Page 102 of The Innocent Sleep

October was quiet for a long moment before she said, “Simon was my enemy for a long, long time. He hurt me, badly, and that doesn’t go away because he’s been trying to make amends. In some ways, it’s worse because now I know what kind of man he’s capable of being, and what he did anyway. But . . . you can’t go on as many wild quests to save someone as I have for Simon and not develop a little bit of love for the person you keep saving. Add that to the last four months, and the things I spent them believing to be true, and—yeah. He’s my father. I’m sorry, Tybalt. If I can save him, I have to try.”

I looked at her for a moment, making no effort to conceal my feelings of betrayal. She needed to see them, or she wouldn’t understand what I was about to say. Finally, I sighed, and said, “I said I wanted the woman I married back, and it seems I have her. If you must do this, I do it with you. He’s the father of my beloved, and that makes him my family as well.”

“He’s my uncle,” said Raysel.

“He’s my stepdad,” said Dean.

“Then we should have enough hands to break the Ride. After all, Janet did it alone,” said the Luidaeg. She stopped in the middle of the boardwalk, looking speculatively at the edge, before she said, “Follow me,” and stepped off, plunging into the murky water.

She didn’t resurface.

Dean, who had grown up with a mermaid for a mother, was the first to follow her, and Raysel was right on his heels, not willing to be shown up. Garm and August were close behind her.

After all the others had gone, October hung back, unable to take her eyes off the water. I understood the problem at once. She wanted to save Simon. She wanted to save Faerie. But the thought of jumping into standing water of her own free will was anathema to her, and probably always would be.

Her breathing was shaky as she turned to face me and grabbed the front of my shirt. I didn’t resist as she pulled me in a passionate kiss, only kissed her back, enjoying the moment of contact, however brief it was going to be. There would be time for lingering touches and complex emotions when this was all over. Here and now, I had to focus on survival, and for the moment, kissing my wife was a part of surviving.

Thank Maeve for that.

She wrapped her arms around me, and I did the same to her, relishing the feeling of her molded against my body after so long, of knowing exactly where she was and what I had to do in order to keep her there. I realized we were moving, inching toward the edge of the boardwalk. That was all the warning I had before she leaned hard to the side, pulling us both down into the water.

There was a moment of freezing cold, and the world spun as it reoriented itself, leaving us standing on a hillside somewhere in the Summerlands, our arms still tight around each other. The sky overhead was clear as crystal, not a trace of cloud or fog, and the air was crisp, smelling distantly of fallen leaves and bonfires. Behind us, the Luidaeg cleared her throat.

“Whatever gets you into the water, I guess, but it’s go time,” she said. “Meaning let go and focus.”

October finally let me go, with a last regretful glance as she stepped away. I turned to see where we were standing.

We were in one of the wild places, the edges of the Summerlands, far from any place that touched the mortal world. The land was wild around us, high grass and verdant, untamed forest. There were four moons in the sky above, surrounded by an infinite dusting of diamond stars, lighting up the land almost as bright as day.

Hoofbeats echoed in the distance.

The Luidaeg turned to the rest of us. “You have to get him off that horse,” she said, voice firm and cold. “I’ll handle the recitations, but you have to get him off the horse.”

With a grimace, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a small jar of pink gems, tossing it to October. She caught it reflexively, and frowned at the Luidaeg.

“Before you pull him down, swallow two,” said the Luidaeg. “That should give you the boost you need to break all the way through. Blood of her blood works best. I, on the other hand, just have to invoke my father.”

Extending one blistered hand, she ran the talon of her opposite middle finger across the palm, splitting the skin. More of those little white worms squirmed free, accompanied by a gush of brackish, sour-smelling water . . . but no blood. She grimaced.

“Fuck,” she said. “That’s a complication we don’t need. Who’s down to bleed for me?”

“Titania told me to know my place, and I do,” said October. “I bleed when Faerie needs me.” She turned to me, holding out her hand. “I don’t have a knife. Can you?”

I hated the idea of hurting her, even as I understood the logic. I sighed as I extended one claw, using it to slice her hand open from the wrist to the base of her middle finger. Blood welled up at once, bright and silvered by the moonlight. The Luidaeg grabbed her wrist and turned her hand so the blood would fall on the grass. She began pulling October along with her, drawing a circle of blood large enough to contain us all. When October’s hand inevitably healed, the Luidaeg sliced her palm again, over and over, until the circle was closed to the Luidaeg’s satisfaction. Only then did the sea witch let her go.

October stumbled back to my side, clutching her hand to her chest.

The Luidaeg moved to the center of the blood circle and stomped her foot. October’s blood seemed to catch fire from within, blazing up clean and brilliantly white, like a magnesium flame. There was no heat or smoke, only light, too vivid to look at directly. “I forbid you maidens all who wear gold in your hair to come nor go abroad this night: the Faerie Host rides there,” chanted the Luidaeg. “And none that fall within their sight but they are lost and gone, sacrificed by moonlight long before the break of dawn.”

Only a few seconds later, Titania’s Host came riding over the crest of a small hill.

There were at least forty of them, seated on the horses we’d seen before. Their attire was matched to their impossibly ornate tack, making them look like something from a painting more than a group of living people. I glared at them, eyes narrowed, taking note of every face I could see clearly enough to remember.

“First let pass the black steeds, and then let past the brown,” chanted the Luidaeg. “Quick run to the milk-white steed and pull the rider down!”

The riot of color presented by the horses and their riders combined with the white light around us made it surprisingly difficult to find a white horse. Finally, I found what I’d been looking for and stopped dead, my breath catching in my throat.

Simon was on a white horse, indeed, wearing a white suit to match, with a crown of roses perched atop his head. He stared straight ahead, not seeming to realize what was happening.