The Brightest Fell (October Daye, #11)

by Seanan McGuire

Sometimes I wish my life came with a flow chart.

“You’re fools, all of you. Fools and heroes, and I don’t know if there’s a difference.”

That’s one of the nice things about small establishments: things can be loose enough to allow for a certain fluidity during the day, which is important when, say, you’re secretly a shapeshifting canine in service to the local fae monarch. To pick an utterly nonspecific example.

Because sometimes the best intentions could lead to some very dark places, and once you were there, it could be almost impossible to find your way home again, unless there was someone willing to help you. Unless you could get there and back by the light of a candle.

The house was quiet. The air had that slow, dusty smell that spoke to hours left unoccupied, rooms left to settle deeper and deeper into stillness.

“I’ll have you know I used to solve a lot of problems with a baseball bat. Just because I’m more refined now doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten my roots.”

“DID WE REALLY HAVE to put her in the trunk?”