The Winter Long (October Daye, #8)

by Seanan McGuire

“October Daye, let it be known that on this day, you are recognized as a hero of the realm, with all the responsibilities and privileges that includes. You will be offered safety and succor in any noble household. All doors will be open to you. But all dangers will be laid before you, and we’ll call you as soon as we need something large and monstrous slain.” She smiled. “You’re already doing that part. It won’t be a big change.” “Uh.” I stared at her. Arden raised her eyebrows. “Uh?” she echoed. “Uh,” I said again, before I grimaced and managed to say, “I’ll try really hard not to disappoint you?” “I don’t think that’s the standard response, but you know what? Good enough for me.”

Living in the mortal world makes it easy to forget that Faerie doesn’t follow the same laws. Maybe that sounds a little pat—I mean, my boyfriend is a cat in his spare time, and my sister was originally the physical embodiment of my impending death—but those things are normal to me. Unlike snow in California, and land that can expand and contract like a rubber band according to the needs of the people who use it.

“I dislike the dead returning to life,” said Etienne, his shoulders slumping again. “It’s untidy and inappropriate.” “And that’s Etienne in a nutshell,” I said blithely. “Anything inappropriate should cease immediately, because otherwise it might disrupt the natural order in the course of killing us all.”

The Luidaeg groaned. “You know, sometimes I miss the days when all I had to do was tell people to do something and they did it, out of fear that if they didn’t, their skeletons would be outside of their bodies. The soup is going to help.