Page 14 of Sleep No More

FIVE

THINGS MOVED QUICKLY AFTER my decision was made. Uncle Sylvester called for Sir Etienne, and for Melly, both of whom arrived with remarkable promptness. Melly brought a traveling pack, implying that she’d been waiting for exactly this call, and Sir Etienne brought a scowl but not his squire, which was the best I could have hoped for under the circumstances. I stood next to August and held her hand as Father and Uncle Sylvester discussed my upcoming trip with the staff in low tones.

She looked at me, clearly worried. “You don’t have to do this, Toby.”

“I do, though. It’s only safe for me because it’s almost Moving Day. The rest of the year, I stay locked in the tower or I risk being hurt, or worse. If I have a window of safety, I should grab it when I have the chance. Even if—maybe especially if—I’m afraid of what could happen. Courage isn’t knowing everything will be fine. It’s knowing everything might not be, and doing what needs to be done anyway, because someone has to. Besides, would you rather go?”

August wrinkled her nose. “Not in the least. I didn’t care for Dreamer’s Glass the last time I was there.”

“But at least you’ve been there. I haven’t really been anywhere but home and here. Mother would take you with her when she travels, if only you were to ask. I, on the other hand, would get a very kind lecture about remembering my place and appreciating how good I have things at home. I don’t want to sit home and appreciate things. I want to go out and see things. I want to be a part of Faerie.” I stood a little straighter. “I want to go.”

“Then you must, but you also must come home to me.” She seized my other hand. “Please, Toby, promise. Promise you won’t take any needless risks, you won’t try to be brave because you feel like you ought to be. Promise you’ll come home to me.”

She looked like she was on the verge of tears. I squeezed her hands and said the only thing I had to say: “I promise.”

“Good.” She let me go abruptly, stepping away. “Good. I love you. You can go. I’ll be here when you get back.”

Then she turned and fled the room, leaving me blinking after her. August and I had rarely been apart since my birth, but that still seemed like a fairly extreme reaction. I hadn’t been expecting that.

Then again, I hadn’t been expecting any of this. I was still blinking when Melly approached, holding out the parcel she’d brought with her.

“Human clothing is more form-fitting, and tends to be machine-stitched unless you’re wealthy,” she said. “These should fit you. You’ll want to change as soon as you have the chance. The less magic you have to spend on your disguises, the better. This is already going to be a strain on your illusions.”

I hadn’t even thought of that. I cast a half-panicked glance at Father, clutching the parcel to my chest. He stepped away from Uncle Sylvester, moving over to me.

“I can walk you through the first illusion,” he said. “Since you haven’t had much exposure to humans, it’ll be easier this way. Once that’s done, you’ll know what you need to re-cast every morning. You’ll be gone two days at most, and two disguises should be easily within your capability, even if you’ve never had a talent for illusions. All right?”

“A-all right,” I said, growing more uncertain by the moment. It was as if August had taken all my bravery with her when she ran away.

“That’s my good brave girl.”

“I’ve packed you a lunch as well, since I’ve no idea what sort of standards they keep in Dreamer’s Glass,” said Melly. “And there’s one of those human telephone devices in there. Sir Etienne has one as well, and his number is programmed into yours. All you need to do is hit the button with the little book printed on it, and then press the only number that comes up, and it will call him.”

“I can’t answer if I’m patrolling the grounds or outside the knowe,” cautioned Etienne. “It took a Gremlin acquaintance of mine weeks to convince those phones to call into or out of the Summerlands, and we can’t rely on them at all times. Try not to have any emergencies if you can help it.”

“I don’t think emergencies are the sort of thing you decide to have,” I said, forcing myself not to ask why he would have gone to all the trouble. Perhaps they were short on staff, and he had finally decided to get a changeling of his own to add to the knowe’s service. I couldn’t think of much other reason the stiffest of Uncle Sylvester’s pureblood knights would have been seeking reliable contact with the human world.

And there wasn’t time to worry about that, because Father was sliding his arm around my shoulders and guiding me toward a door at the back of the room, one which led to a small dressing room intended for use during parties, when the lesser nobles showed up unprepared and had to weave themselves an outfit for the evening. I didn’t resist.

The room was small but warm and comfortable, with a series of screens set up to block off one wall. He motioned me toward them. “Go change,” he said, and so I went, too anxious to do anything but obey a direct order.

The parcel Melly had given me contained a brassiere—a piece of human underclothing I was actually acquainted with, as August had brought a few of them home after her trips with Mother, and found their easy emulation of a corset’s support hilarious—and a pair of underpants, which would have been scandalous if not for the fact that August had brought those home at the same time, as well as a plain black top, and trousers of a stiff blue material that hugged my legs too tightly to be considered entirely decent. They fit properly, and I zipped and buttoned them into place, trying to ignore the uncomfortable way they enclosed my rump and genitals. Nothing that felt that intimate should be worn out in public.

There was a knife as well, soft silver with a spell-hardened edge, and a belt to keep it fastened at my hip. My gut lurched when I pulled it out of the parcel, and I stopped, staring at the tool—the weapon—the tool I was being handed for my own protection. It felt too easy in my hand. It was a thing intended only for the drawing of blood, and if I carried this, I knew, deep down and with absolute certainty, that I would bleed.

A sharp crack of pain followed the thought, rattling my head and stopping me from examining that certainty too deeply. I hurried to do up the belt, reaching back into the parcel, and paused as my fingers touched leather. Frowning in mild confusion, I pulled a black leather jacket out of the cloth wrapping, holding it up against myself to check the size. It was heavy and thick, stopping barely shy of armor, and it jangled with zippers and with buttons.

“Are you all right in there, October?”

“I’m fine, Father,” I said, still looking at the jacket. I had never seen this before. I still ached as if I had.

The vision. The image I’d seen in the blood, of the dark room and the strange man who looked at me like I was his entire world. I’d been wearing this jacket in my vision.

We know so little about the Dóchas Sidhe. Both Father and the Rose of Winter insist that August and I share a descendant line, since only Mother’s contributions to the making of us carry any real weight. Even among the more settled sorts of fae, like the Daoine Sidhe, siblings may have dissimilar talents, and if our magic was not precisely matched, that didn’t mean our blood differed. But we might still prove to be a line of Seers, and then we would go the way of all Seers. August and I—

Nope. I shoved the thought aside and donned the jacket, rolling my shoulders until it hung correctly. The leather carried a faint scent of pennyroyal, which seemed somewhat out of place; maybe they’d been storing it with the herbs for some reason?

Wherever it had been prior to this, it was on me now. Hesitantly, I stepped out from behind the screen and spread my arms for Father to see.