Once Broken Faith (October Daye #10)(132)

“Here,” said Cassandra, coming to a stop. I blinked. Somehow, the street had disappeared; we had wandered down the sort of narrow alley that every one of my city dweller’s instincts normally worked double-time to keep me out of. We were in front of a wooden door painted in faded, peeling blue, set back into an old brick wall, like the architect had wanted the occupant to be able to stand on the stoop and smoke without getting wet when it rained.

It wasn’t a welcoming door. It wasn’t a menacing door, either. There was nothing arcane or significant about it. It was just a door.

“Here?” I echoed.

Cassandra nodded. “That’s what the air says. We need to be here.” She looked at me expectantly. Walther and Madden did the same. All of them were waiting to see what I would do; all of them were following my lead.

Taking a deep breath, I stepped forward, and knocked.

The door was actually made of wood. That was nice. Given who we were dealing with, I’d half-expected my hand to thump against illusion-wrapped kelp, or something even less pleasant. I took a step back, folding my hands behind my back, and waited.

Seconds slithered by before the deadbolt clicked and the door swung open, revealing a girl who didn’t look like she could be more than eighteen years old. Maybe nineteen, if I assumed her attire—denim overalls over a white tank top, bare feet, and pigtails secured with black electrical tape—was making her look younger than she was. Her hair was thick, black, and curly; her eyes were pale green, like beer bottles, and her cheeks were round and pitted with shallow acne scars. Nothing about her looked even remotely fae.

The slice of apartment visible through the open door was like something out of an episode of Hoarders. Garbage spilled around her feet, and I was pretty sure I saw mold growing on the walls. No one should have been living there. The place needed to be condemned.

She didn’t say anything. She just stood there, looking at me for a long moment. Finally, she sighed.

“I guess I should have been expecting assholes tonight,” she said. “It’s been too long without them. Hello, Your Highness.” She smiled, and there were too many teeth in that expression, all serrated like a shark’s. Her mouth shouldn’t have been able to contain that many teeth.

Cassandra stepped forward. “I’m Karen’s sister, Cassie,” she said. “Karen told me you were kind to her. I’m glad there was someone in a position to be kind to her. I wish it could have been me.”

Oh, sweet Oberon, the girl’s eyes—the Luidaeg’s eyes, and I was standing in front of the sea-witch, like some sort of fool, like some sort of hero—moved to Cassandra, looking her up and down, taking her measure. Her smile faded, taking those terrible teeth with it.

“Your sister is a brave girl, and she’ll need to be, in the days ahead,” she said. “So will you. Now.” She clapped her hands, returning her attention to me. “I’m assuming that when the Queen in the Mists shows up on my porch, it’s because she wants something, not just because Cassandra wanted to show her appreciation for me taking care of Karen. Normally, I’d expect you to send Toby. Let her rack up all the debts for keeping your kingdom in one piece. I guess that means whatever brought you here is important. Tell me, little queen, are you here to pay?”

I took a deep breath. “Yes,” I said.

“Good girl.” This time, the Luidaeg’s smile was notably devoid of teeth. “Come on in.”

I stepped onto the porch. Madden moved to follow. The Luidaeg raised her hand.

“Oh, no,” she said. “I can see why you might think that, but you’d be wrong. The three of you will wait outside. What comes next is between Arden and me.” She waved for me to enter the apartment.

I looked over my shoulder. Madden was shaking his head. Walther was standing frozen. Cassandra, though . . .

Cassandra was looking at the air above me. As I watched, she nodded, fractionally.

I’d trusted her this far. I stepped through.





EIGHT


The smell inside the Luidaeg’s apartment was like the Bay at low tide: brackish and terrible and rotten and natural, necessary, even. This was what happened when the sea rushed out. It left all its scum and debris behind.

She closed the door before turning to look at me. “You had to know what you were doing when you came here.”

“I did,” I admitted.

“So why?”

“Because my brother won’t wake up.”

The Luidaeg snorted. “Didn’t we just have an entire conclave about this? Your brother’s been elf-shot. Wake him up or don’t wake him up; it’s no concern of mine.”

I damped down my growing irritation. This was the Luidaeg, and I didn’t want to spend the next hundred years as a lawn gnome. “I used the cure on him. It cleared the elf-shot from his system. He fell asleep again almost immediately. Walther found a sleeping potion in his blood, something old, that doesn’t have elf-shot’s protections on it. He’s going to die if we don’t wake him.”

Realization flashed across her features, followed by a slow neutrality. “And I brewed it.”

“Yes.”

“I remember a few potions like that. The people who asked for them paid dearly, but they paid. I had to give them what they wanted.”

“Yes.”