Seanan McGuire - One Salt Sea

I barely had the presence of mind to pull one hand free of his hair and slam the bedroom door before any of my pets could follow. I really didn’t care if Cagney and Lacey were spying for Tybalt, but there were some things he just didn’t need reported to him.

Connor kept backing up until he hit the bed and sat down, leaving me sitting in his lap. I unwound my legs so that I was straddling him, peeling his shirt off over his head at the same time. He was more than willing to help, especially since it meant he could balance the scales by unbuttoning my shirt and tossing it to the floor. I kissed him again while he worked the clasp on my bra with fingers that were surprisingly dexterous, considering that they were webbed all the way to the first knuckle.

Both of us were naked to the waist when he paused, giving me a sidelong look that made me glad I was already sitting down. I’d waited for a long, long time to see that expression on his face. Now that I saw it on a semi-regular basis, it was one of my favorite things in the world.

Then his hands were busy with the strap on my knife belt, and I forgot about anything beyond getting both of us as naked as possible, as fast as possible.

Selkies keep all their magic in the sealskins they carry with them. That meant that no matter what we did, Connor kept his belt somewhere on his body, keeping himself tied to Faerie. I barely even noticed anymore. His jeans joined mine on the floor, and then it was just us, tangled so tightly together that it would have taken an act of Oberon to pull us apart.

He grunted when he came, the sound a close cousin to a seal’s bark. I just moaned, rocking harder before the movement died. We’d timed things exactly right. The sun was just starting to crest when we pulled apart . . . and then the pressure of sunrise slammed down, burning the magic out of the world.

I buried my face in Connor’s shoulder, struggling to breathe. Sunrise doesn’t hurt as much as it used to, but it still incapacitates me, and it still hurts like a bitch. Connor put his arms around me, holding tight. Skinshifters like the Selkies don’t feel the dawn the way that the rest of us do. It hurts them. It just doesn’t render them completely useless.

The pressure faded, leaving the air ashy with the taste of dying magic. I coughed, curling against Connor and breathing the reassuring sea-salt scent of his skin as I drifted into an uneasy sleep.

The quality of the light filtering through the curtains was dusky when I woke: Lewis Carroll’s classic golden afternoon. The sheets were twisted around my waist, evidence of a restless day’s sleep. Connor stirred beside me. I snuggled against him. “You up?”

“Mmm.”

“Good.” I poked him in the shoulder. “It’s already afternoon, sleepyhead.”

He opened his eyes, smiling drowsily. “Hey,” he said, tugging me closer. This close, his lack of pupils was very evident. His eyes were like a seal’s, dark from side to side. “Did you sleep okay?”

I answered with a kiss. Connor replied in kind, sliding a webbed hand down my back to cup the swell of my hip. I wasn’t thinking about the coming war, or the fact that I hadn’t brushed my teeth. I was only thinking about the sleek line of Connor’s body pressing against me. Selkies have less body hair in their human forms than you’d expect; they’re natural swimmers, streamlined, with the sort of musculature Olympic athletes have to struggle for. He rolled me onto my back, wrapping his fingers around my wrists. The webs between them were as cool as the rest of his skin was hot.

“How about you?” I asked him sweetly, running the toes of one foot down the side of his leg. “Did you sleep okay?”

“Except for the snoring, sure,” he said, and smiled.

I couldn’t stop myself from laughing at that, resting my head against his shoulder. This time of year, the way the light was coming through the window meant we had two, maybe three hours before we needed to get serious about heading for the Queen’s Court. I had too much to do to lie around in bed, the temptations of my Selkie lover aside.

“Sometimes being responsible sucks,” I grumbled, and rolled out of bed. I grabbed my robe from the floor. “Come on, Connor. Time to face another night in Fairyland.”

Connor groaned and followed me to the kitchen.

Conversation died in favor of nutrition, or what passed for it around my place. Connor ate fresh fruit and granola, while I had most of a pot of coffee, pouring the last of it into a bowl of Lucky Charms before starting a new pot.

“You eat like a six year old,” said Connor, grinning at me as he put his bowl in the sink.

“A caffeinated six year old,” I corrected.

“My apologies. You eat like a caffeinated six year old.” He walked back and kissed me lightly. “I need to check in and get changed for tonight. I’ll come back and get you in a few hours?”

“I should be getting ready myself,” I said regretfully. “Stay safe, okay? I’m not ready to break up with you again.”

He laughed a little. “I’ll try not to run into any knives.”

“I’ll hold you to that. Open roads.”

Connor kissed me again. “Open roads, sweet tides, and I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Liar,” I said, and let him go. That was something I was getting less and less comfortable doing . . . and if we couldn’t stop this war from happening that was something I might have to do forever.

IFINISHED MY CEREAL after seeing Connor out. The Queen’s Court isn’t the sort of place I go when I want a good meal, and I was pretty sure there wouldn’t be time for takeout afterward. When I was done, I picked up the portable phone and headed toward my room. If I was going to attend a formal affair without embarrassing myself, I was going to need a little help. That’s why I have my friends on speed dial.

A cheery, out-of-breath female voice picked up on the second ring. “Hello?”

“Hey, Stacy.” I held the phone between my cheek and shoulder as I started digging through my closet. What do you wear to a diplomatic event that’s supposed to be the first step toward preventing a war? Besides “lots of weapons.” The last thing I wanted to do was start a new conflict by wearing the wrong kind of sword.

“Toby! What’s up, honey?” Someone was shrieking in the background. That actually helped my nerves. Stacy and her husband have five kids. I’d be more worried if someone wasn’t shrieking in the background.

“Nothing much. Are you busy?”

“Not really—Jessica, you put your brother down!—why do you ask?” I couldn’t blame her for sounding a little suspicious. Being one of my best friends has taught her to be wary of unexpected phone calls.

“I have to go to a thing at the Queen’s Court tonight, and I have nothing to wear.” I picked up a denim skirt from the closet floor. Either May had been committing acts of appliqué on my clothes, or it was hers. “Also, if I try to do my own hair, I’ll wind up looking like someone’s prize collie.”

Stacy paused before asking, “Toby, what’s going on?”

I bit back a sigh. Sometimes having observant friends is more trouble than it’s worth. “It’s a diplomatic event. Representatives from the local Undersea Duchy will be there, and I’m supposed to represent Goldengreen, which means dressing like an adult.”

“Ah, the joys of being a Countess.” Stacy sounded relieved. “Diplomatic event” apparently didn’t set off any warning bells in her head. “Do you need me to help you get ready?”

“Please?”

“No problem. Is May there?”

“Not right now. Why?”

“I have a horrible scarf for her. Karen silk-screened it in art class.”