Seanan McGuire - Ashes of Honor

At some point during the process, I ate the first Pop-Tart and most of the second. It says something about how low my blood sugar was that I neither noticed nor cared what flavor they were. I shrugged my leather jacket back on, stuck the last piece of Pop-Tart in my mouth, and opened the bedroom door.

Tybalt was downstairs, leaning against the wall and looking at Cagney and Lacey, who were sitting by his feet with oddly dejected looks on their furry faces. All three of them turned toward me as I stopped on the bottom step.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“Your resident felines were explaining how they could allow Samson to burst in without sounding the alarm,” said Tybalt. Catching my expression, he added, “There was nothing they could have done. I am reassuring them, not scolding them.”

“You know, every time I think my life can’t get weirder, it ups the ante.” I started walking again, heading for the kitchen. Tybalt paced me. I gave him a sidelong look. “Did May and Jazz leave?”

“Yes. Danny said hello and that he would have stuck around to talk to you himself, but he was sure you already had enough to worry about, and besides, the Barghests were almost certainly working on eating the backseat.” Tybalt’s pupils narrowed to amused slits as he spoke. “He seemed oddly…unsurprised…to hear that you were unable to greet him because you were upstairs changing into something less bloodstained.”

“I have my friends well-trained.” I opened the fridge, beginning to gather the makings for a ham sandwich. “Let me just get a little more food in me, and then we can get back to Tamed Lightning.” I paused. “Do you want a sandwich? You haven’t eaten anything all day, and you lost a lot of blood, too.”

“I would love a sandwich,” said Tybalt, with enough gravity to make it sound like a formal proclamation. Resolved: that we will have ham and cheese sandwiches.

“Just get the bread out of the cupboard, and I—”

The doorbell rang before I could finish my sentence. I frowned, bumping the refrigerator door closed with my hip before dropping the ham, cheese, and condiments on the counter.

“None of the people who want to kill us right now would use the doorbell,” I said. “It’s probably neighborhood kids selling something.”

Tybalt snorted. “Your range of options is very specialized.”

“Yeah, well. Welcome to my world.” I shook my head, grabbing a handful of air. The smell of cut grass and copper rose around me, mingling with the smell of the blood in my hair, as I wove a quick human disguise. “Wait here. I’m going to go get rid of whoever it is.”

“Certainly,” said Tybalt. He was opening the cheese when I left the kitchen. I closed the door behind me—no point in explaining the pointy-eared man making sandwiches if I didn’t have to—and made my way to the front door.

When I opened it, Officer Thornton of the San Francisco Police Department was standing on my porch. I blinked at him, briefly too surprised to speak. He blinked back, looking almost as surprised to see me as I was to see him. Then he cleared his throat.

“Good evening, Ms. Daye,” he said. “Do you have a moment?”

“I—” When dealing with the mortal authorities, there is no answer to that question that doesn’t begin with “yes.” When dealing with the mortal authorities who had followed me to Fremont , all the answers I wanted to give began with slamming the door in his face.

If I did that, I might as well start packing my things, because I would be moving to the Summerlands full time shortly afterward. I swallowed my panic and stepped to the side, holding the door open wider. “Of course, Officer. Would you like to come in?”

“Yes, thank you.” Officer Thornton looked around with unabashed curiosity as he stepped into the foyer. Fortunately, there was nothing really incriminating in view. We’re an inhuman household, but the detritus that builds up around the edges of our lives is reassuringly normal. It’s the lives themselves that tend to be a little weird.

My stomach sank. Tybalt was in the kitchen without a human disguise on, and the living room was totally destroyed. Unless I could convince Officer Thornton that he wanted to go upstairs with me, I was screwed—and I didn’t even know how to open that conversation without sounding like I was coming on to him.

“Um, Officer, what can I do for you? I thought that there were no charges against me?”

“This is an unofficial visit, Ms. Daye. I’m still in uniform because my shift just ended.”

“Oh.” And probably because he wanted me to remember that he was an officer of the law, but that was one of those things that did perfectly well when left unspoken. “So, unofficially, what can I do for you?”

“Have you lived here long, Ms. Daye?”

“Um, no. We just moved in a few months ago.”

“‘We’ being?”

“Me, my sister, May, and our nephew, Quentin.” Legally, May was my sister, and calling Quentin a nephew was easier than any of the other available explanations. I’m old enough to be his mother, but I’m never going to look it by mortal standards. “He’s from Canada,” I added, in case Officer Thornton decided to follow up with a question about where Quentin’s parents were. “I don’t know, I’ve never met them” was unlikely to score me any points.

“It’s a lovely home,” he said instead, still looking around the hall.

You won’t think that for long if you see the living room, I thought. He didn’t need to ask the next logical question: I’ve lived in San Francisco for most of my life, and I knew what it was going to be. “Yeah, we got really lucky,” I said. “Our Uncle Sylvester inherited this place from his parents, and it was just sitting empty until we needed somewhere to live. He lets us stay here for utilities and maintenance costs.” And would gladly sign the deed over to me if I asked. That was another thing I didn’t need to tell the nice officer.

“You sound like you’re close to your family.” Officer Thornton turned to face me. There was something in his expression—a certain calculation—that I didn’t like. Then again, I didn’t like the fact that he’d been following me. “Family is important, don’t you agree?”

“Yes, Officer, I do. If I can ask, what is this all about?”

“Ms. Daye, what were you doing in Fremont earlier today?” The calculation in Officer Thornton’s face became suddenly coherent, resolving into suspicion. “I ask because an associate of mine from the Berkeley Police Department informed me that she had encountered you at the site of a recent disappearance, and as you had been brought into my station the night before…”

I blinked. “I’m a private detective. I specialize in kidnappings and divorce cases. Bridget called me.”

“But you didn’t tell the officers on the scene that. You allowed them to think you were a friend of the family. Was there any particular reason?”

“The police have a lot on their plates. I didn’t want to risk deprioritizing Chelsea’s disappearance because Bridget was worried enough to bring in outside help.” I didn’t let myself glance away or break eye contact. “I understand how this works.”

“Ms. Daye, you haven’t answered my question. What were you doing in Fremont?”

“She was collecting me from the train station.” I turned to see Tybalt standing in the kitchen doorway, an amiable smile on his suddenly human face. “I don’t drive, and she wanted me home in time for dinner for a change.”

“And you would be…?”

“I’m the boyfriend. Rand Stratford.” Tybalt stepped forward, offering his hand to Officer Thornton, who took it, seemingly on autopilot. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. We didn’t have time for introductions when I was meeting October at the station last night.”