Seanan McGuire - Ashes of Honor

“Her name is Chelsea,” I said. “There’s nothing wrong with the fact that she exists, but there’s something very wrong with the fact that up until today, Etienne didn’t know about it.”

Tybalt nodded; he’d already heard this much. Quentin gaped at me, shame melting into surprise. It was May who spoke, exclaiming, “ WHAT?! ”

“He didn’t know she existed. He hasn’t been monitoring her. And her mother teaches Folklore at UC Berkeley.”

Now it was Tybalt’s turn to stare at me. He’d apparently missed that part. “He was fool enough to court a folklorist ?” he asked. “Did he wish to be the one to betray Faerie’s existence to the mortals?”

“I doubt he thought about it. People usually don’t when they’re in love.” I raked a hand through my hair again, this time pressing my fingers against the base of my skull. It wouldn’t stop the night I was having from giving me a headache, but it made me feel a little better. “Chelsea’s mother knows she’s not human. We can’t change that, although we’ll probably have to deal with it before this is over.”

“Wait—you mean that’s not the problem?” asked May. “Because call me naïve, but that sure sounds like the problem to me.”

“It’s a problem, but it’s not the main problem.” I pulled my hand out of my hair, picking up my coffee cup. “Chelsea is missing. She disappeared earlier today, in full view of her mortal friends. They said she ‘just vanished.’”

“Sounds like she figured out how to teleport,” said May.

“Or someone figured out she existed and thought she’d be a great way of getting at Etienne,” I said. “Maybe I’m being paranoid, but after the last few years, I figure I’ve earned a little paranoia.”

“What do we do now?” asked Quentin.

It was a simple question. It still made me smile, just a little. The situation was bad, and it was going to get worse before it was over…but I was part of a “we” now. Once upon a time, not that long ago, I would have been trying to do this on my own, even if there were people willing to help. I hadn’t learned to be part of the “we.” I hadn’t realized how much I needed it.

“We have to find her, and we have to find her fast. I’m going to call Walther and ask him to talk to Bridget, as a fellow faculty member. Tybalt—”

“If you ask that I leave, you will be sorely disappointed by my answer, and I will be even more disappointed by you,” he said, with unexpected sharpness.

I blinked. “I wasn’t going to ask you to leave. Can you ask your cats to watch for anything out of the ordinary, like an appearing-disappearing Tuatha teenager bopping around the city? We need to figure out where she’s been, so we can get the scent of her magic and start tracking her.”

“Of course,” said Tybalt, not looking entirely mollified.

“What about me?” asked May.

“I’m going to want you to stay here and coordinate things.”

My former Fetch frowned. “There has to be more I can do than just that.”

“I’m sure there will be. For the moment, though, I need someone at the house to answer the phone, answer the door, and keep everyone posted.”

“Okay.” May sighed. “Jazz and I can take shifts. She can take over after the sun rises.”

“That works,” I said, and took a gulp of coffee. “I’m going to call Walther, and then Quentin and I will head for Chelsea’s house and see whether we can find her high school. Maybe we’ll get lucky and there will be a nice big sign. ‘Chelsea Ames was abducted by…’”

“Wouldn’t that be a pleasant change from the norm?” asked Tybalt dryly.

“I’ll get my coat,” said Quentin, and trotted out of the room, heading for the stairs.

“Okay.” I waited until I heard his footsteps on the stairs before looking from May to Tybalt. “You know how this is going to end.”

“I do,” said Tybalt softly. Even if Chelsea died, Etienne could be accused of treason for betraying the truth of Faerie’s existence. And if she lived…if she lived, life as she knew it was going to be over, one way or the other.

Nothing is ever simple or easy when Faerie meets the mortal world. There are just times when I find myself wishing it didn’t have to be quite so hard.

I WENT INTO THE KITCHEN to call Walther. I carry a cell phone these days—May and Quentin’s nagging wore me down—but I use landlines when I can. It feels more secure. April O’Leary insists the opposite is true, but April isn’t objective, since no one’s ever going to listen to one of her calls when she doesn’t want them to. Being able to control the phone lines has made her a little cocky.

Tybalt followed me. “As we are once again in a state of emergency, I assume we will not be discussing this evening’s events,” he said, without preamble. His tone was stiff, a sure sign that he was unhappy.

When did I start caring about his moods? “I don’t see what there is to talk about,” I said, taking the phone off the hook. “I appreciate you helping us look for Chelsea. I know Etienne isn’t a friend of yours, but we really need the help.”

“I have no quarrel with him,” said Tybalt, stiffness becoming sharpness. “October—”

“I need to call Walther.” I focused on the phone, dialing Walther’s office. Tybalt sighed, making no effort to conceal his irritation. I ignored him. Not the most mature approach to the problem, but it had been working so far. Why mess with a good thing?

Most members of the UC Berkeley faculty ended their office hours around six or seven, when the bulk of the student body was heading off-campus for dinner or back to their dorm rooms to pretend they remembered how to study. Not Walther. His on-duty hours started when everyone else was ending theirs, and he could usually be found in his lab late into the night, mixing chemicals with names I couldn’t pronounce for the pleasure of seeing whether or not the result would explode. Explosions seemed to occur more often than not.

“Professor Davies’ lab, Professor Davies’ mortally endangered graduate student speaking.” Jack sounded harried. That was nothing new. Jack usually sounded harried when Walther was playing with hazardous materials. The rest of the time, Jack sounded like someone had slipped sedatives into his mocha. To be honest, I suspected Walther of doing just that.

“Hi, Jack, it’s Toby. Is Walther in? I need to ask him something.”

“Toby!” Jack’s delight was unfeigned. “Are you calling because you’re going to take the Professor away for a little while? Because you would not be inconveniencing me in the least. In fact, I would probably be willing to pay you. Actually, take out the ‘probably.’ I’m supposed to have these papers graded by tomorrow, and he keeps making the lab smell like rotten eggs.”

“So why are you doing the grading in the lab at two o’clock in the morning?” I asked, curious despite my own better judgment.

“I share an apartment with three other grad students,” said Jack matter-of-factly. “It smells worse than the lab does. Would you like me to get the Professor for you?”

“Please,” I said.

“Just a second.” There was a scuffling sound as he put the phone down and moved away. I glanced up to find Tybalt watching me with a mixture of curiosity and irritation.

“Walther’s graduate student, Jack,” I explained. “He’s getting Walther for me.”

“How charming. Tell me, is he also in a position to get you a measure of common sense? I would gladly reimburse him.”

I glowered and was about to demand to know what his problem was when Walther asked, “Toby?”

“Walther, hey.” I turned away from Tybalt. “Are you alone?”