my chin up to make it easier for her to get to my hair.

“Not only your memories, and I’ve been a couple of lady’s maids in my time,” she said, stepping over and starting to untangle the clips from my hair. They were twisted silver, meant to invoke thetwisting shapes of rose canes without actually driving tiny thorns into my scalp. Blood rarely improves a formal outfit. “I know how to deal with hair way more complicated than yours. You just want it to stay out of your eyes today, right?”

“Right,” I said, and gestured to the sink. “The rest of the clips are over there.” The other half of the set was a series of tiny silver chains studded with polished garnet chips, like falling rose petals or drops of blood. They connected to the clips with narrow loops, adding weight to the accessories, and matched the waterfall earrings I wasn’t wearing yet.

“Tybalt get you these?” she asked, picking up a brush.

“Simon.”

May’s own hair was teased and fluffed into something that wouldn’t have seemed out of place in a John Hughes movie, spangled with flecks of rainbow glitter that both enhanced and clashed with the electric blue streaks among the dishwater brown that was her natural color. It was held in place with a stasis spell, rather than an entire can of hairspray, but the effect was the same. She smelled of cotton candy and ashes, strongly enough that I questioned whether anything she was wearing actually existed. But she was less likely to get attacked over the course of the evening than I was, so if she wanted to wear a dress that could be dissolved with one misaimed spell, that was fine.

She pulled my hair into place, roughly enough to sting but not enough to hurt, and clipped it into place with two quick, vicious twists of the clips. Then she retrieved the chains from the sink and began affixing them, humming to herself as she did. I started to relax. She shoved the earrings into my ears.

“Good thing you got these pierced before you healed like it was a competition, huh?” she asked.

“I don’t like clip-ons,” I confessed. “I always lost them when I was a kid and Mom would make me wear them to formal events.” She hadn’t allowed me to pierce my ears until I was twelve, a rare degree of parental concern from Amandine, who had frequently seemed surprised to have a child at all when she’d stumble across me playing in the garden or reading in the drawing room. I paused, suddenly wondering if that was because she’d expected me to heal the way August always had and had only relented when she finally accepted that my mortality meant I’d have time to develop the necessary scar tissue.

“I remember,” said May, and picked up the necklace that went with the rest of my jewelry, fastening it around my throat. “Can I do your makeup, please, or do I need to let you screw it up first and then ask for help? Because we only have like twenty minutes before we need to leave and it’s going to take me almost that long to get your eyeliner right.”

I glared at her. “I’m a grownup, you know.”

“I know.” She picked up the eyeshadow palette I had selected, scowled at the colors it contained, and put it down again. “I’m just going to run to my bathroom and grab a few things.”

“Grownups generally know how to dress themselves.”

“You’re the exception to so many, many rules. Be right back,don’t move.” She blew me a kiss and ducked out of the bathroom, leaving me sitting there in my robe, abandoned and annoyed.

There was a rattle as Spike trotted into the bathroom, chirped, and rubbed against my ankles, careful to move with the grain of its thorny “fur.” I still didn’t know where it had gone after our time on the Rose Road, but it had been home when we’d returned there, curled up on the couch with the cats, seemingly none the worse for wear. I wasn’t going to look a gift rose goblin in the mouth. I leaned forward, scratching it gingerly on the head.

“Hey, buddy,” I said. It chirped again, utterly content. “You’re a good little ambulatory rosebush, yes, you are. I appreciate you.”

Spike sat back on its haunches and lifted a front paw, licking it daintily before running it across its muzzle.

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