Page 9 of Night and Silence

“Mind if I put the radio on?” he asked awkwardly.

I managed a smile. “Not at all,” I said.

He turned the dial. Rock and roll blasted out of the speakers, earning a small grumble from Quentin. I sank into my seat, turning to look out the window, and trusted Danny to get us where we needed to go. He hadn’t let me down so far. I trusted him not to start letting me down now.

It was hard, going home and knowing that—unless there’d been some sort of miracle while I wasn’t looking—Tybalt wasn’t going to be there. He’d been there less and less as the weeks went by. Mom was off playing happy houses with August. As far as I was aware, she hadn’t spared me a second thought since I’d fixed all her problems for her. And it didn’t matter, because he wasn’t getting better. He was getting worse, and I had no idea how to fix it.

San Francisco appeared ahead of us like its own kind of fairy palace, the lights in the high buildings glittering against the predawn sky. Danny drove like he’d never met a traffic law he didn’t feel like breaking, weaving around the few other cars on the road without slowing down. There were so many charms in and on his cab that the odds were good none of those drivers even realized they were sharing the road, much less took note of the specific car that was so nimbly cutting them off. That was a good thing. He would never have been able to pay all the traffic tickets he’d be accruing if there had been a chance of the police getting involved.

Quentin was asleep in the back seat by the time Danny pulled into our driveway, stopping behind my parked car. Both of us twisted to look at my squire, smiling in fond unison.

“He’s adorable like that,” said Danny.

“I know. He doesn’t. Don’t tell him.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Quentin had his cheek squashed against the glass, coppery hair falling to hide his eyes. He was drooling out of the side of his mouth, and he still managed to look perfect, elegant and composed and like every fairy tale prince Grimm ever decided to write about. That’s the gift of the Daoine Sidhe. No matter what, they manage to look irritatingly amazing.

Really, that should have been my first clue that my heritage wasn’t what my mother claimed it was. I have never looked elegant or composed a night in my life. In fact, it’s a rare night when I’m not covered in my own blood.

Danny looked at me, regret and apology in his eyes. “I’m sorry I’ve been needlin’ you all night. I know it’s hard.”

“I understand why you’re doing it, honestly. But I can’t . . . this isn’t something I can fix with a wave of my hand.” I leaned into the backseat to shake Quentin’s shoulder. He responded with a grumbling noise. “Poor kid’s wiped out.”

“It was a big night,” said Danny, and sighed. “I do know it’s not goin’ to be that easy to fix. I just want you to be happy. It’s been so good watchin’ you work your way toward happy, I don’t want to let your mom get in the way.”

“We’ll figure it out.” I looked over my shoulder, flashing what I hoped would be an encouraging smile in his direction. Really, I would have settled for a smile that didn’t make me look sick to my stomach. “We always do.”

“Yeah,” said Danny.

I returned my attention to Quentin, shaking him again. When that didn’t get the response I was looking for, I cleared my throat and said loudly, “Sure, Dianda, come on in. I’m sure Quentin will be thrilled to see you.”

Quentin sat bolt upright, one hand already shoving his hair out of wide, very open eyes. Seeing me and Danny looking at him—Danny barely holding back his laughter—those eyes narrowed.

“Jerk,” he accused.

“Absolutely,” I agreed. “Get up, get inside, and call your boyfriend before you go to bed. We have about an hour before dawn.”

Quentin rolled his eyes. “Later, Danny,” he said, and slouched out of the car, heading up the driveway toward the back door. The kitchen lights were on. May was probably in there, baking something or having a last cup of tea before bed. No wards, not when people were home; he’d be able to let himself in.

I took a breath and reached for the door handle, only to pause as Danny’s hand engulfed my shoulder. All the illusions in the world couldn’t change the sheer size of him, especially when I wasn’t looking at him. My eyes couldn’t lie to me when they weren’t involved.

“You’re not alone anymore,” he said softly.

“I know,” I said, and opened the door. “Open roads and kind fires, Danny.”

“Open roads,” he replied.

I closed the door and waved before following Quentin toward the house. The kitchen door was shut to keep the cats from getting out. I let myself in, stepping out of the cool night air and into warmth and light and the smell of sugar cookies. Quentin was already gone. My Fetch, sitting at the kitchen table with a plate of cookies and a mug of cocoa, lifted her head and offered me a wan smile.

“Do you know what time it is, young lady?” she asked.

“About twenty years past curfew, and thank Titania for that,” I said.

She laughed.

Fetches are rare, terrifying things, omens of impending death that flicker into the world and fade out of it again almost as quickly, leaving nothing behind to mark their passing.